The Groom Says Yes

by Cathy Maxwell

  “You will speak to your uncle on the morrow?” Mrs. Bossley said, directing her comment to Miss Davidson.

  “Of course.”

  “What time?”

  “I learned today, the earl isn’t up before one,” Miss Davidson said. “So I shall go then.”

  Mrs. Bossley brought her hand down on the table as if brokering a deal. “Good.” She rose from her chair. “I will be waiting for you at the crossroads bridge to hear your report. I’ll be too anxious to cool my heels waiting here or at home. You come directly to that meeting place when you are done.”

  “It is on the way,” Miss Davidson said, then added with a touch of confusion as the older woman moved toward the door, “Where are you going now?”

  “I’m going home,” Mrs. Bossley said, feeling her head and realizing her hair was unpinned. “What did I do with my hat? Oh, yes, I left it upstairs. It fell on the floor.” She started out the door.

  Miss Davidson jumped to her feet and called her back. “Wait. You are leaving?”

  “Oh, yes,” Mrs. Bossley said. “Don’t you believe I should? After all, we can’t let whoever has Richard think we suspect something. We must carry on as normal. Mr. Kerr is coming tomorrow to fix my back step. He is expecting me to be there, especially after I told him how anxious I was to have the work done.”

  “But what about Mr. Enright? You will take him with you.”

  Mrs. Bossley pulled back as if astounded at such a suggestion. “Of course not. We need to keep him hidden. Am I not correct, Mr. Enright?”

  Mac nodded. “I don’t think it wise we let whoever took your father know I’m in the area. He might see it as a threat. However, I will interview the earl of Tay with you on the morrow.”

  “Exactly right,” Mrs. Bossley said. “Protect her. However, I can’t ride with him in my vehicle all the way to Borlick. Someone will see him and make a comment, especially if he is with me,” Mrs. Bossley said. “You know how the gossips adore keeping track of my comings and goings.”

  “Then what do we do with him?” Miss Davidson asked.

  A smile came to Mrs. Bossley’s lips, a secret smile as if she’d divined there was tension in the air around Miss Davidson and knew the reason. Nor did she seem unhappy s she answered, “Why, we leave him here. With you.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “Here?” The word exploded from Sabrina. “Absolutely not. He can’t stay here.”

  “Why not?” Mrs. Bossley asked.

  Aware that Mr. Enright appeared engrossed in every word, and having a suspicion why, Sabrina lowered her voice to say, “It would be unseemly.” Certainly, the widow could see that for herself.

  Or had she sensed that Sabrina had fallen from grace, that her virtue no longer mattered.

  Well, she’d given in to desire once, but only because it had snuck up on her. She’d not known what to expect . . . and Mr. Enright was an attractive man. Very attractive. Something about him drew her to him. She liked looking at his strong features and the way his expressions crossed his face. She noticed the slightest movement of his fingers and the strength in them. Those fingers had unlaced her and stolen their way beneath her skirts, something she remembered all too well, and had liked far more than she should for her own good.

  Yes, she’d liked their coupling, and she mustn’t. He was exactly what she’d feared: The Wrong Person for Her. Her father would not approve although right now, they needed Mr. Enright to find him.

  That was the common sense of the matter, and it also turned out to be the logic Mrs. Bossley used. The widow’s expression grew grave. “I beg your pardon, Miss Davidson, but are you saying that protecting your reputation from gossips is more important than your father’s life?”

  “Well, you see—” Sabrina started, then stopped, realizing there wasn’t anything she could say that would vindicate herself. Her protest wasn’t just that she was a single woman—although past the prime of her life—but it was this man she objected to, and if she said that, then Mrs. Bossley would want to know why. And what could Sabrina say? That he’d already had her, and had her thoroughly?

  Oh no. No one must ever learn what had happened between them—especially Mrs. Bossley. If they found her father, and he was well, Sabrina was fairly certain he would not change his mind about marrying the widow, and her position would be more precarious than before. Her father would protect her as his unmarried daughter but as his soiled unmarried daughter, well, Sabrina wasn’t certain his goodwill extended that far.

  “You need to shelter him,” Mrs. Bossley decided as if she had been named queen.

  “What about Mrs. Patton? What will she say when she sees him here and Father nowhere around?”

  “Does she know Richard is missing?”

  “No.”

  “Then you’ve managed to keep it a secret this long,” the widow said, “you can continue in the same manner. Mr. Enright, you have a responsibility as well. Keep quiet. No one must know you are here.”

  “Understood,” he said, his deep voice giving that one word many shadings—including that of laughter.

  “Then we are agreed,” Mrs. Bossley pronounced, and started down the hall, muttering about how she wondered where she had left her hat.

  Sabrina whirled on Mr. Enright. She did not trust his look of amused interest. “I have no doubt you wouldn’t want to stay here,” she said, hissing on the word “stay.” “But you can’t. It isn’t right, and you know it.”

  “I haven’t said a word,” he answered, but his eyes danced with a hundred different devils. Oh, yes, he was very aware of her predicament.

  “You don’t have to,” she assured him. “I know you think you are the cat who has found the cream—but you haven’t. Do you hear? What happened was a mistake between us—”

  “What was a mistake?” Mrs. Bossley asked, appearing in the doorway. She held her bonnet. “I found it on the stairs. What a ninny I am. I could lose my head if it weren’t fastened to my neck.”

  “Nothing,” Sabrina said, forcing a smile. “Nothing was a mistake.”

  Mrs. Bossley pushed pins into her hair and set her bonnet on her head before starting for the back door as if all was decided. “Very well, I shall see you on the morrow. Mr. Enright, better clothes would do you good. Aren’t there some old clothes of your father’s in the attic, Miss Davidson? Richard tells me he once had more heft to him than he does now—”

  “Mr. Enright is not staying here,” Sabrina reiterated, following the widow to the back door. “It would not be seemly. And my father would not approve if he knew you told him to stay here.” She threw that last out as a particularly potent threat.

  That suggestion did cause Mrs. Bossley to pause, but only momentarily. “Your father will be happy when we manage to free him from wherever he is, missy,” she returned. She lowered her voice to add, “And if it is your virtue you are worried about, you might rethink that. You may not have a good eye, but I do. That is a fine-looking man in any woman’s book. He can do far better than you, so I’d make the most of it.”

  “He is accused of murder,” Sabrina felt she must remind her.

  “The things you worry over,” the widow murmured and, on that pronouncement, she was out the door, Rolf trotting behind her as if serving as her escort. “I’ll see you on the morrow,” she threw over her shoulder cheerily. “Richard will be proud of us.” She walked across the moonlit yard to where she’d tied up her horse and gig.

  The woman was incorrigible. Sabrina was so angry at being dismissed in such a rude, cheeky manner, she swung her fists in the air in frustration.

  She did not want Mr. Enright under her roof.

  She did not want to see Mr. Enright or talk to Mr. Enright or breathe the same air as Mr. Enright.

  It was fine to be around him with another person, but not alone. Suddenly, the house was small, too small if she wished to avoid him.

  And she could feel his presence behind her.

  Pivoting, she found him standing in the hall outs
ide the kitchen. The light from the kitchen had turned his foreboding presence into a silhouette.

  Well, there was no time like the moment to let one’s expectations be known.

  Sabrina squared her shoulders. “I don’t trust you.”

  “You would be foolish if you did,” he answered, sounding all too reasonable.

  “What happened between us will not happen again.”

  He crossed his arms. “That sounds like a challenge, Miss Davidson.”

  “It isn’t. It is a fact.” She sounded crisp and in control of her emotions. She began walking, with the intention of moving right past him and fetching a light from the kitchen before escaping upstairs to her room. Her bedroom door did not have a lock, but she would push a dresser in front of it. If she kept her step quick, she’d be done with him.

  But just as she pulled up abreast of him, he put out his arm to block her way into the kitchen. “What did happen between us earlier today?” he asked.

  Sabrina’s heart gave a leap. Could he not know?

  “Nothing,” she said, the word surprisingly easy to say. In fact, she sounded almost too happy to say it.

  Brown eyes studied her, then he murmured, “Your father isn’t the only liar.”

  Indignation bristled through her. He was right. However, no one would fault her for trying to put the disagreeable incident from her mind—except, it hadn’t been disagreeable. Not completely.

  Not at all, if she was honest.

  Of course, parts of what had happened between them had been odd and a little unexpected. So different from animals mating. Better, and more involving.

  And standing beside him right now, even with him wearing the scent of her perfumed soap, she knew why.

  He was masculine in a way that made her feel feminine. She’d never been so aware of a man before. Why, she’d even noticed the laugh lines around his eyes, and she found the way his mouth moved fascinating. He was not good for her peace of mind.

  “I don’t answer to you, sir,” she managed to say. “And if you wish to keep from having a noose around your neck, you’d best be respectful.” She almost cringed when she heard those words come from her mouth. Instead of sounding firm, she sounded self-righteous.

  He hadn’t liked them either. His jaw tightened, and a golden glint in his eye warned her she’d best consider her tongue. He might be a convicted murderer, but he had a lord’s own pride.

  Then again, anger would keep a wall between them.

  She decided to beat a hasty retreat. She ducked into the kitchen and picked up a candle and holder. He still stood in the hallway; however, this time, he didn’t block her path when she moved past him.

  Yes, anger was a good barrier between them. She said, “You will sleep down here. I’ll fetch a blanket.”

  She charged up the stairs, holding a hand around the flame of her candle to protect it. She didn’t breathe until she reached the safety of the hall. And then she released a sigh of relief. She was safe.

  Mr. Enright had a strange effect on her. She didn’t think clearly around him, possibly because she was so disappointed in herself. Yes, that was it. Her jangly nerves were about her doubts, her fears. But she would prefer to suffer in silence than discuss anything with him.

  If he stayed downstairs, and she shut the door to her room, and maybe pushed her dresser in front of it, she could sleep peacefully—and she was tired. Sabrina felt drained of all energy. She needed a moment to regroup and reevaluate.

  Of course, the mussed bedsheets were a graphic reminder of what she’d done.

  Her eye fell on the razor and soap that she’d used earlier on Mr. Enright. They were an eyesore in her feminine retreat. She picked them up and marched to her father’s room to return them to their rightful places on his washstand.

  She turned and almost dropped the candle she held when she realized that Mr. Enright stood in the doorway.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded.

  “I followed,” he said.

  “I gave you instructions to stay downstairs.”

  “I didn’t want to wait,” he answered.

  Sabrina thought her nerve endings would sizzle from the heat of her temper. “And so you thought to creep up behind me?”

  “I didn’t creep. I walked.”

  “I didn’t hear a footstep.”

  “Well, maybe I’m lighter on my feet than you are.”

  “Especially if you don’t want me to know you are there?”

  He made a sound as if she spouted silliness, then he horrified her by saying, “Instead of barking at me, perhaps it might be more productive if we spoke about what happened this afternoon.”

  Her throat went dry, making it hard for her to whisper, “That is not necessary.”

  “It is. I don’t want you running from me. That won’t help us find your father.”

  “There is nothing to discuss.” She couldn’t imagine talking about what had happened.

  “Obviously there is, or you would be more relaxed.”

  “You are a stranger—”

  “One deeply indebted for what you did for me.” He took a step forward. “Miss Davidson, I am a physician. I understand the dangers of influenza, especially since I was not of good health when I fell ill. Without you, I would have died.”

  “Or you might have survived,” her practical nature pointed out, but heat rose to her cheeks.

  “Possibly.” There was a beat of silence. “We made love.”

  Sabrina wished the floor would open up and swallow her whole.

  “There are responsibilities to it, you know,” he said.

  She found breathing difficult. She pretended he had vanished. Poof. Gone.

  But when she glanced up, he still stood right in front of her.

  “Do you understand what I’m talking about?” he pressed as if he wasn’t certain she’d grasped his meaning.

  “I understand,” Sabrina said. She could not meet his eye. She tried, but the whole conversation was awkward to her. “I realize the possible outcomes.” She was trying not to think about them. She’d panic if she found herself with child.

  “I take my responsibilities seriously. Even though my circumstances are not what I’d wish them to be, there is more to me than meets the eye. I will claim any child of mine.”

  Sabrina nodded, her throat tight.

  “I also want you to know,” he continued, his voice growing deeper as he lowered it, “that I am aware of the gift you gave me. And I value it—”

  He was referring to her virginity.

  She was mortified. Who could have realized that an experimental kiss could lead to such total humiliation? In fact, once she found her father, she might leave for a nunnery if such places still existed.

  And she fervently prayed she wasn’t with child. Because right now, this moment, she vowed she must never kiss another man the rest of her life. Never. Ever. It wasn’t safe, apparently, especially for her because while she was feeling complete shame for what had happened between them, a part of her wouldn’t mind another kiss.

  Yes, that was right.

  In a way she’d never imagined she could ever feel before, she had an irrational desire to kiss Mr. Enright again.

  “—I am a gentleman,” he was saying to her. “I understand the danger of a woman in your position being compromised. You don’t need to fear that I will say something to anyone beyond this room. It will be as if it never happened.”

  “Never happened?” Those words caught her attention.

  “I understand country society,” he explained. “The gossips can be cruel.”

  That was true. However . . .

  “But you wish to act as if it never happened?” she argued.

  His head tilted as if he sensed an undercurrent between them that he didn’t quite trust.

  There was an undercurrent—one she was creating and didn’t quite understand.

  Only seconds before, Sabrina had been embarrassed to hear him speak about their coupling, bu
t she hadn’t expected him to wish to pretend as if it had never happened.

  “How offensive.” The words just flowed from her lips out into the space between them.

  Mr. Enright held up his hand as if an entreaty to peace. “I only thought to reassure you.”

  “By letting me know I’m unimportant?” Did no one see her as a woman? Even the man who had taken her purity?

  Those expressive brows of his rose, saying louder than words that he knew he was in trouble. “You are tired,” he said, backing away. “It has been a trying day.”

  Now he was running?

  “Mr. Enright, stop telling me how I feel.”

  “I didn’t mean to do so,” he quickly said.

  “And understand, there will be nothing of a carnal nature between us.”

  “Carnal?” He said the word as if it were quaint. “Absolutely not.”

  “Because you don’t wish it?” she asked, testing him . . . and testing herself. Her anger made her feel powerful.

  He stopped his retreat, a militant gleam coming to his own eye. “Oh, I wish it. In fact, I would not mind another—” He broke off as if suddenly questioning the wisdom of what he was about to say, then tried again. “Miss Davidson, you don’t have experience at these matters. I do and—”

  Was it her imagination, or did he blush as he spoke? As if he was a bit embarrassed at the admission?

  “—What happened between us in your bed was the natural course of things, but our reaction to each other was far from common. It was not common at all. And what I wanted you to understand is that I don’t treat anything you did for me lightly.”

  Sabrina didn’t know what to say.

  His directness flustered her. It was one thing to be attracted to him. He was masculine and handsome, a deadly combination for any woman.

  But she didn’t want to like him. Liking was a more potent a force than desire.

  She needed to keep the space between them. Oh, yes, she did, especially when he smiled.

  He held out his hand. “I want you to trust me. I know I don’t have a right to ask. My situation is difficult; however, I am not the villain they paint me.”

  She glanced down at the hand he offered and found she wished he had offered a kiss instead.