Chapter 12
Deciding to get married was easy. Deciding where to get married posed considerably more trouble, for England's laws decreed that three weeks must pass while the banns were posted — and with Lucien no doubt in hot pursuit behind them, time was not a luxury. Scotland was exempt from the law, but as they stood debating it outside the inn, Gareth vehemently declared he wasn't dragging his betrothed and a baby all the way up to Gretna Green. Everyone argued. Everyone offered suggestions. Finally, Cokeham piped up. He had a cousin in Spitalfields, in London, who would probably marry them, provided he could get approval from his archbishop.
"Right, let's go then," Gareth declared, striding toward Crusader and glad to settle the matter at last. His bride-to-be was standing a short distance away, quiet — too quiet. It wasn't hard to see that she was having second thoughts about the idea, and the longer they delayed, the more uncertain she would get.
He had not misread her. Indeed, the more they had argued, the more Juliet's apprehensions grew. Gareth wanted to get her to the altar, but he had not stopped to think how he would get her to the altar. Such lack of preparation worried her. Would he be any better prepared to take on a wife and child?
What are you getting yourself into?
The Den members were mounting their horses, Chilcot passing her trunk to Tom Audlett who balanced it on his pommel, Perry buttoning up his coat, Lord Gareth leading his horse forward. As he approached he gave her his slow, heart-melting de Montforte smile, but this time it only left her cold and wanting and all the more nervous than she already was.
He touched her cheek. "What is wrong, Miss Paige?"
"Nothing," she lied, unwilling to hurt him. "It's been a long day, that's all."
"And I have only myself to blame for that. I was out rather late last night, and I'm afraid I slept in this morning — otherwise I would have caught up to you much sooner."
"A bit cup-shot, were you, Gareth?"
"Go hang yourself, Chilcot."
"Cup-shot?" Juliet asked, raising a brow.
"The after-effects of Irish whiskey on the morning after," Perry supplied, acidly. "I daresay I felt them myself."
"We all did," Audlett muttered, steadying Juliet's trunk.
"In any case," Gareth continued, "I could have murdered Lucien when I found out what happened. You know that my brother and I do not get on, Miss Paige. Never have, never will. I am only sorry that our differences have now affected you as well."
"Oh — I didn't realize that they had," Juliet said, puzzled. What on earth was he talking about?
"Well, he sent you away, didn't he?"
"Actually, no — I left of my own free will."
"What?"
"Yes — he told me he wouldn't make Charlotte his ward but that I was welcome to stay at Blackheath Castle for as long as I liked. He didn't send me away at all; I left."
Gareth swore beneath his breath. "He let me think he'd sent you away!"
"Why would he do that?"
"Yes, why would he, Gareth?" chorused the others, equally confused.
But Gareth's face was growing dark with fury and embarrassment.
Perry gave a little cough, amused. "I suspect it is because His Grace has something up his sleeve," he mused, "though the devil only knows what it might be this time."
"The devil, indeed," Gareth snapped, kicking viciously at a loose stone. "I'll kill that manipulative bas—" he caught himself, slammed a fist against a nearby tree, and walked a short distance away, cursing under his breath and trying to get his temper under control.
Juliet came up behind him and touched his arm. "I'm sorry, Lord Gareth. I know you blame your brother, but if it hadn't been for me, you and your friends wouldn't be standing out here in the middle of the night, far away from your homes and your beds."
"Beds?" Chilcot snickered, exchanging glances with Sir Hugh. "I can assure you, madam, that if any of us were in bed at this hour, it certainly wouldn't be our own —"
"Be quiet, Chilcot," Gareth said sharply. He stalked back to his horse, yanking the stirrup irons down with loud cracks that showed his increasing annoyance. "This is my future wife you're talking to, not some harlot. Show her some respect."
Chilcot lowered his gaze, but not before Juliet saw the sidelong glance he threw Audlett, the sly look Audlett gave Cokeham, the quick visual exchange between Perry and Sir Hugh. She knew Gareth's friends were discreetly studying her, measuring her worth against that of their leader. And why shouldn't they? She was just a colonial bumpkin who spoke differently, dressed differently, and thought differently than they did. No doubt they found her lacking.
"Forgive me, Miss Paige," Chilcot said, with exaggerated remorse. "I am indeed a bacon-brained idiot sometimes."
"You're a bacon-brained idiot all the time," Gareth muttered. He wiped the saddle dry with his coat sleeve, gave the big horse a pat on the shoulder, and then, before Juliet knew what he was about, he spanned her waist with his hands and lifted both her and Charlotte up onto the horse in one easy motion.
A moment later he'd swung up behind her, his chest against her back, his arms framing her body as he gathered up the reins.
"You still going to go through with it, then?" Perry asked, nonchalantly.
Gareth shot his friend a hard look. "Of course I am. If that cunning rascal thinks to play his little games with me, he's got another thing coming. It's time the mighty Duke of Blackheath got his comeuppance." He gave a smile of pure malice. "Lucien forbade me to have anything to do with Miss Paige. Therefore, I can think of nothing that will infuriate him more than if I marry her. Now, come on, let's go. Time's wasting."
The Wild One Page 31
