Wagered to the Duke (BookStrand Publishing Romance) (16 page)

Bilby nodded dumbly and vigorously.

“He probably thought I’d left you behind at the last stop, or even sent you back to your mother,” Nathan went on.

“I’m sure you were tempted,” Kate muttered.

Now Bilby shook his head. “You never would’ve left her behind, Mr. Fraser,” he said with a deep conviction that baffled Kate.

“Of course not, no matter how tempting. And that’s why I’ve decided we should be husband and wife.” He shot a glance at the Driscolls’ carriage and lowered his voice. “But in name only, you understand.”

“I believe I do, Mr. Fraser.”

Kate felt an odd sinking feeling, but maybe that was because she’d spent the past hour in a carriage that had rolled up one hill and down another. Also, it was starting to rain. If they were unable to convince the innkeeper that they were married, they might have to move on in foul weather, and she wasn’t sure the Driscolls would be doing likewise if the bridegroom had his way. Even now he was pleading with his bride to quit the carriage.

“I want to keep traveling,” came her muffled whines from the interior. “I want to reach London as soon as possible.”

“Dearest, the next inn may be miles away. It’s late and it’s starting to rain,” Mr. Driscoll argued. “Even if we continued to London without stopping, driving through the night, we still wouldn’t get there for at least two days. We all need our rest.”

Kate turned back to Nathan. “Aren’t you glad I’m not as keen to reach London as she is?”

“I concede you’re not without your redeeming points,” he replied. “I wonder if I should offer my assistance. He looks as if he’s trying to—oh, never mind. Here she comes. She’s like a newborn calf, wobbly legs and all.”

As Mr. and Mrs. Driscoll stumbled by on their way into the inn, Nathan loudly said, “Now don’t be too hard on Bilby, my dear. He’s worked for me for many years, so he’s accustomed to handling only my baggage. He’s still trying to adjust to the fact that I now have a wife.” He paused, as if to take a breath, but Kate knew it was really only for effect when he rolled his eyes and added, “As am I.”

She planted her fists on her hips. “Just for that, you can sleep in the taproom tonight.”

“I was rather counting on that anyway,” he grumbled. “I’m expecting you to be a reluctant bride, just like Mrs. Driscoll.”

Mystified, she asked, “What do you mean, reluctant?”
He
was the one who was being reluctant. If Kate was reluctant about anything, it was going back to Bellingham Hall.

“Never mind,” he said as he turned to go inside the inn. “Let us see about getting
a
room.”

Kate still stood there, as did Bilby, who finally spoke. “I’m truly sorry, Miss—Miss—oh, I have no idea what I should call you now.”

“Mrs. Fraser, of course,” she replied. “I’m sure he’ll explain everything to you when he gets the chance. And, Bilby, you needn’t apologize about my portmanteau. It’s not your fault, but mine. I’m the one who should be sleeping in the taproom.”

The occasional raindrops turned into a drizzle, and she proceeded into the inn, where she sat on the bench next to the sulking Mrs. Driscoll while their respective menfolk bespoke rooms.

Mrs. Driscoll blew her nose into a lacy handkerchief. “Mrs. Fraser,” she said in a timid whisper. “You say you’ve been married for several days now. Then you must know—is it really as bad as they say?”

“Not at all. Why, these have been the three most wonderful days of my life.” She fixed her gaze on Nathan’s broad back as he stood at the counter and signed the register and answered the innkeeper’s question as to whether his wife was also Scottish.

“Actually, we’re both English,” he said. “I was born in London, but I’ve bided in Scotland for most of my life, so you might say I’ve managed to pick up some of their more savage ways. I’m hoping she’ll tame me.” He turned to cast her an amused glance, and she couldn’t help smiling back.

She didn’t know which she’d enjoyed more today—walking with him, thus being able to talk and get to know each other better, or riding next to him in the Driscolls’ carriage, where he’d put on quite a jolly show of flirting with her.

No man had ever flirted with Kate before, and even though she knew he’d only been pretending for the Driscolls’ benefit, still she’d reveled in every wicked moment of it. His casual endearments—
my dear
and
my love—
had set her heart dancing with a strange thrill she’d never felt before—because she’d never been called those delights before. She was quite sure he’d purposely placed his hand on her derriere, startling her into sitting across from Mrs. Driscoll instead of next to her. She’d loved the feel of his hard thigh against hers, as well as her hand in his, especially since he never let go of it until they arrived. She’d longed to remove her glove so she could feel his skin against hers, but then their hosts would have known they weren’t married. Wonderful warmth had curled through her as the weight of his large hand pressed into her thigh, right over her garter. There had been moments when she thought he might have tried to loosen the garter through the layers of wool and muslin and cambric. She could have sworn she’d felt his thumb moving imperceptibly over the bow that held her stocking in place.

She smiled at the memory.

Mrs. Driscoll nudged into her steamy reverie. “Tell me, Mrs. Fraser—did it hurt very much when Mr. Fraser took you?”

“It didn’t hurt at all,” Kate said blithely. “I wanted him to take me.”

“But weren’t you at all frightened?”

Kate looked back on that moment at the Blue Rooster, when she’d convinced Nathan to take her to London so as to teach Freddy a lesson. “I’ll admit to being a bit apprehensive at first, because we barely knew each other. But I’d do it all over again if I had to.”

“Of course you’ll have to do it all over again, just as I will, and I haven’t even done it yet. We’re married.” Mrs. Driscoll said it in the same tone she might have used to say, “We’re condemned.”

Nathan called out, “Come along, Katherine.”

The innkeeper showed her and Nathan upstairs to a cozy room furnished with a large bed that could easily sleep two people. She wondered if he still meant to bed down in the taproom.

Nathan waited till Bilby brought in his trunk and left, and then he closed the door behind him. He opened the trunk and started rummaging around while Kate primly sat in the only chair, trying not to look at the bed that seemed to take up far too much space in the room.

It was either that or look at Nathan. So she looked at Nathan, who seemed quite intent on excavating something from his trunk.

He was very handsome. She even liked his aquiline nose, and unlike the previous Duke of Loring, whom she’d seen a few times in London, he had a chin with a deep cleft in its very middle. His dark hair, longer than current fashion, fell in thick strands over his forehead and curled over his collar. Stubble shadowed the lower part of his face. If not for his dark-blue coat and fawn-colored breeches tucked into tall, black Hessians, she might have thought he was a wild savage planning to ravish her.

He drew a small, ornately carved, wooden box from the trunk and straightened up to his full height. The top of his head almost grazed the whitewashed ceiling.

Kate felt a strangely pleasurable tremor in her core, and she glanced back at the bed, trying to picture him lying on it. Next to her.

Naked.

She felt that tremor again and licked her lips.

“Here we go,” he said cheerfully. “My mother’s ring.”

He held it out to her. She stared at it as if she’d never seen a wedding ring before, or at least not like this one—yet it was totally indistinguishable from every other wedding ring she’d ever seen. It was just a plain gold band like her mother and Mrs. Driscoll wore.

“Well, aren’t you going to take it?” he asked.

She looked down as she peeled off her gloves. Surely she hadn’t expected him to get down on bended knee, take her hand into his, and slide it on her finger himself? Now that they were alone, there was no need for him to pretend being romantic with her.

She chastised herself for being so foolish as to think this was supposed to mean something more than a mere charade. She’d met him only three days ago, but then she knew of many brides who never met their husbands until the day before the wedding—and in a few cases, the day
of
the wedding. Nathan might be handsome and charming and cause her to think wicked thoughts in a way no other man had ever done before—at least not a flesh-and-blood man that she could actually see and touch, for until now those wicked thoughts had been confined to nameless, faceless men in her daydreams. But they could never really marry. The best she could hope for was someone like the widowed Mr. Throckmorton—but she’d traded that vague possibility for this absolute impossibility.

Only what had she expected when she’d traded places with Margaret Hathaway? All she’d been looking for was a way to get far, far away from Bellingham Hall and reach London.

This was the most she could ever hope for.

She held out her hand. He dropped the ring into her palm.

“I trust you know which finger it goes on.” He placed the wooden box back into his trunk.

She slipped it on the third finger of her left hand, feeling suddenly somber, and she wasn’t sure why. This might be her only chance to ever wear a wedding ring.

He dropped the lid on the trunk with a heavy thunk. “I’m sorry about your portmanteau. If you can stand to wear those clothes for one more day, I might see about buying you some more in the village tomorrow. The innkeeper’s wife might be able to assist in some way. Now let’s go downstairs and have some supper, shall we?”

Kate finally stood up and doffed her dusty pelisse, wishing she could have a bath. But what was the point, when she’d just have to put on the same dirty clothes again?

“And after supper,” he went on, “I’ll remain downstairs for the rest of the night, and tell anyone who asks that we had a quarrel and I’ve been banished from your bed. I’m sure you’ll have no trouble playing at
that
.”

He finally smiled, his white teeth almost dazzling her. She struggled to find something droll to say.

Something that wouldn’t betray how forlorn she felt at—at what?

She forced a smile. “How ironic. Just when I finally acquire a ring to fool everyone into thinking we’re married, now we have to convince everyone we’re not
happily
married.”

“That’s the spirit!” he said brightly. “We’ll sup and have ourselves a blazing row—but not so blazing that we end up being tossed out on our ears. I suspect this innkeeper, like all the innkeepers we’ve encountered thus far, runs a respectable establishment and will not hesitate to point that out to us should the occasion demand.”

* * * *

She seemed sullen through most of the meal, barely looking up from the food. Nathan couldn’t exactly blame her for being upset about her missing portmanteau, for she must have had her entire life packed in there. Had she, like he, also been traveling with jewelry?

He inquired.

“I own not a single piece of jewelry, save for a cross on a chain that I received for my confirmation half a lifetime ago,” she replied. “And as you can see, that’s safely around my neck.”

“Half a lifetime, you say?” He offered her a teasing smile. “You can’t be that old.”

“I was confirmed at the age of fourteen. Fourteen years are half of my life.”

He quaffed his ale. “Then that would make you—eight and twenty?”

“You sound as if you’re guessing. Are mathematics not your forte?”

“No, I do know that fourteen is half of twenty-eight. I just didn’t realize…” He let his voice trail off and inserted a large chunk of beef into his mouth.

“You didn’t realize what?”

Nathan kept his mouth closed as he chewed, though he did manage a
mm-mmm
through his tightly sealed lips. Ah, he detected some gristle. That would keep his jaws too busy to say anything for the next few moments.

She leaned ever so slightly forward. “You didn’t realize I was that old?”

“No, I didn’t realize you were the same age as me.” He held a napkin to his lips and disposed of the stubborn gristle.

“How old did you think I was?”

“I hadn’t really wondered or thought about it. Why do you sound so accusatory? Wouldn’t you rather be thought younger than you are?”

“And why would I wish to be thought younger than I am? Because of the notion that only a much younger woman can attract a better husband than an older one? Because all I can hope for at my advanced, decrepit age are old widowers with a dozen children, and even then they would only marry me because I started out as the governess in their household?”

“I think you know perfectly well that’s not all you can hope for,” Nathan countered. “Isn’t that why you want to go to London? You’re bound to find better prospects there.”

She pushed the vegetables around her plate. “Yes, indeed. I’m sure there’s a wider selection of old widowers in London than in York.”

He suppressed a chuckle. “If I know you, you still believe you can do better.” Certainly Nathan himself believed she could do better.

She set down her fork. “Whatever do you mean?”

He leaned closer to her, lowering his voice. “You traded places with Margaret Hathaway because you were afraid of having to marry an old widower. Your mother thinks you don’t stand a snowball’s chance in—in the Hellenes, where I don’t believe it ever snows, at least not enough to make a snowball—of marrying a more suitable prospect. You’d prefer a bachelor closer to your age, looking for a helpmate to fill not only his nursery but his lonely nights. A man who might marry you for love instead of mere convenience.”

“Love,” she whispered, so low he barely heard it. But he did. She whispered it like a breath, a sigh. She whispered it not in scorn or skepticism, but as something she longed for and did indeed fear she would never know.