The Earl's Enticement (Castle Bride Series) (32 page)

He maneuvered her to the door. “The other allegations against you will be contested. We’ve witnesses aplenty to refute them. Lest an attempt is made to hold you until your innocence is proven, we must marry straightaway. Sir Lawrence will be most reluctant to jail my bride, I assure you.”

His last few words were clipped. His ire begged for a measure of release. Helene better pray he never encountered her or her cousins again. Roark abhorred violence, but at this moment, the generational rage he’d battled for years surged forth. It would take the mighty hand of the Lord Himself to restrain him if he ever faced Adaira’s accusers. Or anyone who dared tried to harm her.

Roark couldn’t bear to think of her in that cesspool, Newgate. His imprisonment was lavish compared to what she’d experience there. She’d not be able to defend herself against the guards or the riffraff who called the gaol home.

By God, it must not come to that.

A door slammed somewhere in the house. The clock in his study ticked unnaturally loud in the stillness permeating the room.

Tears shimmered in Adaira’s eyes. “Once again, this isn’t fair to you. Required to abandon your guests. To send Lord Ramsbury to London on my behalf. To flee to Scotland to wed me.”

She sniffed, searching for her handkerchief, which he’d wager was nowhere on her person.

“I seem destined to cause you nothing but turmoil.” A single tear slipped from the corner of her eye.

Roark smiled and caught the salty drop with thumb. “What you fail to understand, vixen, is this is what I want.”

He lowered his voice and dipped his head. He needed Adaira to understand his commitment to her. “I choose to do everything you mentioned, because you are more important to me than every one of those things.”

Wonder, tinged with hope brightened her eyes. “Despite my shortcomings and the havoc that seems to dodge my every step, you want to marry me?”

Roark cupped the side of her neck, caressing her jaw with his thumb. In a tender voice, meant only for her ears, he said, “Despite your shortcomings, and God help me, because of them. I wouldn’t have you any other way. Forgive me for trying to change you. You’re perfect just as you are. And yes, I do want to marry you, very much in fact.”

Two more plump tears toppled over the edge of Adaira’s eyelids. From the joyous smile on her face, he was confident they were happy tears. His lips met hers in the most tender, sweetest kiss he’d ever experienced.

A noisy, rather exaggerated, throat clearing and soft snuffling reminded him of Lord and Lady Sethwick’s presence.

Reluctantly, he released Adaira. She jumped backward, a hand clasped over her mouth. She smiled at her brother and sister-in-law. Roark followed her amused gaze and chuckled too. Sethwick and his bride, arms clasped about each other, stood grinning like cats with a canary.

Lady Sethwick touched a frilly handkerchief to the corner of her eye. “So utterly romantic.”

A frown suddenly shadowed Sethwick’s face. “Blast, I almost forgot the other unfortunate news I have for you.”

“Indeed? And what other disheartening tidbit could you possibly have to convey, Sethwick?”

The viscount scratched his head, then rubbed the back of his neck. “I could be wrong, of course. We were traveling at a breakneck speed through Ashby. In dawn’s muted light, appearances are often distorted—”

Roark met Sethwick’s troubled gaze square on. “You saw my brother.”

CHAPTER 33

The setting sun illumed the unremarkable village Adaira and Roark approached. For all of its fame, she’d expected Gretna Green to be more pretentious. For the first time in her life, she couldn’t wait to get off a horse.

She and Roark left Cadbury yesterday morning, less than an hour after Ewan had arrived. They’d stopped only to catch a few hours’ sleep at a small, out-of-the-way inn whose name she couldn’t remember. When Roark knocked on her door well before dawn, it took a macabre vision of the bowels of Newgate to jostle her from the surprisingly comfortable bed.

Lord, she hoped this village boasted a decent inn. A long soak in a hot bath was the first item on the agenda. And a warm meal. Having eaten nothing but a crust of bread midday, she was ravenous. Roark offered her other food, but anxiety and nerves quelled her appetite. However, her hunger had increased with each passing mile. Perhaps the knowledge they neared their destination allowed her tenseness to abate.

For the past few miles, she and Roark had ridden in pensive silence. Her destiny collided with his the day she’d abducted him. Now, they were to wed. She’d been miserably wrong about him. Her offenses against him were more grievous than any wrong he’d done her. Yet, he maintained he wanted to marry her.

Why, she wasn’t sure. She’d much more to gain from this union than he did. He desired her. Of that she was certain.

A sudden vision of him lying on her bed, his mouth and hands working their magic sprang to mind. Pinpricks of awareness and arousal had her fidgeting in the saddle.

Adaira sliced Roark a sideways glance to find him watching her. A slow, sensual smile curved his sculpted lips. She blushed as only he was capable of making her do.

When had she begun to care for him? When she’d discovered he employed cripples and misfits? When he’d told her of the owl he’d rescued? When he’d approved her jumping into the lake to save Kiki? Or, had it been when she’d seen him standing forlorn in the carriage house?

She was still leery of sharing his bed. Tonight, she’d have to set her fears aside. She’d not deny him his husbandly rights. Not after everything he’d done for her.

“Look there.” Roark pointed to a neat, white building trimmed in black. A sign proclaimed the establishment the blacksmith’s shop.

“
That’s
where we’re to be married?”

Adaira swallowed a chuckle. True, she’d never entertained girlish dreams of an elaborate wedding. But she’d also never envisioned reciting her vows attired in breeches and standing before an anvil.

A gust of wind blew past, depositing another layer of road dust on her. Sneezing, she slapped at her breeches. Add two days’ worth of travel grime to the things she hadn’t expected to be wearing on her wedding day.

Roark laughed softly. “No, I was but showing you the renowned blacksmith shop. There’ll be no irregular marriage for us. We’ll be married properly in a church. No one will be able to contest the legality of our nuptials, here or in England.”

“Oh.” He’d thought this out, hadn’t he? The knowledge comforted her.

Standing in the stirrups, he swiftly scanned the main street. “Yonder, at the end of the lane.”

A quaint church, its white facade glowing in the last of the sun’s rays, beckoned from the end of the street. Moments later, Roark dismounted. After loosely tying Atlas’s reins to a post provided for that purpose, Roark turned to Adaira. Her breath caught at the glint in his eye.

“Throw your leg over,” he commanded softly.

His large hands encircled her waist. A ripple of awareness encompassed her. He lifted her from Fionn but didn’t immediately release her. Pressed between the stallion and Roark’s solid form, she raised her gaze to his.

He stepped closer, until only the material of his pantaloons and her breeches separated them. His hands caressed the slope of her ribs. “If you truly don’t want to go through with the ceremony, I’ll find another way to protect you. I know you want to make decisions regarding your life. You’ve been denied that until now.”

Fionn shifted and snorted, almost as if he’d understood Roark.

“This choice is yours.” Gazing steadily into her eyes, no trace of irritation or manipulation belayed his words.

They’d ridden this distance, unchaperoned, and he was willing to allow her to say no? Or, had he changed his mind, and this was his way of escaping the parson’s mousetrap?

Stop it. He doesn’t deserve your suspicious conjectures.

Adaira searched his eyes, seeking the scantest hint of subterfuge or reluctance. The last fragments of distrust crumbled under his tender gaze. Standing on her tiptoes, she brushed his lips with hers. “I want to marry you.”

Roark hesitated, emotions warring in his eyes.

With a groan, he crushed her to him. He kissed her deeply, as if she’d granted his greatest wish. Arms circling his neck, she met his unbridled passion with her own. She didn’t know what the future held, but she did know it must include him.

Not so discreet coughing interrupted them. Adaira peeked over Roark’s shoulder. A rotund, kind-faced cleric stood on the church’s uppermost step, smiling.

“Perhaps, ye should commence with the ceremony first?” he suggested, a merry twinkle in his vibrant green eyes.

Fifteen minutes later, Adaira was Lady Clarendon. The reverend’s housekeeper and a villager delivering vegetables acted as witnesses.

“Please sign here, me lady.” Reverend Gillies pointed to the line below Roark’s boldly slanted signature.

Handing the reverend the quill, her stomach gurgled, then growled loudly. She cradled her middle. “Pardon me.”

Roark passed the cleric several coins. “Can you recommend an inn for my bride and me? One that serves a decent meal?”

Tucking the money into the folds of his robe, Reverend Gillies smiled. “There’s the Kirkhouse. The inn be spotlessly clean and well-tended. It’s owned by the Bowies, two of me flock. They cater to newlyweds. The beds be comfortable, and Mrs. Bowie be a wonderful cook.”

He winked at Adaira. “Ye haven’t lived until ye’ve tasted her clootie dumpling.”

Adaira’s mouth watered. “Clootie dumpling? Truly?”

She touched Roark’s arm. “Oh, Roark. Have you ever tried the dish? It’s the most marvelous dessert pudding made from oatmeal, bread crumbs, and dried fruit. Served with Devonshire or clotted cream, clootie dumpling is pure heaven.”

She closed her eyes and licked her lips. Her stomach grumbled in protest again.

He gripped her elbow, steering her through the entrance.

“It’s not clootie dumplings I’ve an appetite for, vixen.”

“How utterly delightful.” Adaira smiled at the tidy stone structure it took all of five minutes to locate following Reverend Gillies’s directions.

The sun had disappeared below the horizon. Dusk hovered over the township. Nestled against a backdrop of towering trees, Kirkhouse Inn exuded a rustic charm. A profusion of colorful flowers spilled from vibrant red flowerboxes on either side of the entrance.

Halting their horses at a well-ordered stable situated across the courtyard, Adaira and Roark dismounted. A lad of about five and ten rushed to greet them. He took both horses’ reins. “Stayin’ the night, are ye?”

Roark tossed him a coin. “Yes. Please rub the horses down well. If you’ve any oats, an extra ration for them both. There’s another coin in it for you if I’m satisfied with their condition in the morning.”

Opening his palm, the lad’s eyes grew round as twin moons upon seeing the crown resting there. “Aye, sir. I be sure to take good care of ‘em.”

Adaira rubbed Fionn’s nose. “Be a good boy, my friend.” She pressed her forehead against his and chuckled when he snorted. “I know. You’re tired and hungry. So am I.”

With a final pat, she tucked her riding crop beneath her arm and turned to Roark. He’d already untied her small satchel and was attending to his. They’d traveled light, with naught but the barest essentials. The return trip wouldn’t be as rushed. There was no need, thank goodness.

He took her arm and escorted her to the stairs. At the entrance, he held the door open, allowing her to step inside. A fresh bouquet of summer flowers dominated a shiny counter at the front of the common room. Four burly men sat at a table. Two young couples, their eyes only for each other, cuddled at tables beside the room’s only windows.

Adaira sniffed. Something smelt divine. Her stomach thought so too. It gurgled noisily.

Bother, everyone most likely heard that.

“Good evening. I’ll be right with ye.”

A woman carrying a tray laden with full plates appeared from what must have been the kitchen. After delivering the food to the men, she set the tray on an empty table. Wiping her hands on her apron, she hustled behind the counter. A pleasant smile on her freckled face, she asked, “Ye be needing a room for the night?”

“Yes,” Roark smiled. “Two, please.”

Two?

Adaira didn’t have to turn around to know every eye in the room was trained on them. The innkeeper’s gaze wavered between Adaira and Roark. Most likely this was the first time a couple married in Gretna Green had
ever
requested separate chambers.

Roark lowered his voice. “I’d like to register one in my name, and one in someone else’s.”

He winked at the holster.

Comprehension dawned on the woman’s face. She narrowed her eyes. “Be ye married? I’ll not be having sinners under me roof.”

Adaira felt a flush start at her toes and creep steadily to the roots of her hair. From the heat scorching her face, she’d no doubt her cheeks were the same shade of vivid crimson as the innkeeper’s hair.

Blast, could this get any more awkward? Nary could a sound be heard from the diners. By the utter silence permeating the room, Adaira guessed they’d ceased eating altogether.

Roark shifted his stance, placing his back to the dining area. She concentrated on the suddenly intriguing scratches on the polished, but well-worn floor.

“Indeed, we’re newly married by your very own Reverend Gillies. He recommended this fine establishment.” Roark slid a substantial pile of notes across the gleaming counter.

Mrs. Bowie’s eyes widened, her eyebrows nearly touching her hair. She scooted a quick peek at the diners before snatching the money. She rotated the ledger so Roark could register. He signed his name on one line, then, altering his handwriting, signed Flynn’s on the next.

Flipping the book to her side once more, Mrs. Bowie gasped. “Yer lordship, it’s an honor to have you staying at me humble inn.”

She bobbed a wobbly curtsy. She ducked her head, eyeing Adaira curiously. “Me lady.”

Oh, I resemble a lady all right.

Adaira grimaced at her dusty breeches and boots.

Roark slung a look over his shoulder. The patrons immediately became reabsorbed in their food. He cocked a knowing eyebrow at Adaira. She smiled up at him.

Returning his attention to Mrs. Bowie, he murmured, “We’ll dine in our room. We’ve need of two baths as soon as we’re done eating. I’ll take my bath in the second chamber I rented.”

Passing him two keys, she nodded. “Yes, my lord.”

“If anyone should inquire, we’re Mr. and Mrs. Templeton. We’ll be staying in the room registered in that name.”

A confused frown settled on Mrs. Bowie’s face. She sent a furtive glance to the other patrons. She bent across the counter and whispered, “Ye want two rooms for baths? Only ye’ll both be sleeping in,” she perused the ledger, “Flynn Templeton’s room? But yer really Lord Clarendon?”

Roark beamed and pressed several more notes into her hand. “Just so.”

Mrs. Bowie scratched her head, her gaze shifting between Roark and Adaira. With a shrug, she wrote numbers on a slip of paper. She handed the note to him. “Yer rooms.”

After snapping the ledger closed, she lifted the book from the counter. Wedging it beneath her arm, she said, “I’ll put this someplace where prying eyes canna see.”

Skirting the counter, she headed to the kitchen, tossing over her shoulder, “Dinner in fifteen minutes. Bathwater in thirty.”

Adaira followed Roark across the lobby. They climbed the stairs angled over an odd shaped outer door.

“I’m sure Flynn will be thrilled you forged his name.”

Two treads above her, Roark turned sideways. He grinned, not a trace of repentance on his face. “Cannot be helped, vixen. Have you forgotten? We’ve most assuredly been followed.”