Bride By Mistake (24 page)

Eight years, he thought.

“At first I used to go out just for an hour or so—”

“Doing what?”

“Oh, just sitting and breathing in the night, looking at the stars, or, if there was moonlight, walking and running. You’re not allowed to run in a convent—‘Glide, young ladies, glide!’  ” she mimicked. “It was easy, because I didn’t sleep in the dormitory with the other girls, so nobody noticed if I wasn’t in my bed.”

“So how did Reverend Mother find out?”

“It wasn’t for ages, and it was all my own fault. Food got very scarce during the war. The convent was down to bare bones, and I was starving and sick of having nothing to eat except watery soup with three lentils and a weed in it. So I started setting traps.”

“Traps?”

“Snares. Papa taught me to live off the land.” She paused. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

He murmured something polite, but she wasn’t deceived. She jumped up. “I’ll show you.” From her bag she drew a spool of thread. “Twisted silk, which means it’s very strong. Your knife, please?”

Fascinated, he passed it to her.

“You do it like this, except of course you’d choose a better spot than this. And you cut these.” She cut two forked sticks. “Dry, or the sap can make them stick.” She selected a thin whippy branch from a nearby bush. “And then you bend this down and fasten it like this.” She pinned it in place with one of the forked sticks. “And now you position this here…”

He watched her small, competent hands fashioning a noose and setting up the snare. No lady of his acquaintance would do—or know how to do—such a thing. He made the mistake of saying it aloud.

Instantly she looked away and said in a flattened voice, “I warned you I often do the wrong thing.”

“I meant it as a compliment.”

She eyed him doubtfully. “Truly?”

“Truly. I think you’re a remarkable young woman.”

She flushed and ducked her head, as if unused to even such minor compliments. But her mouth curved enough for him to know she was pleased.

He watched her dismantle the snare, and when she finished, he patted the ground beside him. She frowned a little but sat down again, hugging her knees to her chest. She seemed somewhat nervous of him. Perhaps she’d read his mind.

All through her recital and demonstration he’d been imagining peeling those clothes off her. A girl who hunted alone at night could surely be persuaded to make love in the grass.

“You haven’t finished the story. Reverend Mother?” he prompted and was pleased when he saw her relax.

“The first time I tried, I caught two fat hares,” she said, unable to hide the pride in her voice. “I left them in the kitchen along with a pocketful of pine nuts. Nobody knew where they came from.” She grinned wickedly. “The cook thought it was
a miracle, that our angel had sent them to save us—the angel over the gate, you know. The one who looks like you.”

“Like me?” He was revolted. “I do not look like an angel.”

She laughed. “You do; everyone says so.” Before he could argue the point she continued, “So after that I went out hunting and foraging every night. But my dresses were a problem—they kept getting caught on things and would tear and get dirty. So I got some breeches and boots from a house in the village. Don’t look at me like that—I didn’t steal them.”

He spread his hands in mock innocence, claiming dryly, “I didn’t say a thing.”

“They were her son’s—he’d been killed in the war, and I traded them for—” She broke off.

“For?”

She gave him a guilty look. “For a bit of the gold chain you gave me on our wedding day. I traded it all in the end, for various things we needed. But I kept the ring; you know that.” She drew it from the neck of her blouse. It dangled from the twisted silk thread, glinting in the sun.

He nodded, recalling the shock he’d felt when he discovered she’d worn his signet ring for eight years. He’d almost forgotten about it. Now he felt only possessiveness.

She tucked the ring back and continued her tale. “But after several days of the miraculous appearance of hares and rabbits and birds’ eggs and squirrels—”

“Squirrels?”

“We were starving,” she reminded him. “Squirrels are small but good eating. Of course, cook never admitted the squirrels, but once it’s in a stew, you can’t tell what it is. Anyway, one night Reverend Mother caught me sneaking in again. She was waiting in my room. Oh, the penances I had to perform…” She pulled a face. “But she let me out again in the end.”

“It was that or starve?”

She nodded. “My contribution wasn’t much, but it made the difference between us starving or not.”

“No wonder she called you a treasure.”

“I suppose that was it. Food is important.”

“I meant the courage it took,” he said softly.

“Courage? There’s nothing courageous about setting a few traps.”

No, Luke thought, but there was a deal of courage in a young girl roaming the mountains alone during wartime, foraging and hunting for food for her friends.

She was surprise after surprise, this wife of his.

She lay on her back in the grass, squinted up at the sun, and heaved a sigh. “I suppose it’s time to leave.”

Temptation stirred anew. There was nobody around for miles, so privacy shouldn’t be an issue. And she loved the outdoors. What better place? “It’s so pleasant in the sun; let us delay awhile. I’ll show you what married couples do during siesta,” he murmured and reached for her.

She jumped as if he’d bitten her, and scooted away, sitting up straight. “As to that, I don’t think we should engage in… um, marital relations again until we get to England.”

“What?” He sat up.

“Another two weeks cannot make any difference to you.”

Two weeks? It damned well could. He’d thought perhaps her time of the month had come upon her, but two weeks?

“After all, you left me at the convent for eight years—”

“Is that what this is about? Retaliation for those years?”

“Retaliation? No, of course not. I just meant you obviously weren’t in a hurry to get an heir then, so another few weeks won’t matter now.”

“Get an heir?”

“Yes, it’s the main purpose of it, isn’t it—like breeding horses?” Her eyes dropped and she added, “I would rather not do it for a while, if you don’t mind.” Her hands rested in her lap, but they were tightly knotted.

Luke stared at her, perplexed. He couldn’t give a hang about an heir. When he’d taken her to bed, an heir was the very last thing on his mind. It was all her, and the need to possess her, taste her, enter— Oh, of course! That was it. Damned fool that he was, he’d been in such a hurry, he’d frightened her off, if not for life, for at least a couple of weeks.

He must really have hurt her, damn him for a clumsy oaf.

“No,” he said. “We will not wait until we get to England.” The longer they put it off, the more her anxiety would grow.

“But—”

He said in a gentler voice, “I was clumsy last night. If I’d known you were a virgin, I would have been more careful, slower, gentler. It will not hurt the next time.”

She frowned, turning his words over in her mind, then her chin came up and her fingers curled into fists. “So you intend to force me?”

“No, of course not.” He’d never forced a woman in his life.

“Good, because if you tried, I would fight you.”

His brows rose at her tone, but all he said was, “I give you my word I won’t force you.”

“Good, then we shall wait until—”

“I have no intention of waiting.”

“What? But you just said—”

“I won’t force you.” He gave her a slow smile. “I won’t need to.”

She frowned, considering his words, then sudden outrage surfaced. “You’d
drug
me? I have heard of such wickedness.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I wouldn’t drug you! Good God! No, I promise you’ll be wide awake and you’ll give full consent.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “Why would I do that?”

“I’ll seduce you.” He had no doubt of it. Yes, she was skittish now, but last night she’d responded with natural, unfettered sensuality—until he’d bungled it, entering her with more desperation than finesse. It went against his honor as much as anything. He prided himself on his bedchamber skills. He hadn’t treated a woman so clumsily since he was a green and eager youth. He had no idea how his loss of control had happened last night, but he was damned sure he wouldn’t let it happen again.

She narrowed her eyes at him, then shrugged a shoulder as if she didn’t believe him and said with airy insouciance,
“You are welcome to try.” She started packing up the remains of the picnic.

His lips twitched. The minx, throwing his own words back at him.

T
hey reached the town of Huesca just as siesta time was ending. The streets were already filling with people all heading in the same direction, and when they reached the center of the town, they saw why.

“It’s a market.” Bella turned eagerly to Luke. “Can we stop and look? I can’t tell you how long it is since I’ve been to a market.”

Luke could see she was dying to dive into that throng. “Come on, then,” he said. “Let’s go shopping.” He’d planned to buy her a cloak, and this might be an opportunity.

“Shopping?” Her eyes sparkled. “What shall we buy?”

“We’ll have to see what’s available, won’t we? But first let’s stable the horses and find a room for the night.”

They found one eventually, a private room in an inn off the central square, probably the most expensive accommodation in town, but the town was full because of the market, and nothing else was available. After a wash, a change of clothes, and a drink, they stepped out onto the square and plunged into the crowd.

Isabella’s eyes were everywhere; even the humblest stall was of interest to her, and Luke was reminded again that she’d been shut away from the world for eight years. She smelled the fruit, sampled everything that was offered to taste, and examined the animals from geese and pigs, to cages of bright parrots and a box of kittens. She cooed at the latter with such delight that he had to inform her that they could not travel with a kitten.

“I know. It’s just that they’re so sweet.”

Isabella moved from stall to stall. She was friendly to a fault, examining the goods and exchanging greetings and banter with the stall keepers. And she fingered the fabrics
and eyed the ready-made clothes with ill-concealed covetousness.

“Would it fit you?” Luke asked when she lingered over a simple dress in a glowing dark red.

“Really?” She turned to him in surprise, and seeing he meant it, she examined the dress more carefully, then held it up against her. “I think so,” she said breathlessly.

“Would the
señorita
like to try it on?” The stall keeper’s wife came forward. “We have a private place here, very safe.” She indicated a cubicle draped in fabric set up against the cart at the back of the stall.

“
Señora
,” Luke corrected her. He examined the cubicle, nodded, then stood guard outside as Isabella and the woman stepped inside.

“What do you think?” Isabella stepped out through the curtain.

The dress was cheap, simply made, and old-fashioned to one accustomed to London society, but he could see she loved it, and indeed it suited her. The dark red was perfect for her dark coloring, and a simple decoration of pale yellow piping gave it a smart, jaunty air that suited Isabella’s personality.

“Very nice,” he said.

“It’s a bit loose here.” Isabella plucked at the bodice.

“The
señora
just needs a corset,” the woman murmured.

“A corset? She isn’t fat!” Luke exclaimed indignantly.

The woman tsked indulgently. “The
señora
is as slender as a reed, to be sure, but a corset also helps here.” She cupped her own substantial breasts.

“She doesn’t need—”

“I’d love to try one,” Isabella said at the same time. And without waiting, she and the stall keeper’s wife disappeared again behind the curtains. The woman yelled something to her daughter, who thrust a bundle of white things through the curtains.

Luke waited. Rustling sounds and murmurs came from the curtained cubicle.

“Now how do I look?” Isabella pulled back the curtain.

Luke stared. And swallowed. Instead of a loose neckline that hinted at gently shadowed curves beneath, two silky puffs of breast rose impudently above the neckline. A dress that was perfectly acceptable before now looked… mouthwatering.

His mouth was hanging open, he realized suddenly. He shut it with a snap that jarred his teeth.

“Well?” Isabella gave him a speculative look.

He ran his tongue over parched lips. “You don’t need it,” he told her. “It looks… ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous?” Her eyes narrowed to two gold slits. She glanced down at her neckline then let her gaze drift slowly over him, from head to toe, lingering at his groin for what felt like minutes. Luke felt her gaze like a slow, hot caress. He felt his body stir.

He raised one brow. “Playing with fire, wife?”

She met his gaze, blushed, tossed her head, and whisked herself back behind the curtain. “I’ll take two,” she said. “My husband will pay.”

Luke smiled to himself. He was not the only aroused person here, but he was the only one who recognized it.
You are welcome to try
, indeed. Come the night, she would discover the consequences of her reckless invitation.

Luke had never yet lost a challenge.

The stall keeper emerged from the cubicle with a knowing smile and, while Luke was waiting for Isabella to emerge, showed him another dress, the same size and style but in a patterned fabric in blue, white, and café au lait. “This would suit the
señora
perfectly,” she told him.

“Wrap it up as well.”

They wandered on through the market, investigating every stall thoroughly. They bought small custard-filled pastries made by nuns. They bought cinnamon-candied nuts, dried apricots, and fresh dates. Isabella found some scented soap that she said didn’t smell anything like the convent soap, and Luke bought her a pair of cat’s-eye earrings that exactly matched her eyes.

“I know what you’re doing,” she said as she happily inserted the earrings. “But it won’t work.”