Bride By Mistake (19 page)

Luke was going to settle once and for all who wore the breeches in this family, and he wanted no witnesses to the encounter.

A soldier chose his own ground for a confrontation.

Nine

“A
bedchamber for me and my wife and a private sitting room.”

Bella swallowed. Luke had barely spoken a word to her for the last half hour. He’d given curt orders to the stableboy at the inn concerning the care of the horses, and now he spoke to the landlord, a tall, strapping fellow with a huge mustache.

“No private sitting rooms,
señor
. You can eat here.” The landlord gestured to the public dining area. “Or my wife can bring you your supper on a tray.” At his words, the curtain covering the doorway behind him twitched and a round-faced woman with brilliant, almost scarlet hair piled high looked out and scowled.

“No, we’ll eat here,” Luke said without even consulting Bella. He leaned forward and murmured something to the landlord, a question she didn’t catch. In the mood he was in, it would do no good to ask, she was sure.

The man gave him a startled look, glanced at Bella curiously,
then nodded. “
Sí, señor
, I shall arrange it.” He sounded bemused. What had Luke asked of him?

“Good. Now, my wife is waiting for her dinner.”

The landlord bowed and snapped his fingers, and minions went scurrying to clear a table for them—the best table near the fire.

Luke seemed to have that effect on people, Bella thought. An unconscious air of command, coupled with his height and good looks.

The contrast between this and their arrival at the inn last night couldn’t be clearer. Then, Luke had shown deference and concern for her after their long trip. Now, apart from the hand that lightly gripped her elbow, he acted as if he were unaware of her presence.

Her own fault, she acknowledged. Angering her husband was one of the risks she’d considered when she chose to defy him. Whatever happened between them this night, she’d face it with dignity. She hoped.

The relief that he hadn’t beaten her in the road was giving way to thoughts that some men brooded on their wrongs and took their time about revenge. The dish best eaten cold…

She wondered again what he’d asked of the landlord.

He led her to the table, seemingly unaware of the sea of faces watching them with open curiosity. She’d removed her hat, and her coronet of plaited hair made it obvious to all that under the greatcoat, she was a woman. Bella felt the hard male glances slide over her, assessing her femininity. She held her head up and pretended not to notice.

Luke pulled out a chair and seated her with her back to the room, then sat opposite. He called for wine and ordered supper. It was warm in the dining room, and Bella began to unbutton the coat.

“Leave it,” Luke told her.

“But—”

“Do you really think this is the place to test your theory that you look like a boy in those breeches?”

She flushed and subsided.

Wine arrived, and Luke poured her a glass. She took it, but before she could drink, he clinked his glass against hers and said, “To our marriage.” His gaze bored into her.

What did that mean? she wondered. To the success of their marriage? Or was it an ironic toast, a sort of “to-the-millstone-around-my-neck”?

His face was as expressive as a stone statue. She didn’t understand him in the least. He looked like a man set to carry out some ruthless course of action, and the leashed tension in his body unnerved her.

Deciding to take his toast at face value, she sipped the wine, then seeing his expression, she drained the glass and said, “I want a separate bedchamber.”

“Bad luck.”

“You promised you’d give me time.”

He poured some more wine into her glass. “You promised to obey, and yet I spent most of today—sidesaddle!—combing the mountains searching for your body.”

She bit her lip. “I’m sorry to have worried you. Nevertheless—”

“We’re married. From now on it’s one bedchamber, one bed.” His tone was implacable.

The first dishes arrived: tender slices of local ham, small spicy sausages still sizzling in their own juice, grilled mushrooms fragrant with thyme and other herbs, gleaming black olives, and fresh, crusty bread.

Hunger, salted by years of convent austerity, swamped her. The food smelled delicious, and she only just remembered to murmur a quick grace before diving in.

“What did you ask the landlord to do?” she said as she served them both some mushrooms.

“Are the sausages to your liking?” he asked. “They’re a little spicy.”

“I love spicy food,” she told him. “In the convent our food was mostly very simple and very bland. The landlord?”

He speared a sausage. “You’ll see.”

He was a stubborn man, but to her surprise, the prospect of sharing his bed wasn’t at all… objectionable. Far from it.

Sometime during that last ride in the moonlight, riding pressed against his broad, strong body, her arms wrapped around his waist, inhaling the scent of him and warmed by his heat and strength, her body had decided: this was her husband.

Their marriage might have been a mistake, but it was a mistake she, at least, could live with. If he didn’t love her, so be it. Mama had made herself miserable pining after Papa, yearning for him to love her, and he never had.

It was a waste, Bella decided; a waste of a life. She wouldn’t make the same mistake.

She watched Luke tear a piece of bread apart with long, elegant fingers, then eat it, his face partly shadowed in the dim light, his eyes dark mysteries, the blade of his cheekbones gilded by lamplight… A strong jaw, dark with rough stubble.

He was one beautiful man. And he was hers.

Or he would be, tonight. Excitement thrummed.

The rest of the meal arrived: roast lamb with potatoes, chicken stew in a rich sauce of red peppers and tomatoes, and a salad of boiled green beans tossed with a lemony dressing. It was a feast fit for a king. Or a queen.

Bella ate till she was full to bursting, tasting something from each dish, then going back for more. Everything tasted delicious; the lamb was melt-in-your-mouth tender, and the potatoes were baked crispy-skinned and golden. The chicken stew was rich and full of the flavors of her childhood.

They ate without speaking, but it was not an awkward silence; each of them was intent on the meal. From time to time Luke would refill her glass or pass her some bread.

Occasionally, in the passing or pouring, their fingers brushed, and each time, Bella’s pulse leapt.

She wasn’t sure what this night would bring, but she longed to become a wife, instead of a half wife. And to finally know. She was woefully ignorant of the relations between a man and his wife. It was ridiculous.

Luke drank the last of the wine, and she watched his strong, tanned throat move as he swallowed. She knew how
horses and dogs and chickens procreated, but as for what she was expected to do on her wedding night…

It was supposed to hurt, but only if you were a virgin, and since she wasn’t…

Since she wasn’t a virgin she hoped she would enjoy it. Some women did, she’d heard the girls whisper. Most didn’t. Only bad girls liked doing it.

Bella thought of all the many times she’d been in trouble. Would she turn out to be a bad girl in this, too? She certainly hoped so.

She mopped up the last of the chicken and pepper sauce with a crust of bread, wiped her mouth, and sat back in her chair with a sigh of satisfaction. “That was heavenly. I don’t think I’ve had such a delicious meal in, oh… I can’t remember.”

“Yes, the food here has always been very good.”

Always? “You’ve been here before?”

“Once or twice,” he said indifferently. “Years ago in the war.”

“Then you knew we were traveling east.”

He gave her a dry look. “The moon made that fairly obvious.”

So he had realized they were traveling toward Valle Verde, not away from it. Did that mean he’d decided to let her go to Valle Verde after all? “So tomorrow, will we—”

“
Señorita?
” A touch on her shoulder.

Bella looked up. A rather dashing-looking gentleman of about thirty stood by her chair. “Sí?”

He bowed. “You are the daughter of the Conde de Castillejo, are you not?”

“I am,” Bella breathed. Without thinking, she held out her hand.

“Don Francisco Espinoza de Cadaval at your service. I had the honor of fighting under your father’s command. I was there when he died. It is a great pleasure to meet you,
señorita
.” He raised her hand and kissed it so ardently, she could feel the tickle of his thin, elegant mustache.

Chair legs scraped abruptly on the floor as Luke stood. “You’re mistaken,” Luke said in a harsh voice. Bella and Don Francisco looked at him in surprise.

“She’s not
señorita
anything. She’s my wife, Lady Ripton, and we are about to retire for the night. Come, my dear.” He held out an imperious hand to Isabella.

“Oh, but I would like to—”

“Now, Isabella.” His dark gaze bored into her, and she reflected that she’d probably defied him enough for one day already. And that a public dining room was not the place for a dispute with her husband.

Don Francisco took one glance at Luke’s face, took a step backward, and bowed gracefully to them both. “Good evening, then, Lady Ripton. Perhaps in the morning…”

Bella gave him a warm smile to make up for her husband’s rudeness. “Yes, that would be—”

“I doubt we’ll have the time. We’ll be departing very early.” Luke took Bella’s hand, pushed past Don Francisco, and led her from the room.

“Really, there’s no need to be so boorish.”

“There’s every need. You have no idea who that man is.”

“I do, too. He was one of my father’s men.”

“I heard who he
said
he was. He could say anything and you’d believe him.”

“He was with Papa when he died,” she said. “I would have liked to talk to him, to hear more—”

He stopped abruptly and swung her to face him. “The two men who attacked you when you were a child were your father’s men and had been with him when he died, too, and look how well that turned out.”

She bit her lip and looked away.

His voice softened. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to remind you of it, but… you’re too trusting for your own good. Terrible things happened in this country while you were in the convent.”

“Before then, too,” she said in a low voice, thinking of Mama.

“I know.” His hand closed over hers, warm and comforting. “But although Napoleon is defeated and there is a Spanish king on the throne again, things are still unsettled, and that’s what you don’t understand. Spain has broken into a thousand factions, and without reliable knowledge, you cannot know who that fellow is and what he might want from you.”

There was some sense in what he said, but Bella didn’t like the idea of treating everyone as an enemy until proven otherwise. “How do you know what Spain is like now? You’ve been in England for years.”

“Trust me, I know. It was my job to know,” he told her. “And when situations change, so do men’s alliances. Even if that fellow was your father’s right-hand man, that’s no guarantee of where his loyalties lie now. Men do what they can to survive.”

“So do women,” she reminded him.

There was a short pause, then he said, “I don’t propose to discuss it any further. I know a great deal more than you do about the situation in this country, and the dangers of trusting people you don’t know, so while we are here, you’ll do as I tell you.”

“I’m not a child.”

There was a sudden silence. His gaze intensified. Bella glanced away, feeling suddenly too warm. The clatter of pots and pans came from the kitchen, the clink of glasses and the sound of a woman reprimanding someone. From the public area the deep murmur of masculine voices drifted. Luke’s gaze slipped over her, and for a moment she fancied she could hear her own heart beating.

“No, you’re not,” her husband said, his voice deep and low. “And it’s time we both acknowledged that. Now, it’s late. Time we went to bed.”

Time we went to bed.
The phrase wiped every other thought from her head.

They slowly mounted the stairs. Her hand was cold; his was warm. The wine hadn’t relaxed her at all. In fact, she was tenser than ever.

T
he bedchamber was small and contained only one large bed, a chair, a large looking glass on a swivel stand, and a tiled wash table bearing a large, brightly painted jug of water and a mismatched bowl. There was no wardrobe, only a row of hooks to hang clothing on. The only other item in the room was a small enamel stove. Apart from a coiled and plaited rag rug in front of the fire, the floor was bare, though clean and well waxed.

Bella glanced around, wondering what arrangements the landlord had made at Luke’s behest. Lit the fire? Warm water in the jug, perhaps? Nothing as sinister as she’d first imagined.

Foolish what your imagination will produce when you’re tired and hungry and cross.

Luke opened the stove and fed the fire with chopped logs from the box beside it. He lit half a dozen candles and the shadows receded.