An Undomesticated Wife (19 page)

“Marcus?”

At Regina's voice, he jumped to his feet, then was furious at responding like a well-trained pup. He forgot his irritation when he saw the strain on her face.

“What is wrong?” he asked.

“Did you read these?” She pressed two slips of paper into his hand.

Sitting back on the log, he scanned the pages. He whistled as he reread them again, this time more slowly. It was a letter from Mr. Morrissey to the Duke of Attleby. Checking the date, he guessed it had been included in the packet of papers sent just before Regina's arrival.

I thank you again, old friend, for being so open to this match. I can assure you that my daughter will make your son a matchless wife, but, as you know so well, finding my daughter a husband is only a slight concern at this time
.

The situation here in Algiers continues to deteriorate. Although the Dey is suggesting that he would be open to further negotiations between his nation and Great Britain, I can assure you, as I have the Prime Minister and his cabinet, that he is considering other, much more dangerous actions
.

The government here is still smarting from the negotiations with the United States. Although they have accepted the goods brought on the
Allegheny,
few in the Dey's government are pleased with having to compromise on the issue
.

I believe the game of asking for tribute and ransom for foreign prisoners has grown tiresome to the corsairs, who wish to rule the Mediterranean with their terror. While none of us can be unaware of the Regent's letter to the Dey of four years past to offer protection to the city and its denizens, the mood has changed here
.

That is why I have wished Regina to return to her homeland. No foreigner is truly safe now in Algiers. I hope she will find a sanctuary there, but I fear no place is safe for her now. She is too well-known here, for no other woman is granted the freedom she has been. I pray she can lose herself among the Polite World, so she cannot be found by those who would hurt her
.

I shall write you again, old friend, if I can
.

Marcus lowered the pages to his lap. He had thought the situation was a muddle before. It was clear he had underestimated the trouble still ahead for them.

Fourteen

“Regina?”

Marcus went up the stairs and peered into the bedchamber as his voice echoed oddly through the empty cottage. Vexation stung him. He had thought she was wiser than this. Less than a week had passed since they had read her father's letter; yet she had forgotten Marcus's counsel to remain close to the cottage. She was not in the clearing, and she was not here.

Dash it all to perdition!

Rushing back down the stairs, he tried to disregard a pinprick of apprehension. She
did
know better than to wander away. Mayhap she had not left of her own volition.

Instantly he dismissed that thought. It was more likely that she was just being pigheaded again and pushing his patience to its limits.

He went out into the yard and called out her name again.

Just silence.

“Dash it all to perdition!” Saying the curse aloud did nothing to help.

He strode out of the clearing. Mayhap she had returned to the brook where she could see Attleby Court in the distance. She had spoken of that glen more than once.

Twigs pulled at his sleeves and tangled in his hair. He batted away the branches. Briars refused to be shoved aside so easily. Scratching his hand, he pressed it against his mouth. The taste of his own blood added to his frustration.

Marcus frowned as he parted shrubs to see Regina sitting on a low stone wall winding along the edge of the brook. Climbing over the wall, he followed its curve to where she was tossing flower petals into the water.

“Are you knocked in the head?” he demanded as he rested his shoulder against the rough bark of a thick tree.

She started, then laughed shakily. “I did not hear you, Marcus.”

“You obviously did not hear me when I cautioned you to stay close to the cottage.”

“I cannot be more than a half-mile from there.”

“How loudly can you scream?” When she stared at him, he nodded. “Now you understand, Regina. You have been alerted to the risk to you, but you choose to ignore it as if it matters little.”

She dropped the flower stem to the ground. “I know how dearly it matters, but I thought I would be safe here. Or,” she went on before he could retort, “as safe as I can be anywhere.”

He resisted reminding her that she was in danger everywhere. He resisted, as well, drawing her into his arms. Just the idea of having this lovely woman in his bed filled him with longing. Watching her lips part as her breath quickened, pulling the silk tighter across her breasts, was an invitation he could not ignore. He reached to pull her into his arms.

Regina heard the splash at the same time Marcus's face tightened. She gripped the sharp edge of a stone at the top of the wall as a horse and rider came around a curve in the brook. The tall man's dark hair glinted beneath his hat, and his clothing looked as new as a babe. Easily he kept his seat as the horse picked its way through the water.

“Are you familiar with this countryside?” called the man.

She stiffened as she recognized the accent tainting his words. Arabic!

Wishing she could warn Marcus, she forced a smile. “Good day to you, sir. It is a pleasant day for enjoying an outing, isn't it?”

“Indeed it is.” He shifted on his horse impatiently. “Can you point the way to Attleby Court to me?”

Marcus said from the shadows, “You have gone past it by more than a league, sir.”

The man on the horse squinted as he peered toward the trees, and Regina hoped Marcus was well-concealed. Then she wondered if it mattered. The man did not recognize her, which surprised her, because she was certain he was looking for her. Why else would a man who must have been raised within shouting distance of the Dey's palace, if his accent was no mistake, be seeking Attleby Court?

“Will you point me in the right direction then?” the man asked.

“See those towers?”

Regina clenched her hands at her side. Had Marcus taken a knock in the nob? If he sent this rider to Attleby Court, they might be betrayed by a well-meaning servant.

“Yes,” answered the man brusquely. “What of them?”

Marcus's voice kept its friendly tone. “You can see as well how far they are from where we stand. You need to travel about the same distance in the opposite direction. When you reach a fork in the road, you should take the right-hand road. That will bring you to a river. If you look on the far side, you should see Attleby Court.”

The man nodded and, without thanking Marcus, slapped his horse and rode off in the direction Marcus had suggested.

Regina had only enough time to catch a single breath before Marcus grabbed her hand. When he tugged her toward the cottage, she did not falter. She wanted to talk to him about what they should do next, but she could not waste strength on that now.

Shutting the door, he snapped, “Douse the fire on the hearth. If he comes back, he must not see any smoke from here.”

She emptied a bucket on the hearth. The thick stench of wet ashes struck her as she raced to get the pistols Papa had given Marcus. Loading them, she set the pair on the table as he closed all the shutters save one, which he left open far enough so he could peer out.

“Go upstairs! You should be safe there. The upper floor has no windows,” he said, glancing toward the stairs.

“I will not cower up there.” She sat on the bench by the table. “Sitting upstairs blindly will make me insane.”

“I suspect you already are halfway there. If he were to follow us here—”

“No, he could have had no idea where we were. It was nothing but a horrible coincidence that we chanced to meet, I fear.”

“He must not have recognized you.” He grimaced. “If all the Dey's agents are as witless as this one, we might be hiding needlessly.”

She shook her head. “Do not underestimate the Dey. He came to power through deceit and murder, so he is a master of both.”

“Do you know what this is? Our friend dropped this in his haste to find Attleby Court.” Marcus put a curved horn on the table. Enamel coated the horn, and a pair of strings were braided on either end.

Regina swallowed roughly as she whispered, “A
guern el barud
. A corsair carries his gunpowder in one of these.” She hid her face in her hands. “Oh, why can't they leave me alone?”

“He is gone, Regina,” he murmured. “With those directions, he shall be riding for the rest of the day without coming any closer to realizing that his prey stood right before him.”

“I had thought they would give up.”

“Why should they?” He tilted her face back so she could not evade his eyes. “Dear wife, why should they abandon their quest, when such a fair prize waits at its end?”

“The Dey—”

“No, dear wife, I do not speak of politics, but of more intimate matters.”

Her face bleached. “They would not—”

Again he interrupted her, “Do not think of that! I will not let any of those bastards touch you.”

As he went to stand by the open window and stare out through the cracks in the shutter, Regina laced her fingers together in her lap. Marcus had saved her today with his quick thinking. Yet, instead of being grateful, she sat here and deplored the unfortunate predicament as if it were his fault.

She closed her eyes and sighed. Opening them, she let her gaze slip along him. From his boots clinging to his legs up to his knees and his breeches emphasizing the firm strength of his thighs and the narrow line of his waist, her gaze rose along the back of his waistcoat. It was pulled tight across him, revealing the ripple of muscles as he moved to look out another window. Without his high collar, his dark hair, which was already growing unfashionably long, fell onto his shirt.

He was her husband, a man she had sworn to share her life with, a man she longed to offer her heart to … her heart and more. So easily she could have been taken from him without ever showing him how she dreamed of his caresses.

Crossing the room, she leaned her cheek against his back as she swept her hands up the front of his waistcoat. His quick intake of breath resonated through him … and through her. Slowly she turned him to face her. Amazement glistened in his eyes.

“Regina, what—?”

She gave him no chance to ask what she meant. Her lips on his was the only answer she needed to give him. Slowly his sturdy arms encircled her.

“I don't belong to my past any longer,” she whispered. “I want to belong with you, Marcus.”

“Regina—”

Putting her finger against his lips, she said, “Say nothing. I want no promises today. I want you.”

“Are you sure this is what you want, Regina?” He stroked her hair, smoothing it back from her face where the heat had plastered it to her soft skin in ringlets.

She smiled gently. “I am slowly discovering you are a part of all my dreams.”

Stepping away a half-pace, he held out his hand. She grasped it as they turned away from the window and the danger that might lurk beyond it. For now, for this special moment, she wanted every thought to be only of the love they could share.

His light kisses rained on her face in a sweet shower. “Let me make you happy.”

“You already do … most of the time.”

“Most of the time?” His frown could not disguise the craving in his eyes. “Not all the time?”

“Most of the time,” she repeated. “The rest of the time you make me so angry, I would enjoy throttling you.”

“How fitting! For I feel the same for you.” He captured her mouth again. His kiss was as demanding as his words, but for the first time, she was ready to give into him.

Her breath burned in her throat as her body seemed afire with yearning. She wanted him to touch her, not missing a single spot, until she was a prisoner to their mingled passion. Grasping his hand again, she pulled him toward the stairs.

He clutched her shoulders and spun her back to him. “Not in that stinking bed. I shall not have this pleasure flavored with mildew and mold.” Pulling his blankets from a chair, he spread them on the floor in front of the hearth.

She was sure she was dreaming when, with a mischievous grin, he went to the case that held his things and pulled out several swaths of silk. “Those are the wraps I brought from Algiers! Where did you get them?”

He smiled. “I knew you would not throw them out as I bid you to, so I thought we might find another use for the fabric here. I hid them among my things while you were hastily packing to leave London.”

She reached for the silk. “If you would like me to change—”

“No, I do not want you to change. Ever.” Kneeling, he draped several pieces of silk across the quilts. Then he stood and tossed one end of the longest piece over a low rafter and behind a bench. With a laugh, he drew her into the silken tent. As graciously as if they were in his father's dining room, he seated her in the middle.

“We will sample what—” He paused as she quivered. “Regina, do not be afraid.”

“I am not afraid. I don't know exactly how I feel, but I know I'm not frightened.” She laughed softly, leaning her head against his shoulder. “Wait here.”

“Wait?” He grumbled in fake outrage. “I have waited for you for too long. Where are you going?”

She smiled. “Just wait here.”

Rushing up the stairs, she undid the myriad hooks along her gown. She dropped the material to the bedroom floor. Quickly her lacy corset cover followed. She kicked off her slippers and removed her stockings. When she stood only in her chemise, she reached into her bag and drew out the lacy wrapper she had packed at the bottom. She did not pause to ask herself if she had planned even then for this moment when she had chosen this silken delicacy to bring with her.