“Sorry to be so late,” Seaton said as he shook Blackthorne’s hand. He grinned at Josie and said, “Nice to see you again, Duchess.”
Josie found herself grinning back. “I’m so glad to see a familiar face.”
“I think you’re nearly the last to arrive,” Blackthorne said. He turned to Josie and added, “The rest can greet us inside. Shall we join the festivities?”
Josie heard annoyance in his voice, but decided it was due to the amount of time they’d been forced to stand without moving, rather than anything she’d done. She lifted her chin, ready to face the throng, and headed into the ballroom, which was redolent with fresh-cut flowers. Everyone was clustered around a table holding a towering wedding cake and plates stacked high with finger sandwiches and other delicacies.
“Is there some reason why no one is eating?” she asked.
“They’re waiting for us to cut the cake.” Blackthorne led her to the table past guests who curtsied to the duke and his new duchess.
Josie felt her face heating with embarrassment at obeisance she didn’t believe she deserved. She managed to smile and nod her head, while she hung on tight to Blackthorne’s arm.
When they reached the table, he picked up the knife beside the cake and turned to meet her gaze. “I believe we should do this together.”
Josie put her hand over his as he slid the knife into the lowest level of the three-tiered, intricately decorated cake. A smattering of applause greeted this accomplishment. Josie let go of the knife and began pulling off her right glove.
She saw Blackthorne watching her, confusion written large on his features.
She grinned, then reached out with her bared hand and broke off a hefty piece of the slice they’d just cut. She held it up in front of his mouth. “Open.”
To her surprise, he did. She shoved the piece of cake into his mouth, laughing merrily at the sight of the Duke of Blackthorne with a ring of frosting surrounding his lips.
The assembled group gasped and then tittered.
“I presume this is one of those peculiar American customs,” he said as he picked up a cloth napkin to repair the damage.
“Yes, it is,” she said, still laughing.
“And is turnabout fair play?”
“What?”
Before Josie realized what the duke had in mind, he slid a confining arm around her waist, then grabbed a chunk of cake with his opposite hand and brought it up to her mouth. “Open.”
Josie saw the mischievous twinkle in his eyes and opened wide. Laughing and choking, she swallowed as much of the cake as she could. She used her ungloved hand to collect the frosting from around her mouth, then held up the forefinger on which most of it resided, offering it to the duke.
Josie heard a humming sound, like a hive of bees, in the distance, but everything had ceased to exist except the two of them. The duke’s eyes crinkled at the corners, and she thought she might easily lose herself in those two enticing blue orbs.
He took her hand and brought it to his mouth, his eyes locked on hers, then opened his mouth and sucked the icing from her finger. Josie felt the wetness of his tongue all the way to her belly…and beyond.
A moment later, the dowager appeared in Josie’s peripheral vision.
“Marcus.” With that single utterance of his name, she made it clear that the duke’s behavior was not up to her standards.
Josie was the recipient of a veiled look of contempt. She knew she shouldn’t care what the dowager thought, but her throat was suddenly tight, and her stomach churned. She became aware again of the guests in the ballroom, who were talking low to each other and shooting sideways looks in her direction.
Josie eyed her husband. A duke’s behavior was above reproach, no matter what he chose to do, but apparently hers was not. Josie glanced at the dowager long enough to see the pinched look on her face and decided she wasn’t in the mood for whatever criticism the duke’s grandmother might make of her antecedents, her looks, or her behavior.
“Come now, Grandmama,” the duke began. “You must admit a bridegroom is entitled to some leniency on his wedding day.”
Josie took advantage of Blackthorne’s distraction to murmur, “Excuse me, please,” then turned and walked away.
She had no idea where she was going. She knew very few people in the room, and although she searched for the Earl of Seaton, she didn’t see him. She discovered the doors to the balcony were open to let in fresh air, now that the storm had passed and the sun was out again, and she quickly slipped outside. The balcony was empty, and she crossed all the way to the rail and stood there looking down at the fallow garden, wondering how long it would take flowers to grow once she planted them.
Which was when she spied a figure dressed all in black, standing behind an evergreen bush looking up at her. She gasped and would have backed away, except the figure took off what she realized was a bowler hat and waved it at her. The Pinkerton! Josie realized Mr. Thompson was gesturing for her to come down. Of course he couldn’t show up at the door and announce himself.
The boys! Something had happened to Spencer or Clay. Or both. Josie left the balcony in a headlong rush, then realized how strange it would look if she were seen running through the crowd at her own wedding breakfast. She glanced toward where she’d left Blackthorne, but he wasn’t there. The dowager was engaged in conversation with a woman her age, and the twins had joined a group of young girls.
Josie glided along the wall, hoping to avoid speaking to anyone. Nevertheless, one or two ladies stopped her along the way. She did her best to respond intelligently before moving on, aware every second that disaster might be looming and wondering how she was going to be able to help the duke’s nephews, if they were in trouble.
She discovered a side door to the ballroom and slipped out and down the stairs, hoping she could speak to the Pinkerton and be back before anyone—especially Blackthorne—noticed that she was gone.
She never saw the stealthy figure watching her as she left the room.
FLINT CREED SAT at the kitchen table of their ranch house with his wife, Hannah, each of them holding one of their children in their lap, watching her read a telegram that had just been delivered. He hadn’t planted the seed for their two-year-old daughter, Lauren. She’d been sired by Hannah’s first husband, Mr. McMurtry. But Flint didn’t love his daughter one bit less than their son, Billy, who’d been born a few months ago.
Flint blessed the day he’d come across Hannah Wentworth McMurtry, whose yellow dress had caught his eye as he’d ridden hell-for-leather across the prairie. At the time, he’d been desperate to find a woman in the Wyoming Territory—any woman—he could marry, to take his mind off the fact that he was in love with the exquisitely beautiful lady who was engaged to marry his brother.
Neither he nor Hannah had married the other with quite honorable intentions. Hannah had needed a father for her unborn baby. He’d needed a wife to distract him from the woman he loved. Flint had never imagined he would come to care for both his wife and the child of another man so much that he would gladly give his life for them. Having a son with Hannah had merely been honey on the cornbread.
The beatific smile on Hannah’s face—which created dimples in both her cheeks—made his heart beat faster. He suspected the telegram contained news that she’d been waiting to hear for a very long time, but he asked, “What does it say?”
Billy had pulled the paper out of her hand and was chewing on the edge of it, when she replied in a breathless voice, “One of the Pinkertons has found Josie.”
Then she laughed, a sound that reminded him of the robins in spring. He felt his heart swell with hope that, at long last, the shadow that had clouded her blue eyes for the past two years would finally disappear.
His wife had never forgiven herself for not being able to rescue her two sisters, after their Conestoga wagon had been attacked by renegade Sioux. Hannah had watched her youngest sister being carted away over the back of an Indian pony without any way to save
her. She’d left her wounded sister, Hetty, behind in the wagon to go for help and had wandered for days without water or food or enough clothes to protect her from the cold.
When Flint discovered her, she’d been on death’s doorstep and had no memory of exactly who she was or where she’d come from. By the time her memory returned, and they made it back to the wagon, her wounded sister had disappeared, and Josie’s trail was too cold to follow.
Fortunately, Hetty had been located by the Pinkertons in the Montana Territory nearly two years ago. But the guilt Hannah felt over Josie’s disappearance had kept her from ever being completely happy.
“It seems my little sister was in England all this time,” Hannah said with a rueful smile. “She’s on a ship bound for Charleston. Miranda wants us to come to Texas, so the whole family can be there when Josie arrives at Three Oaks. Can we go, Flint?”
“Texas is a long way off,” he replied. “You know I need to get some hayseed in the ground before it’s too late.” He was among the few cattle ranchers who planted hay to feed his cattle through the bitter Wyoming winter. It had proved to be a sound economic decision after a series of blizzards piled up ten-foot drifts and left other cattlemen with decimated herds that had starved in the snow.
“It isn’t just about seeing Josie,” Hannah cajoled. “I miss Miranda and Nick and Harry. My sister invited Hetty, too. If my twin comes, all the Wentworths will be reunited at last. I won’t be able to bear it if they all show up at Miranda and Jake’s home, and I’m not there.”
Flint wore a severe expression, even though he had no intention of denying his wife the chance to see her family all in one place again. It was sweet to know that whatever he decided, Hannah loved him enough to consider his wishes first and foremost. And because she always wanted what was best for him, he made it a point to do everything he could to ensure her happiness.
“Are we going on a trip?” Lauren asked.
Flint ruffled the nearly two-year-old’s auburn curls, a final gift from Mr. McMurtry, and said, “We’re going to Texas, sweetheart.”
The smile on his wife’s face was so dazzling, it made his heart leap. “Thank you, Flint. Oh, thank you!”
He leaned over to kiss her lips and saw Billy’s hand reach out to pat his mother’s cheek.
“Where’s Texas?” Lauren asked.
“It’s where your uncle Ransom and I came from.”
“Oh, my goodness, Flint!”
“What’s wrong?”
“I just realized you’ll have a chance to see your brother Jake and your mother—”
“And my stepfather,” Flint said, his lips flattening.
“Is he really so bad?”
At that moment, the kitchen door burst open, letting in a swirl of icy wind, along with Flint’s younger brother, Ransom.
“Are you going?” Ransom demanded, clutching what was clearly a crumpled telegram in his hand.
Flint raised a surprised brow. “You don’t want to go?”
“Jake never said a word about us coming back to Texas before now,” Ransom said. “It’s got to be that wife of his who put this wild hair up his ass.”
“Watch your language,” Flint said.
Ransom grimaced, glanced from Flint’s scowl to Flint’s kids and wife and said, “Sorry, Hannah.”
“You should be sorry for maligning my sister,” Hannah retorted. “She only has your best interests at heart. Don’t you want to see your eldest brother again? Or your mother?”
Ransom’s face looked tortured. “Yes, but—”
“But you can’t stand to be anywhere near your stepfather.” Hannah looked from one brother to the other and said, “Are you two grown men going to let your hate for that sorry son of a bitch keep you from seeing your family again? That seems a bit shortsighted to me.”
Flint’s dark eyebrows rose nearly to his hairline at Hannah’s irreverent description of Alexander Blackthorne. He met his brother’s gaze and grinned. “She’s right, you know. We’ve let that sorry son of a bitch dictate to us for far too long. Hannah and I are going. Why don’t you and Emma come along?”
Flint knew the source of the indecision in Ransom’s eyes. Emma hadn’t been well since she’d miscarried their second child, another little girl.
“Emma could use a change of scenery, don’t you think?” Flint said.
“And Jesse would love having other children to play with,” Hannah added.
“I’m not sure Emma’s strong enough to make the trip,” Ransom hedged. His wife, who’d grown up pampered in the home of her military father, had never been as healthy, or as capable of managing the sorts of surprises the wilderness threw at a woman, as Hannah.
“Emma’s stronger than you think—or than she thinks, for that matter,” Hannah said. “She’ll go if you let her know it’s something you want to do. And you do want to see your family again, don’t you?”
Ransom heaved a huge sigh. “All right. Yes. I would like to see Mom again. And catch up with Jake. Just keep that sorry son of a bitch out of my sight.”
“It’s settled, then,” Jake said. “We’ll all pack up today and head for Cheyenne tomorrow to catch the train.”
“We’re going on a train?” Lauren said, eyes wide with wonder.
Flint met his wife’s eyes and said, “All the way to Texas.”
LADY LARK WHARTON hoped no one had noticed the flush that rose on her cheeks as the Earl of Seaton shot a cheerful—but dismissive—smile in her direction, after making his manners to her grandmother. It didn’t seem to matter that she was seventeen and considered a catch on the Marriage Mart. As far as David Madison was concerned, she was merely his best friend’s little sister. Even worse, he never greeted her as though she were an individual, but only as one of a matching pair. It was always, “How are you two doing today?” Or, “How are you young ladies?” He lumped her together with Lindsey as though they were indistinguishable.
But Lindsey wasn’t in love with him. Lark was.
The earl was the same age as her brother, and Lark was certain, now that Marcus had married again, that Seaton would begin looking for a bride of his own. She intended to be that woman.
Her task would have been a lot easier if Fanny were still alive. In the year Fanny had been her sister-in-law, Lark had spoken to her often about how attractive she found the earl. Fanny had been amused by what she called “your youthful infatuation with my brother.” She’d been certain that fifteen-year-old Lark would forget all about Seaton when she saw how many beaus presented themselves to meet a duke’s sister, once she was finally “out.” Nevertheless, Fanny had promised that, if Lark was still interested in the earl once she turned seventeen, she would help her young sister-in-law gain her brother’s attention.
Fanny had been buried nearly a year before Lark’s seventeenth birthday arrived. Now, if she wanted Seaton to notice her, she was going to have to manage it on her own.
It was far easier to make the decision to try and engage the Earl of Seaton’s feelings than to actually do something about it. First of all, it wasn’t easy to get the distance from her twin to act independently. Grandmama had insisted that they spend several weeks apart each year, but otherwise, she and Lindsey did everything together. Lark loved her sister and hated the thought of any sort of separation. At least, she had before she’d fallen in love with Seaton.
Second, her grandmother kept a close eye on both girls and seemed to be aware every second of every day exactly where they were, what they were doing, and with whom.
Third, Seaton spent a great deal of his spare time with her brother. Arranging to be alone in the same room as her prospective groom when he came to call wasn’t easy. Although, during Marcus’s honeymoon period, surely he would be spending more time with his wife, leaving Seaton at loose ends.
Finally, and most importantly, Lark had no idea how to flirt with someone who still saw her as the child he’d watched grow up under his nose. How did a woman get a man to fall in love with her? How did s
he let him know she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him?
If Fanny were alive, she would have posed those questions to her. But Fanny wasn’t around, and although Lark had once or twice opened her mouth to ask Josie what she should do, she didn’t know Marcus’s fiancée well enough to confide in her. What if Josie told Marcus that Lark loved his friend? There was no telling what her brother would do. And Lark would be appalled if Seaton learned of her interest in him through her brother.
Worst of all, she found it impossible to discuss the subject with her twin. She could tell that Lindsey suspected she was hiding something, but Lark refused to divulge what was bothering her. The look on Lindsey’s face when she’d refused to reveal her secret had been hard to bear. Lark had almost crumbled and confessed the truth. But the sudden lump in her throat had kept her from speaking at once, and by the time she’d swallowed past the painful thing, Lindsey had already reeled and left the room.
There was no help for it. Lark was simply going to have to manage this quest on her own. And there was no time like the present to begin.
She edged closer to Seaton and overheard him say to his friend Viscount Burton, “Now that Blackthorne is married, I have some business to attend to in Northumberland. I’ll be leaving at the end of the week, taking the early train on Friday. I should be able to make the trip to Berwick-upon-Tweed by rail in a day each way, assuming the train is on schedule. Even presuming another day away for business, I could easily be back in time to join your hunting party next week.”
At the mention of Berwick-upon-Tweed, Lark’s gaze searched the ballroom to locate her friend from school, Stephanie Court, whose family had an estate near that city on the northernmost tip of England. If she needed an excuse to be on that train with Seaton at the end of the week, Stephanie could provide it. Her friend had already told her that her family planned to leave London on Friday as well.
All Lark had to do was tell her grandmother that Stephanie had invited her to travel home with her family, and that she wanted to make this one of her yearly excursions without Lindsey.
Blackthorne's Bride Page 11
