Hidden Affections (2 page)

“Are you absolutely certain there won’t be a problem obtaining a quick annulment?”

He shrugged. “Since our marriage never has and never will be consummated, I should expect it will be rather easy to obtain within a month or so,” he said, using an authoritative tone that invited no argument from her. “Granted, it may be a bit awkward for both of us for a while, but the annulment should be granted so quickly, no one need ever learn we were married at all.”

“There are more than a few people who already know we’re married, and Reverend Wood is recording it in his book as we speak,” she reminded him, worried that he was either overconfident or merely accustomed to getting what he wanted because of his immense wealth that everyone else had mentioned.

“We’ll never see any of these people again. Even if their gossip spreads to the city, I’ve learned that rumors quickly disappear when no proof emerges,” he countered. “Don’t worry. I’m absolutely certain I can have our marriage annulled. When I do, it will be as if it never existed at all, legally speaking,” he said as he led her closer to the fire to share one last bit of warmth before they ventured outside again into the freezing cold that had blanketed the area for most of November. “If all else fails, of course, I can always petition for a divorce, which will be a first for anyone in my family.”

A chill raced up the length of her spine, and she trembled. “I’m afraid it won’t be the first time. Not for me,” she whispered so softly she barely heard her own words.

At least this time she knew the man she had married was a womanizer before they were wed.

For half a heartbeat, Annabelle feared that the young blacksmith would refuse to remove the handcuffs, even though Sheriff Taylor had given his assurances that there was no legal reason the newly married couple had been handcuffed together in the first place.

Once the sheriff left to make arrangements for them to stay at the inn, Matthew Owens reluctantly started to perform the task, but only after she had added a plea of her own. Holding a chisel in one hand and a mallet of some sort in the other, he looked directly at Harrison. “Are you quite certain you want these handcuffs removed, sir? Might be a good way to keep an eye on this new wife of yours. I’d be willing to bet my finest horse that your missus will be quite a looker. Once she’s cleaned up, that is,” he teased.

Annabelle blew away a wisp of blond hair that had fallen across her face, along with the man’s audacious compliment, and glared at him, hoping Harrison would say something to the impudent young man to defend her honor. With her wavy hair in disarray and her travel gown carrying enough dirt and grime to double its weight, she did not need anyone to remind her how bad she looked at the moment. In point of fact, she could scarcely imagine that a full month of hot baths would even thaw out her bones, let alone get her clean again.

Much to her relief, Harrison snorted his displeasure. “Your cavalier comment about my wife is both unwarranted and unwelcome,” he said firmly.

“I-I’m sorry, ma’am. I . . . I meant no disrespect, sir,” Owens stammered.

Harrison lifted up his left wrist, forcing her to lift her arm as well, and laid the chain links in the center of the anvil that stood between them and the blacksmith. He tugged back the cuff on his shirt to reveal the narrow U-shaped metal band, held in place by a metal pin with a lock at one end, that was far too small for his wrist. “I should hope that if common sense does not dictate your full cooperation, this nasty wound will be reason enough to comply with our very simple request. Now unless the sheriff made a mistake in thinking you’d be willing to help us, I suggest you break these cuffs apart and remove them. Immediately,” he ordered.

“Y-yes sir. Right away. I’m not quite certain if I can remove them, but I can separate the links in the chain easily enough,” he said as he carefully arranged and rearranged the three links lying on the anvil. When he was apparently satisfied, he looked up at both of them. “Just . . . just hold very still. And keep the chain lax,” he urged, forcing Annabelle and Harrison to step closer together before he started working on breaking one of the links in the chain.

Annabelle turned her head to avoid seeing what would happen if he missed his mark and flinched when he struck each blow to the links. Although it was merely uncomfortable for her to feel the vibrations absorbed by the metal cuff around her wrist, she could only imagine how painful it must have been for Harrison.

“There. You’re separated, once and for all,” he announced, placing his tools back onto a small table he had moved next to the anvil.

“Hardly,” Annabelle quipped as she flexed her wrist. She had no idea exactly how long it would take before an annulment legally freed her from the man whose name she reluctantly carried, but she held on to his promise that it would only be a matter of a month or two. Satisfied that the narrow band of metal around her wrist had done nothing more than chafe at her flesh a bit, she felt a pang of true regret when she saw Harrison step away from her and cradle his wrist in the palm of his other hand.

The young blacksmith looked directly at Harrison. “The cuffs themselves are next. Ladies first?”

When Harrison nodded, Owens wiped the anvil with the tip of his apron. “If you could rest your wrist here, ma’am, I’d like to take a look at the lock before I try to bust it.”

She complied and watched closely as he turned the U-shaped band until the pin was perpendicular to the anvil and the lock itself was facing up toward the beams in the ceiling.

Her optimism faded when he shook his head. “Are you absolutely certain that neither one of you has the key?”

She glared at him.

So did Harrison.

“Hold the lock exactly where it is,” he suggested before walking off.

“Wait! Where are you going? You can’t leave now!” she cried, tempted to stomp her foot in frustration.

He waved back at her over his shoulder. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Harrison sighed. “While he’s gone, perhaps you can help me do something,” he murmured, his voice as husky and deep as when they had first met aboard the stage.

Was the man actually flirting with her? Again? She dropped her gaze. “What do you want me to do?” she grumbled.

Still cradling his wrist, he moved beside her and nodded toward his chest. “There’s a handkerchief in my vest pocket. I’d be obliged if you’d remove it for me. Once Owens removes the cuff from my wrist, I’ll need it to wrap the wound to stem the bleeding.”

Harrison was not an uncommonly tall man, but compared to her own small stature, he seemed very tall indeed. Avoiding his gaze, Annabelle reached into the very same pocket where he had kept the pocket watch the thieves had stolen. When her fingertips brushed against his chest, her heartbeat quickened, but she dismissed her reaction to him as merely a consequence of her utter fatigue.

After tugging the monogrammed linen handkerchief free, she took a step back and handed it out to him. “It looks clean enough, I suppose.”

He looked down at his injured wrist and shook his head. “Since I don’t have a free hand at the moment, perhaps you should keep that handkerchief for me until I need it.”

Moistening her lips, she tucked the handkerchief beneath the wooden knitting stick still safely secured to the narrow band of fabric at her waist. Although all of the knitting needles she usually kept stored in the sheath were now gone, including the one she had bent trying to pick at the lock on the handcuffs, she could one day replace them.

The knitting stick itself, however, was priceless, if only to her. With the tip of her fingers, she traced each of the letters of her mother’s name that her father had carved into the sheath of wood when he made this courtship gift for her. Annabelle was deeply grateful she had been able to convince the thieves to let her keep it.

When Owens abruptly returned to the shop a solid five minutes after he had left, reality quickly consumed the memory of her late parents. She dropped her hand away, placed her wrist back onto the anvil, and made certain the lock was back in place exactly where it had been when the blacksmith left.

“Ready?” Owens asked as he placed several tools onto the table next to the broken chain.

She rolled her eyes.

While holding the pin steady with one hand, he lifted her wrist until there was a small gap between the U-shaped metal band and her flesh. “Hold it right there,” he murmured and slid a narrow wad of muslin between the metal and her wrist. “That should help absorb some of the blows I have to make to break the lock, but I’m afraid—”

“Just get the cuff off,” she insisted and used her other hand to hold her arm steady. She closed her eyes and braced herself. If he was going to end up smashing her wrist, she had no desire to watch him. To her surprise, Harrison stepped closer to her, as if offering his presence as support.

“Seems a shame to ruin a fine pair of Darby cuffs. I’ve only seen one other pair. They’re rather rare,” he explained as he started tapping at the lock.

Harrison huffed. “Apparently not rare enough if common thieves can acquire them and use them for nefarious purposes.”

“The thieves were hardly common. Not if they deliberately chose to target you,” she quipped, still annoyed that he had chosen to ride the very stage on which she had also been a passenger after his private coach had broken an axle.

“How kind of you to remind me. Then again, you seem to have a penchant for reminding me rather often that this whole affair is my fault,” he retorted. “If the thieves were that smart, they would have brought along a pair of handcuffs that would have actually fit me properly.”

“Actually, Darby cuffs are made in four or five sizes,” Owens interjected. “But if they’d used one to fit you, sir, your wife could have slipped her wrist right through. Then again, the cuffs are rare enough that they probably only used what they could get their hands on.”

Harrison scowled at him.

“You would have fared better if you hadn’t fought the thieves when they tried to put them on or made such a vigorous attempt to remove them later, which only made your wrist swell even more,” she offered.

He frowned at her.

“Actually, it’s nearly impossible to remove these cuffs without a key. Or some good tools like mine,” Owens added proudly.

“Just do your best to remove the cuff. Quickly,” she urged before Harrison could remind her that she had been foolish to think she could have used one of her knitting needles to force the lock to open.

Many long, nerve-racking taps later, she heard the lock at the end of the pin pop free and she opened her eyes. Amazed by how efficiently he had completed his task, she watched as the blacksmith slid the pin free before he eased the metal band away from her wrist. “Thank you,” she murmured as she rubbed at the skin that had been chafed by the metal.

He grinned at her before giving Harrison a nod.

Annabelle forced herself to watch as her companion placed his cuffed wrist onto the anvil and cringed. The flesh around the metal band was scarlet now and even more badly swollen. Apparently, the simple process of removing the chain holding both cuffs together had reopened the wound and fresh blood trickled down onto the metal anvil.

Owens studied the cuff for a moment and shook his head. Swallowing hard, he paled. “I . . . I don’t think I can cushion the blows at all for you, sir, but if you could just turn your wrist—”

“Just do what you have to do,” Harrison gritted.

“Wait. Just a moment,” Annabelle insisted and stepped around him to snatch the muslin that Owens had used earlier to cushion her wrist from the table where he had tossed it. “Have you any more muslin I could use to make a bandage?”

“I might be able to find more in the house. Might take a few minutes to find it.”

“Make do with what you have,” Harrison demanded.

“Perhaps for now we could,” she replied, knowing how badly he wanted to be free from the restraint. As she returned to her place, she slipped his handkerchief free, ready to use both the muslin and the handkerchief as a makeshift bandage, if necessary.

Instead of watching Owens or closing her eyes this time, she kept her gaze squarely on Harrison’s face. With each tap on the lock, he paled and tightened his jaw, but he stared directly down at the anvil and made no effort to halt what must have been an exceedingly painful process. His eyes flashed with relief when the lock finally popped free, but he quickly shuttered his gaze and reached forward.

She tensed and watched in horrified fascination as he pulled the metal band free from his swollen flesh. Without hesitation, she pressed the muslin against his wrist and quickly bound it against the wound with his handkerchief. “Is there a doctor nearby?” she asked the blacksmith.

“Doc Marley is—”

“The inn. How far is the inn?” Harrison asked, using the authoritative voice that told Annabelle not to interfere.

Owens looked from Annabelle to Harrison. “About five miles. Straight down the road, sir, but Doc Marley is—”

“How much for your services?” Harrison asked as he scooped up the pieces of the handcuffs and shoved them into his trousers pocket.

“Since you were robbed, and I really don’t expect—”

“How much for your services?”

“If I could keep the handcuffs, I’d be willing to call it even,” he replied sheepishly.

Harrison cocked a brow. “Need I repeat myself yet again?”

Owens blushed. “Fifty cents.”

Harrison bent down, undid the strap lying across his boot, and secured a coin from a hidden pouch before fastening the strap again.

When he put the coin on the table, Owens’s eyes widened. “That’s ten times what you owe me. I haven’t got enough coin to give you change.”

“You’ve earned every cent. Thank you,” he murmured, then placed his hand at Annabelle’s back and urged her to the door.

Flabbergasted that he had any coin at all, she leaned toward him. “I thought the robbers took everything,” she whispered, painfully aware the thieves had taken every coin she had hidden in the bottom of her knitting bag, which they had also stolen.

He managed half a grin. “Not everything. I travel frequently, and I’m always prepared for the unexpected.”

“This whole sorry affair qualifies as a bit more than ‘the unexpected,’ ” she offered. “Why didn’t you just let the man have those horrid handcuffs and save your coin to pay for lodging at the inn?”

He paused and glanced down at the knitting stick she wore at her waist. “I have more coin. Besides, you have your little treasure. Would you deny me mine?”

She covered the wooden heirloom with her fingertips and sniffed. “I hardly think those handcuffs should be considered a treasure, especially now that they’ve been reduced to nothing more than pieces of metal. I don’t suppose you’d care to tell me why you want them, would you?”