Married to the Lord (The Wallflower Brides Book 2)

by Samantha Holt

  Grinding his teeth together, Miles stepped aside. Apparently Henry would not listen to sense and he doubted he’d figure out what he was up to by mere discussion.

  “Oh by the by, you did not, perchance, assign someone to follow me, did you?”

  Miles scowled. That had been his next thought but as much as he wanted to know what the hell his brother was up to, he was not certain he would go as far as to stoop to such methods. “You really think I have the time to do such a thing?”

  His brother shrugged. “I had a distinct impression I was being followed tonight.”

  “Perhaps it was because you were in places you should not be?”

  “God’s teeth, Miles, I was in a perfectly respectable area and I have little desire to report back to you about my every move.”

  “We’ve never lied to one another, Henry.”

  A flash of guilt crossed his face before being hidden behind a raised chin. “Simply because I do not wish to detail my whereabouts at all times does not mean I’m lying to you.”

  “Does it not?”

  “Anyway, I saw this chap several times. Gray-haired, scruffy looking. I think he had a scar.” Henry motioned down the side of his face.

  Miles wrapped a hand into a fist. It couldn’t be, could it? Why would Nester be following Henry? God damn that Jenkins. He would never have set foot in the Bell Inn if the idiot had not been behaving so terribly. Miles tossed aside the thought. It had been years since he’d worked with Nester. There had been nothing stopping him from approaching Miles so why would he show a sudden interest in his brother?

  “Sounds as though you are being paranoid,” Miles said as lightly as he could.

  “With a brother like you hovering over me like a mama at Almack’s, can you blame me?”

  “If you were not sneaking around, you would have no need for blame.”

  “Bloody hell, Miles, I was not sneaking. I was simply...” He shook his head. “It’s too hard to explain and I can see well enough where your loyalties lie.”

  Miles let his frown deepen. “What is that meant to mean?”

  Henry laughed. “Is it not obvious? You would rather watch out for your beloved Gus than your own brother. Hell, if you care that much about her, perhaps you should marry her.” He snatched a glass from the side and hugged the bottle of liquor close. “Now, if you will excuse me, I am bone-tired and hankering for my bed. Perhaps you could be so kind as to tell your lackeys to leave me alone.”

  “I have no lackeys,” Miles replied tightly.

  “Whatever you say.” Still clasping the glass, Henry gave him a clumsy salute and paced out of the room.

  Miles finally unfurled his fists and strode over to the windows to stare out over the gardens. He squinted into the darkness as though he might be able to see some movement or a flash of gray hair. After many moments of nothing, he moved away from the window. Why would Nester be interested in him after all this time? Henry was most certainly being paranoid, and if his brother was feeling such things, it had to mean he was doing something untoward, surely?

  And why the devil did Henry have to say that about him and Gus? Now, he wouldn’t have a moment’s rest because all he would be thinking of was how much he wanted just that—to marry Gus and have her all to himself. He rubbed a hand over his face and smothered a yawn. What a royal mess this all was.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “At least your trousseau is ready,” her mother murmured.

  Augusta nodded vaguely, keeping her attention fixed on the book in her hands.

  “Now that Henry has set a date, we have an awful lot to do.”

  Augusta nodded again and raised the book higher in front of her face to hide her grimace. Henry had indeed set a date and appeared to be sticking to his promise of being more reliable. That did not, however, stop the sinking feeling in her stomach that she was about to embark on the biggest mistake of her life.

  “What a beautiful bride you shall make,” her mother enthused from her position at the drawing table. Stacks of paper were laid out in front of her and Augusta did not need to steal a look to know that Mama was writing to just about the whole country to let them know a date had been set. She grimaced again and forced her attention onto the words in front of her. Unfortunately, her attention would not commit itself and the letters seemed to jumble in front of her eyes.

  “Naturally—”

  Standing abruptly, Augusta dropped the book on the side table with a thud. Her mother blinked at her. “Gus?”

  “Forgive me, Mama, I appear to have a sudden headache. I think I shall retreat to my room for a while.”

  “Oh, of course, you go rest.” She waved a hand. “These preparations can be so taxing on a young woman.”

  She gave her mother a weak smile and hastened out of the room and upstairs, lifting her skirts so she could take them two at a time. She tugged open the door and shut it swiftly behind her, staring at it for a moment as though someone might follow her. Not that anyone would.

  A rustle and the creak of a window made her spin on her heel. “You...” The word came out a startled, harsh whisper. She staggered a couple of steps in retreat until her back met the wood of the door.

  Mr. Jenkins turned from the slightly open window, a sheepish smile on his face. “I thought you would be in the drawing room for a little longer.”

  The confused haze cleared swiftly. Her heart slammed hard in her chest, sending her pulse fluttering through her limbs and making them feel like liquid. “You...you were watching me...”

  His smile curved and the heat in her body turned to pure ice. He took several steps toward her and she fumbled for the doorknob but her hands shook. She should scream but everything seemed to remain trapped in her throat, tangled in a web of horror. What was he doing here? In her room? How long had he been watching her?

  “You are very intriguing.” He moved closer and she ducked past him as a squeak of fear escaped her throat. She ended up by the fireplace, backed up against the decorative wood surround. As he neared, she pressed herself into it, the hard edge of the wood digging deep into her back. She felt no pain from it.

  Out of the periphery of her vision, she spotted the fireplace tools. She stretched her fingers but they were too far away now that he had edged closer.

  “I think you should leave,” she said in a dry whisper.

  “I can get many women, you know.”

  “I’m sure you can.”

  “But you...you flourish all of a sudden then have the gall to turn me down.” He shook his head with a chuckle. “I cannot help but find you fascinating.”

  “I am terribly dull, I assure you.”

  He flicked a speck of dust from his sleeve. “You have two brothers who find you just as intriguing as I do. I think you are wrong, dear Miss Snow.”

  She opened her mouth to refute that fact but it seemed pointless. For some reason, Mr. Jenkins had recognized from early on her feelings for Miles.

  “If you leave now, I shall not tell anyone you were here.”

  “Or I could stay and teach you what to expect from your husband.”

  Her heart jammed up in her throat again, sending a fresh flood of panic through her. “Leave. Please,” she begged softly.

  He continued to come close and she glanced at the iron poker, standing a few feet from her. If she could just make her useless body move... But he was upon her, pressing his body into hers. He ran a finger down her face then fingered a curl not far from her collarbone. Bile burned at the back of her throat.

  When she glanced into his eyes, there was no madness like she expected but a sort of cool, calmness. Mr. Jenkins thought that she owed him this, she could see that now. Her foolish flirtations had reached a man so entitled, that he thought she was his due.

  Good Lord, what a silly fool she had been.

  His warm breath whispered across her face and she could smell his expensive fragrance. She gulped hard and closed her eyes to his study of her. Even behind the comforting darkness
of her lids, she felt his gaze travel across her, taking in every inch of her body and features. Her limbs ached something fierce from being so stiff but still they would not move. If she tried, she suspected she could shove him away long enough to either make a run for the door or snatch up that poker as a weapon.

  Yet again, she was so terrified of life that she could do nothing but wait.

  Warmth from his skin skimmed her face and she scrunched her eyes more tightly closed. Maybe he would realize she did not want this. Maybe he would see her fear and just leave. Maybe...

  “I have had to ask myself what it is about you that has me so enraptured,” he murmured. “But you really are quite beautiful.” He laughed. “The only man who saw it was that idiot Ashwick and I regret I did not notice it sooner. If he had not been around, plaguing us with his looming presence, we could have spent time together sooner.”

  Plaguing her? Miles had not been plaguing her. Quite the opposite. He’d been protecting her and comforting her and trying to help her make the right decisions. Well, she would be damned if she let him down now.

  “Leave,” she said, opening her eyes and summoning enough courage to make the word hiss out of her.

  “My dear Miss Snow...”

  “Leave, I said.” She put palms to his chest, registering how her hands trembled against the planes of his body. He was nowhere near as strong or tall as Miles but her fingers looked tiny and fragile against the breadth of him. Regardless, she lifted her gaze to his. “Whatever you think I did, you are wrong. A mere conversation does not preclude an affair and it certainly does not make you entitled to my body.”

  “I think—”

  “I do not care what you think!” She gave him a shove. It was ineffectual but she had hardly used all her strength. Drawing in a breath, she summoned more, tightening her arms in case she needed to push him again.

  “Are you really going to deny that you were not awfully bored of waiting for your fiancé? That you were looking for a little entertainment?”

  “I was bored, certainly. I was, however, not looking for anything like this and I highly doubt any woman is.”

  Mr. Jenkin’s skin began to grow red, a flush creeping up his neck and into his cheeks. She could hear the grinding of teeth. Nausea rolled in her stomach and she fought back the bitterness rising in her throat. He curled a hand deliberately slowly around one arm, then another. She flinched under his touch but he pinched hard, keeping her pinned.

  “You cannot tease a man, Miss Snow. I think that is a lesson you should learn now.”

  His mouth lowered to hers.

  No! It could not happen. The only man she had ever kissed had been Miles and that was how she wanted it to stay!

  Shoving both palms against his chest with as much force as she could muster, she managed to create enough space between them for her to swing her knee straight up into his groin. A groan emitted from him and his eyes seemed to almost cross as he doubled over, his hands between his legs. She used the opportunity to grab the poker and brandish it in front of her as he staggered back a few steps.

  “Know this, Mr. Jenkins,” her voice trembled but she drew up her shoulders and forced her legs to remain firm, despite the urge to flee the room entirely, “should you come near me again, I shall happily stab you with a hat pin.”

  “Damn you,” he hissed.

  “I suggest you do as I originally asked and leave.” She gestured toward the window with the poker.

  He groaned and glanced at the open window. “You cannot expect me to...”

  “You climbed in here and I assumed you had planned to climb out. You can manage.”

  “Not with bloody broken bollocks I cannot!”

  “If they really are broken, I have done the whole of womankind a favor. You, sir, need to spend less time thinking with them.” She gestured again to the window. “Leave or I shall have my father come up here with his shotgun. The rest of the world might not believe you broke in here but my father would take my word and happily shoot you.”

  His jaw ticked while he remained bunched over. For the first time, she heard how heavy her breaths were. She kept the poker stiff and steady, refusing to break eye contact. Finally, he turned to leave. As soon as his fingers were clear of the window, she slammed it shut. She almost hoped he fell if it were not for how horrified her parents would be should they find him in a crumpled heap beneath her window. Her parents would believe she had not invited him in, she was certain of that, but it would not take the housekeeper long to spread word of his visit.

  She peered out of the window and watched him scurry away. The gall of the man! To believe that her politeness meant to invite him into her bedroom for a...a liaison! She never realized wearing new dresses and a touch of makeup would invite such behavior. But at least now, she knew the truth. Whoever she had pretended to be, it was not her. She did not enjoy the attention or the gossip it brought.

  Slowly, she lowered the poker back to its holder and unfurled her fingers, eyeing the red marks from where she had held it so tightly.

  A bubble of laughter escaped her as she recalled Mr. Jenkins’s expression when her knee connected with his groin. He had not been expecting that from her! And, if she was honest, she had not been expecting it from herself.

  Well, with any luck, he would never come near her again. She suspected he would go find a more willing woman and lose interest in her now. Augusta lowered herself onto the wide windowsill and pressed her heated forehead against the cool glass. She had lost sight of Mr. Jenkins fleeing from the house but he was likely over in the fields by now at the pace he was moving. She cast her gaze about the gardens and nodded to herself. Just wait until she told Joanna and Chloe what she had done—they would be so surprised.

  And hopefully proud. She could not help feel proud of herself. She had finally stood up to a man and refused to let him dictate her moves. Now if only she could do that with the rest of her life...

  A flicker in the sky from the corner of her eye caught her attention and she squinted at it. Smoke rose into the air, black and growing in thickness. She did not think the gardener had anything to burn and she had seen no bonfire prepared in the last few days. He usually did that in autumn after scraping up all the leaves.

  The smoke grew darker, winding and billowing like an ominous storm cloud. She moved off the windowsill and pulled open the window once more. The acrid scent struck her immediately and she leaned out of the window to try to see the source of it.

  Her heart jammed to a half.

  The stables.

  Someone had set fire to the stables.

  Augusta raced out of her bedroom and downstairs. “Fire,” she yelled as she barreled outside in her delicate slippers, not waiting to find out if anyone had heard her as she sprinted to the stable block. There was no chance she was going to let her horses die.

  Chapter Twenty

  As soon as he’d arrived at The Queen’s Head inn, Miles recognized his mistake. He paused at the door and glanced back at his horse, now under the care of one of the grooms. This was what Nester wanted. Hell, he was pretty certain it was what a lot of people expected. Just a few years of playing viscount and Miles Stanton was ready to tumble back into his old life of drinking and gambling. He’d thought he was being clever going to one he’d never set foot in—as though that might save him from guilt. After all, he was not directly slipping back into his life if he was drinking at a new pub.

  He muttered a curse to himself and stepped away from the front door, crushing down the ache in his gut that he so badly wanted to quash under the weight of reckless drinking and gaming. He had to continue to do better—no matter what. Even if Augusta was going to marry his brother, he still could not handle disappointing her, and as much as he told himself he’d only do it once, he knew how unlikely that was.

  With more determined strides, he retrieved his horse and set off back home. He would bury himself in estate work rather than alcohol. He’d even damn well help Henry with wedding arran
gements if he had to. It would be near agonizing but it was better than letting himself sink into the mire.

  He rode swiftly, making quick work of the country roads that led back to town. From there, he cut across the fields that skimmed past the Waverly estate and Augusta’s modest family home, reveling in the burn in his legs and arms while he drew in heavy breaths. He could have taken the country lane home but he needed the open expanses.

  And a small, foolish part of him needed to see Augusta’s home.

  Miles grimaced to himself. No matter how hard he rode, no matter how much he worked, he was beginning to suspect he could never run or hide from his feelings for her. He would just have to resign himself to a lifetime of suffering. However, if she was happy with Henry, he would manage it.

  On the rise of a gentle slope, he paused. The scent of smoke drifted across the fields and he scanned the expanse of countryside, his gaze landing upon billows of grey smoke. The jolt to his chest was immediate. It came from the direction of Augusta’s house. Maybe it was deliberate—someone burning some shrubbery perhaps—however, it was rare to see a bonfire give up such thick smoke. He glanced down at the reins bunched in his gloved hands, already aware of what his decision was. He needed to go and find out—with haste.

  “Sorry, girl, but you need to give it your all,” he murmured to the horse, giving her a brief pat.

  He rode with urgency, telling himself that it would be something innocent. Nothing dangerous. Nothing that could harm Augusta. But every inch of his being felt as though it were on alert. The hairs on the back of his neck were sticking on end, his breath was tight and not just from exertion. He just knew, down in his bones, he needed to get to her.

  The closer he got, the more painful the tightness in his chest became. The smoke grew thicker and the stench covered the land. Flickers of flame grew visible, arching high into the air like the breath of an angry dragon. This was nothing innocent.

  He tethered his horse on the gate at the garden to keep her away from the fire then sprinted the rest of the distance into the small cobbled courtyard. The modest-sized barn was fully ablaze. He could hardly see the roof now and orange flames licked out of the few windows. A groom ran back and forth with water buckets while Mrs. Snow stood in the doorway of the house, clasping a handkerchief in one hand.