The little maid returned to his room, a pitcher held in one hand and a tankard in the other.
“Thought you might enjoy a bit of ale, my lord,” she said with a cheeky grin. “And perhaps a bit of company?”
Patrick stared at her as she closed the door with her foot and advanced on him. She set the pitcher of ale down on the table and settled herself on his lap, letting out a sigh as she cuddled him.
“Now, Miss,” he began, grabbing the arms of his chair. “I have no need for—”
She placed her fingers on his lips to still him and he complied out of sheer surprise.
She grabbed at his shoulders and wriggled in his lap, her bosom thrust in his face. “You be wantin’ some company,” she said with a nod. “And your pretty little bride in there is too much of a lady to permit such liberties before her wedding.” The little maid giggled and pressed closer against him.
Patrick swore softly and set the maid back on her feet. “Thank you, Miss,” he said. “But I don’t require your, um . . . company this evening.”
She pouted and folded her arms beneath her ample breasts. She sighed and ran her eyes longingly over him. “Pity,” she observed. “I bet you’d be a fine bit of sport.”
He spared her a smile and breathed out a sigh as she took herself from his room at last. He poured himself a tankard of ale and drank deeply, seeking to douse his desire for Tory who sat so close behind that cursed unlocked door.
CHAPTER 14
Tory sat in solitude at the small, scarred table set near the darkened window, eating her chicken and vegetables with little enthusiasm. The fare was quite tasty, but she was far too preoccupied to appreciate it. She knew that Patrick was only taking an honorable stance in allowing her privacy this evening. She missed his company sorely.
When the maid had brought in the tray, obviously holding food enough for only one, she’d been disappointed. The maid had gone on about how handsome Tory’s intended was, how gallant to allow her such privacy, and Tory had little trouble catching her meaning. The little maid no doubt fancied Patrick for herself. He was indeed most handsome and gallant, and even with his rumpled traveling clothes and rain-dampened hair, she ached to be near him. Would he spend the night with the maid? No, she wouldn’t think that. Patrick was an honorable man. He would never shame her so.
She sighed and set her barely-touched plate aside and climbed into bed, grimacing slightly at the lumps in the thin mattress. She pulled the rough sheets closer and shut her eyes.
Sometime later, she awoke with a start at the loud noises coming from belowstairs. Apparently a brawl had broken out in the small dining room and the sounds of men’s voices, raised in anger and merriment, were punctuated by loud crashes. Tory sat up in the bed, the thin sheets held to her bosom. To her growing horror, the antagonists appeared to be carrying their dispute up the stairs and into the hallway just outside her door. The thin walls shook as one man’s body was thrown against it and she cried out. The adjoining door opened with a bang and Patrick stood there, his hands in fists at his side.
“What the devil’s going on in here?” he roared.
She stared at him for a moment. He wore only his breeches and his feet were bare, and she nearly swooned at the image he made filling the doorway. The anger soon left his face as he realized there was no one there in her room. He crossed to the door leading out to the hallway and pulled it open, nearly ripping it off of its hinges.
“Take your brawling belowstairs,” he ordered the men. “People are trying to sleep.”
The men peered around him in Tory’s direction. She shrank against the iron headboard, clutching the sheets even tighter.
“What you got in there, mate?” one of the men asked Patrick with a grin. “Surely, you ain’t tryin’ to sleep, with that pretty little dove awaitin’ you.”
“Bloody hell,” Patrick growled.
He shoved the drunkards away from Tory’s door, slammed it and turned to her. “Are you all right?” he asked, his brow furrowed in concern.
Tory gave him a small nod. She looked again at the door, shaking slightly. “I was frightened,” she said softly. She stared up at Patrick. “Can you stay here with me?”
He blew out a deep breath and rubbed the back of his neck. If she hadn’t known him better she would have guessed that he was reluctant to stay with her. But the memory of his gallant rescue of her at the fair told her that he held her welfare above his own comfort. She blinked as he barked out a short laugh.
“I’m trying my best to give you the respect you deserve on the night before our wedding, love,” he told her with a crooked grin. “You’re making it difficult, sitting there looking so delectable.”
Tory flushed at his words. She realized that her anxiety was partly a reaction to the overlong trip and the excitement of the coming nuptials.
“Please, Patrick?” she asked him.
Patrick seemed to hesitate, looking around the room, anywhere but at her, then he turned back to her and gave her a crooked grin. “Can you give me your word of honor that you won’t force your wicked desires upon me, a helpless gentleman with only the noblest of intentions?”
She erupted into a fit of giggles, and then with a mock-serious face placed her hand on her heart. “I swear to you that I will honor your request. Your virtue is safe with me.”
Patrick let out a deep chuckle and joined her in the bed, wrapping her in both the sheets and his strong arms.
“Thank you, Patrick,” she sighed, running her hand over his arm.
He said nothing as her body brushed against his. He groaned as she shifted and cuddled closer.
“This mattress is quite lumpy,” she observed with a yawn.
Patrick let out a sigh of exasperation.
“Do go to sleep, Tory,” he instructed with mock-severity.
Sighing softly, she closed her eyes and was soon asleep.
* * *
“Good morning, love,” Patrick whispered in her ear.
She grumbled and snuggled into the sheets. He laughed and slapped her bottom lightly. She gasped at the action.
“Up, bride!” he said. “We have a ceremony to attend.”
Tory’s eyes snapped open.
“Oh!” she cried. “The wedding!”
Patrick nodded and came to his feet.
“I’ll order a bath for you,” he told her. “I have an errand to perform and then I shall join you for breakfast.”
“An errand?” she puzzled aloud. “What sort of errand?”
He simply gave her a secret smile and left the room. Tory closed her eyes and fell back down against the lumpy mattress. After those drunken men had awoken her last night, she’d been revisited by the fear that had gripped her at the fair. Patrick had initially seemed reluctant to stay with her, but in the end he had. Nothing had happened between them beneath those thin sheets. He’d kept true to his promise, she thought, with a sigh of disappointment, and yet she couldn’t help but feel cherished.
Before long, a knock heralded the arrival of a wooden tub and buckets of hot water, and she arose to ready for her wedding day.
When her body and hair was washed clean, she climbed out of the tub and ran a roughened towel over her skin. She withdrew a chemise and petticoat from her satchel and donned them, clicking her tongue at their slightly-rumpled appearance. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she toweled her hair dry. A sharp rap on the adjoining door told her that Patrick had returned from the errand that had called him earlier.
“Tory, love?” he called from the other side of the door. “May I enter?”
She glanced down at her thin underclothes.
“I’m not fully dressed,” she called out.
Her words were rewarded with a low whistle of male appreciation. The door opened swiftly and Patrick entered her room, with a grin on his face and a large parcel in his hands.
“Patrick!” Tory cried, lifting a sheet to cover herself. “I’m only wearing my underclothes.”
“Perfect,”
he announced. “For here I have your wedding dress.”
Her mouth fell open in surprise as he opened the parcel and withdrew the prettiest gown she’d ever seen. It was of fine white muslin with a sprinkling of tiny roses and leaves. It was simple in cut, elegant and beautiful. Her time at her uncle’s shop had given her a true appreciation for quality, and the dress was certainly as fine as it was beautiful.
“Oh, Patrick,” she sighed, walking toward him. “It’s lovely. Wherever did you find it?”
He draped an arm over her shoulders and kissed her lightly.
“I’m glad you like it,” he said. “I spied the sign for the dressmaker’s shop as we entered Carlisle last evening. Had a devil of a time rousing the shopkeeper this morning, however.”
Tory was stunned by the gesture. She traced her fingers over the delicate roses embellishing the gown.
“I know it’s not the fanciest dress,” he went on. “But it was the finest she had in the shop. You will find a bonnet there, as well.”
She read the uncertainty in his hazel eyes.
“Thank you,” she said with a soft smile.
He stared down at her for a long moment, finally giving her a nearly imperceptible nod.
“You’re very welcome,” he said, his voice gruff. He cleared his throat. “I’ve ordered your breakfast. I shall see you downstairs.”
Tory donned the pretty dress, leaving off her stays, and set about arranging her hair into a simple style. A knock heralded the arrival of her breakfast. The little maid who had attended to them last evening came inside, dropping a quick curtsy. She left a tray of tea and sweet rolls on the table.
“Congratulations, my lady,” she said. “I hear today’s your wedding day.”
Tory started at the girl’s words, finally nodding at her. She puzzled over the girl’s use of such a title, letting the matter drop as the intoxicating scent of tea and tasty rolls captured her attention. She downed a cup of fragrant tea and nibbled on a sweet roll before returning her attention to her hair. It was soon neatly upswept, with shining tendrils curling about her face. An elegant hairstyle to match her beautiful dress, she mused as she checked her appearance in the streaked and woefully inadequate mirror atop the washstand. A wonderful notion occurred to her. Reaching into her satchel, she withdrew the pretty gray brooch and fixed it on the scooped bodice of her wedding dress.
She remembered how she felt when Patrick had gifted her with it, recalling with heat the passion they had shared in his room. She found a lovely bonnet of white straw and ruffled linen resting in the box he’d left on the bed. She donned the hat and tied the wide ribbon beneath her chin. Then she took up her bag and cloak and, humming to herself, she went downstairs to meet her husband-to-be.
* * *
Patrick awaited Tory in the front parlor of the inn, his business nearly concluded. The innkeeper had put him in touch with a driver well accustomed to ferrying couples into Scotland for the express purpose of hasty weddings. The driver was dutifully summoned and all that was left was the arrival of the bride. He looked anxiously up the stairs, and was rewarded with a glimpse of the lovely auburn hair that had so captivated him the first time he’d entered Elliot’s. That hair fell in glossy coils from beneath her pert bonnet, framing a face so beautiful he nearly lost his breath. My God. This exquisite creature was to be his wife?
“Tory,” he murmured as she came to stand before him.
“This dress is truly lovely, isn’t it?” she smiled. “And the brooch seems the perfect adornment.”
The woman inside the dress far outshined it.
“Yes,” he answered, awestruck by her beauty. He took the satchel and cloak from her.
“The driver be here, my lord,” the innkeeper said, breaking through his reverie.
He turned and nodded in the man’s direction. A scrawny man approached him, a shrewd look on his weasel-like face.
“You be wantin’ to go to Gretna Green,” he stated with a nod. “I be willin’ to take you and the lady, my lord.”
Patrick knew as the man considered them that he was mentally calculating their worth. The charge for both their conveyance and the ceremony itself would be based upon this man’s impressions, as Patrick had heard from the other patrons at the inn.
“Very well,” Patrick said. “My lady and I will await you out front.”
The thin man hurriedly shuffled away. Patrick wondered idly how much coin this day would cost him. No matter, he thought in the next moment. Tory was certainly worth any amount these scoundrels could demand.
“Patrick,” she called to him, touching his sleeve.
“Yes, love?”
“That man addressed you as ‘my lord,’” she pointed out. “And this morning the maid called me ‘my lady.’ Why did she address me so?” she asked him.
Patrick hesitated, but in the end decided to tell her nothing of his family. They deserved no place in today’s celebration. Besides, it was too complicated to go into at the moment, and he was beginning to think it a bit childish to hold himself separate due to his past. He shrugged and adjusted her cloak about her shoulders.
“The innkeeper addressed me by title last night,” he said, which was true enough. “I thought that it might serve us well to play along with the ruse.”
She cocked her head at him in puzzlement, finally nodding her acceptance of his explanation. To his relief, the driver called from the yard of the inn and they went outside to board the simple carriage.
The ride into Scotland was of short duration, and they were soon in Springfield, just south of Gretna Green. Patrick and Tory alighted the carriage, entered the Inn at Springfield, and were shown directly into a room obviously set aside for ceremonies. Patrick noted that the atmosphere at this inn was quite merry, and they were greeted with warmth. Wondering absently how many such ceremonies took place in this very room in the space of a year, Patrick helped Tory off with her cloak and took her hands in his.
“What do you think, bride?” he asked her. “It’s not a grand chapel, but I believe it will suit.”
Tory looked about for a moment at the simple but fine furnishings. The room was decorated in shades of blue and gray. Flowers filled the space as well: roses and lilies and heather. The effect was ceremonial yet inviting. She once more turned to him.
“It will suit me quite well, groom,” she replied with a cheeky grin.
A rotund man entered the room then, followed by an equally stout woman and the driver. They were to be witnesses to the vows, they announced. The portly man performing the ceremony cast a seasoned eye at the couple.
“Fifty guineas,” he stated with a nod of his fat chins.
Patrick heard Tory’s sharp intake of breath and he turned to her, one brow arched.
“Perhaps you should have protested the title,” she observed in a wry whisper.
He laughed softly and paid the man his due. The fat man read the service of the Church of England, and almost before Patrick was aware of it the witnesses were signing the paper declaring the ceremony complete. Patrick gestured for Tory to sign first, and then after she stepped back, he quickly signed the document using his full name and title. The officiate scanned the paper and handed it to Patrick.
“Thank you, my lord,” the fat man smiled. “And my heartiest congratulations.”
Patrick placed the document in the pocket of his jacket and directed a somewhat stunned Tory by the elbow as he led her from the room.
“My wife,” he whispered when they were alone.
She stared up at him, her gray eyes round. He laughed then and kissed her soundly. Stretching up on her toes, she returned his kisses full measure. Grinning broadly, Patrick escorted his new bride back to the carriage for their return to England.
CHAPTER 15
“What say you to spending a few days at that little inn in Bradford, wife?” Patrick asked her as they settled into his carriage after they’d retrieved it from the Coffee House Inn.
Tory started at his easy use of
the word. Then she gave him a bright smile as she happily agreed to his splendid suggestion. The inn at which they had broken their fast the previous morning was indeed most pleasant, she recalled. For despite her obvious dishevelment after spending the night in Patrick’s carriage, none of the patrons had paid them any but the most courteous attention. She believed that it would indeed be a lovely place to pass their first few days of married life.
“We are married, Patrick,” Tory marveled as she removed her bonnet and placed it on the seat. “I can scarcely believe it.”
Patrick wrapped his arms around her. “Forever, my love,” he told her.
A cautious sort of happiness bubbled up inside her. After her heart’s battering at Paul’s hands, she’d doubted that she would ever again be happy. Her uncle had made her feel welcome and useful, and she’d been content in her pretty little room at her uncle’s townhouse but that wasn’t the same . . . She straightened suddenly and turned to Patrick.
“Where shall we live, Patrick?” she asked. “In your rooms?”
“Hardly,” he returned with a smile. “While they suit a bachelor, love, I don’t think they are worthy as a newly married couple’s residence.”
She shrugged dismissively. “That doesn’t matter to me,” she said. “I believe your handsome green rooms are very cozy.”
He shook his head at her. “The furnishings are not the issue that concerns me,” he told her. “I’m afraid the other residents of the house are of a decidedly masculine nature and quite unattached.”
“Oh,” Tory nodded in understanding.
“When we return to London I’ll set about finding us a townhouse to let,” he concluded. “A place of our own.”
Tory leaned against Patrick and sighed as he wrapped his arms around her again. He brushed his lips over her neck and she felt a fluttering begin in her stomach.
“A place of our own,” she echoed.
“To reside in with my wife,” he whispered in her ear.
“Mmm,” she agreed, closing her eyes.
That Determined Mister Latham Page 15
