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The Good, The Bad, And The Scandalous (The Heart of a Hero Book 7)

Page 5

by Cora Lee


  This he’d been waiting for. “Until it is safe for you to leave. I’m sorry I don’t have a more definite answer, but there is much information to gather before we know who and what we’re dealing with.”

  She considered that for a moment, but nodded her acceptance. “You will keep me informed.”

  “Of course.” He noted that it wasn’t a question this time. How insistent was she going to be? Would she really want to know all the grisly details of someone’s plot to have her killed? “Anything else?”

  “Yes.” Hart heard a note of hesitation in her voice and watched her take a deep breath. “What is it that you expect of me? As your wife, I mean.”

  Ah, she wanted to talk about marital relations. That should be fun. “What do you think I expect?”

  “I don’t know, Hartland, that’s why I’m asking. I’ve never been a wife before, let alone a countess...or a hunted woman.”

  “Certainly.” Well, what to tell her? “I think it’s best if the staff and tenants know nothing of your pursuers, though they will surely be aware that you are the new Countess of Hartland. And I will ask the lads that work outdoors and in the stables to be alert for strangers. I’ve done that before, so it won’t arouse suspicion.”

  “And me?”

  “You can take over the running of the house if you’d like, but I won’t be offended if you’d rather not.”

  “That’s good to know, but it’s not what I meant. What happens when all this is over? When I’m safe again and have no need of your physical protection?”

  His mouth pulled into a smile. “You have that much confidence in me, do you? You’re sure I’ll be able to solve the mystery and deal with your enemy?”

  “I have to be,” she replied quietly, her shoulders stiffening. “To believe otherwise is to assume I will be dead before the month is out.”

  “I promise to protect you, Sarah Elliott.” He should have called her Sarah Hartland, since that was how Society would know her, but it was sweeter to hear his own surname. He was no longer the only Elliott. Hart reached for her hand and held it in both of his. “I swear I will keep you safe.”

  “Then what happens between us when I am free to live my life again? Is this to be a real marriage, or was it just a means to an end?”

  Ollie had asked him a similar question—had it really only been two days ago? “We can do what many aristocrats do when they marry for property and bloodlines. We can go about our separate lives and spend time together only when necessary. You’ll remember from the settlement that I’ve set aside an estate in Staffordshire and one in Sussex for your exclusive use, along with a generous sum for your pin money. Those are yours no matter what happens—or doesn’t happen—between us.”

  “Yes, I remember. Is that what you want? To live your life and go about your business while I live mine somewhere else?”

  “It is.” Her fingers flexed in his grasp and he released her hand. “Is that satisfactory to you?”

  “Yes, I believe it is.”

  He studied her face, looking for any hint of feeling or reaction to their new agreement, but he found the same businesslike expression she’d worn when waiting on him in her parents’ bookshop. “I would prefer that you not take a lover until you’ve presented me with an heir, though. If anyone is going to inherit Hartland, he should be an Elliott by blood, not just by name.”

  She sucked in a little breath and he smothered a laugh. There was the shock he’d been expecting.

  “You require an heir?”

  “Well, I don’t require one,” he told her, leaning back against the seat cushion and stretching his arm across the top. “My titles and the entailed property will return to the crown if I die without a son, as I have no other family. It would be better for the tenants if there was someone with a vested interested looking after the property, but it wouldn’t break my heart to be the last Earl of Hartland.”

  She arched one eyebrow at him with a suspicious air, and he felt compelled to explain himself further. “Hartland is the legacy of my ancestors, not me. My legacy lies more in the people I help.”

  “As the Armored Man,” she added.

  And as a member of Wellington’s intelligence ring, but he couldn’t tell her about that. “Yes.”

  “Do you want to be a father?”

  “Do you want to be a mother?” he countered.

  “I expected to become a mother after I was wed.”

  “But do you want to?”

  She didn’t answer him right away, shifting her gaze to her hands resting in her lap. “Yes, I think I do. Any children I have will bear your name, but I assume they would be in my care. They would be my legacy.”

  Hartland had never thought about it that way before. Did that make him his mother’s legacy? “If we had children together, they could bear your name as well as mine. My fifth name was my mother’s before she wed my father.”

  “That’s where Zaleski came from,” she said, glancing up at him with a small smile. “I wondered about that.”

  “My mother was born in Vilnius when it was part of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth. My father met her there during his Grand Tour and brought her back to England as his bride.”

  “Not his trophy?”

  “It’s almost like you’ve met my father,” Hart said, giving her a wink. “That’s what everyone else thought, too, but no. He was head over ears in love with her, and she was just as in love with him.”

  Sarah leaned closer, and he felt her hand brush the side of his knee. “Then it was fortunate they found each other.”

  “Fortune or fate or complete coincidence, they were happy together.” He laid his hand atop hers, wishing he’d had the forethought to remove his gloves as she had. “When I told Preston I thought you and I would rub along together well enough, I meant it. We won’t have what my parents had, but there’s no reason we can’t be content for however long we are together.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “And I still want to kiss you.”

  She laughed. “I thought you only said that to bother Lord Preston.”

  “Well, that too.” He pulled the glove off his left hand and stroked his bare fingers over her cheek. “But I think every couple should share a kiss on their wedding day. May I kiss you, my lady?”

  “Yes.”

  Sarah’s answer was half whispered, but he didn’t think she was trying to be seductive. Breathless with anticipation, perhaps? He leaned forward and captured her bottom lip before she could close her mouth. To Hart’s surprise she kissed him back, a little hesitantly but with more skill than he’d expected. He broke away then kissed her again, his heart thumping harder in his chest as her arms came around his neck.

  His hand dropped from her cheek to her waist and slid up her back, drawing her body closer to his. He briefly considered popping open some of the buttons that marched down the back of her gown and loosening her bodice, but Ollie had made Hart promise to be considerate of his bride, to put her needs and feelings above his own while she adjusted to her new life. Undressing her in a traveling coach before they’d even left the confines of London was probably not going to do that.

  He settled for one more kiss before breaking away to catch his breath. She held on to him, not quite panting but definitely not composed, her eyes fluttering slowly open.

  “My felicitations on this happy occasion, Lady Hartland,” he said softly.

  She moved away from him—a mere handful of inches, but the distance sparked a vague uneasiness in the back of Hart’s mind—and returned her hands to her lap. Then her red lips curved into a smile. “And mine to you, my lord.”

  ~~~

  “You can’t be in here.”

  The woman looked up from the notebook she’d been studying—the notebook full of her late fiancé’s careful handwriting—to see Robert MacDonald enter the room. If all had gone to plan, Robert would have become her brother-in-law in just a few weeks.

  “This was my laboratory, too, Robert.�
��

  “You may have spent time here with David, but it was never yours.”

  Of course he would think that. Robert refused to believe that she had been his brother’s partner despite the fact that she’d worked side-by-side with David for two full years before their betrothal.

  They’d planned to save the world and end the wars raging across two continents. Together.

  “I need David’s notes,” she said instead. “I’m presenting our most recent findings to the Master-General of the Ordnance in a week’s time.”

  “His findings,” Robert countered. “And if anyone is to present David’s work, it should be me. He was my brother.”

  “Do you even know what phosgene is?” She paused for several moments, letting Robert squirm in his ignorance. The man was a genius with money, but couldn’t tell an element from an elephant. “How could you hope to explain David’s work with it, let alone convince Lord Mulgrave that the Army and Navy are in need of it?”

  “How do you? Do you think anyone with real power will heed the ramblings of a delusional woman?”

  She choked back a reply. She wasn’t supposed to be the one calling on Lord Mulgrave. David was going to be their public face. He’d been a respected scientist in Edinburgh, and his sex would lend more credibility to their work. If not for Sarah Shipton he would still be with her, and she wouldn’t be having this pointless argument with Robert.

  Or trying to fulfill their dreams alone.

  “Lord Mulgrave will heed me.” She would make sure of it.

  “Even if he does, you’re still trespassing. This property passed to me upon David’s death and I want you gone from here.” Robert pulled his watch from his pocket and glanced at its face, his expression softening a little. “I know he loved you, despite your masculine pursuits. Because of that I will allow you ten more minutes with his notes before I have you escorted from this place. You will leave your key when you depart.”

  Ten minutes? No doubt Robert thought he was being magnanimous by not having her immediately removed, but ten minutes wouldn’t be nearly enough time to compile the data from months of experimentation. Nor would he allow her to remove any of David’s notebooks. She wouldn’t be surprised if he had her searched on her way out.

  “Thank you,” she managed, casting her eyes down toward the floor. A little contrition, however false, would go a long way with Robert. Perhaps she could convince him to permit her a return visit in a day or two.

  She kept her gaze down until he exited the laboratory, then looked about her. If she couldn’t take David’s notes with her and Robert didn’t let her return, she needed another way to access the materials she required for her presentation to Lord Mulgrave.

  Snatching up a leather satchel that had belonged to David, the woman stacked David’s notebooks inside until no more would fit. A few glances from the windows assured her that no one was guarding the door yet. That was a stroke of good fortune. She hugged the satchel to her body and left the lab, looking for a place to hide David’s notes.

  She settled on an old flower bed that hadn’t been planted since David had first brought her to his laboratory. Loose soil in a flower bed wouldn’t look out of place if anyone noticed it, nor should anyone be rooting around there this time of year. She dug a hole with her hands and dropped the satchel inside, covering it with most of the dirt she’d excavated while scattering the rest around the bed.

  When she was satisfied no one would notice her hiding place, she wiped her hands on the grass as best she could and returned to the lab to collect her bonnet and gloves. By the time she’d made herself presentable once more, a footman in MacDonald livery had arrived and politely asked her to accompany him to the nearest road. He offered his condolences on the loss of her fiancé and promised to find her a hackney to take her home.

  She did her best to appear bereaved—not difficult when she missed David with every breath she took—and allowed the footman to escort her away from the lab. All she needed to do was return after dark and collect the notebooks. Robert would never know, and she would have all the information she needed for Lord Mulgrave.

  Chapter Five

  Sarah awoke half-sitting, her body resting against something hard while soft cloth pressed against her cheek, smelling faintly of cloves and mint. Hartland had insisted they travel through the night, and she remembered dozing off with her head resting against the carriage window. But where had she woken up? She opened her eyes partway and blinked as her field of vision filled with white linen.

  It was Hartland’s shirt.

  He shifted beneath her, his chest rising as he inhaled deeply then falling again as he exhaled. She felt a hand tighten on her hip and realized he’d wrapped his arm around her as she slept. Had he been conscious when he did it, or had he attempted to embrace her in his sleep?

  She dismissed the thought. How they’d ended up in such an intimate pose didn’t matter so much as how much longer their journey was. They’d been traveling for two days and nights, and sleeping in the carriage—even with Hartland’s body to cushion her from some of the bumps—had not been pleasant. She sat up and pushed the loose hair out of her face, trying to focus her eyes on the scenery rolling by.

  “We’ll stop one more time to change the horses,” came Hartland’s voice. “Should only be a few more hours before we arrive.”

  Sarah glanced over at him. He was still reclining on the front-facing seat with his eyes closed, his tailcoat and waistcoat balled up on the floor at his feet. “Where are we?”

  “Northwest Devon,” he replied without opening his eyes. “Thirty miles or so from Hartland Abbey.”

  “How long have you been awake?”

  “Long enough to know that you snore.”

  Her glance became a glare. “I do no such thing.”

  “How would you know?” he asked, blinking open his eyes with feigned innocence. “If you’ve only ever slept alone, you’d have no one to tell you.”

  Her eyes narrowed as she stared at him, unable to form a response that would both teach him some manners and preserve her privacy. Finally, she waved a hand in a dismissive gesture and moved to the rear-facing seat. “As if it matters to you, anyway.”

  The smile faded from his face. “Should it? Do you want it to matter to me?”

  “No, Hartland, it’s fine. We’re to have an aristocratic marriage, remember? That means neither of us has to think too much about the other.” She leaned her head against the back of the seat and tried to find something interesting to look at outside.

  “Once you’re safe, of course.”

  Her eyes shifted back to him. Was he trying to remind her just how much she needed him? As if she would forget that. “Yes, once I’m safe.”

  Sarah reached for the book she had brought with her and opened it to where she’d left off, noting that Hartland closed his eyes once again and crossed his arms over his chest. They spent the rest of the journey that way, speaking only a few words to each other when they entered the inn to refresh themselves and change clothing.

  It wasn’t until they pulled within sight of Hartland Abbey itself that its master spoke up again. “Home, sweet home.”

  Sarah dropped her book into her lap and watched the house grow larger as they approached. “It looks rather medieval.”

  “It is—it was built when the second Henry was king, and was a monastery until the eighth Henry gave it to one of his favorites.” He flashed her what she was beginning to recognize as his I’m-very-clever smile. “Don’t worry, it’s been renovated extensively over the years. You’ll be quite comfortable.”

  “I expect I shall.” She straightened in her seat as they headed down the front drive, her heart sinking. What looked to be the entire staff had gathered in front of the main entrance, forming neat rows of male and female servants.

  “I thought I told them not to greet us at the door,” Hartland grumbled. “I knew we’d be tired from traveling, and I didn’t want to subject you to something like this until you
’d had a chance to get some proper rest.”

  “Something like what?”

  “It’s tradition to present each member of the household staff to the new countess when the earl marries. But it will be a long process, and I didn’t want to overtax you.”

  Sarah took one more look at the assemblage—which appeared large enough to populate a small village—then focused on her husband. “It’s a small misunderstanding and nothing more. I’ll manage.”

  “Aren’t you tired? You can’t have slept very well these past two nights.”

  “I didn’t. And yes, I am tired. But I can meet the servants before I retire. They’ll be curious about me, and I am curious about them.”

  He shook his head, his mouth pulled into a frown. “I don’t think it’s a good idea, Sarah. Why don’t you just let the housekeeper show you to your rooms and we’ll worry about the staff later?”

  “Hartland, I can do it.” She said each word slowly, and made a point to enunciate them all.

  His posture stiffened but he didn’t argue. “Very well, then. However, we will save the tour of the house and grounds for later.”

  That she’d readily agree to. What she could see of the estate looked like it took up half the county, and she suspected there was more beyond view. It would take her days to see it all.

  Contrary to Hartland’s belief, Sarah thought she held up rather well under the scrutiny of the Abbey’s staff. She even mustered enough energy to be introduced to her new lady’s maid, Lucy, and to make passable small talk with the housekeeper, Mrs. Nichols, as the pair walked through the house toward the Countess’s suite. But as soon as Mrs. Nichols and Lucy made their curtseys and departed, Sarah climbed onto the big bed and stretched out on her back.

  For the first time in days she didn’t have to worry about where her arms or feet were, or the rattling of the carriage as they bumped along. She was finally in a stationary building for more than a few minutes...and alone.

  She didn’t feel herself falling asleep, didn’t even realize she’d been asleep until she began to wake. Taking a page from Hartland’s book, she elected to keep her eyes closed for a few moments to savor her comfortable position and the light breeze blowing in through the open window. What a luxury to simply lie in her soft bed until she was ready to rise!

 

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