To Wed a Scandalous Spy (11 page)

Nathaniel mounted Blunt and nudged him to follow the mare. Willa was right to distance herself from him. Cool and formal was definitely the appropriate manner.

So why wasn't he happier about it?

As the morning progressed, the landscape became more and more familiar to him. Gone were the utilitarian farms of Northamptonshire. They were now in the more fashionable Buckinghamshire, playground of the wealthy and useless. Just the way he used to be.

There was a pasture where he had ridden a race against his host's thoroughbred. There, a small lake known for its good shooting. Soon they would pass through Wakefield, a town where his family had often stopped on the way from Reardon to London for the Season. It was a sizable place, grown prosperous as the best place to halt before the last leg of the journey to London.

With a deep breath, Nathaniel decided it was time to come out of hiding. There was no doubt in his mind that someone in this town would recognize him. If he and Willa were lucky, things wouldn't get too ugly before they managed to get back on the road. Lord Treason's presence anywhere tended to create scenes. After all, his purpose was to ferret out the slippery Sir Foster. He couldn't do that hiding in the hedgerows.

However, it would not be fair to Willa to take her into London unprepared. When they stopped at midday to water the horses, he would tell her everything.

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Silently Willa cut the bread and portioned out the meal of cheese and cold meat that Nathaniel had purchased this morning from the inn. She felt prickly and off-center, her nerves tightening by the moment. The morning had passed in silence but for the clopping of the horses' hooves. Would he never speak?

When he did, would she want to hear what he had to say? She had offered herself to him twice now, and he had refused her.

"Willa…" began Nathaniel, but he stopped when she raised her eyes to his. She was astonished to see that he appeared to be as ill at ease and unsure as she was.

"I—" He stopped, then began again, more firmly. "There are some particulars about me that you remain ignorant of."

That was an understatement. She didn't say anything, however. He seemed to be having enough trouble finishing a sentence without interruption.

"My name, as you know, is Nathaniel Stonewell." He raised his gaze to hers, his green eyes boring into her blue. "What you don't know is my title. I am the Earl of Reardon."

Willa blinked. She certainly couldn't have predicted that revelation.

Nathaniel rushed on. "I wasn't born to it, since my father—who died when I was but a few years old—was only the nephew of the Earl and he was a much younger son at that. Through a serious of rather freakish events, the other heirs died off in quick succession and I became Lord Reardon when I was but a boy."

"I see," she said slowly, since he seemed to be waiting for a response. "How… nice."

"You shouldn't feel intimidated by my title, now that you know," he assured her.

She didn't smile, given that he was being so sincere with his permission. "I won't," she promised with equal gravity.

"So you see wherein lies our problem," he said, spreading his hands. "We aren't actually wed."

Willa thought about it for a long moment. "My apologies, but no. I don't see."

"Peers cannot legally marry in spontaneous country ceremonies like a blacksmith or a farmer," he explained gently. "There are laws requiring that we post our intention for three Sundays first, to allow anyone with property or title claims, or even previous marriages, to come forward." He shrugged. "There are dowries to be discussed, lines of maternal inheritance to be assured, endless negotiations…"

Oh, heavens—was that all he was worried about? Willa sat forward, her chin on her hands. "Do I get another proposal of marriage? The first one wasn't really up to snuff."

Nathaniel took a deep breath. "Yes, well. I wasn't feeling my best."

He went to one knee before her in a quick, fluid motion. "Miss Trent, will you be my wife?" he said quickly.

She sighed. "It's a good thing I'm ruined, for that was truly a stinker. You couldn't tempt a cat from a brook with a proposal like that."

He was beginning to look impatient. "Oh, very well," she said. "I accept."

He returned to his seat, obviously thinking she was being unnecessarily tongue-in-cheek. Willa sighed. Oh well. A proposal was just a question, after all. One that he already knew the answer to at that.

She put on a cheerful manner. "So there are banns to be read and properties to apportion. When do we start?"

"We won't. When we arrive in London, I shall solicit a special license from a bishop of the church, and we can then be married immediately."

She tilted her head at him. "Men are always complicating matters. Why didn't you simply say that?"

He seemed taken aback. "I just did."

"Very well. Let me see if I have all this." She ticked off on her fingers, "You are Lord Reardon. We are not wed. You asked. I said yes. We will be wed by special license as soon as you speak to the Bishop. I must say, you have eased my mind. All of this explains why you did not want to cop—make love."

"Ah, W—"

"I suppose I am relieved. As interested as I am in natural processes, I think perhaps a bit more time to understand each other will do us both good, don't you?"

"Will—"

"There is the little matter of the jinx, however. You've managed to avoid any serious damage so far, if one does not count the knot on your temple—and I am eager to get started on little Lord Reardon—"

"Willa!"

"Yes, Nathaniel?"

"I have more to say."

"Oh dear. Do pardon me." She folded her hands in her lap and waited politely.

He rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes turned on the ground between them. "There won't be any little Lord Reardons. I have an heir, my cousin Basil. He isn't much of an heir, but hopefully he will marry someday and provide us all with someone a bit more… conscientious."

"Nonsense. You won't need Basil when I'm through with you." She clapped a hand over her mouth. "I didn't mean that quite the way it sounded."

Nathaniel didn't smile. His eyes, when he turned his gaze up to her, were sad beyond measure. "We won't be having any children, Willa, because I am never, ever, going to make love to you."

Nathaniel's vow went directly through Willa's heart like an arrow. Abruptly she held up her palm to stop his words. "Wait. Simply—simply wait."

Nathaniel nodded. He sat, his hands clasped loosely, dangling between his knees, watching her.

Willa half-turned away from him and stared into the gray sky. The clouds had gathered all through the morning. There would be rain tonight, unlike the night when she had felled a strange man, then spent the night by his side.

How stupid she was. What a stupid silly idiot. As wrapped up as she had been in her worry over
her
future, it had never once occurred to her to wonder about his plans for his own.

Add selfish to the list. Selfish and very, very stupid.

"And vain. Definitely vain."

Nathaniel frowned. "What?"

Willa gave a self-deprecating shrug. "I've had many suitors who wanted me badly enough to brave certain injury to court me. Men have been trying to marry me for years. It never crossed my mind that you weren't entirely thrilled with the match."

He reached for her hands, capturing them within his large warm ones. "No, Willa, it isn't because of you. I cannot—I will not—ever wish to have a son to carry on my name. No, no daughters, either," he said firmly, apparently sensing the thought that was even then crossing her mind.

"But why?"

Nathaniel knew he couldn't put if off any longer. She wanted to know. She had an inquisitive mind and a driving will. She was going to learn it one way or another. For the first time, it occurred to Nathaniel that he hadn't been able to say the words "I'm a traitor" because he had as yet avoided having to.

Odd. He could let others believe what they willed, and he could even play the part—but somehow he had managed never to openly admit to it.

Really, he could have used the practice, for telling Willa was going to be hard enough.

Nathaniel took a deep breath and said the words out loud for the very first time. "I plotted against the Crown. I joined a group known as the Knights of the Lily, named for Napoleon's fleur-de-lis, and plotted to have the Prince Regent dethroned."

She stared at him for a long moment; then she covered her face with her hands. She began to shake. Damn, she was crying.

Then she snorted. And snickered out loud.

"Oh dear. Really, Nathaniel, I'm loath to shatter your dreams, but your career on the stage will be deathly short."

He could only stare at her, mouth open. It only made her laugh the harder.

She put one finger beneath his chin and closed it for him. Then she leaned her elbows on her knees and dangled her hands before her. "I told you once before. I am an excellent judge of character. You, Nathaniel Stonewell, Lord Reardon, could no more betray your country than a cobra could fly. It simply isn't in you."

Nathaniel couldn't believe it. Everyone he knew—at least, those who didn't already know the truth—had assumed the worst about him and had rejected him.

He could not deny the warmth that began to spread through some place in him that had been cold. However, Willa wasn't seeing the entire matter clearly. It was easy to disbelieve such a thing here in the country, with only the two of them about. She must be prepared for what the world would have to say about it.

"You must know what to expect. There will be unpleasantness at every turn. People have very strong feelings about traitors. The finer the person, usually, the worse the rejection. No one will talk to you. Merchants will be loath to take your money. Even your own servants will be grudging, despite that you pay them twice what their equals receive in other houses."

She'd gone quite sober as he spoke. Good. She must understand what was before her.

"There is no place where you'll be welcomed. No home, no shop, no tearoom will want you there. The reason why I could not tell you before was that I feared you would not come with me, and that you would choose to be ruined forever rather than wed me."

"Oh, Nathaniel," she breathed. "How awful it has been for you."

He blinked. "No, no, you are not listening, Willa. I told you all this because you must understand how it will be for
you
."

He gazed at her with intensity, willing her to understand. "I'm sorry that circumstances force you to wed me, Willa. Nevertheless, one day the war will be over and my reputation may fade"—although he thought it unlikely— "but you would be disgraced forever if you did not marry me. If you wed me and then leave me, openly, you will more likely be forgiven for the mistake of not marrying well than for not marrying at all."

She gazed at him, her eyes damp. "Have you been terribly lonely, Nathaniel?"

He shook his head. He wasn't getting through to her. "Do you understand what you will be facing as my wife? I believe you will be better off in Derryton once we are wed."

Now she shook her head, as if finally awakening. "Oh. I am beginning to see. You married me, or will marry me, are taking me to London, have never touched me—well, but not really—because you thought that once I heard this silly story I would want to leave you." She sat back, shaking her head over the idea.

Nathaniel caught her hand. "Whether or not you believe in my innocence, there is a very large world out there which most emphatically does
not
. We must wed, for your sake. Then you must leave, also for your sake. You will be taking on a tarnished name. That name will do much less damage in Derryton, where you are loved." Even Reardon, filled with people who were supposed to be his own, would not welcome her.

She'd watched him throughout this speech with fascination on her face. Now she sighed and looked at the ceiling. "How more noble can one be?"

He was determined to get through to her. "Of course, you will not go back to living above the taproom. I will buy you a house and set you up with an income."

Willa bit her lip. Should she tell him there was no need of that? She had an income of her own, small but steady, from her parents' few investments. No, for the moment it was better to let him think she would need his support.

She was not yet ready to face her future according to his plan. No husband? No babies? Nothing but an eternal form of spinsterhood, only worse, for a spinster might always hope.

Unhappiness curdled the hope that she would have her own family at last.

Nathaniel watched her. She sat, bedraggled and a bit on the grimy side, her disobedient hair falling from its braid as usual. For the first time since they'd met, she seemed a little unsure of herself.

Nathaniel tilted his head to the side. With his hand he tucked away one of her unruly strands of hair. "You must be strong, wildflower. You're the fearless Willa, remember? Slingshot huntress supreme and defender of little furry things."

Willa smiled wide and happy. "You did it again."

Nathaniel took his hand away from her silky hair. "What?"

"You called me wildflower. That makes twice."

Nathaniel stiffened and stepped away. "That signifies nothing."

"Why, Nathaniel Stonewell, I do believe you are beginning to like me a little!"

"Of course I like you. I never said I didn't."

"Yes, you. did. You said I was maddening, and frustrating, and you called me a chatterbox and a pest."

His jaw dropped. "I didn't." Never out loud, at any rate. "Never once."

"Silly Nathaniel. Everything you think is written on your face as plain as the nose on your… Oh well, you know what I mean."

Silly Nathaniel? More likely milord or Lord Treason or, among the Royal Four, the Cobra. The many epithets that Society had tagged him with, some bawdy, some vile, had never once veered near "Silly Nathaniel."

"I am
not
si—" He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. "Never mind that. The point is, you couldn't possibly know what I'm thinking."