The Earl's Bargain (Historical Regency Romance) (15 page)

As soon as Harry closed the door to their
chamber, Louisa spun around to face him, anger flashing in her
eyes. "Have you no shame? Telling that nice couple we're on our
honeymoon?"

He shrugged from his wet coat and hung it on
a hook a foot from her pelisse. "You know little of human nature if
you do not realize the Winstons are delighted to be of assistance
to us. I fear their glee would vanish if they were to be apprised
of the truth."

"I suppose you're right," she agreed, hands
on her hips as she watched him standing there facing her, a look of
sheer devilment in his black eyes. "But how am I to get into dry
clothing with you standing there gawking at me?"

"I shall turn around and gaze at the wall
until you notify me you are dressed."

"Very well," she snapped, "turn around." She
watched as he presented his back to her. Why did the man have to
have such broad shoulders? His size intimidated her. Looking at
him, she backed away but was still not able to undress, even though
she trusted him. Though the man had his faults, she had to admit
forcing himself on a woman was not one of them.

She slowly unbuttoned her dress.

"If you need assistance, I shall be happy to
oblige," he said mischievously.

"Just keep looking at the wall." She took a
dry worsted dress from her portmanteau, then began to slip out of
her wet travelling dress, clutching its skirt over the personal
parts of her anatomy. Throwing one last look at him to assure
herself he was not watching her, she quickly stepped into the dry
dress and buttoned it.

"I am dressed now," she informed him. "I
shall sit on the bed and turn my back so that you may don dry
clothing."

"You can look if you like," he said
teasingly.

"I don't."

Once they both were dry, Harry moved over to
the bed and picked up Louisa. "I'll carry you downstairs. Taking
stairs is the worst thing you can do for a bad knee."

She could not argue his point. Her knee was
already throbbing from the weight she put on it while dressing.
Though she allowed him to lift her, she vowed she would not put her
arm around him. Which really was awkward, keeping her arms pressed
against her sides.

When they got downstairs they found the
Winston's linen-covered table set in Sunday finest and spread with
an array of steaming bowls.

Louisa fleetingly thought of the warmth and
privacy of the dining parlors she and Harry were used to and
vaguely missed them.

But as soon as they sat at the kindly
couple's table, her misgivings vanished. This little farmhouse
possessed more warmth and feeling of love than any impersonal inn
could possibly offer.

Mrs. Winston could not have been more
hospital, and her quiet husband, dressed in Sunday wear that had
become faded and shiny at points of use, was amiable.

"They're on their honeymoon, Jonah," Mrs.
Winston informed her husband. Then, turning her attention to the
presumed newlyweds, asked, "When did you get married?"

Louisa looked at Harry to answer.

He put down his fork, looked up at the
farmer's wife with a smiling countenance, and said, "We married at
my wife's home in Trent on Saturday and are now journeying to
Penzance, where we shall make our home together."

"You are from Penzance?" Mr. Winston asked
in a surprised fashion. Had Harry's lack of a local accent raised
warning flags?

Harry nodded as he buttered his roll.

"However did a man who lives in Penzance
meet a bride who lived so far away?" Mrs. Winston asked.

There was not even a second's hesitation on
Harry's part. "My wife was introduced to me by my cousin, who also
lives in Trent."

The man was a natural-born
liar!
My wife this, my wife
that
. Lying appeared to come quite
naturally to him. Like stealing.

"Millie and I've known each other all our
lives," Mr. Winston said. "Known since I was twelve I was gonna
marry her."

Louisa smiled at this. "Was there never
anyone else?"

Mr. Winston looked at Louisa as if she'd
blasphemed the Lord he so obviously honored. "There weren't no one
else to shower my affections on, lest you count Rosemary Penthorn,
who weren't all right in the head, if you know what I mean."

All except Mrs. Winston laughed at this. The
round, white-headed woman put her hands to her hips in protest.
"I'll have you know, Jonah, I had my pick from four different lads,
and you're the one I wanted to spend the rest of my life with."

At this, Mr. Winston lowered his head to his
bowl of soup and began to slurp.

Louisa and Harry exchanged amused
glances.

When Mr. Winston finished with his soup, he
turned to Harry. "A little old aren't you to be marrying for the
first time?"

"What makes you think it's the first time?"
Harry asked.

Louisa felt her stomach drop.

"It's not?" Mr. Winston queried.

"Yes, it actually is the first," Harry said
with a chuckle. "It took me three and thirty years to find my sweet
Louisa. I'd given up hope of ever finding one such as her."

Oh,
please
. Lord Wycliff had certainly missed
his calling on the stage. A pity he did not make his fortune there.
Then, thinking of the manner in which he
had
regained his fortune, she grew
angry once again, and turned her complete attention to her
sturgeon.

"What do you do in Penzance, Mr. Smith?"
Mrs. Winston asked Harry.

Louisa was astounded over the huge amount of
food Harry had consumed as she watched him cut his fish and answer
his hostess.

"I'm in imports and exports."

At least that was somewhat
true
.

"You have a boat?" Mr. Winston asked before
shoveling peas into his mouth.

"Let's put it this way," Harry said. "My
bank and I have a boat."

Hogwash
.

When they were finished
with their meal, Louisa insisted that she and
her husband
be allowed to clean up.
"Please, Mrs. Winston, we have been sitting in a carriage all day
and are longing to stand for a while. You and your husband go rest
by the fire. You both have put in a hard day's work."

The old woman shuffled off, mumbling
protests under her breath.

Once alone in the kitchen, Louisa lashed
into him in a sing-song voice of mockery. "My wife and I this, my
wife and I that. My bank and I. . .Honestly, my lord, you are a
scheming, lying, cheating, good-for-nothing peer of the realm if
ever there was one." For good measure, she added, "I do
declare!"

His mouth twisted into a wry smile. "Don't
forget to add thief."

She huffed. "If it weren't for the bandages
on your arm I would hit you."

"But if you did, I wouldn't be able to help
you with the dishes."

"As if you know your way around the
kitchen." She issued a harrumph.

"Do you?" he asked.

"Of course." She took Mrs.
Winston's apron and tied it about her slim waist. "The real
question is if you know
your
way around a kitchen."

His face fell. "To be truthful, no."

"You wouldn't know the truth if it bit you
on the nose."

"A very poor analogy, Louisa." He picked up
a roughly hewn stool and placed it before the sink. "I order you to
sit down."

She shot him an angry glance, sat on the
proffered stool and began to run a wet cloth over a plate several
times. "I told you not to call me Louisa."

"And I refused." He took a dry cloth and
began to dry the plate Louisa had washed.

They worked side by side for some time, lost
in their own thoughts, no conversation uniting them.

When they were more than half way through,
he spoke. "It's clear that you detest your father, but what of your
mother?"

She continued washing. "I loved her very
much, but she died giving birth to Ellie."

"So you were almost like a mother to
Ellie."

She nodded solemnly. "I suppose so."

"Did your father never remarry?"

"No, which seemed peculiar, given his
delight in ordering others to do his bidding."

"But he was so selfish a man, he probably
didn't want to feign affection for another that he did not
feel."

She stopped washing and looked at him. "I
believe you're right. He never needed anyone but himself. The only
person he cared a fig for." Then she took up her cleaning
again.

"Louisa?"

"Yes," she answered, averting her gaze from
him.

"Is there nothing I can do to regain the
affection I felt from you yesterday?"

She thought for a moment. "You could show
your remorse by giving your money to the poor."

"You know I can't do that," he said
somberly.

She turned to him, hardness in her steely
eyes.

"It was never about the money," he said
softly. "Always it was about family. My family. Not only the
ancient title and the wealth that had once gone with it, though
those things were important to me.

"It was pride in my family name I wanted to
recapture. I want to rebuild what my father had torn down." He
dropped the cloth to the counter. "More than anything on earth I
have wanted to rekindle the feeling of love I had known so
thoroughly as a child. I wanted to reestablish that. I want my old
home back. I want a woman whom I can love as my father loved my
mother. I want a son who will proudly carry the title of Earl of
Wycliff and grandsons and great-grandsons." He turned back toward
her. "Are you understanding any of this?"

She swallowed. "I think so," she said, her
voice wispy.

He felt a closeness to her he had never felt
with anyone else. Why else would he have revealed so much about
himself and become so vulnerable?

When the kitchen was spotless, Louisa and
Harry said good-night to their host and hostess.

"Mrs. Winston," Louisa asked, "How did you
know we were newlyweds?"

"My dear, I knew by the way Mr. Smith looked
at you. It was the same as Jonah Junior looked at his bride the day
of their wedding."

Louisa's cheeks grew hot. She left the
parlor to climb the stairs to their room, grabbing onto the
banister to carry her weight from her bad knee. Harry followed,
picked her up and began to march up the stairs while holding her to
him. How did he expect her to dress for bed with him in the room? A
pity there was no tavern for him to go to tonight.

The taper Mrs. Winston lit still burned on
the bedside table. The room was cold. Terribly so. Since there was
no hearth in this room, Mrs. Winston had brought extra
blankets.

Now Louisa knew why. "Turn around and close
your eyes," she ordered.

For extra preservation of her privacy, she
too turned around, her back to him as she quickly undressed and
hurried into her woolen night gown.

Then she sat on the bed. "You may turn
around and remove your shirt. I need to redress the bandages on
your arms."

"Would you like me to come stand in front of
the candle as I remove my shirt?" he asked teasingly.

She bent down to pick up her shoe and throw
it at him. "You odious man!"

The flying shoe just missed one of his
bandaged arms. She was all contrite when she said, "Oh, Harry, I'm
so sorry. Did I hurt your arm?"

He stood beside her and slowly began to
unbutton his shirt, not removing his eyes from her.

Embarrassed, she turned away until he had
removed his shirt and came to sit on the bed next to her. "You
called me Harry again," he said gently.

She was in no mood to be seduced by a
thieving pirate. "Let me see your arms," she said harshly.

She proceeded to remove the bloodied
bandages from his arm, gasping as she did so. "I am afraid
infection may have set in," she solemnly announced.

He picked up the candle and held it to his
arm. The gashes were still oozing, and his entire arm had begun to
swell.

"No wonder the blasted thing's bothered me
so much today."

Her voice was soft when she spoke. "You
never said anything."

"We weren't speaking. Remember."

She looked contrite. "I don't know what we
can do for it. What have you learned about such treatment in your
vast experience?"

"To bloody well hope it gets better. I'd
rather not lose my arm."

She gasped. "Oh, that's terrible, and it's
all my fault." She removed clean linen from her portmanteau with
shaking hands.

"I'm sure it will be all right," he
soothed.

She ignored him as she gently cleaned the
wound and began to wrap it in a fresh bandage. Then she leaned
across him and began to minister to his other arm "This arm isn't
nearly as bad as the other."

"I'm not such a bloody idiot that I don't
already know that."

"Don't be so cross," she scolded. Then she
was sorry she had snapped at him when he was obviously in a lot of
pain. "I'm sorry if I'm hurting you, Harry. Would you like for me
to go downstairs and see if Mr. Winston has some whiskey for you
take to dull your pain?"

"I don't need it," he said. "I've been
through worse."

She saw by the scar low in his belly that he
spoke the truth.

"Besides," he snapped, "you can't go down
those stairs on your knee."

She stopped what she was doing, met his
devilish eyes and began to giggle. "If we aren't a pair for sore
eyes!"

He began to chuckle, his voice low and
hardy.

When they stopped, she gave him a solemn
look. "I shall put you in a sling in the morning. Perhaps that will
help your bad arm."

"Perhaps it will."

She put the rest of the clean bandage back
in her bag. "I suppose we had best blow out the light and go to
sleep."