The Bridemaker

by Rexanne Becnel

  She didn’t want to be, but she was.

  “You have to go.” She rifted her head from his shoulder though it felt so right resting there. She slid one leg down his damp side. He shifted and pulled out from her and she had to stifle a cry of dismay. She stood on her own two feet now, warm and damp, inside and out, all due to his lovemaking. But a chill came over her as he pulled away. He braced his arms against the door on either side of her head, just leaned over her, not touching.

  “You have to leave here,” she repeated, unable to meet his gaze.

  With one finger beneath her chin, he lifted her face up to his. “I don’t want to go, Hester.” His eyes were black sapphires, burning with emotions she was unable to decipher. “I want to stay.”

  She clenched her teeth against a sudden trembling. “Scotland awaits you. And so does Horace.”

  His eyes searched hers; it was all she could do to maintain the excruciating intimacy of it. Then with a muffled curse he released her chin and backed away. “This isn’t what I want.”

  “Nor I,” she whispered to herself as he turned to collect his clothes. She wrapped herself in the bed linens and watched as bit by bit he covered his magnificent body.

  Remember that strong back. Never forget those powerful thighs, that muscle-wrapped chest, those sculpted arms.

  She burned every image into her brain, especially the final one, as he stood tall and handsome and respectably garbed before her. Except for the fire in his eyes and his hair still disarrayed, no one would know he had come straight from his lover’s bedroom.

  His lover.

  She’d thought so much about him being her lover, but she’d never once considered that she was his lover. In the years to come, would he remember her as she would always remember him?

  Leaving Hester’s bedchamber was a torture for Adrian. He was too angry to kiss her and too forlorn to speak a decent farewell. Wild thoughts swamped his head as did murky emotions, sucking him down, spitting him back, and spinning him in a thousand directions. Any decision he made would be a bad one; each choice was filled with pitfalls.

  He stood on her front steps with the door closed behind him and stared out into the equally murky night. He hated London. He could hardly wait to leave, hardly wait to stand on a fully rigged ship heading due west to Boston and the good life he’d created for himself in America.

  But when he left, he would also be leaving the only woman he’d ever had difficulty saying good-bye to. Difficulty? Hah! In the end it had proven impossible. How had this happened to him?

  He glanced up at her bedroom window, gone dark now. Was she peering from between the curtains, watching for him to go? Did she regret his leaving?

  He thought she did. God knew she was enthusiastic enough when he was with her.

  What if he asked her to travel with him to America, not just Scotland? And what if he asked her to be more than a temporary bedmate, but rather his wife?

  It was a stunning idea, one foreign to his nature. His father hadn’t been loyal to anyone. Nor had his mother, not until her only child was nearly grown. He’d never once thought of himself as the marrying kind. But he was thinking about it now.

  Sort of.

  If he made that kind of offer to Hester, would she accept? Would she leave behind the life she’d worked so hard to build for herself here?

  He shook his head, but that did nothing to clarify the miasma of his conflicting thoughts. He needed to think, some time to clear his head. But if he approached her just right, maybe he could convince her.

  Deep in thought, he fetched his animal from the side alley and led it into the street. He looked up at Hester’s darkened window. She was watching; he could feel it. On impulse he swept off his hat and bowed to her. This passion between them was not done with. It was barely begun, he vowed, and he was renewed by his conviction.

  He led his horse to the street corner, all the while lost in contemplation of his next move regarding Hester. But as he fitted one boot into the stirrup and began to mount, a carriage rattled around the corner. In the driver’s box a man hunched over the reins, his worried face caught in the street lamp’s steady glow.

  Horace.

  The man looked straight at Adrian, who swiftly ducked his head. But it was too late. For the shout of “Whoa!” came clearly and the conveyance clattered to a halt.

  “Adrian? Adrian Hawke?”

  It was useless to deny it. Yet what reason could he give for being here in the middle of the night? Adrian guided his animal up to the coach. “Good evening, Vasterling. Nice night if you like fog.”

  “By damn, but you’re the very person I’ve been searching for. I’m in a bit of a pickle, you see, and desperately in need of your help—” He broke off with his mouth still hanging open. A peculiar look came over his face.

  Adrian knew what was coming next.

  “I say. What are you doing here? Where have you been?” His head swiveled to stare at Hester’s house not a half block distant. When he looked back at Adrian he was frowning. “Have you been to Hester’s house?”

  His words hung in the air between them, and with every passing second they became less a question and more an accusation.

  “Why are you going there?” Adrian countered, hoping to throw the man off track.

  For a moment it worked. “I’m going to fetch my bride. Dulcie and I are running away together,” Horace said, his chest puffing up with pride. “Hester is sheltering her while I make arrangements for us to travel north. But I need your help. Aren’t you departing for Scotland tomorrow?”

  “That was my plan.”

  “I was hoping we could travel with you. But now—” He stopped and squinted at Adrian. “I say. Why are you lurking so near Hester’s house, and at such a late hour?”

  Adrian removed his hat and raked his fingers through his hair. There was nothing to do but admit the truth. If Horace was running away with Dulcie Bennett, he was hardly in a position to condemn Hester. “I was bidding her good-bye. I had hoped for her sake to keep our… the nature of our friendship private. I hope you will honor our wishes.”

  At first Horace did not respond. But even in the dark Adrian could see the man’s ears turning red. His face puffed up with outrage and his eyes bulged from his head. “You… And Hester?”

  Adrian’s horse tossed its head and sidled away from the carriage; Adrian loosened his too taut grip on the reins. “We are two mature individuals and answerable to no one—”

  “You’re answerable to me, you… you debaucher!”

  “Debaucher?” Adrian scowled at Horace’s unreasoning response. “Get a grip on yourself, man. You’ve chosen Dulcie Bennett. You have no hold over Hester. And why in hell are you calling her by her given name anyway?”

  “Because…” Horace was standing now, and his carriage animals were becoming almost as agitated as he. “Because she’s my sister, you… you cad! She is my sister and not a widow at all!”

  Adrian stiffened. “Your sister? Since when?” Then the rest of what Horace said struck him. “Not a widow?” Adrian eyed Horace askance, unable to believe either of those preposterous claims. “You must be drunk. Everyone in town knows Hester Poitevant is a widow.”

  “She just plays the role of widow. That’s the only way she can protect herself from the unwanted attention of men. Men like you!” he ended on a shout.

  Adrian was too stunned to be fazed by Horace’s insult. Instead a sick feeling of dismay overwhelmed him. What had he done? Then anger usurped dismay. If this was true— “Why would she lie to me—to all of us? It makes no sense.”

  Horace glared at him. “Well, it makes sense to me, especially now. You’ve been toying with her affections all along, haven’t you? And now… Now you’ve ruined her. She’s no widow at all, and now you’ve ruined her!”

  CHAPTER 23

  Hester stood in her darkened bedroom window, strangling the drapes in both fists. She couldn’t overhear Adrian and Horace’s midnight conversation. But even in the w
eak light of the corner street lamp she could guess the crux of it. Especially when Horace stood up in the driver’s box and started gesticulating with short, angry movements.

  Then Horace pointed at her house, Adrian wheeled his horse around, and they both started her way. She yanked the draperies closed. Could matters become any worse?

  Her first impulse was to lock herself in her attic bedroom and not answer the door. It was a stout door, with a sturdy lock.

  That would not deter Adrian, however, nor Horace, by the look of him. For if they knocked hard enough the dogs would start barking, Dulcie would awaken, and Mrs. Dobbs would hobble out to investigate.

  With a cry of dismay Hester ran for the stairs, reaching the front door barely before they arrived.

  “Shh!” she cautioned when she spied their thunderous expressions. Especially Horace’s.

  “Has he compromised you?” Her irate brother hissed the words at her.

  “That is none of your affair,” she said, determined to brazen through as best she could. “Have you come to fetch Dulcie?”

  “He says you’re not really a widow,” Adrian accused.

  Hester reluctantly faced the man she loved and had lied to. “I… You see…” She cast about for an answer. But of course there was none, at least no truthful ones which did not include admitting that both men were right.

  She tried again to change the subject. “It is not my situation which requires urgent attention, Horace. Dawn will soon be upon us and if you don’t get on your way, George Bennett will soon be here to snatch Dulcie back. Then the two of you will never be allowed to marry.”

  Horace paused and cast a worried look toward the parlor where his beloved slept, unaware—thank goodness—of this latest chaos surrounding her elopement. But when he looked back at Hester and beyond, to Adrian, his good-natured features lowered in a scowl. “As your brother—”

  She clapped a hand over his mouth. “Horace!”

  He shook it off. “He already knows we are brother and sister. Besides, as your brother I have a right to know the truth about your relationship to him.” His voice softened and he took her hands in his. “You are my family, Hester. My dearest sister. My only sister. I have reluctantly agreed to keep your secret. Reluctantly,” he repeated. “But I cannot turn a blind eye to this situation. You, sir,” he addressed Adrian who remained amazingly quiet. “You must do right by Hester, else you will have me to answer to.”

  “Horace!”

  “Agreed.”

  Hester and Horace both stared at Adrian in shock. He too was shocked, and yet, didn’t this solve his dilemma? Notwithstanding that he hadn’t consciously been seeking a wife, how awful could it be?

  As he stared at Hester, rumpled, distraught, exhausted—and beautiful—his primary emotion was satisfaction. Of course they should wed. It was the best solution. The only solution.

  “I… I can’t marry you.”

  He hadn’t expected that. But Adrian was undeterred. “Of course you can. It makes perfect sense.”

  “Indeed, that would solve everything,” Horace said, his anger fading at once to relief. He snatched up one of Hester’s hands and held it between his. “You two will wed; Dulcie and I will wed. We could have a double wedding. But we must hurry,” he added, his brow wrinkling again in worry.

  When Horace’s earnest plea did not erase the resistance in Hester’s face, Adrian said, “You misled me about your situation, Hester. Had I known you were not a widow, I would have handled… matters, shall we say, far differently. But now that I know the truth—though I am intensely curious about the reason for such a disguise—I am nonetheless willing to accept my responsibilities as a gentleman.”

  His responsibilities as a gentleman? Hester’s heart sank. Those were not the words she needed to hear. Ten years ago she might have leaped at the chance to marry a man like Adrian Hawke, even if under a cloud of suspicion. Certainly she had prayed for an honorable offer from a gentleman. But she hadn’t received any honorable offers, only dishonorable ones, and over time she’d come to be glad of it. Marriage to any of those men would have been a hideous mistake.

  But so would marriage to Adrian Hawke. Even more so, she feared. For she hadn’t really loved any of the men who’d pressed their attentions on her. It had been only silly, girlish infatuation fueled of her mother’s lofty dreams for her and her own belief that a respectable marriage would ensure her happiness. But she did love Adrian Hawke.

  She stared at him now, at the expectant look on his face, at the latent sensuality lurking in his eyes, and the temptation to just do it, just say yes and marry him and devil take the hindmost, was nearly overpowering. Why shouldn’t she grab some joy for herself, some pleasure no matter how fleeting?

  Because it would be fleeting, and she would end up just like her mother, alone with a broken heart.

  How many times had her mother confused a man’s lust for her with love? How many times had Hester witnessed the collapse of those one-sided relationships, and the devastation left in its wake? Long ago she’d vowed never to live her life as her mother had. This was not the time to reverse her position.

  When she wed—if she wed—it would be because she was loved, truly loved and adored. Otherwise she’d rather remain alone.

  She sucked in a shaky breath. “I… I appreciate your offer. But…” She shook her head and swallowed hard. “Thank you, but no.”

  In the stunned silence that followed her refusal she drew herself up. “You have done your duty as a gentleman by making the offer and I have declined. Now, Horace, we must act on the plans for your prompt departure. While you two do that I’ll… I’ll prepare a basket of victuals for you to carry with you.”

  “But Hester. Hester,” Horace called when without a pause she turned and hurried toward the kitchen.

  Adrian wanted to echo him. But Hester. He didn’t though. He refused to. He just stood there and watched her walk away. She’d turned him down. He’d offered marriage and she’d said no.

  Thank you, but no.

  How many times had she put him in his place with that prissy, keep-your-distance-from-me, favorite phrase of hers? She’d lied to him about everything, misled him every step of the way, and now she had the nerve to turn him down?

  “I don’t understand,” Horace muttered.

  “You don’t understand?” Adrian turned his fury on Horace, who’d apparently lied to him as well. “What in hell is going on here, Vasterling? She’s not a widow. You’re her brother. Why all these secrets? Was nobody going to tell me anything?”

  Horace glowered right back at him. “If I’d known you were seducing my sister, maybe I would have! How could you behave like that with her?”

  “I thought she was a widow.”

  “And that makes it all right?”

  Into the midst of their shouting, a wide-eyed Dulcie edged into the foyer. “Horace? What’s wrong?”

  Horace hurried to her. “Hello, my love. My darling. Don’t you worry about anything. We’re just working out the details of our journey.” He cast Adrian a speaking look. “Right, Adrian?”

  Adrian bit back a curt reply. Could one night be any more frustrating? One thing he knew, however: leaving Hester in the lurch wouldn’t help anything. He glanced at Horace, then tamed his expression for the still sleep-befuddled Dulcie. “Yes. Just a few more details to smooth out. Why don’t you go on to the kitchen with Hester while Horace and I finish up?”

  She did as instructed, but only after much assurance that her brother George would not find them before they left London. By that time Adrian had a better grip on his anger. Better, but not absolute.

  “What in hell is going on here, Horace? Why have you and Hester kept your relationship hidden? And why has she been passing herself off as a widow?”

  Horace shook his head. “I cannot fully answer the latter. You’ll have to ask her that. As to her being my sister, I’ve only known the truth myself for a week and a half.”

  “A week and a half? How
can that be? What, is she your father’s natural-born daughter?”

  Horace started to reply, then threw his hands up in agitation. “It’s complicated. Deuced complicated.”

  “If you think the explanation will alter my desire to marry her, I assure you, it will not. My own parentage was never sanctioned within a church.”

  “That’s not it at all. The real problem is that she turned down your offer, and I don’t know why.”

  Adrian swore under his breath. “The woman makes no sense. She gave herself so willingly—”

  “Enough!” Horace clapped his hands over his ears. “She’s my sister and I don’t want to hear such things about you and her. If you’re set on marrying her you have my blessing and my sincere wishes for your success.”

  “Will your father share those sentiments?”

  Horace removed his hands from his ears, averted his gaze, and began restlessly to tug at his waistcoat. “My father knows nothing about anything.”

  “You mean your elopement?” Adrian paused. When Horace said nothing, he frowned. “Do you mean he doesn’t know she’s his daughter?” This was bordering on the ludicrous. Yet it did explain a lot of things, especially Hester’s noticeable discomfort every time Edgar Vasterling was nearby.

  “Let me get this straight,” he went on. “Your father doesn’t know she’s his daughter and you’ve only known for a week. Who is her mother?”

  “Our mother ran away with her after I was born. I never knew her, either of them. Hester told me our mother died only a few years ago, although my father had always told me she died when I was a baby. It’s too late for me ever to know her. But at least I have my sister. And I love her.” He stared intently at Adrian. “You have to do right by her, Hawke. Or answer to me.”

  In the ensuing hours Adrian fumed over Horace’s words. He fully intended to do right by Hester, but she wouldn’t have him. What more could he do?

  While the women prepared food, he and Horace hatched a plan. They would take Horace’s hired carriage to Southwark and there rent a traveling coach to take them to Portsmouth. From there they would travel by packet ship to Dumfries in Scotland, then head south to Gretna Green. Any searchers would be watching the roads north, not south and east.