“Oh,” she paused. “I didn’t even think of that.” She tapped her boot on the wooden platform in front of the door. “Would it be better if we went later? I can go back inside. I just fancied a bit of air.”
His shoulders relaxed. “No. Now is fine. I’ve worn myself out anyhow.” He mopped his brow with a rag and then rolled down his sleeves, donning his jacket again. “Besides, it might be good for us to talk.”
She stood waiting for him as she fidgeted with the ribbons on her bonnet. “Of course.” How did she tell him that she needed time to think about him, not talk to him?
He held out his elbow and they started down the lane. But they’d no more made it around the first bend when her husband stopped and turned to her. “About Mr. Sharpe.”
“What about him?” she asked, frowning.
“He fancies you.”
She cocked her head to the side. “I suppose he does. He did ask my father for my hand.”
Austin jolted underneath the light pressure of her hand. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think him jealous.
“He did?”
“Yes, but my father turned down the offer. He thought he’d get more money at the auction.” Her mouth pursed as an emptiness settled behind her breastbone. All along, she’d been nothing but a commodity to her father.
“And are you glad or sad that I stopped the bidding?”
She reached out her other hand and Austin took it in his. “There’s no guaranteeing who might have won.”
His face creased. “Did you want him to win?”
Gabriella’s mouth parted as she studied Austin. He looked…pained. “If you’re asking if I have feelings for Mr. Sharpe, the answer is no. Although, I would have been grateful to marry a man who was kind to me and ran a successful business, meager as it is compared to being a viscount. But a life with him would have been better than the one I was living with my father.”
“That was honest.”
“It was.” She squeezed his fingers. “Sincerely, I don’t wish to be anything other than honest with you. Our beginning has been shrouded in fog. If we’re to find our way out, then—”
But she didn’t finish.
Because he let go of her hand and cupped her cheek. His palm was rough from the work he’d done, but somehow that made the touch even more pleasing. Austin leaned down and brushed his mouth over hers in a feather-light touch that made tingles race down her body.
Then he lifted his head, leaving her to blink up at him.
“You, wife, are the most amazing woman.”
That only added to her confusion. Did he or did he not want relations with her? If not, then why kiss her so sweetly? “Thank you.”
He leaned down again, but this time, his lips pressed to her cheek. “How someone as beautiful as you can also be so tender and sincere is beyond me but I’m glad I found you yesterday.”
That made her warm further. “Me too, I think.”
He winced. “Still having doubts about me?”
How did she answer that? “Not doubts. Just gaps. There is so much I don’t know.”
“Such as?”
She drew in a breath attempting to figure out how to delicately ask one of the many questions swirling in her head. “You’re a titled member of the gentry. You could have collected a large dowry. Why pay for me?”
His smile was easy, and his thumb lightly massaged her cheek. “Because it was in my power to do so. To save another person. And because…” His smile slipped. “I am drawn to you, even though I shouldn’t be.”
The first part of his answer sent her heart soaring with happiness. But the second part, clouded her mind with confusion again. The pieces didn’t seem to fit. “Why not?”
He shook his head. “It’s complicated. Or, I suppose, I am complicated.”
Did she share any of Madame Fleur’s theories? It didn’t seem right and yet she didn’t know how else to begin digging. “How are you complicated?”
He dropped his hand and started walking once again. Part of her wanted to repeat the question but she waited instead, falling into step next to him. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet. “I was sick as a child. I have to be careful.”
Her heart thrummed and blood pulsed in her ears. Sick? Was this not the man she’d seen exercise for three hours? “I don’t understand.”
* * *
Austin let out a groan of frustration. Of course, she didn’t understand. He should tell her the truth. That he’d outgrown the disease but the fear of suffering another debilitating attack lingered.
He hated the truth. It made him look weak.
Still, she was right. They needed a solid foundation on which to build their relationship.
“I suffer from weak lungs,” he answered. “It’s been some time since I’ve had an attack, but I must guard against it.”
“Oh,” she breathed, her hand coming to his biceps. “Is that why you’re so active?”
“Exactly. I keep myself strong.” He swallowed. “But being uncontrollably amorous as a man can sometimes be when he’s with a woman could pose complications.”
Her hands tightened on his arms. “Thank you for sharing that with me. As it stands, I have a great deal of experience tending the sick and I can help you.”
That grated and his teeth snapped together. She was offering to be his nursemaid? He wished to shout that he was better. Strong, healthy, and he’d care for her, not the other way around, but it was a nettle of his own making. “That’s kind but I’m fine. Really. It’s just the physical part of our relationship I need to be concerned about.”
And not even that, really. If he truly was better, as the doctor said, then he’d be capable of the activity. But the worst attack of his life, the one that had nearly killed him, had happened in the arms of a woman. Not only had it been frightening, it had been…humiliating.
He’d been reduced to a wheezing, gasping, clutching, pathetic ball on the floor as the woman stood over him, clasping her hands until she’d finally slunk out of the room leaving him there to live or die.
That sort of vulnerability was something he never wished to repeat. Not ever.
He looked at the woman walking next to him. Would she abandon him in the same way? He’d only known her a day, but his gut told him she wouldn’t. Perhaps he could tell her the truth, the whole truth, and she’d understand. He never shared the details of his disease, to do so might be refreshing. Or humiliating. And that’s what held his tongue.
They continued to walk, the conversation shifting to lighter topics. Once back at the cottage, they found dinner on the stove, the maid having returned to the main house for the evening.
Austin gestured for her to sit. “Tonight, I serve you.”
She started, her face infusing with a pink blush that made her look even more vibrant. “That won’t be necessary. It’s my job—”
He pulled out her chair. “I insist, my lady.’
She sat, carefully arranging her skirts, smoothing the fabric. He loved her hands. They were delicate and as beautiful as the rest of her, long tapered fingers touching everything with such a gentle brush. He reached for her hand and felt the callouses on her fingers and palm from all the work her father had made her complete.
His thumb skimmed across the rough skin. “You cooked for him, obviously. What else?”
She looked down at their joined hands. “I…I cleaned. When he was too ill to get out of bed…” Her tongue darted out and she licked her lips. “I would take care of him.”
“Is he ill? Other than his drinking?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. He didn’t exactly share with me. Mostly, he treated me as though I were a nuisance.”
Austin suppressed a growl of irritation. Like he needed any more evidence the man was a fool. “And how did your mother die?”
Gabriella shook her head. “I’m not entirely certain. My father said she was ill, but one day she seemed perfectly healthy and the next day…she wa
s gone.”
Her fingers tightened against his and Austin kept a blank expression on his face as her eyes lifted to meet his. Because that didn’t sound good at all. Something seemed suspicious about her mother’s sudden death. But it would do little to alarm Gabriella now. He needed to know what sort of man he was dealing with.
He knew her father was scum, of course. He’d callously tossed his daughter to the fattest purse without even a backward glance or a single look of concern.
But if Gabriella’s mother had died under odd circumstances…
He needed more information.
With that in mind, he let his wife’s hand go and made his way into the kitchen to serve up dinner.
After they ate, he’d decided it was time to take a trip into the village.
Chapter Eight
Austin made his way back to the village, his thoughts on Gabriella. He’d left her curled in the chair again, her anxious eyes following him to the door. She hadn’t openly disagreed with him as he’d announced he had a brief errand to run in the village, but her gaze had taken on a haunted look. Still, she’d given a silent nod and settled in the chair next to the fire.
He’d determined to return as soon as he could.
He didn’t mean to worry her. In fact, he was leaving her to keep her safe.
It didn’t take him longer than a quarter hour to return to the village and make his way into the tavern. He saw Mr. Winston seated at the center of the bar with a large ale in front of him, along with several empty glasses. Austin pulled his hat lower on his head and headed to the back of the establishment instead. He was here to observe. Ask questions of others if he could.
A large hand shot out, stopping his progress. “Mr. Melrose,” Mr. Sharpe said, releasing him. “I’m surprised to see you here with a new bride at home.” The accusation in the words was evident.
But Austin realized, Sharpe might be just the man to get him started. “It’s because of Mrs. Melrose that I am here.”
Sharpe’s mouth turned down. Austin had likely irritated the man by reminding him that it was Austin and not himself who’d married her. “May I sit, Mr. Sharpe?”
The man gave a single nod, and Austin sat, his back to Mr. Winston.
“You’re here because of Gabriella. What about her?”
Austin raked a hand through his hair. “Any man who so callously tossed his daughter away is not a man I trust.”
Mr. Sharpe’s eyes lit with understanding. “You’re right to worry. Winston is not only a drunk and a gambler, he’ll cheat any way he can. I’ve seen him sell the same piece of property three times at least. In addition, there is suspicion that he mur—” Mr. Sharpe stopped, his jaw snapping shut. “I’m saying too much. Odd. I’m not usually a talking man.”
Austin shook his head. “It’s all right. The more you say, the more you help her. If I’m to keep him out of her life, I need to know what I’m up against.”
Mr. Sharpe gave a single nod as he settled back in his chair, staring at Austin. “Will you take her away from here?”
“Soon,” he said.
“Good.” Mr. Sharped took a swig of his ale. “The further she is from that scoundrel, the better.”
Had he just gotten some measure of support from the large butcher? “I’m glad you approve. Is there anything else you can tell me?”
Mr. Sharpe leaned forward. “Make sure your union with Gabriella is ironclad. I told you, he’s a swindler. And make sure to protect any assets from him. He’s deuced smart, I’ll give him that.”
Austin gave a grim nod. “Anything else I should know, Mr. Sharpe?”
Mr. Sharpe leaned closer, his voice dropping low. “Gabriella’s mother died from a fall down the stairs. But a month later, the coroner had a nice piece of land that had once belonged to Winston. It’s made people suspicious. There’s some that say…”
Austin understood. And he’d learned what he’d need to. “Thank you, Mr. Sharpe. It’s much appreciated.” He started to rise but Sharpe’s hand shot out again.
“I’ve a few questions for you now.”
Austin sank back down his chair. The man had helped him twice. Answering him was the least Austin could do. “Yes?”
“You’ve got money?”
“Yes,” he said. “Enough.”
The other man’s hand spasmed in pain. “You bought her more nice dresses today? You’ll keep her well-dressed and taken care of?”
Austin swallowed. Jealousy jumped under the surface. This man wanted Austin’s wife for his own. “I will.”
Mr. Sharpe gave a stiff nod. “Leave me your address before you leave. I’ll write if anything comes up that you should know.”
Austin gave him a relieved smile. His friend, the baron, was here but he wouldn’t be as in touch with what happened in the village. Mr. Sharpe was an excellent ally and a good man. “I’d appreciate that very much.”
Mr. Sharpe grimaced again. “I’m doing it for her. She’s as beautiful on the inside as she is on the outside.”
Austin knew it was true. “I’ll tell her.”
But Sharpe wasn’t looking at him anymore, he was glancing over his shoulder and his look had gone black.
“Look everyone,” Winston slurred behind him. “It’s my new son-in-law.”
Austin’s teeth clenched together. “Mr. Winston.”
“Tired of my daughter already?”
He rose, standing over the older man, his arms crossing over his chest. “Hardly. I just came to thank Mr. Sharpe. Some of the disgruntled men who attended the auction yesterday attempted to give us a difficult time today, and Mr. Sharpe aided us both.”
Winston scratched his cheek, grunting. “I heard about that. Heard you bought her a pretty dress too. More than one I’d wager.”
Austin shook his head. That’s what the man cared about?
“If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Winston, I should return to Gabriella.”
“But you haven’t even had a drink. Shouldn’t you buy a pint for your father-in-law?”
Austin frowned. He reached into his pocket and placed a shilling on the table. “Enjoy one without me and best of luck in the future.”
“What does that mean?” The other man swayed on his feet, his eyes blurry.
“Exactly what I said.”
He turned to go, but Winston reached a out clutching his coat. “Don’t leave yet. We’ve got more to discuss.”
“Such as?”
The other man wet his lips. “I could help you.”
Austin didn’t believe that for a second, and he jerked from the man’s grasp. “You can help me by leaving Gabriella be.”
“Leave her be? She’s my daughter.” His lip drew up in a snarl. “What’s that brat said about me?”
Austin blinked. “Not a word. My opinions, Winston, are my own.”
Winston’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t want me around. Fine. But I deserve some recompense for the lost relationship of my only child.”
Austin didn’t dignify those words with a response. Instead, he turned and left.
* * *
Gabriella tried not to look out the window again. She knew what happened when a man finished his dinner and then needed to go out. Her husband had gone to the tavern.
Would he come back drunk?
Would he come back at all?
Fear swirled in her stomach. This was a pattern she knew well. She’d experienced it over and over with her father and it made her afraid. She wanted her marriage to be different.
But thus far she’d made little headway in breaking the shell around her husband. He was compassionate, of course. But had they made any sort of real connection?
Apprehension skittered down her spine. She closed the book, done pretending to read. It was hopeless. She might as well pace.
Standing, she bent down to add more wood to the fire when the distinct whinny of a horse touched her ears.
She straightened, looking out into the inky night. A lantern lit in the small barn, creating
a soft glow that leaked out of the cracks between the boards. She moved closer to the window, as she pushed back the curtain. Was Austin home already?
The lantern went out again and she stepped away from the window, returning to her chair and picking up her book as though she’d never left the seat.
He stepped into the cottage, his gaze meeting hers. “I’m back.”
“You’re back,” she repeated rising and crossing the room to his side. She reached for his hand and then leaned in to place a kiss on his cheek.
Her nostrils flared as she inhaled a deep breath, but she caught no hint of ale or any other spirits.
He wrapped a hand around her waist, his nose coming to her hair. “How is your book?”
Her nose twitched. “I was too distracted to give it any real attention.”
“Distracted?” He pulled her just a touch closer. “By what?”
She took a deep breath. She’d promised him honesty and she’d give it now. “I assumed you were going to the tavern. It’s just that…” How did she tell him that she was alarmed by the distance between them? “It’s a pattern I know well.”
He leaned back, his eyes widening in surprise. He cupped her cheek as he looked down at her. “I’m sorry that I worried you. It wasn’t my intention.” He settled her body against his. “I went out tonight to see what I could learn about your father to make certain he never hurts you again.”
Surprise and pleasure rippled through her. Her hands had come to rest on his biceps, and she gave them a squeeze now as they flexed beneath her touch. Her stomach pressed to his and she looked at him, catching her breath.
His brown eyes darkened as he stared down at her, his arm about her back, growing even tighter.
He leaned down and kissed her again, a gentle brush of their lips that made her gasp and she drew in the scent of his breath. He smelled of fresh cheroot, with hints of clove. His lips pressed to hers again, warm and strong.
She slid her hands up his arms, her fingers dancing along the cords of his neck as he kissed her a third time. And then a fourth. Over and over their lips met until he slanted hers open and touched his tongue to hers.
Viscount of Vanity Page 5
