The Scarlet Bride (10 page)

Westwick had promised her a life free of worries and instead nearly destroyed her. His friends were no better. They knew his character and mirrored it without hesitation. The whole were a despicable lot.

“Pity,” she remarked before realizing she’d spoken aloud. Her eyes opened wide and she slapped a gloved hand over her mouth. She’d just insulted a future earl.

She waited for him to take her to task.

“It
is
a pity,” he said soberly. “It is the curse of the eldest son to carry the weight of the family.” He looked up to the growing clouds. “If only Uncle Arthur had chased skirts rather than exotic plants, I’d be free.”

Puzzlement brought her eyes to his. This was an odd turn.

“One would think most men pray for the day when they become titled,” she said suspiciously. “I am surprised by your lack of enthusiasm.”

Simon shrugged. “Some men are born with estate books in one hand and a sense of entitlement in the other. I wasn’t. Uncle Arthur almost married once, but the woman died of a fever before the wedding. After her death, he lost his appetite for the institution.”

Laura likened the doomed romance to a Shakespearian tragedy. “Your poor uncle. He must have loved her.”

“Since childhood.”

Having never been in love herself, she could only see the matter in an abstract way. “I understand that some people
love only once in their lifetime. To lose that love is terrible. How different his life might have been had she lived.”

Simon shrugged again. “Now he is content to spend his life as an adventurer, ever seeking new plant species and avoiding romantic entanglements.”

That Laura could understand. She planned to spend the rest of her life content to be alone. “Even though you were not born buried in estate books, you do have the sense of entitlement. I have sent you away several times, and yet you return again. I’m not certain what you want from me. However, if you have salacious intentions, you may think again.”

He chuckled. “I am a man. We always think salacious thoughts about women. But no, I am not taking you to Surrey to seduce you in my drafty old house. I thought you might like another outing, and I knew that I would enjoy your company. I see I was right. You are charming.”

“Charming? I’ve never been called charming. And I have been nothing but contrary to you since your first visit,” she said, her mouth twitching. “I’m quite out of practice when speaking to men I don’t despise. Perhaps you should reserve your opinion until after you’ve returned me to the school.”

Horse snorted and shook his head.

“I live with contrary women,” Simon countered grimly. “My mother has a temper and my sister lives to make me miserable. You, my dear Laura, could learn much from them.”

Laura smiled behind her hand. “I think they sound wonderful. Any woman who can ruffle you is someone to admire.”

With a pained expression, he scowled. “Now I think I
shall
reserve my opinion until I return you to Eva.”

Feeling his consternation, and knowing she’d caused it, she laughed brightly. “That is an excellent idea.”

They passed the time on lighter topics. She learned that he hated figs, rats, and wasps. She told him about her aversions to pickled eel, crows, and tea without sugar.

His stories about his childhood were delightfully entertaining.
Despite his comment about his mother and sister, she saw in his eyes his love for his family and envied the affectionate-squabbling relationship he shared with his younger sister and brother.

“Did your sister really tell Miss Sally Pemberton that you caught some contagious disease from eating worms?” Laura gasp-giggled as she pictured the incident he described.

Simon winced. “She did. That was the last time Sally ever spoke to me. Twelve-year-old girls already know that twelve-year-old boys are covered with icky stuff. Add an unnamed worm disease to the mix and she ran home so fast, she kicked up dust in her wake.”

She shook her head. The young Miss Harrington had certainly given her older brother quite a time of it growing up. “I think your sister sounds delightful.”

He glared. “That isn’t the word I would choose.”

“And yet you love her.”

“That I do.”

Laura pondered all she’d heard. “I wonder what stories your sister would tell.” Laura said. “Did you dip her braid in an inkwell? Toss her in a puddle? Put a toad down the back of her gown?”

“I was always a perfect gentleman,” he said.

“I find that very difficult to believe.”

She pondered the man as he pulled Horse to a stop. Mister Harrington was certainly full of contradictions: charming yet dangerous; amusing yet sober, too. The more she knew of him, the less she understood him.

Something she did understand was the way she felt out of sorts when he looked at her with his intense blue eyes. Though he promised this trip was not about seduction, she wasn’t certain that he wouldn’t take advantage if pressed.

Her body wasn’t repulsed as she’d been with Westwick. In fact, it was constantly aware of him beside her, as if on alert and eager for his touch.

This would not do. She’d fight the attraction with everything within her.

“It looks like rain,” he said, pulling her from her musing. “The good news is that we have arrived.”

Laura startled and looked around. All she saw was a long, overgrown driveway curving through a patch of trees. There was something oddly familiar about the area but the trees kept her from making a connection to the house beyond. He urged Horse onward and Mare plodded in line. As the lane opened up to the first glimpse of stone and roof, Laura felt a swell of familiarity she couldn’t quite grasp. Did she know this estate?

They finally broke from the tree line into a clearing and Laura saw the stone monolith that stood looming from atop a low hill.

She gasped.

L
aura, what is it?” She said nothing but sat frozen in the saddle with an odd look on her face. He pulled Horse to a stop, dismounted, and secured the horse to a tree.

Walking over to help her down, he noticed she was staring off toward the back of the house. Her eyes had a far-off cast. It was as if she were lost in a private world where he was not invited.

Worried, he touched her knee. “Laura, are you ill?”

She blinked, and then without a word, she kicked the mare into motion. Simon stumbled backward to avoid the moving horse. The pair launched across the weeded yard, around the manor, and disappeared with a thud of receding hooves.

Stunned, it took Simon a moment to recover from his surprise. What in the hell was happening?

Fearful for her safety, he grabbed his reins, swung up on the gelding, and took off after them.

As he circled the house, he noticed a narrow trail behind the manor. There was no sign of her, so he headed for the trail. Thankfully her direction was clear as he neared
the opening. Broken twigs marked her passage into the forest.

Horse plunged forward, narrowly dodging tree branches and ruts and overgrown weeds.

“Damn woman,” he cursed as a leaf hit him in the eye. Had she lost her senses? What was her destination, or had she decided to steal the mare and escape to a new life somewhere?

He barely had time to brace himself for flight when Horse bunched up beneath him and sailed over a log lying across the trail. Horse landed with an awkward thud, nearly unseating him. Skill kept Simon upright. At that speed, they should be narrowing the distance between them and the fleeing Laura, even with her head start. Horse was the superior animal. If she was running off, he should catch her soon enough.

“A passable rider?” Simon snorted, and ducked. A passable rider would have killed herself racing at such a breakneck speed. Laura was likely born atop a saddle. The mare had wings.

Up ahead, he saw enough light to expose a clearing before the gelding burst out of the trees and into an overgrown area where a building loomed before them. Simon sawed on the reins and Horse came to a hopping stop.

Standing beside the mare, reins dragging loosely on the ground, stood Laura, her attention transfixed on the small ramshackle cottage at the edge of a glen.

“Thank God you’re safe,” he growled. “You could have killed yourself running off like that.”

She said nothing under his scold. It was as if he hadn’t spoken at all.

“Laura?” he queried and slid to the ground. Then louder, “Laura!”

He hurried toward her, worried she’d suffered some sort of ailment of the mind. She didn’t turn to him but acknowledged his presence with a simple, “I grew up here.”

“What?”

“I grew up here,” she repeated.

This time his brain processed her words. This was her home? The day was full of surprises. “When?”

“Until just over a year ago.”

Her voice was emotionless. “A year ago?” Confusion welled as he stared at the abandoned building. Was this really her home or had she hit her head on a tree branch in the trail and addled her mind? He needed to shake her from the trance in order to get answers.

He reached to place a hand on her shoulder. She moved away before he made contact. She was stiff as she walked toward the narrow door that was hanging slightly askew on crumbling hinges.

Curiosity overcame concern and Simon followed, weeds tugging at his breeches and scraping his boots as he walked briskly after her.

He caught up at the door and placed a hand on her arm to stop her advance. She didn’t flinch. He moved around her and pushed open the damaged panel. Instinctively, he knew that whatever was troubling her, she’d tell him eventually.

“Let me go first.” He looked in, finding no visible signs of wild beasts, before stepping over the threshold.

The general smell of dust and decay filled his senses. It had been some time since anyone had cared for the modest structure. Light filtered in through the few windows, exposing the stark emptiness of the house.

Laura followed him in, then passed by, her boots scattering dust as she walked into a room just off the entryway. Wary, he kept a close watch for unwelcome surprises.

The room Laura entered was a parlor and likely the largest room in the cottage. A sizable stone fireplace stood at one end. Coal and burnt peat from a last fire was scattered over the hearth, likely caused by animals foraging for food.

The few remaining pieces of furniture were shabby, ruined by rodents and rain from the damaged ceiling.

Simon watched as Laura walked to the fireplace, her boots crunching across bits of damaged roof. She didn’t
look down. Her attention was on a dusty painting above the mantle of a child and a dog. In the girl’s features, he could see Laura.

“She is you?” His question was more a statement. She’d told him that this was her home. There were likely more paintings, more trinkets, and more memories of Laura within these walls.

She pushed her bonnet back on her shoulders, nodded, and spoke. “Yes.”

From her position, Simon couldn’t see her face but felt her sadness, saw it in the droop of her carriage. There was no stiffness in her body as she crossed and rubbed her arms.

“The last day I spent here was the day before my father died.” She turned to scan the room. Grief lined her features. “I was married that afternoon in this very parlor.”

Married? “You are married?”

For days he’d spent all his time lustily thinking of her eyes, her face, the curves of her body, and she was a married woman? The idea of her legally belonging to another man was inconceivable. How had she gone from wife to courtesan?

She lifted her eyes to his. “The marriage was a sham to appease my dying father. The parson was a drunkard and not truly a parson at all. I did not know the truth until days later, after—” She cast her eyes downward. “My husband took great joy in informing me that I was, in fact, not his wife but his courtesan. He gleefully assured me that he’d never marry a lowly squire’s daughter.”

Simon gnashed his teeth. “And your father?”

Laura clasped her palms together and lifted them to her mouth. “By the time the truth came out, my ‘husband’ had already dragged me to London after a brief farewell. My father never knew of the betrayal. I received word some two days later that Father had died.” She swallowed deeply. “I wasn’t allowed to attend the funeral. My ‘husband’ thought I would solicit help and flee.”

A grave impish light slowly filled her eyes. “But I did
flee. I suffered his punishments and bided my time. And when the moment came, I didn’t hesitate.”

The story certainly explained why she was clad in only a gown and slippers when he’d found her. Simon imagined her sneaking down some dark servants’ staircase and into the night, a pair of footmen on her trail. Her false husband may have thought he owned her body, but her spirit had remained intact.

And knowing that she’d only been with one man filled him with a strange sense of relief.

“Had you been armed, the footmen wouldn’t have had a chance of reclaiming you,” he said, his admiration growing.

A shy smile tugged at her mouth. “I think you have mistaken me for a woman with more courage. I did what I needed to survive, nothing more.”