Only Marriage Will Do (7 page)

“I suppose I would even now be standing on the dock each day awaiting Katarina, had not the post that brought me her letter also carried one from my father. My older brother had died of a septic wound in January.”

“Oh, Amiable.” She squeezed his hand, then rubbed it lightly. “I am so very sorry.” Her sweet voice, pitched low and soothing, set his pulse racing.

“Thank you, my dear.” Damnation, but she would seduce him with sympathy.

“So you did not know?”

“Father wrote me immediately but the ship that carried the message never arrived. He sent again and I opened it just before Katarina’s letter. I had to leave immediately for England, so I left money for her return journey with my colonel and an explanation.”

“I cannot imagine your grief, my dear.” She leaned forward and grasped his hands, sending that strange heat straight to his heart.

He closed his eyes and cursed silently. With the hurt of Katarina’s loss still fresh and his distaste at the thought of this woman’s brother having taken his place, he did not want to form an attachment to Juliet.

Unfortunately, his wants kept warring with his desires. Their close proximity, the touch of her hands, and her sweet jasmine scent all conspired to set his body ablaze. In spite of his inner turmoil, the carriage had become a steamy cocoon of sensual heat smoldering around them. The presence of her maid made no difference at all to him. Had sheer lust seized him, perhaps? A sexual attraction between a man and a damned fine-looking woman who would likely…

“Was he young?”

The question surprised him out of his reverie. “My brother?”

She nodded, still clasping his hands.

“Pax was two years older than me.”

“Pax? That’s a rather unusual name, don’t you think?” She reminded him of a bird, with her cocked head and shiny eyes.

“Short for Peaceable. Mother christened us all with given names that reminded her of her Quaker upbringing.” Not the easiest names to have lived with.

“Your mother was a Quaker?” Frank astonishment made her voice squeak.

“Yes. It’s an odd story but a romantic one nonetheless. Would you like to hear it?”

“Oh, yes, please.” She released his hands.

He settled back against the cushion. “My father was raised at Cheswyck, our family estate in Gloucestershire. A prosperous neighbor—of the gentry, and very respectable—owned the estate that bordered our property. The landowner’s daughter and my father played together as children. By the time he turned twenty and she sixteen, they realized they never wanted to be apart.” A smile curled Juliet’s lips. He’d suspected she’d love a romantic tale. Now for the dark side of the story.

“Her family, unfortunately, had joined the Society of Friends many years before. If she married my father, she would be an outcast, not only because she married outside the meeting, but also because he would one day hold a title. Quakers do not acknowledge such earthly distinctions. They are anathema to them.”

“Oh, dear. I had no idea they were so strict.” Her eyes had grown wide and round. “Whatever did your mother do? Of course she had to marry him if he was her true love.”

Amiable shook his head. Love didn’t come easily in his family. “My mother prayed long and hard on the matter and came to the heart-wrenching conclusion she must reject my father and remain within her faith.”

“Oh, no.” Juliet gripped his wrist. “She couldn’t reject him.” She sat back, her face puckered into a frown. “Of course not, for you are here.”

He laughed and patted her hands. “When my father came to call on her, to take her away to an Anglican church to be married, she told him she couldn’t go with him. According to my mother, however, the look of devastation on his face wiped away all of her good intentions. They were married that afternoon and lived very happily at Cheswyck.”

“A happily-ever-after ending?”

Her sweet smile made his heart stutter.

“Until about six years ago when she died unexpectedly,” Amiable said and watched her smile fade. “Father has been inconsolable ever since. My sisters wrote me he had begun to take an interest in things again at last. Now, with Pax’s death, he has withdrawn once more.” The harrowed, haunted look on his father’s face had been reminiscent of the one he’d worn when Amiable had come home after his mother’s death.

“You have other brothers and sisters?”

“Two older sisters. Verity, whom we always called Vee, and Serenity, or Reni.” He grinned. “And me. I’m the baby.”

“With so many nicknames, what on earth do they call you?”

“Aim.”

“Aim?” She shook her head.

“Pax thought it particularly appropriate after I went into the army.”

“I think I will prefer to use Amiable.”

He raised their clasped hands to his lips. “As you will, my dear.”

Her throaty little sigh sent a shiver through him, and he released her hand as if it had stung him. He shifted his lower body in an attempt to find a position that eased the sudden real ache in his groin. A glance at Glynis showed the girl had taken in their exchange. She narrowed her eyes at him, then bent her head and spoke with her mistress.

The presence of a maid for propriety’s sake might be to his advantage in this case. Between Juliet’s obvious regard for him and the thoughts of misconduct she inspired in him, they needed protection from one another. One look at his traveling companion fetchingly turned out in a gown of gold and roses, her sweet face animated in conversation with her companion, and doubts sprouted like weeds. Juliet was tempting in the extreme, no matter what her brother might have done.

Intermittent rain had kept Amiable in the carriage, Juliet’s virtual prisoner, for most of the afternoon. After careful reflection on her revelations, he renewed his decision to distance himself from her. It should have been an easy enough task, even in close quarters. Their conversation touched on many topics but never returned to the personal. Fortunately, every three hours, horse changes at posting inns gave him a respite from her company.

Between these stops, however, he discovered Lady Juliet Ferrers proved adept at playing cards, esteemed herself a good watercolorist, but denied the ability to garden. When they halted for refreshments, she took her tea with plenty of sugar and milk but refused sweet cake. Her eyes were wide and warm, the golden brown color of autumn leaves, with long, thick, silky lashes.

That he had spent the better part of the past hour of their journey trying to pinpoint the exact shade appalled him. The implication made his stomach sink. His willpower to hold her at arm’s length had waned with the day.

By the time the carriage swept into the final inn of the day, a sprawling white stone building rising two stories, the sun had just begun to lower in a sky wreathed by gray thunderclouds. The spotty rain had turned the coach yard to a slimy muck.

“Oh, how wretched the ground looks, Amiable.” Juliet wrinkled her petite nose and frowned. “My pattens are in my luggage, I fear.”

With a laugh at her woebegone face, he swung out of the carriage and sank almost to his ankles in the mire. Damn. Nothing to laugh about here. It would be a tricky business to get the women into the inn without mishap. The single possible way would be to carry them. He motioned for Juliet.

She scrambled toward the open door.

Without warning, he swooped her into his arms, surprising a shriek out of her.

She grasped his neck.

“Glynis, stay in the carriage. I’ll come back for you.” He slipped and slithered through the mud, maneuvering as best he could with Juliet attached to him like a limpet. Her heartbeat hammered against his chest and his own pounded even louder because of her proximity. Spending most of the day in her company had softened him. Now, holding her close, breathing her subtle flowery fragrance, her soft body nestled close to him, his protective instincts warred with his unmistakable lust. He tightened his arms around her and she sent him a tentative smile then laid her head back on his shoulder. He concentrated on his footing.

At last, they arrived at the inn’s doorway. She slid down his front onto her feet, sending sudden heat coursing through him. Did she do that on purpose? Minx.

She clung to him for just a moment, her body pressed against his.

Sublime torture. “Stay right here, my dear, while I rescue yet another damsel in distress.” He slogged back toward the carriage and breathed easier.

Once there, he attempted to put his arms around the maid, but she proved more skittish than Juliet. When he finally coaxed her out of the carriage, Glynis lay straight and stiff in his arms. She kept her arms crossed over her chest so he had a much less secure grip, carrying her as he would a platter overburdened with a roast pig.

About midway to the inn door, a coach and six thundered into the yard, horses snorting, their hooves splashing mud.

The conveyance was nowhere near them, but Glynis let out a yelp of fright and tried to rise straight out of his arms.

He wobbled, tried to find his balance as she twisted in his arms. His feet skidded in the treacherous mud. Damnation. If he could compensate a little more.

Glynis threw her arms around his neck.

Too little too late. The next thing he knew, he lay flat on his back, Glynis sprawled on top of him, both of them plastered with mud. The maid had, of course, fared better, having used her rescuer as a cushion against both the fall and most of the sticky muck. Her clothes might be salvageable.

“Damn it to hell.” He wanted to curse the maid, horses, rain, mud, everything he could think of that had brought him to this pass. He raised his head. A disgusting sucking sound as it came away from the muck made him cringe.

Wide-eyed, Glynis stared into his face and tried to scramble backward off him.

“For God’s sake, stay where you are, woman. The whole point of this gallant gesture was to keep you from getting filthy. It will not be to my credit at all if I fail abysmally at this point.”

Juliet, hand clasped over her mouth, took a tentative step forward.

“Juliet, have you taken leave of your senses? Don’t you dare stir a step, lest you end up in the mud alongside us.”

She skittered back inside the inn, so at least she had some sense.

Meanwhile, Roberts calmly waded through the mire and plucked Glynis up from her muddy bower.

She latched onto him with the speed of a striking snake, and the two moved off toward the inn.

Amiable winced as he sat up, peeling his jacket away from the gummy ground. He rose to his feet and trudged toward the doorway, his clothes leaden.

Just inside the door, Juliet burst into giggles.

He glared at her as long as possible, though her merry peals were infectious. He must look ludicrous. A chuckle shook him then grew into whoops of laughter. “I’ll have you know, madam,” he said, gasping in a breath, “this jacket cost me almost half a month’s salary and now it won’t be fit for a dog to sleep on. Fortunately, the pants are leather and I hope can be cleaned. But my coat and waistcoat are ruined.” He grinned. “You will now have to go without new frocks until the loss can be redeemed.”

“Oh, Amiable.” At last, she stopped laughing and wiped her eyes. “I am so sorry, my dear. You looked so surprised, don’t you know?” She widened her eyes and opened her mouth in a big O, imitating his expression, which set her off laughing again. She even snorted once. Very unladylike, but utterly charming.

“A proper wife would ask if I were injured,” he said, trying to reclaim some dignity.

“But when have your ever wanted a proper wife?” She grinned at him, mischief in every line of her face.

“Now would perhaps be a good time to start, my dear.” He continued in a lower voice. “We can scarcely have announced our presence here any better than if we had shouted it from the roof of the coach or passed out handbills. I pray God St. Cyr does not pass this way.”

Juliet, sobered, glanced around the courtyard, and withdrew inside. She shot him a compassionate look and hurried toward the innkeeper. “Sir, my husband and I are in need of a room with a parlor and a bathtub as quickly as possible. A room for my maid, as well, if you please.”

The innkeeper smiled, whether at her distracted air or his own sorry appearance Amiable couldn’t tell. Didn’t care. All he wanted was to strip his blasted clothes off and sink into a hot bath.

“The Talbot’s hospitality is at your service, sir, madam. Will you require accommodations for your husband’s manservant as well?”

“No,” Amiable spoke up. “He did not accompany me on this journey.” He looked pointedly at his ruined clothes, threatening to drip dirty water onto the floor. “More’s the pity.”

Juliet gasped and turned a peculiar shade of scarlet.

Recalling the last time he’d used that particular phrase, he chuckled. “Come, Mrs. Dawson. We seem to have much work to do before either of us gets dinner.”

The innkeeper produced the required keys and led Juliet up the stairs. Amiable followed, wincing at the
squish, squish
each step brought.

The soothing blue room with the parlor proved spacious if not luxurious. The standard furnishings had seen better days but they were clean and well kept. The room itself faced the rear of the inn, assuring its occupants of a night without noises from the inn yard. Servants bustled about, bringing in their luggage, settling the bathtub next to the fireplace and laying a fire.

“Nuthatch, sir, at your service.” The innkeeper bobbed his head. “Terrible sorry you come to grief in the yard. A hot bath’ll set you to rights, though.” He peered critically at the room.

“I’ll send up your supper in short order. We’ve a nice French chicken, beans ragooed with potatoes, and my wife’s special seed cake.” He paused and Amiable gave a brief nod. Food, while welcome, didn’t warrant his immediate attention.

The proprietor smiled. “If there’s aught else you need…”

“Oh, yes, Mr. Nuthatch,” Juliet chimed in. “Would you please take my maid to her room? I must see to my husband before this mud dries solid.” She beamed at the innkeeper. Only a hard-hearted man could resist that winsome face. The man nodded and beckoned to the bespattered Glynis to follow him.