Page 14

Yet he sat across from her, his arms folded in front of him, his head listing to the window. As if the muddy outskirts of London were a more fascinating study than the person he was about to spend his life with. Perhaps he means to wed me and send me off to some country pile. She knew he had an estate. The little intelligence she’d been able to gather before she threw herself at his feet unveiled that much. Few people seemed to know Lord Clarendel. A fourth son. An officer. A rake or a cad, but no one charged specific crimes against him beyond running with a fast set or seducing a few married women—but no one ever gave any names. From what she witnessed, he could be no worse than her father. And she wanted to sit next to him. It wasn’t even about the promise of pleasure anymore. She was cold. If he was, he didn’t show it. Maybe he is used to it from the Peninsula. He seemed content with a thin blanket over his lap. What would he think of her if she complained now?

Best keep my discomfort to myself.

“You’re shivering, Amy.” One day, she’d surely be accustomed to the deep timbre of his voice.

“I am?”

His blue eyes glinted in the fading light. “At the next stop, we can add a brazier, but that’s at least an hour’s solid travel if the roads permit. We don’t want your father catching us without a fight.” He lifted his arm and his blanket with it. “You can join me on this side if you like.”

Her cheeks grew warmer, and with a soft nod, she shifted forward and stood, pivoting on her heel to set her derriere in the seat beside him, bringing her blanket and fur with her. “I don’t mind the cold,” she lied. “Like you, I’m eager to leave the city.” And Father.

“You’ll mind it if you let your lips go blue, and a chill sets in. So will I. I can’t stand the idea of wedding a corpse, pretty though you’d still be.” Clarendel arranged both blankets over her lap and draped one heavy—and thankfully warm—arm across her shoulders.

“I am ... relieved to hear you harbor such reservations.” Her brow quirked as she leaned closer, closing her eyes and breathing in his scent: leather, a hint of tobacco, something else she couldn’t name. “Corpses don’t stay pretty for long.”

“According to some, neither do wives in general,” he answered wryly. “Though with a face as lovely as yours, you’d have to expend tremendous effort to lose all your beauty.” He turned back toward the window as if unconcerned with how she took the remark. “Have you traveled much, Miss Sunderland? Or is your father one of those who goes only to Town and straight home again?”

“The latter. Until my debut, he rarely brought me along. I enjoy the country more than the city. But I regret having seen little else.”

“I’d promise to take you to France, but Napoleon’s making any Continental honeymoon ideas difficult. Unless you find cannon fire and army rations charming?”

“I’m not that bold, my lord.”

His eyes gleamed. “Which rather brings up the subject of where you expect to live, I suppose, as Lady Clarendel. I’d always assumed my wife would be wedding a perpetually skint officer. You’ve gotten more than that in this little lark.” He stroked her upper arm through the fur-lined cloak, as if in reassurance.

Amy lifted her head to meet his gaze. “Father always said he wanted me to wed an earl, so I understand that there are expectations and responsibilities. I can assure you, my aunt has prepared me for running an estate. Father tends to hire and fire stewards with the tax season, so I have familiarity with the accounts and such.”

“Then at least one of us isn’t dismayed.” Nicholas exhaled something just short of a laugh. “Clarendel Manor has its charms, but it was old when Elizabeth was queen. With tenants and incomes and the whole mess, it makes organizing a company of retreating Redcoats look simple.” He studied her with another of his impenetrable expressions. “I haven’t decided if I will resign my commission. I think it’ll depend on how large your dowry is when we’ve cleared the accounts. You should know you may be signing on to assist my steward and write fond letters as much or more than you shall see me.”

One of Napoleon’s cannonballs lodged itself in her throat and crashed into her stomach. She was prepared for a husband who wasn’t often home. Had even prayed for it. The one time my prayers are answered? Be careful what you wish for, indeed. “I ... imagine it is a difficult decision. My cousin speaks so highly of his fellow officers and men. As though they were brothers. Such attachments are not so easily severed.”

Nicholas shrugged. “Most of my lot are thieving, lying, murderous dregs. And I would not consent to lead them if they were any other way. They ensure a constant variety and interest in life between the battles. Perhaps if my tenants were more larcenous, I might like them better. But alas, they are earnest farmers of the driest sort, all askance at being inherited by a rakish fourth son.” His smile returned. “I think you may win them over. You wouldn’t mind, would you? Becoming the angelic ambassador for peaceable fairs and rents?”

“It would be a nice change of pace.” She relaxed against him again, though beneath the blanket, she twisted her fingers in her skirt. Being prepared to be the lady of a household was well and good, but actually becoming one with so little ceremony left her head spinning. And without her husband there? Though she realized with a start that she was better prepared than Nicholas for the tasks he’d brought up. “I will miss you...”

“Now, darling, don’t say that yet. You’ll scarce know if you’ll miss me until we’ve been acquainted for a fortnight.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Though I expect you’ll miss the game we played earlier.”

She suddenly felt very hot. “O—of course. That’s what I meant.”

“Good.” He sat back against the cushions, stretching his legs until his boots touched the base of the bench opposite them. “I loathe the idea of a frigid bride. Much better to have a warm and willing one.” The hand on her arm moved again, drawing her closer to his side. “Emphasis on the warm part, currently. You can be willing tomorrow.”

Amy furrowed her brow, sitting up and letting the blankets fall from her shoulders. “Tomorrow?”

“Or the next day.” He caught the blankets and pulled her back toward him with a disapproving grunt. “Even rakes can have something like morals, darling. We won’t be arriving at the inn as husband and wife. You’ll be a sister, a cousin, or some such, and you will stay with Juliet and the maids. On the off chance your father catches up tonight, that’ll dissuade him of too much damage being done.”

She licked her lips, trying to make sense of his reasoning. “My lord, the fact that we’ve made it this far is more than enough damage.” She’d heard of virgin ladies absconding with their would-be lovers only to be caught before arriving in Scotland. Even in the company of a chaperone, it never saved the girl’s reputation.

“There’s ruin, and then there’s ruin,” Nicholas said gently. “The one they pawn you off to a barrister. The other ... well.” He shook his head.

He has a point. Not that Father will pawn me off anywhere. “I ... I am not averse to staying with your sister.” Amy’s voice softened. “She is to be family, after all. I should like to get to know her.”

“That’s another reason Juliet is with us. It gives you some scant cover. If you recover your senses and want to retreat on the morrow, it may make all the difference for your family’s opinions. It’ll be damaging but salvageable.”

Not with my father. She knew better than to argue. He’d already been kind to let her voice her thoughts, but there were limits to kindness. She’d not yet found his and was happy never to cross that line. So, she kept her lips together and settled a little lower onto the bench, crossing her legs at her ankles. “I understand.”

“I doubt that.” He patted her shoulder companionably as if they were old friends out for a journey. “But you will one day. Quite soon, I expect.” Then his impossible-to-read gaze swept over her again. “If you’re still with us in the morning, you can feel free to negotiate about the next night’s lodgings.”

She jutted her chin forward, her hands clutching the blanket. “I look forward to the negotiation.” With that, she tried to rise and retreat to her former seat, but he pressed down on her shoulder, his touch heavier and forceful enough to make her shrink into the bench, pulling away from him as much as he allowed. “I’m sorry, my lord. I only meant to ... I didn’t ... I’ll...” She kept her eyes cast on the tips of her shoes, which peeked from underneath the blanket. “I’m sorry.”