Were all the Sherbrookes—even those not born Sherbrookes—quite mad?
“I am pleased to have accorded your sister-in-law so much amusement,” Colin said, and there was more irritation in his voice than there was tea in his cup. “If you want me to keep my hands off you, then stop staring at my mouth.”
“I can’t help it. You’re so very beautiful. Oh dear, all we have are ten minutes.”
Colin jumped to his feet, and he took up Douglas’s pacing. “This is all immensely unlikely, Joan,” he said, pivoting to walk toward the marble fireplace. “And in the future I will speak for myself.” And just what would he say? Damnation. He paused, looking down into the empty grate. It was pale pink Italian marble, expensive and fashioned by masters. Then he pictured in his mind the huge blackened fireplace in the great hall of Vere Castle that could hold an entire cow. Old and filthy, the bricks cracking, the mortar falling out in chunks. Jesus, even the magnificent painting of a pastoral scene over the Italian marble mantel was old and reeked of solid wealth and an acceptance of great privilege. Wealth and privilege of many generations. He thought of the winding narrow stairs that climbed to the second-floor north tower, so dangerous now because of wood rot from the cold wind seeping through the gaps in the outer stone. He drew a deep breath. He could save Vere Castle. He could save his people. He could replenish the sheep. He could even plant crops, since he’d learned all about crop rotation. He could buy grain. He turned to his future wife and said, “I will accept your belief that I’m beautiful. A man, I suppose, wants to be thought reasonably acceptable to the woman he marries.”
“More than acceptable,” Sinjun said, and felt her heart thump wildly in her breast. He’d accepted her. Finally. She wanted to kick her heels in the air.
He sighed then and plowed his fingers through his hair, making it stand on end. He stopped cold when she said in a marveling voice, “I didn’t ever think I would fall in love. No gentleman has ever made me think there was anything to this love business. I found some of them amusing, but nothing more than that. Others were stupid and rude and had no chins. Some thought me a bluestocking, and all because I’m not ignorant. I couldn’t imagine having any of them kissing me. Goodness, if any of them had even touched my bottom, I should have shrieked and killed them. But with you . . . it’s different. I understand that you don’t love me. Please believe me that it doesn’t matter. I will do my best to make you care for me. Now, there is nothing more I can say other than I will try to make you a good wife. Would you like to eat one of Mrs. Potter’s scones, or would you like to leave and go somewhere private to brood?”
“Brood,” he said. “There is so much you don’t know about me. You might very well change your mind.”
She gave him a long, thoughtful look. She said quite calmly and with great finality, “You will care for me, will you not, if we marry?”
“I will protect you with my life. It would be my responsibility.”
“You would give me respect?”
“If you deserve it.”
“Very well, then. You can tell me anything you wish to after the ceremony. Not before. And know now that nothing you say to me will change how I feel about you. It’s just that I don’t want anything untoward and unimportant coming to Douglas’s ears before we’re married.”
He would wed her. He desperately needed the money, and he liked her, despite her outlandishness. It was frightening, this openness of hers, this truth that knew no tempering. Well, he could teach her to moderate her tongue. He knew he wouldn’t find it at all difficult to bed her. Yes, he would wed her. But he would wait the week her brother had demanded. But it had to be soon after that. The situation back home was growing worse by the day. She would do just fine. And she’d presented herself to him on a wondrous silver plate. Only a fool would look such a gift-heiress in the mouth. Colin Kinross wasn’t a fool.
He strode over to her, pulled her to her feet, and just looked down at her silently. Then he kissed her lightly on her closed mouth. He wanted more but forced himself not to take any more from her, even though he imagined he could ease her down to the floor this very minute and take her without much fuss. But he didn’t. He would keep himself within safe bounds. He said, “I would like to see you again, despite your brother’s edict. Would you like to go riding tomorrow? We’ll be discreet.”
“I would love to. Douglas will never know. Oh, Colin?”
He turned.
“Will you teach me how to speak Scottish?”
“Aye, and ’twill be my pleasure, lassie.” His voice was lilting and smooth as honey. “Ye’ll be my sweetheart, dinna ye ken?”
“I’ve never been a sweetheart before. It sounds grand.”
All he could do was shake his head at her.
Douglas said to his wife, “I’ve discovered nothing ill about Ashburnham. He is liked and respected. He attended Eton and Oxford. He has many men friends in society. The only thing any of them can say is that he must marry an heiress.” Douglas, in a habit that was becoming more pronounced, plowed his fingers through his hair again. He continued his pacing as his wife watched him from her dressing table. It was still early in the evening, three nights from the week Douglas had demanded. Both of them knew that Sinjun had met Colin the day after the historic brawl, but neither wanted to make an issue of it. As far as Douglas knew, Sinjun hadn’t seen him since. But who could know with Sinjun? She was damnably resourceful.
“How long has he been the earl of Ashburnham?”
“Just six months. His brother was a wastrel, as was his father. Together they ran the estate into the ground. He has a huge barn of an old castle that will require vast sums to bring it back to what it was. Then there are the crops, the sheep, the poverty of his people—crofters, they’re called in Scotland.”
“So,” Alex said slowly, “when he became the earl and discovered the true state of his affairs, he made a decision, the only one he could make. You don’t dislike him for that, do you, Douglas?”
“No. It’s just that—”
“That what, my dear?”
“Sinjun doesn’t know him. She’s infatuated, that’s all. She’ll end up in Scotland, with no one to protect her, and what if—”
“Do you believe that Colin Kinross is an honorable man?”
“I have no idea. On the surface, I’d say yes. What goes on in his mind? In his heart?”
“Sinjun will wed him, Douglas. I only hope she doesn’t seduce him before they’re wed.”
He sighed. “I hope so, too. Now I must go to speak with Mother. She is squawking again, driving her maid insane, demanding that the young man be brought to her. She is threatening to send Sinjun to Italy until she has forgotten this foreign bounder. The strange thing is that she doesn’t at all mind that he is marrying her daughter for money. What she minds is that he is a Scot. She says all Scots are hard and mean-fisted and Presbyterian.”
“Perhaps you should quote some Robert Burns poetry to her. It’s really quite lovely.”
“Ha! It’s a foreign language and she’d have even more fits than she’s having now. Damnation, I wish Sinjun weren’t lying in her bed with a headache. She is never about when I need her.”
“Shall I come with you?”
“If you were to do that, Mother would rage until we were both deaf. You still haven’t won her over, my dear. I doubt not she will soon come around to blaming you for this debacle.” Douglas sighed and left the room, mumbling about his damned sister and her equally damned headache.
Sinjun didn’t have a headache. She had a plan and she was well into its execution. She had carefully molded a bolster into a reasonable human shape and covered it. Excellent. If there were no close inspection, the bolster would pass muster as a likely female. She patted her own pants leg, straightened her jacket, and pulled her felt hat more fully down over her forehead. She looked like a boy, no doubt about it. She turned and looked at her back in the long mirror. Just like a boy, even to her black boots. She whistled softly. Now a
ll she had to do was climb down the elm tree into the garden. Then she was off.
Colin’s lodgings were on the second floor of an old Georgian town house on Carlyon Street, only three streets away. It wasn’t yet dark and she kept whistling to keep away any fears that might try to nibble at her, and to make anyone who saw her see only a boy, out for the evening. She saw two gentlemen in their swirling cloaks, laughing and smoking cheroots, but they paid her no heed. There was a ragged boy sweeping the path for anyone who passed, and she thanked him and gave him a pence. Sinjun found Colin’s lodging without problem and strolled to the front door as if she hadn’t a care in the world. She pounded the huge eagle’s-head knocker.
There wasn’t a sound from within. She knocked again. She heard a giggle and a girl’s high voice scolding, “Now, sir, don’t you do that! No, no, not there, you mustn’t. Now, we’ve a visitor. No, sir—” There were more giggles and when the door opened, Sinjun was face-to-face with one of the prettiest females she’d ever seen. The girl’s neckline was low over very white, full breasts, and her pale hair was mussed and her eyes were bright with excitement and fun. She was grinning wickedly.
“And just who’d you be, my fine lad?” she said, striking a pose, one hand on her hip and her chest poked out.
The fine lad answered with a wide smile, “Who do you want me to be? Your father, perhaps? No, that isn’t possible, is it? I would have to scold the gentleman who was making you laugh, and you wouldn’t want that, would you?”
“Oh, you’re a fine one, you are! All jests and games and a well-oiled tongue. You want to see someone here?”
Sinjun nodded. She saw a gentleman from the corner of her eye as he slipped into a door off the main corridor. “I’m here to see Lord Ashburnham. Is he in?”
The girl struck another pose, this one even more provocative, and giggled once again. “Aye, a pretty one, his lordship is. But he’s poor, you know. Can’t afford a nice girl, he can’t, or a gentleman’s man to help him. Talk is he’s marrying an heiress, but he won’t say boo about it. Probably the heiress is a stoat all dressed in fancy silk, poor man.”
“Some heiresses can even whistle, I’ve heard,” Sinjun said. “Now, his lordship’s apartment is on the second floor, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” the girl said. “Hey, wait! I don’t know if he’s here or not. Haven’t seen him for two days now. Tilly, one of the girls, went up to see if he wanted some fun—all willing to give it to him on the house, she was—but he wasn’t there. Leastwise he didn’t answer. And what man wouldn’t answer when he heard Tilly calling out to him?”
Sinjun took the stairs two at a time, saying over her shoulder, “If he isn’t there, perhaps I shall return and you and I can, er, have a cup of tea and a chat.”
The girl giggled. “Ah, go along with you, my cute lad! Ah, ’tis you, sir, back again. Now, where were we? Ah, what naughtiness you are!”
Sinjun was still smiling when she reached the landing. It was a solid house with a wide hallway. Well maintained, the paint fresh, a gentleman’s establishment. Were the pretty girls here all the time? She found Colin’s door and knocked. There was nothing. She knocked again. Please, she thought, please let him be here. It had been too long. Four whole days without him. It was too much. They’d fooled Douglas that first morning, but Colin hadn’t called on her since. She had to see him, to touch him, to smile at him.
Finally she heard a deep voice call out, “Whoever you are, go to hell.”
It was Colin, but he sounded strange, his voice low and raw. Was he with someone? A girl like the one downstairs?
No, she wouldn’t believe that. She knocked again.
“Damnation, go away!” The curse was followed by a hacking cough.
Sinjun felt a spurt of fear. She gripped the door handle, and to her immense relief it wasn’t locked. She pushed the door open and walked into a small entrance hall. She looked to her right into a long, narrow drawing room that was well enough furnished, she supposed, but impersonal, without any individual character. It called up nothing of Colin. Nothing of anyone except perhaps a musty gentleman from the past century. She called out, “Colin? Where are you?”
She heard some cursing coming from beyond the drawing room. She hurried now, pushed the door open, and came face-to-face with her betrothed. He was sitting up in the middle of a rumpled bed, quite naked, the sheets drawn only to his waist. Sinjun stood there a moment, just gawking. Goodness, he was big, and there was black hair all over his chest, and he looked strong and muscular and lean and she couldn’t stop staring at his chest and his arms and his shoulders, yes, even his throat. There were black whiskers on his face, his eyes were bloodshot, and his hair was standing on end. He looked quite wonderful.
“Joan! What the hell are you doing here? Are you out of your damned mind? Are you—”
His voice was a croak. Sinjun was across the room to him in a moment to stand by the side of the bed. “What’s wrong?” Even as she asked him, she realized he was shaking. And she’d been standing there staring at him like a half-witted fool. “Oh goodness.” She pushed him back down and pulled the covers up to his chin. “No, no, just hold still and tell me what’s wrong.”
Colin lay flat on his back, looking up at Joan, who was trying to look like a boy, which was ridiculous. But perhaps it was the fever; perhaps she wasn’t really here, perhaps he’d just conjured her up.
He said tentatively, frowning, “Joan?”
“Yes, love, I’m here. What’s wrong?” She sat beside him and laid her palm on his forehead. He was hot to the touch.
“I can’t be your love,” he said. “It’s much too soon. Damnation, I’m tired or something, and weak as a day-old pup. Why are you pretending to be a boy? It’s silly. You have a woman’s hips and long legs that aren’t at all remotely like a boy’s.”
It was an interesting avenue of conversation, but Sinjun was too scared to be sidetracked. “You have a fever. Have you been vomiting?”
He shook his head, then closed his eyes. “Have you no damned sensibilities?”
“Your head hurts?”
“Yes.”
“How long have you felt bad?”
“Two days now. I don’t feel bad, I’m just tired.”
“Why didn’t you send for a doctor? For me?”
“I don’t need anyone. It’s just a passing fever, nothing more. I was out in the rain, at a boxing match on Tyburn Hill. I’m just tired.”
“We’ll see,” she said. Men, she thought, as she leaned down and pressed her cheek to his. They couldn’t bring themselves to admit to any weakness. She drew back. The heat was incredible. His eyes flew open, but she said as she gently laid her fingertip on his lips, “No, don’t move. I will see to everything now. When did you last eat?”
He looked as irritated as his voice sounded. “I don’t remember. It isn’t important. I’m not hungry. Just go away, Joan. It’s vastly improper for you to be here.”
“Would you leave me if you found me sick and alone?”
“It’s altogether different, and you know it. For God’s sake, I’m bare-assed.”
“Bare-assed,” she repeated, smiling at him. “My brothers have never said that before. No, no, don’t frown at me or curse at me anymore. Just lie down and I will see to things.”
“No, dammit, just go away!”
“I will, and I will soon be back with help. Lie down and keep warm, Colin. Now, would you like some water?”
His eyes lit up and he nodded.
Once he’d drunk his fill, she said matter-of-factly, “Do you need to relieve yourself?”
He looked ready to spit. “Go away.”
“All right.” She leaned down and kissed his mouth and was gone in the next moment.
Colin pulled the covers to his nose. His thoughts were vague. The room blurred. When he opened his eyes again, he was alone. Had she really been here? He wasn’t so thirsty anymore, so someone must have come in. Lord, he was cold and he couldn’t seem to stop shiverin
g. His head pounded and his thoughts grew vaguer. He was ill, more wretched than he’d been when he’d cracked two ribs in a satisfying fight just two months before his brother had gotten himself killed and Colin had inherited a title he’d wanted only because he hated the destruction of his home.
He closed his eyes and saw Joan dressed like a boy and she was smiling down at him. Unaccountable girl. She would be back, of that he had no doubts—that is, if she’d ever been here in the first place.
An hour later he received a shock when not only Joan returned, but her brother Douglas with her. He saw that she was still wearing boys’ clothes. Didn’t her brother discipline her? Wasn’t she given any guidance on how a young lady of quality was to behave?
Colin stared at the earl, who was staring back at him. He was unable to find a single word to say.
Douglas said calmly, “You’re coming back to Sherbrooke House. You’re ill, I can see that, and my sister doesn’t want to marry a man who’s nearly dead.”
“So you were really here,” he said to Sinjun.
“Yes, and now all will be well. I’ll take excellent care of you.”
“Dammit, I’m only tired, not ill. You’re making too much of this, and I just want to be left alone and—”
“Do be quiet,” Douglas said.
And Colin, because he felt worse than a half-starved mongrel, shut his mouth.
And that, he thought, too ill to care, was that.
“Sinjun, get out of here. The man’s naked and you aren’t to stay about and embarrass him. Send in Henry and Boggs to help me get him into clothing.”
“I can dress myself,” Colin said, and Douglas, seeing the fever burning bright and hot in his eyes, agreed.
He didn’t do it well, but he managed to dress himself quickly. However, the ride to the Sherbrooke town house was a nightmare Colin would just as soon not have lived through. He passed out when Henry and Boggs were helping him up the wide stairway.
The Heiress Bride Page 5
