An Earl's Wager: Regency Romance (Gentlemen and Brides)

by Joyce Alec

  She flinched away from his harsh words.

  “I’m guessing you’re hungry after such a long journey,” he said gruffly, moving around her toward the small kitchen.

  A small trickle of relief spread through her. Maybe…he wasn’t so harsh after all? That was a rather thoughtful comment, right?

  He stood in the doorway and looked back at her.

  “Everything you’ll need is in here,” he said. “And make it quick. I had a long day, and I’m starving.”

  And without another word, he slumped back to the living area and sank down in a chair, the wood creaking under his weight. He pulled the newspaper toward himself, flicked it open, and began to read.

  She could only stand there and stare at the back of his head.

  He expected her to just…pick right up and start doing housework? She had just arrived! She was tired! She hadn’t eaten since before dawn that morning.

  He turned around and glared at her.

  “I thought I told you to do something,” he said, pulling a pipe from his front pocket. “I expect you to do what you’re told.”

  Anne’s face colored, and she hurried toward the kitchen.

  “And bring me a glass of whiskey while you’re at it,” he called after her. “No, you might as well bring me the whole bottle. I think I am going to need it while I wait on you to make dinner.”

  Anne’s eyes stung with tears, as she searched hastily around for a bottle of amber liquid. She found it on the windowsill, and she snatched it, carrying it back through the door.

  She handed it to him, and he took it from her, uncorked it with his teeth, and took three long sips from it.

  “Ah…” he whispered, smacking his lips.

  His face was suddenly flushed, and he glared angrily up at her.

  “Get going! I am not going to ask you again!”

  She hurried back into the kitchen, genuine fear coursing through her veins, making her weak.

  Katherine was right.

  She had made a huge mistake.

  2

  Anne knew that Frank was going to be home any minute and that as soon as he walked in the door, he would want his whiskey, his paper, and his meal—in that order. He had a very regimented schedule, and if anything ever disrupted it, he became angry.

  Very angry.

  She scrambled in the kitchen, willing the roasted pork to cook faster and hoping against all hope that the potatoes had boiled all the way through. She checked the bread for warmth, and realizing it was slightly cooler than right out of the oven, she laid it to rest just outside the hearth, hoping it might steal some of the fire’s warmth.

  This had become her life over the two weeks since she had arrived in Texas. He gave her a long list of things that he expected to be accomplished every day.

  She managed to easily take care of them the first three days, but if she expected to hear any sort of praise for it, she was strongly mistaken. Instead, her reward was that he didn’t yell at her. The first night she hadn’t done everything to his liking, and his reaction brought such sorrow to her spirit.

  She had sliced her hand open on a piece of wood she had been carrying inside from the log pile and had spent almost an hour trying to stop the flow of blood. Eventually, she wrapped it tightly and went about her day.

  When dinner was not ready when he arrived home, he threw an angry fit, yelling and swearing, knocking things off onto the floor.

  He told her that if she ever did that again, she would pay for it.

  She didn’t have to use her imagination to understand what he implied.

  When she asked if he would send off any of her letters back home to her sister, he outright refused, saying that it was a pointless waste of time when she had more important things that she needed to be doing.

  He had taken the letters and tossed them in the fire, Anne crying as they curled into ashes.

  Relief flooded through her as she realized the roast was done. She hurried to pull it off of the flames, pulled it from the pot, and placed it on a tray.

  She hoped that she had roasted enough meat to ensure that she actually got some of it that night. The last four nights in a row, Frank had eaten so much that she only had a few small, wilted vegetables to eat and some stale bread.

  She laid it all out on the table, the enticing aroma filling her nose, making her mouth water.

  Frank also insisted that he be the first to eat, since he was the one bringing the money home. Anne had quickly found out that there wasn’t much money to go around, but at least he had enough to buy his whiskey whenever he was in town.

  She prepared everything and stood behind the table, just as he had asked her to, much like a servant would, and waited.

  And waited…

  He was late.

  She didn’t dare move though. If he found her out of place, he could very well go into one of his tirades.

  I wonder if he thought he was hiring a servant, Anne thought darkly, instead of agreeing to a marriage.

  Since her arrival, the wedding hadn’t been spoken about even once.

  Not that she minded. A small voice at the very back of her mind screamed at her to flee, to get away while she still could.

  But how could she?

  A long time passed, and still, Frank had not returned home.

  Anne was absolutely famished, and she finally resorted to eating some of the bread.

  The bread had grown cold, but she didn’t mind. She sliced off a few thin pieces and wasted no time eating them.

  Each bite brought her joy, and sadness. What had her life become that she needed to steal food to be happy?

  She ate a few more slices and eventually sampled a few of the boiled potatoes. They, too, were cold by now, but with the fresh parsley on top, they were a delight for her to eat.

  Just as she considered pairing all of it with some of the meat she had prepared, the front door slammed open.

  She froze, her fingers hovering over the food.

  She hurried to find a rag to clean her face and her hands. She needed to hide the fact that she had eaten any of it.

  Frank stumbled into the kitchen, leaning on the doorway for support. A deep red colored his cheeks, and his eyes were glassy.

  He laughed.

  “Oh, hey there. Fancy seeing you here,” he said, slurring his words together. He laughed again, and then he slid to the floor.

  He was drunk.

  Anne grimaced.

  He clapped his hands together, laughing still harder. When he gathered himself, he used the wall for support to get back onto his feet.

  “Well, well, you did make me dinner,” he said, inhaling deeply. “Good. I need something to take the edge off those bottles of whiskey I had.”

  Bottles?

  He collapsed into one of the chairs, pulling the entire roast toward himself. He lifted his fork and knife and pulled one of the slices from the roast.

  Anne’s heart beat uncomfortably against her chest and echoed in her ears. Would he notice that she had taken some of the food?

  He lifted a piece of the meat to his mouth, happily stuck it between his teeth, and chewed.

  At first, he seemed pleased, and Anne sighed with relief.

  But a few moments later, his face became dark, and he glared dangerously at her.

  “This roast is ice cold,” he growled, slamming his fork and knife down on the table.

  “It was hot at seven this evening,” she said, taking a step back toward the fireplace, away from the table. “Just-just as you always ask for it to be.”

  Frank glared and rose slowly from his seat, his eyes locked on her.

  “I ask for my meal to be hot when I arrive home,” he said.

  “Yes, but you weren’t home at the usual time,” she said. “How was I to know—?”

  Pain blossomed in her cheek and stars scattered across her vision, as he struck her across the face with the backside of his hand.

  It was a long moment where she found herself suspende
d in the air, her mind blank, her eyes wide with shock.

  He had hit her.

  She slammed into the floor beside the hearth, so close she could feel the searing heat on the side of her face.

  “You idiot!” he cried. “This is your fault!”

  He picked up the roast and threw it against the wall, the meat splattering and bouncing to the floor. Next, he picked up the potatoes and tossed them just above the fire.

  Anne shrieked and covered her head, as bits of wet potato and broken pottery came raining down on top of her.

  “I have given you a roof! I have given you food! And this is how you repay me?”

  His voice had risen to a deafening level, and Anne sobbed on the floor, her head still in her arms.

  She braced herself for another incoming blow, certain that she was going to die there, curled up in the corner of that dirty kitchen.

  She could hear him heaving from near the doorway, but he didn’t come toward her anymore.

  “You clean this up, you hear me?” he growled, his voice hard and cold. “I expect it all cleaned up and put back together before morning.”

  She heard him stumble against the doorframe once more.

  “And I expect this to never, ever happen again.”

  And she heard him drag himself from the room.

  She laid there for some time, until the heat from the fire made her roll away, and there she cried even harder.

  Her life was a nightmare, and she feared she would never wake up.

  Be very careful about who you give your heart to, for you want that man to be worthy of such a gift. And trust yourself. If you find yourself in a situation in which there is no love…

  Then leave.

  Anne’s eyes snapped open, her head still covered by her arms.

  Tessa…her words came rushing back to her as if she had just spoken them.

  She had no choice. She had to leave.

  Hope coursed through her veins, giving her the strength to stand, even if her knees were weak. She looked around the kitchen, seeing the mess he had made for the first time.

  It disgusted her.

  He disgusted her.

  She balled her hands into fists and grit her teeth.

  She was not going to let this man hurt her anymore.

  He was not her husband; she was not bound here. She would do right by herself and get out while she still could.

  Angry with him as much as with herself, she set about cleaning the kitchen, peeking into the living room every so often. Frank pulled another bottle of whiskey from somewhere and was taking draws from it occasionally, but Anne knew that she could be patient for just a little while longer.

  She was slow as she cleaned, listening for every creak of the wooden chair, every slosh of the bottle.

  Eventually, the room became quiet, and she peered out.

  Frank’s head had fallen back to rest on the back of the chair, and the deep breathing told her that he had finally fallen asleep.

  She glanced at the clock. It was nearly one in the morning.

  But she was not going to sleep there for another night.

  She hurried to her room, grabbed the smaller of the two suitcases she had brought with her, and began stuffing it with as much as she could, knowing that she was going to have to leave some things behind.

  She packed her books, her favorite dresses, and her mother’s locket, which she hurriedly pulled over her head. She didn’t want to make it impossible to carry, but her desire to escape far outweighed her sadness at leaving things behind for this despicable man to paw through.

  Then she ran to the kitchen and prepared a traveling food bundle. She salvaged what she could of the potatoes and had cut out a large portion of the center of the roast, both of which she covered in clean linen. She picked up a few small wheels of cheese and a few loaves of bread that she had baked that morning.

  She stared at the other foods she had prepared ahead of time and hesitated for only a moment.

  She snatched them all off the shelves, the herbs, the sprouts, the root vegetables, and the breads, and she tossed whatever she knew she couldn’t carry into the fire. The rest of the meaty carcass of the roast she displayed on a platter in the middle of the table with a long knife sticking out of it, hoping that her message of anger and contempt would ring loud and clear.

  She picked up the only oil lantern in the house, filled it to the brim with oil, and stepped outside.

  She was free. She was leaving this man and his wretchedness behind.

  She had to make it as far as she could before dawn, because as soon as he realized she was gone, he would surely come after her. And he had horses.

  She waited until she was a good distance from the cabin before she lit the lantern and started off through the darkness.

  It wasn’t long until the tears returned, but they weren’t so much tears of self-pity as they were of self-hatred.

  Why had she been so foolish to stay as long as she had? There had been no gain in that situation, no matter what way she looked at it. He was an awful man and had been from the beginning. Nothing was ever mentioned about a wedding, for which she was now grateful, but why had she allowed herself to endure such a horrible person? She was convinced that he couldn’t have treated her any poorer if he had intentionally tried.

  She should have listened to Katherine, and she should have listened to Tessa.

  Tessa…she was going to have to send her a letter as soon as she could, telling her how her words had spurred her on to leave.

  Perhaps she could help Anne find a place to stay until she found the means to go back to Pennsylvania.

  She didn’t much care for the idea of returning there, but she would have to go somewhere.

  She walked for what felt like hours when her eyes grew heavy. Her legs and feet were sore, and her arm ached from holding the lantern.

  She knew she couldn’t stop, not until she had found a place to stay once dawn arrived. She would have to hide, lay low until she knew the threat of Frank discovering her had passed.

  Just as she had rediscovered her determination, small droplets of rain started to fall around her, and she felt a new despair.

  Hurriedly, she began to run, her feet splashing in the quickly growing puddles as the rain fell harder and faster.

  She was desperate. She had to get off the road.

  As she crested a low hill, she laughed with joy as she saw a barn in the distance. A few of them, in fact, belonging to a large ranch.

  She hurried toward them, choosing a barn that was away from the road, and likely not the first that Frank would check if he came looking for her.

  She threw herself inside, already feeling warmer now that she was out of the rain.

  “I hope the owner won’t mind,” she said, pulling her soaking wet cloak from around her shoulders.

  The barn was small but would provide cover for her to get some rest.

  When dawn came, she would speak to the farmer about borrowing a horse, maybe in exchange for something she had in her case. Or maybe, the farmer would take pity on her and help her get into town.

  Either way, she had to rest, and it was unkind to disturb someone in the middle of the night.

  Besides, she knew that she would be safe from Frank until morning, at the very least. And then, it would be a long time after that before he found her.

  If he ever found her.

  She set her things down, extinguished the oil lamp, and pulled a horse blanket she found on a peg along the wall over herself for warmth.

  It was not more than a moment before she had fallen asleep.

  It was far easier to sleep in a barn than in the house of a violent, hot-tempered man.

  3

  “Hey!”

  The voice carried through the air, causing Anne’s eyes to fly open with shock.

  The sun had risen, and the air was warm. The strong smell of hay and manure was in her nose, and it took her a moment to remember that she had fallen asleep in a s
tranger’s barn.

  She sat up, scrambling to her feet, ready to try and fend off any sort of attack. She was terrified that it was Frank who had found her and that she had managed to get herself caught.

  It wasn’t Frank, but it was a man. A very good-looking man.

  He was all muscle, with toned arms, a chiseled jawline, and piercing blue eyes beneath his sandy, straw-colored hair that hung in his eyes beneath his hat. He stood there with a pitch fork in his hands and dirt on the knees of his trousers. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows.

  “I’m sorry!” Anne cried, throwing her hands into the air, the horse blanket slipping off her shoulders and onto the hay-strewn floor below.

  “Oh,” the man said, the tone of his voice immediately changing. He set the pitchfork down on the ground. “You are a woman.”

  He seemed mystified by her, stepping into the shaded barn.

  Anne took a step backwards.

  “I am terribly sorry,” she said hastily. “I had nowhere to go. It was raining last night, and I had been walking for hours. I thought I would sleep for a few hours and then come and find the owner of the home on this property and explain my situation to him.”

  “Is that so?” the man said, a small smile curling up the corner of his mouth. He removed his hat, brushing some of the hair from his eyes.

  Anne nodded. “Yes, sir. Would you happen to know where I could find him?”

  The man laughed heartily. “Well, standing right in front of you,” he said, a slow drawl to his words.

  Anne’s heart skipped a beat, and her face paled. He was so…young. So handsome. And he had such a large farm of his own?

  “Come on,” he said. “Why don’t I make you some breakfast, and you can tell me what landed you in my barn in the middle of the night.”

  She hesitated, but slowly followed him out of the barn and into the morning sun.

  The farm was magnificent in the daylight. Cows grazed on a far hill across the dirt road, their brown and white with black spotted hides a contrast to the grass around them. A line of trees dotted the far horizon, and a rather large home could be seen on a hill overlooking the entire property.