by Gina Lamm
She lost her nerve and closed her eyes tight. His nonseductive striptease was already making her warm. The last thing she needed was to glimpse his naked, tight ass. Her palms already itched to rub their way along his body without the visual there to push her over the edge.
The floor creaked softly as he walked through the room, presumably putting his clothing away. Ella didn’t know; she couldn’t risk opening her eyes again. Her anger and disappointment hadn’t gone anywhere. He still had to stay here, and she couldn’t give up her career. No matter how much she wanted him now, it wouldn’t do either of them any good. It would only confuse her heart more.
A puff of air hissed, as if he’d blown out his candle, before the bed dipped again under his weight. The covers shifted as he lifted them over his body. God, was he naked? There was no denying the deliciousness of his heat as the blanket settled down over them both, and she had to fight to keep from scooting backward and enjoying his warmth.
Chancing a movement, Ella rolled to her side, keeping her back to Patrick. Hopefully he’d believe she was just stirring in her sleep, not actually waking up.
“Ella?” His whisper was quiet in the dark. “Please, are you awake?”
She bit her lip to keep from answering him.
His hand settled gently on her shoulder. “I am sorry for what I said earlier. I know that it must have sounded awful, and you have my sincerest apologies.”
He’d begun drawing lazy circles over her upper arm, drawing the covers down slightly. Ella’s legs shifted together involuntarily, Patrick’s nearness stirring the longing deep in her belly. He scooted closer, and she bit her tongue to prevent a moan from escaping.
“I hope that you are awake enough to hear me, dearest,” he whispered. “I never meant to hurt you. I’ve never wanted anyone like… But that does not matter. For the remainder of your time here, please know that I will do my best to make you happy.”
And then he pulled away, his absence leaving a cold sensation along her back.
Her hurt flared straight into anger, and she shoved her elbow backward right into his solar plexus. He grunted in pain as she sat bolt upright and glared down at him.
“Are you kidding me?” She wanted to kick his shin, but she refrained, because he was still coughing and struggling to regain his breath. “You want to make me happy? And how do you plan to do that, knowing in just a few days you’re never going to see me again? You’re choosing to have me declared dead, Patrick. Dead. I can’t… No. Sleep somewhere else tonight, please. I can’t look at you right now.”
She shoved him, hard, but unfortunately he grabbed the headboard before she could dump him on the floor.
“Ella, please, listen to me. I did not mean—”
“You’re doing an awful job of saying what you actually mean, Patrick. So listen to this, because this is what I mean right now.” She grabbed his shoulder, forcing him to look into her eyes. “Stop playing games with me. I can’t give you any more of me. Don’t you see that?” She hated how her voice got all choked, but she had to finish. “I’m leaving here alone, and I’d rather do it with at least a tiny piece of my heart left intact. So back off. We may be married for the moment, but we’re nothing else. We can’t be anything else to each other.”
His brows lowered, as if he didn’t like her words, but he couldn’t deny them, so he nodded.
“I will leave you to your rest, Miss Briley.”
He left the bed, and Ella buried her face in her pillow so he couldn’t hear her sobs. That wasn’t even her name anymore. He’d taken that too.
Taken it and left her with nothing but ashes.
* * *
The early dawn light glinted off the golden lid of Patrick’s pocket watch. He flicked it closed, then open, closed, then open, the rhythmic motions mere habit with no purpose behind them.
He was slumped on a bench outside the inn’s painted front door, where he’d spent most of the night. Now, with the sun peeking above the horizon, he realized that the baron would be rising and they’d be on their way to find Amelia once more.
Patrick smirked as he let his head fall back against the inn’s weathered wooden wall. What would his father say if he could see him now? It wasn’t all that difficult to guess.
You are a fool, my boy, a cotton-headed lout. Your bride lies in your bed, and you intend to cast her aside? Society will laugh at you, as well they should. She’s as unsuitable a woman as ever walked this earth, but she is yours now and you should claim her. You are a man and an earl, and you must act as a credit to the Meadowfair name.
Snapping the watch shut one last time, Patrick shoved the timepiece into his waistcoat pocket. His father might have been a heartless old bastard, but he knew his duty and he did it. Patrick’s only goal had been to make the man proud.
But what if he’d held the wrong goals? What if, for all this time, he’d been living his life for the wrong reasons?
“Begging your pardon, my lord,” a maid said as she approached him. “His lordship the baron wished to know if you could be ready to leave in an hour.”
“Of course,” Patrick said, standing. Gads, he hadn’t realized how long he’d been sitting atop that bench. His legs were as stable as water. “Please tell his lordship we will be ready and waiting.”
“Shall I tell her ladyship?”
Patrick shook his head. “No, I shall undertake that mission myself. Please have a tray brought up to our room, and also prepare a basket of luncheon for us to take.”
“Of course, my lord.” The little maid gave a curtsy and bustled away.
His legs regaining feeling with every step, Patrick made his way through the taproom and up the stairs to the room he’d been unceremoniously kicked out of the night before. Sadly, he was no wiser for his night of sleepless contemplation. He knew he could not leave his responsibilities.
“Ella?” he said as he knocked. He waited in the hallway like a common servant would. “Are you awake?”
“Yes,” she said, her voice muffled as it came through the door. “You can come in.”
The hinges squeaked as he pushed the door open and poked his head inside. “Sorry to trouble you, but the baron wishes to leave within the hour. Can you be ready?”
Ella poked her head out from behind the changing screen, and Patrick’s mouth went suddenly bone-dry. Her shoulder was bare, and he thought he could see the faintest hint of her breast by the carved edge of the screen.
“That sounds fine to me. I’ll be dressed in about ten minutes. Do you mind waiting outside? Then I’ll switch places with you so you can get changed.”
Voices came from the end of the hall, and Patrick slipped inside and shut the door behind him. “I would prefer to wait in here, since there are other occupants of the inn. It might look odd if I am lurking in the corridor outside my own room.”
A beleaguered sigh came from the other side of the screen. “Okay, you can wait in here if you have to. But you’re going to have to close your eyes until I’m dressed.”
“I swear that my eyelids will remain closed as long as you wish.”
He thought he might have heard a muffled curse, but he didn’t remark upon it.
He closed his eyes and faced the wall as she finished her dressing. Then, at his insistence, she remained in the room while he washed himself quickly with the cool water in the basin and dressed himself in clean clothes.
“I don’t mind waiting in the hall,” Ella said, both hands plastered over her eyes. “Really.”
“People would talk,” Patrick said mildly. “And for the moment, it behooves us to keep a low profile. The fewer people to hear of our marriage, the less talk once it’s done.”
“Right. My falsified death certificate.” She bit the words out and dropped her hands. “No worries here. I’m definitely ready to be deceased.”
“You do not have to make it sound
like I intend a violent act.”
“And you don’t have to act like this marriage is the biggest inconvenience you’ve ever had to face. We both agreed to this, so get over it.”
She glared at him then. Patrick said nothing, just glanced downward. He only had one leg of his trousers on, so he was almost naked, standing there in front of her.
“Oh good Lord,” she said with a blush as she realized. Clapping her hands over her eyes again, she said, “Would you mind hurrying up?”
“My apologies,” Patrick said, grinning to himself. He’d not intended on showing his bride his naked self again without her express permission, but he could not be disappointed by her obvious interest.
He finished dressing quickly, with a smile on his face. But as he escorted a still-blushing Ella down to meet the baron, his smile quickly disappeared.
“My lord, a messenger has come for you,” the maid said, her mobcap sliding to one side as she hurried through the crowded taproom. “He says he’s from Sir Iain Cameron, and the message is quite urgent.”
“Please escort Miss, er, Lady Fairhaven to Lord Brownstone, and tell him I shall attend them both directly. Where is the messenger?”
After getting the information from the maid and sending a disgruntled Ella with her, Patrick went into the small office off the taproom where a leathery-skinned old Scotsman was twisting his cap in his hands.
“Dougie,” Patrick greeted the man, smiling. Dougie had been in Iain’s employ for as many years as Patrick could remember. “What brings you to see me?”
“Sir Iain bade me find ye, and waste no time doin’ so, milord. He’s managed to find that Miss Brownstone ye’ve been scouring the country for.”
Relief surged through Patrick’s veins, and he sagged against the wall. “Thank the good Lord for that, Dougie.”
But the man’s countenance didn’t lighten. “There is more, milord, and not all of it good.”
Patrick tamped down all emotion and straightened to his full height to look down at Dougie.
“Tell me the lot of it, and quickly.”
As Dougie ran through his tale, Patrick’s face grew grimmer and grimmer. By the time he was done, Patrick’s hand was wrapped so hard around his pocket watch, he feared the glass face would shatter.
“This is grave news indeed. Tell no one else what you’ve told me, Dougie. The girl’s father is with me and is bound to kill the man who’s responsible for his daughter’s abduction.”
Dougie’s lined face went white. “Oh milord, nay.”
Patrick nodded grimly. “Leave it with me. We’ll leave for London posthaste, and I shall pray that Amelia and George can be married before her tale reaches her father’s ears. He forgave me once, but I bear no hope that he should do the same again.”
Patrick turned on his heel and left the room, hoping he could salvage what was left of his good name. Amelia had been true to her word, and now all of London thought him the most heartless rake.
But if her father got wind of her tale before her reputation was safely recovered, Patrick himself would pay the price.
Ella might be widowed before she could return home.
Twenty-Eight
Ella didn’t know what had been said between that messenger and Patrick, but whatever it was must have been pretty bad.
Before that little private chat, Patrick had seemed pretty upbeat, approaching normal. But when he came back, his handsome face was thundercloud dark, though he did his best to hide it.
“Good news, Lord Brownstone,” Patrick said in a too-bright voice with a fake-looking smile. Ella stared at him critically. “A messenger from my cousin has arrived to say that Amelia has been found, whole and well.”
“Thank heavens!” the baron crowed, his round face breaking out into a wrinkled smile. “Oh, my dear little poppet. Where is she?”
“She is in Town.” Patrick beckoned to the nearest stable lad and tossed him a coin. “Have our cases fetched to the carriage, and inform the driver we leave for London within the next five minutes and not a second longer.”
“Yes, milord.” The boy grinned and darted off.
“What else did the man say? Where has she been these last weeks?” The baron, still ebullient, seemed to be remembering that he was kind of pissed at his dear little poppet. Ella was curious herself.
“He did not have any more details. Sir Iain felt that we should know about her whereabouts as soon as possible, and so dispatched the man posthaste.”
“Well, it’s no matter.” The baron rubbed his hands together. “My little girl is safe, and I myself will deal with whoever put her up to this.” He clapped Patrick on the back. “At least I don’t have to worry that it’s you, my lad!”
The baron’s guffawing laughter didn’t even wrench a smile from Patrick, and Ella’s guts began to knot worriedly. But, sadly for her, she wouldn’t get a chance to ask Patrick what the messenger had really said, because she was bundled into the carriage while he joined the baron on horseback. Again.
The trip to London was long and tedious, probably more so since Ella had so much to worry about on the drive. She tried to distract herself with plotting out issues of Admiral Action, reciting the bad teenage poetry she used to write… Hell, she even played a primitive version of Candy Crush with the jellied fruit slices from the inn, which actually didn’t work very well. That stuff was sticky.
They stopped that night at yet another inn, but at this one, to Patrick’s obvious relief, there were enough rooms to allow them to sleep separately. The baron ate with them, and after three hours of hoping the man had drunk enough to pass out, Ella gave up and went to bed. The man had an incredible tolerance for alcohol, and was completely oblivious to the hints she threw out there about wanting to speak to her husband alone.
Another day alone in the carriage, and Ella was about ready to scream with boredom and frustration. Patrick looked bleaker and bleaker the closer they got to London, and she wanted to know why. That afternoon, the sky had started to look like Patrick’s mood, but not even the threat of rain had encouraged Patrick to ride inside the carriage with his wife.
“He’s avoiding me,” Ella had fumed, her chin in her hand as she glared at the gray-green countryside. “Whatever’s going on, he doesn’t want me to know about it.”
And he was pretty good at avoiding her too, but that night at the inn, she took matters into her own hands.
“We’ll arrive into Town by noon tomorrow,” the baron was saying, slurring a bit as he slumped into his seat by the fire. “And then I shall see m’gel, kiss her cheek, then paddle her silly.”
“I highly doubt that,” Patrick said, taking a sip of his own glass of port.
“She deserves to be beaten. Disappearing like that. Oh no, I know it wasn’t her fault. It was some man, some villain who set his heart on her. Mayhap that vicar.” The baron frowned as he drained his port. “And I shall make the blackguard pay, make no mistake.”
“Well, it’s getting late,” Ella said, standing. Patrick and the baron both stood when she did. It used to freak her out a little, but she was getting used to some of the manners of the time. Of course I get used to everything when I’m about to leave. “Patrick, would you mind accompanying me?”
Patrick blinked in surprise. Ella didn’t say anything else, just raised one eyebrow like she was the queen. She didn’t ask him point-blank for much, and if he said no, it would look really bad in front of the baron.
She was counting on that.
“Of course, my lady. Do excuse me, Lord Brownstone.”
“Go ahead, young lovers,” the baron said, gesturing with his empty glass. “I’m for my bed soon anyway. Can’t keep my little poppet waiting on the morrow!”
Patrick pulled Ella’s hand through the crook of his arm and escorted her upstairs. Once they’d stopped in front of Ella’s door, he started to bow and wish her go
od night, but she shook her head.
“No you don’t. Come in here and let’s have a discussion.”
“Ella, there is nothing to discuss,” Patrick said lamely, but Ella didn’t let him go. When she’d shut the door behind them both, she crossed her arms and glared at him.
“I’ve tried to talk to you about eight times in the last day, and you’ve been completely avoiding me.”
He didn’t say anything, just stood there, a blank look on his face.
“I know that messenger told you more about Amelia than you’re letting on. For the moment, I’m your wife, and I deserve to know what’s going on.” Ella hoped she sounded more confident than she felt, because inside, she was really getting scared for Patrick. This wasn’t good, and she was afraid to know just how not good it was.
“You cannot help me with this,” Patrick said as he turned away, but she wasn’t about to let him get away with that.
Lunging the two steps that separated them, she grabbed his arm and forced him to turn. “Why don’t you let me decide what I can and can’t do? Tell me what’s going on.”
He glanced to the side, his spine straightening, as if he were fighting some sort of inner battle. But before long, he drew a deep breath in through his nose and locked gazes with her.
“Amelia is still unmarried. And she is claiming that I ruined her.”
Ella clapped a hand over her mouth, knowing what that meant. But Patrick continued anyway.
“Apparently her vicar did not wish to have the stigma of an elopement hanging over his marriage, so he insisted that they post banns. They’ve been hiding in London this whole time. She obviously believes that being ruined is the only way her father will allow her to marry George at this state, and she may well be right.”
Patrick barked a bitter laugh. “But as I am now married, I cannot step in to save her virtue the way her father would wish me to. Now, the only way to avenge his daughter’s soiled reputation and his own manly pride is to call me out. We will duel, and the baron will aim for my heart, I’m sure.”
