A Lady's Wish (7 page)

“Would that I were then and there already.” His gaze seemed thunderstruck. But she was so worried. If she released this moment, it might vanish forever.

“But will you come? Promise me you will come and I will believe that you are a man of your word.”

He nodded solemnly. “Yes, I will come. I promise it.”

Perhaps he had. Perhaps he had been there at ten o’clock when she was standing in a drawing room three miles away, her family and friends congratulating her upon a betrothal that she had not known about until moments before, Oliver beside her with satisfied pride on his face.

Perhaps he had waited at the Maypole a quarter hour. Half an hour. An hour. Perhaps he waited until just before she managed to arrive there, racing the gig she stole from the stable by bribing the groom with her pin money, frantically praying, vowing that if he were there she would run away with him that very day rather than be married to another.

But he was not. Despite his declarations the previous night, he had not waited an hour for her. Or perhaps he had not gone at all. Perhaps he had forgotten her as soon as she refused him her favors the evening before.

She would never know. She could ask him directly now, but she did not trust in any response he would give. The naïve girl had not fully understood what he had wanted from her that night, but the married woman eventually did. Now she knew he was not the man she had longed for and dreamt of for months, commencing her marriage with lies that twisted her inside out. A man who would seduce another man’s wife was not that fantasy. Captain Nikolas Acton was someone else entirely, and she should have known.

Chapter Six

N
ik pressed the currycomb to his horse’s neck and smoothed it along the sleek brown coat. He did not mind the labor. He had not forgotten the day when he’d had to perform this task himself, and others much worse, because he could not afford the price of boot blacking let alone a servant to apply it. Now the stable hand was busy assisting Carr with the carriage horse’s poultice, and Rum had not yet returned from the posting house with the fresh cattle. And Nik liked his horse, a new purchase in London, an easy tempered animal with a degree of intelligence.

Unlike its master.

He should not have teased her the night before. He had done it out of anger. He saw the spark of interest in her cornflower eyes and abused it to soothe his pricked vanity.

But it was not truly vanity that pained him. It never had been.

She was married, changed by the years, yet he still wanted to touch her. He had wanted to touch her—needed to—from the first moment he saw her. For that reason alone he had teased her. But she was still married, and he was still the fool.

Footsteps sounded on the floor planking and a bright head appeared above the stall’s half-door.

“Good morning, Captain. Have you breakfasted?”

He rested his arm across his horse’s back. “I have indeed, Miss Ramsay.”

“The rain seems to have eased. I daresay we will reach our cousins’ house today. Has Mr. Rum returned yet with the new horses?”

“We may expect him shortly.”

“I have nothing to do until then. May I help you?”

He smiled. “I would be glad for the company, of course, but I am afraid you are not quite dressed for the occupation.”

“Neither are you.” She unlatched the door and entered. “What shall I do?”

“Have you brushed a horse’s mane before?”

“Never! What fun.” She extended her hand. “A tool, please, sir?”

He handed over a brush and she set to work.

“I like it that you do not treat me as an imbecilic female.”

“It requires no particular intelligence to comb out a horse’s mane, Miss Ramsay.”

“That is not what I mean, of course. You are very civil to me. Most gentlemen are impatient.”

“Cads, all of them.”

She giggled. “I am quite serious, Captain. My sister is wary of you, and tells me I must take care. But she has been disappointed in marriage and imagines all gentlemen unworthy of me, I think.”

Nik had to force himself to continue working the currycomb across his horse’s coat, his gut tight. This information should make no difference to him.

“When was your sister wed?”

“It was 1807, the year Tricky spent the spring with our cousins. It has been all those years since she last visited them, in fact.”

He pressed the comb into the bay’s flank, the rhythmic action forcing steadiness to his breaths and heartbeats. How many times at sea as a young sailor had he set scrub brush to deck and labored in body to bring command to his thoughts? Each time, in those early years, he had thought of his father and brothers and how they would not believe the indolent, carefree Nikolas could force discipline upon himself so successfully. And during those long hours of hard work, earning experience and respect amongst his fellow sailors and superiors, he had also thought of her. He had always thought of her.

“In what month?”

The girl stroked the horse’s hair with the comb, petting its neck with her other hand. “May.”

Betrothed?

Not remotely.

He drew a slow breath. “Did your parents arrange the match, then?”

“Oh, yes. Papa was still alive, and he and Mama were quite heavy handed with Tricky and Timothy—that is our brother. But Papa died and now Timothy only listens to Mama when it pleases him. He is quite improved since succeeding to the title, actually.”

The
title
?

“Your brother is Lord . . . ?”

“Bramfield. He is a viscount.”

Viscount?

“It is not a particularly old title or grand estate, and so far north we may as well be in Scotland. But we were always well enough, and my brother is quite a solid member of Parliament now, though of course he tends to vote as his friends do.”

A
viscount
. She was the daughter of a man so exalted she ought to have been confined in a parlor until she was wed, not dancing about the Maypole at a country fair. Yet she had fallen into his life like an angel, and into his arms like a farm girl, with her sparkling eyes and ready laughter, and her eager kisses.

He passed the currycomb across his horse’s withers, seeking steadiness and not finding it this time. He
must
know.

“Your sister’s husband’s title. He—”

“Baronet, and quite wealthy. Mama and Papa were in alt over the match.”

“They no longer approve of it?”

“Well, Papa is gone, of course, and Mama is now only interested in her charities, which she does entirely because the other ladies do them, you know.” She added in a whisper, “She does not care for common people.”

“And yet your sister fashions wedding rings for poor brides?”

“Oh, well, once Tricky was married she did as she wished, and she wished to do that. She is very kind. And clever. Much kinder and cleverer than me and our brother.” She dimpled with pride. “And she is a very good example for others. She told me once she witnessed a gentleman’s kind act and it inspired her. She said the act seemed perfectly natural to him, as though he hadn’t even thought before he did it, and she wished to someday be the same—unaware of her own kind acts.”

“What kindness had the gentleman performed, I wonder?”

“He gave a piece of bread or some such thing to a starving little urchin at a country fair. Is it not absolutely diverting that she would recall such a thing, or have even noted it?” She smiled fondly. “My sister has a soft heart, and I think I still have a great deal to learn from her.”

He paused and the big bay gelding turned its head to regard him with dark eyes.

“Her husband must consider himself a fortunate man.”

“Oh, well he
was
quite proud. He admired her greatly.”

Nik knew he should not continue to pry. It was beyond indiscreet. But this girl seemed unaware of that, happy to share her family’s secrets.

“He no longer holds her in such high esteem?”

“I suppose he might, if a corpse could.” She slapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, good heavens, that was horridly spoken! My brother in law is certainly a corpse, and I didn’t like it at all how he abandoned Tricky to go off to war. But I should not speak of my own family member in such a manner. What must you think of me now, Captain?”

He thought her the most carelessly wonderful girl in the world.

She was a widow.

A
widow
.

Abruptly there seemed to be a great deal more air in the stable to breathe.

“She wears no mourning. How long has it been?”

“Oh, years. Nearly four. He died in Spain and
I
nearly perished with relief.” She twisted her lips. “I am excessively unforgiving, my mother says.”

“You are a girl who feels deeply. Strong emotion in a lady, Miss Ramsay, cannot be ill judged when it is sincere.”

“Do you think so?” She cocked her head. “Mama and the dowager say otherwise. And of course gentlemen mustn’t allow themselves to be overcome by strong feelings. Why, I suppose upon the sea it would be terribly foolhardy to act from emotions rather than rational thought.

He returned to his horse’s back and the animal’s head dropped in contentment. The hard life upon the sea had not allowed him to stew in regrets or anger. It had suited him perfectly well. Then.

“Oh, Captain, what a tremendous life you have lived! But one hears frightful stories of the lives of sailors. Was it truly horrid before you became your own master?”

“Challenging, both before and after. Being led by another man is not pleasant. But leading other men is a heavy responsibility.” It all paled in comparison to the war within him now.

Years ago he would have gone directly into the inn and told her everything. He would have taken his chances, just as he had that spring day beneath the brilliant sunshine. He would bring a period to the insanity that had driven him for years to finish what they had begun that day.

But war had altered him and he no longer made rash starts. Nine years ago she had gone from his embrace to a bridal bed with another man. Nik had barely known her. But in those few hours he had changed. Meeting her and falling in love with her had altered the course of his life so dramatically she had simply become part of the structure of his reality. He might never see her again after today. But he could no more forget her than he could forget the sun.

“Will you return to sea soon, Captain?”

“The first of April.”

“What a pity. We ladies on land will regret it.” She stepped back from the horse. “There. How did I do?”

He forced a smile. “Quite well. If you were a stable boy I would toss you a coin.”

She grinned. “All this work has made me famished, and my sister and Aunt Elsbeth will have risen by now. Will you take a cup of tea with us?”

“I will follow you shortly.” And see her.

“Once we have taken to the road, will you still follow us?”

Probably for the remainder of his life. “That depends upon where you are going.”

“T
ricky, it happens that I am horridly jealous of you.” Calanthia sipped her tea. “Captain Acton admires you.”

Patricia’s head snapped up from studying Oliver’s letter.

Calanthia nodded. “Truly. He asked me all about your wedding, and Oliver.”

Her stomach somersaulted. “He did?”

“Yes. It was wretchedly disconcerting, as I had gone to the stable to enjoy a pleasant flirtation with him and instead we spoke of you.” She leapt up and swept her arms about Patricia’s shoulders and pressed their cheeks together. “But I shan’t hate you for it. If I cannot have him, I would not want anybody else in the world to have him but you.”

Her throat beneath Callie’s arm felt thick. “Must you be so vulgar, dear?”

“I thought I said it quite nicely! And it is
very
generous of me, really. I could eat him with a spoon.”

Patricia tried to frown. She could not. He had asked about her wedding?

“I cannot imagine where you learn such language,” she muttered instead, tucking Oliver’s letter in her pocket to hide her quivering fingers.

“From Maggie.”

“Your maid? Good heavens, I shall be obliged to turn her off.”

“You cannot. She wears a ring you gave her, she is wed to our footman, and she believes she owes her happiness to you, which in fact she does.”

Patricia moved toward the parlor door. She had not finished breakfast, but she could not eat now with her insides in a chaos. Why would he wish to know about Oliver? So he could determine whether Oliver would be the pistols-at-dawn sort of husband with his wife’s lover?

Her cheeks burned. But since he had touched her the night before, she could not cease thinking of it. Might she live her fantasy upon this journey with
him
? She had not stipulated to herself that she must have a man of good character for her single night, only a man who could give her pleasure.

“Tricky, I told him Oliver died.” Calanthia rushed the next words. “I know you do not wish strange gentlemen to know your particular business, but he is really quite lovely and anyway he sails again by month’s end, so he shan’t tell anyone.”

“Month’s end?”

The rumble of carriage wheels sounded in the yard.

“Oh. Perhaps that is ours.” Calanthia sounded disappointed.

Panic welled in Patricia, but this time in the direct center of her chest.

They went into the foyer as Captain Acton entered the inn. He met her regard, and as though nine years had not passed and they still stood palm-to-palm beside a field of sheep, his eyes seemed to seek something within her. She had the most unwise urge to blurt out that he might still find it there.

“Your carriage is readied,” he only said. “Your horses will remain here as long as you wish. I have given instructions to the stable master that if any particular care is required for the injured animal I will return within two days and see to it.” No trace appeared of the teasing rogue from the night before, only gentlemanly concern.

“Thank you. You are very kind.”

He bowed.

“Oh, no,” Calanthia exclaimed. “Then we must part now, Captain. Are you near your destination?”

“I am, but I shall suffer for loss of such charming company.” He looked at Patricia again. “Shall I have the team walked or are you prepared to depart?”

Could he have come back into her life now only to leave it again so swiftly? Even if he were the sort of man who would try to seduce a married woman, she did not want him to go yet. But abruptly it seemed he would.

She must make him wish to remain.

“We are prepared. Calanthia, will you inform Aunt Elsbeth?”

Her sister cast a regretful look at the captain and disappeared up the stairs.

His smile faded.

“You are a widow.”

She had not expected this. But he had never been what she expected.

“I am.”

He stepped closer. The foyer abruptly seemed quite small. He wore an elegant greatcoat and held a fine hat in his hand, and he was the most perfect man she had ever seen. He had always been, even in tarnished buttons and smudged boots.

“You wear a betrothal ring.” His voice was low.

“It is not the ring my husband gave me. That is a family heirloom and is now in the vault for John’s bride someday.”

“Your son is quite young. You might still wear it.”

“I would rather wear this.” Her breaths felt tight. “I made it for a girl who perished the day before she was to be wed. Her groom could not bear for it to become another’s ring, but he could not bear to keep it either.”

He grasped her hand, lifted it between them, and the pad of his thumb passed over the diamond chips set in gold. He must be able to feel her tremors.

“Does it deter gentlemen? As it did me?”