Wagered to the Duke (BookStrand Publishing Romance) (15 page)

“I can’t think of any other reason why they might stop along here,” Nathan replied. “There’s nothing else in sight no matter which way we look, except for a farm or two over yonder.”

“If they offer us a ride, what do we tell them?”

“We tell them the truth. We missed the stage with all our baggage.”

“Yes, but shall I have to remain mute the entire time because we’re brother and sister, even though we don’t look or talk alike?”

“That’s one thing at an inn where you can go straight to your room without a word to anyone,” Nathan said. “But quite impossible in a carriage with people who may have many questions. Since you don’t have a ring, just keep your gloves on.”

“Why, Mr. Fraser. Are you proposing…” She paused just long enough for him to clutch a hand to his heart and wonder for the umpteenth time what the devil he’d gotten himself into with this madcap miss, and then she continued, “…that we pretend to be husband and wife?”

“Well, pretending to be brother and sister certainly doesn’t seem to be working. You’re not old enough to be my mother, nor are you young enough to pass for my daughter. And they’re certain to leave us at the side of the road if we tell them you’re—well—”

“Your lightskirt? Goodness, you’re as bad as Mr. Swingle. He couldn’t say the word in front of me, either, until he judged I was thoroughly ruined, and then he didn’t mind what he said in my hearing. Only why is it so hard for you to say that word, and after everything that happened yesterday morning?”

Nathan knew precisely what she was referring to. She was never going to forget that, or let him live it—well, maybe this wasn’t the right word—
down.

“Besides, I don’t look like anyone’s idea of a mistress,” she went on. “If anything, I’ve always looked more like everyone’s idea of a governess. It must be the blasted spectacles. Even you think they mark me as a bluestocking who keeps her nose in books all the time.”

“There’s nothing at all wrong with that,” he assured her.

“Well, whoever heard of a mistress who wore spectacles?”

Not that he objected because he was rather enjoying it, but, “Are you sure this is a proper conversation?”

“Why not? We’re supposed to be husband and wife, aren’t we? We should be able to talk about anything now. Not to mention I’ve also seen quite a bit of you already.”

“I would hardly call that a bit,” Nathan said testily.

“If we’re to convince people we’re married, then we may as well start getting into character now.” Not surprisingly, she sounded eager to embrace the married state. This might well be the closest she’d ever get.

“As soon as we’re reunited with Bilby, I’ll retrieve my mother’s ring from my trunk and you can wear that,” he said, and then hastily added, “You can wear it until we reach London.”

She held up both gloved hands, the palms facing him. “Since I wasn’t properly presented to you at a ball, I already know I don’t stand a chance with Your Grace. Or Mr. Fraser, if you still prefer.”

“Under the circumstances, you should continue to address me as Nathan,” he said, and then for good measure added, “Katherine.” Though his anger at her duplicity had subsided, he didn’t feel ready to call her by the preferred “Kate,” and he was damned if he’d address her as “Mrs. Fraser.”

She dropped her hands. “I assume you’ll be lending me the ring against your own better judgment.”

“I’ve been doing a lot of things lately against my own better judgment.” He quickened his stride toward the carriage. It did not move, nor did anyone emerge.

She caught up to him and spoke in a whisper. “I wonder if they’re reverse highwaymen?”

He threw her a puzzled glance. “If they’re
what
?”

“Reverse highwaymen. They roam the countryside looking for victims traveling on foot. As soon as they see a couple of likely marks like us, they pull up a little further and wait until we catch up. Of course we assume they’ve stopped to offer us a ride. Then when we finally reach the carriage and open the door, they’ll spring out and yell ‘stand and deliver.’”

Nathan didn’t know whether to laugh in amusement or scoff at the absurdity. “Where on earth did you ever hear of such a thing?”

“I only now just thought of it. This might come as a shock to you and all other men, but we women do have brains and imagination, and we can come up with ideas just as readily as you men. I say this idea makes just as much sense as invading Russia.”

“’Twas Boney who did that,” Nathan reminded her.

“And he was a man. Oh, and has a woman ever come up with the idea of wagering her brother at a game of whist?”

“Point taken. Men are just as capable of harebrained schemes as women. I think we’ve both proven that in the past three days.”

As they approached, the coachman finally jumped down from his box and opened the carriage door.

Out stepped a man in the absolute first stare of fashion. Nathan’s heart sank. Not another popinjay.

“Do you need a ride somewhere?” the man queried. “We were married just this morning, and only going as far as the next village, but my bride absolutely insists we be Good Samaritans.” He, for his part, sounded very much as if he would’ve preferred to be the Bad Levite who crossed to the far side of the road and left them for dead.

“How fascinating,” Katherine piped up. “We’re newly married, too. But we missed the stage at the last village, so here we are.”

Nathan held out a hand. “Nathan Fraser. And this is…the bride.”

The man sketched a slight bow. “How do you do, Mr. and Mrs. Fraser? I am George Driscoll, at your service.” He offered his own hand, encased in a white glove.

Nathan stood back as Katherine boarded first, and he heard the new Mrs. Driscoll immediately exhort her to sit next to her.

“Oh no, I couldn’t do that!” Katherine replied. “Surely you’d rather sit next to your new husband?”

“I’ll have fifty years to do that. Please
do
sit next to me, Mrs. Fraser.”

Driscoll shot Nathan a pained look. “Do help me out, Fraser?”

Nathan finally boarded the carriage and took the seat facing backward, across from Mrs. Driscoll, who was still dressed in full bridal regalia. Katherine stood hunched over in the carriage, as if she couldn’t decide whether to accommodate her hostess or her pretend husband. All he could see from his new perch was her rather charming backside, but it was difficult to make out the shape, as it was draped in gray wool.

Somewhere under that cumbersome pelisse was surely a gently curved, firm derriere with a soft, sweet cleft, just like a ripe peach. After what she’d said earlier about having seen “quite a bit” of him, he couldn’t resist. They were pretending to be newlyweds, weren’t they? He reached out to cup one of her nether cheeks.

Just as he expected, she yelped, bumped her head on the ceiling of the carriage, and plopped down on the seat next to him, on his right. The skirt of her pelisse fell open on his side, revealing an expanse of blue sprigged muslin. She gave him an astonished glare, while he only offered an arch smile.

Lastly, Driscoll boarded the carriage, banging his fist on the ceiling before sitting next to Mrs. Driscoll. The carriage lurched into motion.

“Only what about your baggage?” asked Mrs. Driscoll. “You’ll have nothing to wear!”

“Oh, that’s all right,” Nathan said with great relish, as he took Katherine’s gloved left hand into his right one. “What need do we have of all those extra clothes, eh, my love? After all, we’re newlyweds!”

She stared back at him with wide eyes and a big frozen grin. He wondered if she was thinking about the other morning, when she’d seen—well, quite a big bit of him. Their hands were clasped on her lap, over her left thigh to be exact, and Nathan could barely feel the ridge of her garter beneath the sprigged muslin. She made no move to adjust her pelisse.

“How did you miss the stage?” asked Mrs. Driscoll, who looked much younger than Katherine—how old was Katherine, anyway?—and was much more buxom, her bosoms ready to spill out of the bodice of her wedding gown. It was hard not to stare. No wonder Mr. Driscoll had seemed reluctant to offer them a ride. The poor man probably couldn’t wait.

“We stopped at the last posting house for luncheon,” Nathan said as he squeezed Katherine’s hand, for something told him if he let go of it, she might well box his ears for what he said next. “And of course, because we’re newlyweds…well, we just couldn’t wait till we stopped for the night, could we, my dear?”

To his pleasant surprise, she made no move to let go of his hand, or even cosh him—but she did look a little pinker than usual, and she averted her gaze.

“I’m afraid we lost track of the time,” she murmured. “So the stage departed without us, leaving us with nothing but the clothes on our backs.”

“Only they weren’t really on our backs at the time, were they?” Nathan couldn’t resist saying, and Driscoll guffawed, while his bride looked rather horrified. Nathan wondered if she had any idea what he was even talking about.

She leaned toward Katherine, and for a moment Nathan thought her bosoms would swing right out of her bodice into Katherine’s lap. “May I see your ring?”

Fortunately it was her left hand that was securely tucked into Nathan’s, and he squeezed it harder, this time in warning, nearly pressing it into her thigh.

“Oh, it’s just a ring,” she said. “It looks like any other wedding ring, you know. Round and made of gold. At least I hope it’s made of gold. We’ll find out when I take it off for my bath and see if it’s left a green mark on my finger.”

Nathan suddenly thought of her taking off everything for a bath, and he felt a deliciously hot quiver in his groin.

What would she look like naked, ready to step into her bath—or even step out of it, with sudsy water sliding down her slight curves?

Maybe it was because he’d been so long without a woman, or maybe he’d lost his wits from spending all this time in her company—but he suddenly wished to see quite a bit more of this unusual woman.

“Oh, do let me see your ring,” Mrs. Driscoll pleaded, as she peeled off her own gloves. “I’ll show you mine.”

Katherine kept her hand firmly in Nathan’s, still clasped over her gartered thigh. “Oh, you don’t have to do that. I already know what it looks like. Round and made of gold.”

Mrs. Driscoll held out her hand for Katherine’s inspection.

“Just as I thought,” she said. “It looks exactly like mine.”

“Really? Do let me see, Mrs. Fraser!”

Katherine placed her right hand on Nathan’s right arm, squeezing his bicep. “But then I’d have to let go of my husband’s hand. And I don’t think I ever want to let him go.”

Maybe it was the way she was leaning into him, but it felt to Nathan as if she was pushing his hand, clasped in hers, deeper into her thigh. He could definitely feel her garter now, and with his fingertips he toyed with the very bottom edge of it then slid his fingertips to find the lumpy bump where she’d tied it.

“You seem a very lucky man, Fraser,” remarked Driscoll, though he peered at Katherine with a furrowed brow, as if trying to ascertain just what the devil Nathan saw in this plain, bespectacled woman that he might have married her and missed a stage connection because he took advantage of a stop for luncheon to feast on her instead of food.

“I can’t complain,” Nathan admitted. And that was the truth, at least for this moment.

“I hope you don’t mind,” said Katherine. “But I’m terribly exhausted from all the walking and would like to take a nap.”

“Just the walking?” Nathan asked slyly.

Her only response was to slap his right arm before resting her head on his shoulder.

Soon Nathan began nodding off, lulled by the steady rocking of the carriage.

“Stop it,” he heard Mrs. Driscoll whisper heatedly. “Honestly, Mr. Driscoll, can’t you wait till we reach the inn?”

“We’re married now. Which means you can call me George—and I can touch your—”

Mrs. Driscoll shrieked, causing both Nathan and Katherine to jerk upright.

“Are we there yet?” asked Katherine.

“Far from it,” Mr. Driscoll grumbled.

But even as he said it, they entered a village, rolling to a stop in front of an inn.

Nathan heaved a sigh of relief as he spotted Bilby sitting on his trunk.

Katherine leaned across him to peer out the window. “I don’t see my portmanteau. If your manservant forgot to remove my portmanteau from the stage, then I’ll have nothing to wear.”

“Oh, that’s all right, my dear,” Nathan assured her. “Don’t forget, we’re newlyweds.”

Mrs. Driscoll started to cry. Nathan only hoped Katherine wouldn’t.

Kate emerged from the carriage behind Nathan, and ran past him to confront Bilby. “Where’s my portmanteau? Please tell me I can’t see it because it’s behind that trunk.” The same trunk upon which Bilby was roosting.

He only gawked at her as if she might be a ghost. Then again, he’d been gawking at her that way from the outset. Kate dodged around him but alas, there was nothing behind him and Nathan’s trunk but the inn.

Panic clawed at her. Everything she had in the world had been—no,
was
, because she refused to believe she’d never see it again—in that portmanteau. All she had were the very clothes on her back—and while she’d enjoyed the way Nathan had flirted with her in the Driscolls’ carriage, even if he was only pretending, she was suddenly in no mood for his ribald newlywed jokes.

Bilby parted his lips. “Miss Ha—”

“Bilby, don’t say a word,” Nathan said curtly. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned about you, it’s that under duress, you have the most vexing tendency to call people things they’d rather not be called.”

“
I’m
feeling a rather vexing tendency right now to call both of you things you’d rather not be called,” snapped Kate.

“I’m sure there’s a perfectly good explanation for all of this,” Nathan said. “’Twould seem that when Bilby disembarked here, naturally he took only his baggage and mine, while yours remains on the stage until such time as someone farther south pronounces it unclaimed and abandoned and leaves it somewhere.”