Wildwood Flower (Desperate And Daring Book 8)

by Dayna Quince

  Thorn began to growl.

  “It must be difficult being here, reminded of her. After all, this could have been her room. She may have slept in that very bed.”

  Thorn whipped around. “What are you doing here?”

  “I saw smoke coming from the cabin.”

  “So?”

  “I see her there often. Alone.”

  Thorn clenched his teeth. “I don’t care.”

  “Ah, but it’s so obvious that you do. I spoke to her a few weeks ago. She’s just as tortured, perhaps more so.”

  Thorn turned away. “Don’t bother trying to defend her.”

  “I would never dream of defending her actions, but I have been investigating.”

  Thorn remained still, not wanting to listen to another word. He could forcibly remove Pruitt from the room if he wanted, but something held him in place.

  “This house, this land, it’s all hers. It’s part of her dowry, passed to her from her mother. Shelding is using it without her consent, among other things.

  Thorn went cold inside. He turned slowly to face Pruitt. “What does that mean, among other things.”

  “I’m told Lord Shelding has a temper.”

  Thorn didn’t believe it. Shelding was made of stone. Cold, hard. “What are you getting at? You’re as vague as a carnival fortune teller.”

  This time it was Pruitt who turned away. He strode to the door and pulled it open. “I can’t instruct you in matters of the heart, but I think it’s worth investigating who owns this land that you’re building on. I know how you feel about stealing.”

  Thorn straightened. “You think we’re stealing from her?”

  “I don’t think she was ever given a choice in the matter, and that doesn’t sit well with me.” Pruitt closed the door, and Thorn stood there, staring at the white wood paneling.

  Her land, her house… He looked around the room. Looked for some indication that it could have been hers. There were four rooms, and without any personal touches, they looked the same.

  He hated the way his body burned at the thought of sharing her bed, with or without her.

  Besides that, Pruitt had a point. There could be legal repercussions for building on land that wasn’t his or Shelding’s. He would need to meet with his solicitor immediately. The man was away, seeing to the transport of some new equipment. He’d have to wait until he returned. But in the meantime, if she married Chadwick, then it would become his and Shelding’s. Removing the threat of illegality.

  But also removing her from him permanently. He stopped that thought immediately. He didn’t want to think of her with Chadwick, and he could not, above all else, think about her with him. It wasn’t possible. She was a direct threat to his business.

  Three days later, Thorn looked up from his work. There was a thin trail of smoke rising from the trees. He wiped his brow. This was the third day he’d seen it. He checked his pocket watch. It was around the same time, too.

  He turned his back on it and went into the house to make himself a cold ham sandwich. Margery was there in the kitchen, making a batch for the men working. She hadn’t propositioned him again after that night, and he was grateful. He had no interest there. Instead, he kept thinking about that smoke.

  He smiled his thanks as he took a sandwich and headed outside again. He’d built a table on the terrace for them to eat, but eschewed the company of the other men for some much needed space to think.

  The smoke bothered him. Just like the woman, it was distracting. He ate his sandwich as he walked toward the woods. By the time the cabin was in view, he’d finished his sandwich and was startled to find himself there. He hadn’t meant to come here, but now that he stood there, it was where he needed to be. He had to face this. He had to put an end to his doubts. To finally get rid of her in his mind. The only way to do that was confront her.

  Before, when they’d planned to meet here, the smoke was meant to be a signal for him. A siren’s call. Is that why she’d come here and lit the fire? Was she trying to communicate with him?

  There was only one way to find out.

  He approached the cabin, stopping before the door and knocking gently. He didn’t want to startle her. There was silence within. No sound that there was anyone inside, except he could smell the smoke of the hearth, and—dammit—he swore he could feel her inside.

  “It’s me,” he said.

  There was a moment, and then he heard footsteps. The door slowly opened, revealing her to him like a gift. Her hair was down, her face pale except for the rosy blush of her cheeks. She wore the same black dress. How had he not noticed? She was clearly in mourning.

  “May I come in?”

  She stepped back, opening the door wider. She looked as timid as a mouse.

  He looked around the cabin. It was small and neat. There were books on the small table, a candle, and a small basket of food. A blanket lay on the cot, tossed aside as if she’d just risen from there.

  “Are you living here?”

  “Of course not.”

  No, of course not. She had a large manor house that would one day be hers. So why did she make herself at home here in this decrepit cabin?

  He was utterly confused.

  “Then why are you here?”

  “It’s peaceful here.”

  “And Shelding Manor isn’t?”

  “Peaceful is the last word I would use to describe Shelding Manor.” She sat in the only chair in the cabin, leaving him to stand or sit on the cot that was likely still warm from her body. He folded his arms and remained where he was by the door.

  “I don’t understand you. Why the smoke? Were you hoping to lure me back? It won’t work. My business here is too important.”

  She looked hurt. He tried to not let it affect him, but it did.

  “I come here for peace, as I said.” Her voice sounded thick. He was familiar with it. His sister sounded the same when she was fighting tears.

  He told himself he would not be moved by her tears.

  “You’re engaged to Chadwick.”

  “Yes.” Her eyes grew bright.

  “Are you in love with him?”

  “No.”

  “Then why did you agree to marry him?”

  “I had no choice.”

  “It is 1823. No one could have forced your hand.”

  “I promised my father, as he lay dying, it was his last request of me. He said he wanted to see me cared for, but now I know it was to finalize his last deal with Lord Shelding.”

  “The land, you mean.”

  She nodded.

  His gut clenched. He didn’t like the feeling that he was in league with the men who orchestrated all of this.

  “From what I hear, your father was in dire straits financially.”

  “He was. Year after year, his hops failed.”

  “Lord Shelding came to his aid, then. Orchestrated all of this so that you would one day be Lady Shelding in exchange for the land. Seems a good bargain for both parties involved.”

  She looked away. “From the outside, I suppose so.”

  His next words terrified him, but he said them anyway. He had to know what she would say. “If you don’t want to marry him, then don’t.”

  She laughed. “It’s not that simple.”

  “Why not? You don’t care for him.”

  She stood. “Tell me how to do it, then. Tell me how to break my engagement.”

  Thorn frowned. “I don’t know.”

  “I have nothing, you know. I suppose I could barter my clothing for money for the mail coach. I have an aunt and uncle in London. My aunt sponsored me for my season, though I don’t know that they will take me now that I’ll be ruined. They have the reputations of their own daughters to consider. People will think the worst of me. And that’s if I make it out alive.”

  He stilled. Shelding has a temper. There was that cold feeling again. “Has he hit you?”

  “No.”

  “But you believe he would?”

 
“If I marry Edward, what would stop him?”

  Her use of Chadwick’s name made his stomach roil. “Has Chadwick hurt you?” There was one way to guarantee she married the weasel.

  “No.” Her eyes downcast.

  He didn’t like her response. It was weak. She wasn’t fighting it, not as ferociously as he wanted to fight it for her. Where was her resolve, her spirit?

  “I’ll give you the money to go to your uncle,” he blurted.

  She looked up, shocked. “I couldn’t accept that. I have no way to repay you.”

  “I don’t need repayment. I have more money than I know what to do with.”

  Her lower lip shook. “Why would you do that…after what I did to you?”

  He stalked over to her and took her by the shoulders. “Do you know what I see when I look at you?”

  Her whole body shook now, and it felt like a physical blow to his gut. She was scared. And she looked so meek and frightened, he wanted to pull her close and protect her forever.

  “I’m weak, I know that.”

  No. Not weak. A weaker woman would have married immediately. She was strong; she just didn’t know it. She was strong enough to fight, albeit quietly and subversively. She needed help, and he could help her. The very idea made him feel alive again. His earlier anger evaporated. She was not a spoiled, bored debutante. She was enduring a nightmare situation and searching for a way out.

  “You are not weak.”

  “But I am. I should have said no to my father.”

  “It’s a rare person who can deny a last request. He was your father.”

  “It wasn’t just because it was his last request. I’ve always been this way. I always do what I’m told, even when I don’t want to.”

  “Until now.”

  “What?”

  “Do you think Shelding or Chadwick would allow you to be spending time here alone if they knew?”

  “Well, no.”

  “You’re a rebel, Charlotte. You just need more practice at rebelling. Training, you could say.”

  “I need training in rebellion?”

  “Absolutely, and I’m just the person to help you. I’ve been rebelling since the moment I could crawl.”

  She may have smiled, but it was so small he wasn’t sure. Then she shook her head. “I’m not sure.”

  He had the urge to pull her closer, so instead he let her go and stepped back. “You allowed a stranger to kiss you in a hops yard. That was rebelling too.”

  She blushed and he let himself enjoy it. He liked to think she was thinking of their kiss. When he thought of it, it made him hot in his own skin. Which made him want another one right now. He reined in his desire. She’d already been taken advantage of and didn’t need another overbearing male in her life. She needed a friend.

  “That doesn’t paint me in a very good light.”

  “Rebelling never does. But you have every right to do it, regardless. There’s a fair bit of selfishness in rebelling. You have to put yourself before others, and do things knowing it could hurt someone.”

  She looked uncertain again. “Lady Shelding… She will be hurt. She already has been because of me, because I had Pastor Franklin delay the wedding until October.”

  He grew curious. “Why October?”

  “That’s when my six months of mourning will be over.”

  “Good god, when did your father pass?”

  “The fourth of May.”

  “And Shelding wants you and Chadwick to marry quickly.”

  “Yes.”

  It all was starting make sense. Right now, the estate was in total disrepair. It was earning exactly nothing. Whatever profits arose from the hops and Thorn’s brewing would legally be Charlotte’s, not Chadwick’s. Shelding wanted them married before that happened.

  “The land was willed to you?”

  Charlotte nodded. “Through my mother. And I will choose whoever I wish to will it too. They will have no control of that, at least.”

  Thorn shook his head and laughed. “The sheer gall Shelding has. I cannot believe it.”

  “I can. He knows me, he knew my father. He thinks he can simply order me to do what he wants, and he’s right.”

  Thorn sobered. “You’re both wrong. I can teach you how to be assertive. I’ve spent my life demanding respect by word or fist. I started as a poor farmer’s son, and look at me now. Never accept less than what you want.”

  She didn’t look convinced, but that was fine. It would take time for her to develop her confidence. He stepped forward again, wanting to close the distance between them, but he held himself back. “We will meet tomorrow morning and again in the afternoon. Can you get away at those times?”

  She shrugged one shoulder. “I will try.”

  “Not good enough. Rebel, Charlotte. Make this time about you, not them.”

  “And if anyone asks?”

  “For now, lie.”

  “Oh, good. I’ve gotten rather good at that.”

  Chapter 12

  December 12th, 1822

  Dear Rose,

  I’m so sorry for your loss. I know it was expected, but how can one ever prepare for losing one’s father? Know that I am there beside you in spirit. I’m heartened by the knowledge that you have help in this difficult time. Lady Belfrost sounds very kind. We are close but so very far apart. I wish I could see you before you leave for the Lake District. I can tell by your writing that you are embarrassed about becoming a companion. Please know that nothing, not even murder, could ever change my good opinion of you. I’m sure all our friends would agree. We will all be together again one day, happy. I just know it to be true.

  Ever hopeful,

  Charlotte

  September 7th 1823

  They met almost every day for several weeks. It was the best time Charlotte ever had. She was rebelling, but she was also terrified. She felt as if she were walking a knife’s edge. One slip, one lapse in concentration, and everything would come crashing down. Her early morning walks were not noticed, but the afternoons were difficult to explain at times. Luckily, Lady Shelding developed the habit of napping before afternoon tea. It was coincidentally the same time that Lord Shelding was out.

  At times, Charlotte could feel Sarah watching her, but there were no more inquiries after that horrendous morning. It was sad really. Sarah had been the closest thing Charlotte had to a friend. If not for Thorn, this would be the darkest time of her life, but his presence made it the brightest she could ever imagine. He made her laugh, smile at the oddest times, and generally just feel safe.

  The only difficulty was not thinking about that kiss. It plagued her dreams, filling her head with blush-inducing visions of more kissing, more touching and just…more. There was so much more he could show her than standing up for herself, and the more she thought about it, more scintillating ways to rebel. It was fast becoming a distraction. He was oblivious to her thought, thank heaven, but it was becoming hard to focus when her mind wandered. Then her eyes would explore his finer features, like his shoulders, and his sensual mouth as he talked.

  “Charlotte.”

  “Um-hm.” She cocked her head to the side as she watched him.

  “Charlotte,” he said again. He did not look pleased.

  “Oh. Yes, you were saying?”

  “I’m sure Chadwick believes that vacant look and single syllable response means your abject adoration but I do not. Are you paying attention?”

  “Of course!” She straightened. “You were talking about the neighbor who razed your corn crop.”

  He scowled. “That was thirty minutes ago. Where did your mind wander off to?”

  Oh, dear. She could feel a guilty blush coming on. “I’m hungry. I was thinking about food.”

  He folded his arms. When he did that, he meant to look intimidating. It only made him look large and manly, which was not the least bit helpful when she felt like a cat in heat.

  She ducked her head to hide her face and turned to the basket tucked aside
the door. She’d pack a lunch for them early this morning. He remained silent as she carried the basket to the small table and unpacked it.

  “I stole some chicken, and the remains of yesterday’s biscuits. How’s that for rebellious.” She looked over her shoulder at him.

  He raised a brow. “It’s positively criminal. Well done.”

  Charlotte smiled despite his sarcasm. She was quite pleased. Before she would have been terrified to take anything from the pantry. She didn’t know who could be trusted, but now… She knew she could trust no one, but she also knew they didn’t want Shelding’s attention directed toward them any more than she did.

  “Will you sit and eat?”

  He looked around the small space. “Where?”

  “You can have the chair. I’m not sure the cot will hold your weight.” She handed him a simple sandwich of cold chicken, tomato, and lettuce. He took it from her, never taking his eyes from her face. Suddenly nervous, she turned away and sat on the cot, laying the napkin across her lap carefully to avoid meeting his eyes. They ate in silence.

  Once finished, Charlotte repacked the basket. “Do you have the time?”

  He checked his watch. “A quarter until three.”

  “Thank you.” Their time was almost over. Perhaps she should call an end to today’s lesson since she couldn’t focus on anything other than him.

  “I think I’ve done enough talking about me, why don’t we try some role playing?”

  “Role playing, like acting?”

  “I’m going to put you in a situation where you will need to assert yourself. We’ve talked at length about it, and I’ve given you every true to life example I can imagine, but now it’s time to practice them in reality. Pugilists practice their moves over and over until they can make them without thinking. Their body knows what to do.

  “You want me to hit you?”

  He chuckled. “No—well, perhaps we will include that at some point. You never know when words will cease to be effective, and only a right hook will do.”

  Charlotte frowned. “I don’t know what any of that means.”

  He moved closer to her, crowding her against the cot. She didn’t back up because his closeness was something she desperately wanted. She took a slow breath to quiet her pounding heart.