Printer in Petticoats (19 page)

Chapter Twenty-Nine

C
ole glanced up as the front door of the
Lark
office swung open. Billy Rowell sneaked inside, furtively glanced around and then tiptoed as quietly as he could over to Noralee's typesetting table.

She had not yet arrived, but from Billy's secretive motions, Cole figured the kid already knew that. Quickly Billy withdrew a single yellow rose from inside his blue chambray shirt and laid it beside Noralee's type stick.

He and Cole exchanged a long look. “Ye're not gonna tell on me, are ya?” Billy whispered.

Without speaking, Cole sketched a large cross over his chest and tried hard not to grin. He'd bet Billy would like Noralee's lemonade just fine. In fact, he'd bet Noralee would take one look at that yellow rose and be head over heels in love again.

Billy saluted and disappeared out the door.

Cole laid his pencil down beside the notepad on his desk. And right then and there he made a decision.

* * *

Jessamine swung along the boardwalk, feeling the warm spring sunshine on her face and inhaling the heady sweet scent of blooming lilacs. This morning's copy of Cole's
Lark
newspaper was folded under her arm.

Verena Forester passed her going the opposite direction. “Good morning,” the dressmaker said in a cheery voice as she swept on.

Jess halted in her tracks. How odd. Verena Forester was never cheery in the morning. Verena was never cheery at any time of day.

Whitey Poletti stopped sweeping the sidewalk in front of his barbershop and gave her a grin, then bent his pudgy frame into a low bow. “Miss Jessamine.”

Hmm. Whitey had never smiled at her this early in the morning before; was the man getting addled? She marched on past the mercantile, and all at once Noralee Ness rushed out and threw her thin arms around Jessamine's waist.

“Heavens!” Jess exclaimed. “What is that for? You already have a job at the
Lark
.”

Noralee's brown eyes shone with unshed tears. “Oh, Miss Jessamine, I'm so happy!”

Good Lord, surely Anderson Rivera had not proposed marriage?

She swept into the restaurant and found her way to her usual table in the corner. Rita beamed at her and hurried over with a pot of her favorite tea.

She poured her cup full and stirred in a double spoonful of sugar and then began to notice Rita's sidelong glances. The waitress seemed overly smiley this morning. In fact, everyone seemed unusually smiley this morning.

Now that she thought about it, even Eli had acted strange, as if he couldn't stop grinning over some private joke.

Rita approached, nervously twiddling her pencil.

“Rita, what is the matter with everyone this morning?”

The waitress's eyes crinkled at the corners. “You see this morning's
Lark
yet, Miss Jessamine?”

“Why, no. Mr. Sanders and I usually read over each other's newspapers together and then we critique them over breakfast. He should be here any minute.”

“I think you'd better read today's
Lark
before he gets here,” the waitress murmured.

“Oh? Why is that?”

Rita sidled away without answering, and Jessamine frowned. Oh, very well, she would read it. She unfolded the Friday edition of Cole's newspaper, spread it across the dining table and choked on her tea.

Emblazoned across the front page, in seventy-two-point boldface type, the single headline leaped out at her.

JESSAMINE LASSITER—
WILL YOU MARRY ME?

Speechless, she sat staring at the words until her eyes burned.

Rita began dabbing tears off her cheeks with the hem of her ruffled apron.

And then Cole walked in.

He shouldered his way past a gaggle of restaurant employees reaching out to shake his hand and made his way to where she sat.

Jessamine half rose from her chair.

“Well?” he breathed, glancing at the page spread across the table. “Too many
m
's?”

She gave a choked laugh and flung her arms about his neck.

“Too many
s
's,” she whispered,” kissing his chin. “As in
Yes
.
Yes! Yes
.”

“Oh, thank God,” he breathed. “I don't have any more seventy-two-point type.”

* * *

Shortly afterward the
Smoke River Sentinel
and the
Lane County Lark
printed identical stories on their society pages.

Jessamine Marie Lassiter and Coleridge Whitney Sanders were joined in marriage on Saturday the fourteenth day of May at the Smoke River Community Church. Mr. Elijah Holst gave the bride away, and Colonel Washington Halliday stood as best man.

Miss Noralee Ness served as flower girl.

The bride wore her mother's wedding gown of ivory silk trimmed with Valenciennes lace and carried a bouquet of yellow roses.

Judge Jericho Silver officiated at the ceremony, which was followed by a reception at Rose Cottage, hosted by Rooney and Sarah Rose Cloudman. Champagne and a burnt-sugar wedding cake from Uncle Charlie's Bakery were enjoyed by over fifty guests.

Following a brief honeymoon in Portland, the couple will reside at 209 Maple Street.

In accordance with the wishes of the editors of the
Sentinel
and the
Lark
, both newspapers will resume publication as usual, with no disruption in service.

* * * * *

If you enjoyed this story, you won't want
to miss these other great reads from
Lynna Banning:

SMOKE RIVER FAMILY
THE LONE SHERIFF
SMOKE RIVER BRIDE
LADY LAVENDER
TEMPLAR KNIGHT, FORBIDDEN BRIDE

And make sure to look for
Lynna Banning's novella

“The City Girl and the Rancher”

in our
WESTERN SPRING WEDDINGS
anthology!

Available now!

Keep reading for an excerpt from
IN BED WITH THE DUKE
by Annie Burrows.

Get rewarded every time you buy a Harlequin ebook!
Click
here
to Join Harlequin My Rewards
http://www.harlequin.com/myrewards.html?mt=loyalty&cmpid=EBOOBPBPA201602010003

Get rewarded every time you buy a Harlequin ebook!

Do you want to earn
Free Books
and More?
Join
Harlequin My Rewards
points program and earn points every time you shop.

You can redeem your points to get more of what you love:

Free books
Exclusive gifts and contests
Book recommendations tailored to your reading preferences

Earn
2000 points
instantly when you join—getting you closer to redeeming your first free book.

Don't miss out. Reward the book lover in you!

Click
here
to sign up
Or visit us online to sign up at

http://www.harlequin.com/myrewards.html?mt=loyalty&cmpid=EBOOBPBPA201602010001

We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Historical.

You dream of wicked rakes, gorgeous Highlanders, muscled Viking warriors and rugged Wild West cowboys from another era.
Harlequin Historical
has them all! Emotionally intense stories set across many time periods.

Enjoy six new stories from Harlequin Historical every month!

Connect with us on
Harlequin.com
for info on our new releases, access to exclusive offers, free online reads and much more!

Other ways to keep in touch:

Harlequin.com/newsletters
Facebook.com/HarlequinBooks
Twitter.com/HarlequinBooks
HarlequinBlog.com

In Bed with the Duke

by Annie Burrows

Chapter One

‘V
ile seducer of women!'

Gregory winced and pulled the quilt up over his ears. What kind of inn was this? Surely even travellers to such a Godforsaken backwater shouldn't have to put up with deranged females bursting into their rooms and screeching at them before breakfast?

‘Oh! What wickedness!'

Pulling the quilt up round his ears clearly wasn't a strong enough hint that deranged females weren't welcome in his room. For the voice was definitely getting louder. Coming closer.

‘What is the world coming to?'

Just what he'd like to know, he thought resentfully, dragging his eyelids open and seeing the owner of the strident voice standing right over him, jabbing a bony finger at his face.

‘How could you?' the bony-fingered, screeching woman shouted into his face.
Right
into his face.

Enough was enough. He knew that public inns were of necessity frequented by...well, by the public. But surely even here a man was entitled to some privacy? At least in his own bedchamber?

‘Who,' he said, in the arctic tone that normally caused minions to shake in their shoes, ‘let you into my room?'

‘Who let me into your room? Why, I let
myself
in, of course.' She smote her breast theatrically. ‘
Never
have I been so shocked!'

‘Well, if you will invade a man's chamber what can you expect?'

‘Oh!' the woman cried again, this time laying the back of one hand across her brow. ‘Was
ever
there such a villain? Truly, your soul must be stained black with depravity if you can treat the seduction of innocence with such levity!'

Seduction of innocence?
The woman must be fifty if she was a day. And
she'd
invaded
his
room. Nothing innocent about that.

‘And as for you!' The screeching woman's finger moved to a point somewhere to his left side. ‘You...you
trollop
!'

Trollop? There was a trollop in his bed as well as a hysterical woman standing next to it?

A brief foray with his left foot confirmed that, yes, indeed there was another pair of legs in his bed. A slender pair of legs. Belonging, he had to suppose, to the trollop in question.

He frowned. He wasn't in the habit of taking trollops to his bed. Nor any other kind of woman. He always, but
always
, visited theirs. So that he could retire once he'd reduced them to a state of boneless satiation and get a peaceful night's sleep at home. In his own bed. Where he heartily wished he was now. For there wouldn't be a strange woman in his bed if he'd stayed at home. Nor, which was more to the point, would
anybody
be daring to stand over him screeching.

‘How could you repay me by behaving like this?' The hysterical woman was still ranting. ‘After all I have done for you? All the sacrifices I have made?'

Her voice was rising higher and higher. And getting louder and louder. But even so there seemed to be a sort of fog shrouding his brain. He couldn't for the life of him pierce through that fog to work out why there was a woman in his bed. He couldn't believe he'd hired her. Because he had never needed to hire a woman. So how did she come to be here?

How, for that matter, did
he
come to be here?

And how was he to work it out with that harpy shrieking at him?

He put his hands over his ears.

‘You ingrate!'

No use. He could still hear her.

‘Madam,' he said coldly, removing his hands from his ears, since ignoring her in the faint hope that she might go away wasn't working. ‘Lower your voice.'

‘Lower my voice?
Lower my voice?
Oh, yes, that would suit you just fine, would it not? So that your vile misdeed might be covered up!'

‘I have never,' he said in outrage, ‘committed
any
vile misdeed.' Nor used the kind of language that more properly belonged on the stage.

He pressed the heels of his hands to his temples. His throbbing temples. How much must he have had to drink last night to wind up in bed with a trollop he couldn't remember hiring and be parroting the vulgar phrases of a woman who seemed intent on dragging him into some kind of...
scene
?

‘Get out of my room,' he growled.

‘How dare you order me about?'

‘How dare
I
?' He opened his eyes. Glared at the screeching woman. Sat up. ‘No. How dare
you
? How dare you walk into my room and address me in that impudent manner? Fling accusations at me?'

‘Because you have seduced my own lamb! My—'

Indignation had him vaulting out of the bed.

‘I am no seducer of innocents!'

The woman shrieked even more loudly than before. Covered her eyes and stumbled towards the door. The
open
door. Where she had to push her way through a crowd of interested bystanders. Who were all peering into his room with a mixture of shock and disapproval.

Except in the case of a plump girl he recognised as the chambermaid. She was gazing at him round-eyed and slack-jawed.

At which point he realised he was stark naked.

With a low snarl he stalked across the room and slammed the door shut on the whole crowd of them.

Then shot the bolt home for good measure.

He had a brief flash of his nurse, clucking her tongue and quoting that proverb about shutting the stable door after the horse had bolted.

No horse. He shook his head. A horse was about the only thing that
didn't
appear to have wandered into his room while he lay sleeping.

Sleeping like the dead. Which made no sense. How had he managed to get to sleep at all? When he'd decided to rack up here for the night he'd suspected he wouldn't be getting a wink of sleep. Other, similar inns in which he'd stayed had made a restful night well-nigh impossible. If it wasn't travellers in hobnailed boots tramping up and down the corridor at all hours, or coaches rattling into the inn yard with their guards blowing their horns as though it was the last trump, it was yokels with lusty voices bellowing at each other in the tap. Over which his room was always inevitably situated.

Although this chambermaid had brought him to a room right up in the eaves. So the noise wouldn't have been an issue. Had he been so exhausted after the events of the past few days that he'd slipped into a state resembling a coma?

It wasn't likely. And it didn't explain the muzzy feeling in his head. That felt more as though he'd taken some kind of sleeping draught.

Except that he'd never taken a sleeping draught in his life. And he couldn't believe he'd suddenly decided to do so now.

He rubbed his brow in a vain effort to clear his mind. If he could only recall the events of the previous night.

He concentrated. Ferociously.

He could remember having a brief wash and going down for dinner. And being served with a surprisingly good stew. The beef had melted in his mouth. And there had been cabbage and onions and a thick hunk of really good bread to mop up the rich gravy. He remembered congratulating himself as he'd come up the stairs on stumbling across an inn that served such good food.

After that—nothing.

Could the overseer and his accomplice have attacked him on the way upstairs? Had they followed him and sneaked up on him, intent on getting revenge? He felt the back of his head but didn't find any lumps or cuts. No sign that anyone had struck him with a blunt instrument. It was about the only thing they
hadn't
used. They certainly hadn't hesitated to use their boots when they'd managed to knock him to the ground.

Not that he'd stayed down for long. A feeling of satisfaction warmed him. He flexed the fingers of his right hand, savouring the sting of grazed knuckles. It was one thing practising the science in a boxing saloon, where due deference was always given to regular customers, quite another to rise triumphant from an impromptu mill with a brace of bullies who had neither known who he was nor fought fair.

But, still, that didn't answer the question of why this harridan had burst, shrieking, into his bedroom, nor the female he'd apparently taken to his bed without having any recollection of so much as meeting her.

He turned slowly, wondering just exactly what sort of female he had found in such a ramshackle inn, in such a dreary little town.

He took a good look at the girl, who was sitting up in the bed with the covers clutched up to her chin.

Contrary to what he'd half expected she was a pretty little thing, with a cloud of chestnut curls and a pair of huge brown eyes.

Which was an immense relief. He might have lost his memory, but at least he hadn't lost his good taste.

* * *

Prudence rubbed her eyes. Shook her head. She'd never had a dream like this before. Not as bad as this, at any rate. She had sometimes had nightmares featuring her aunt Charity, for despite her name her mother's sister was the kind of cold, harsh woman who was bound to give a girl the occasional nightmare, but never—not in even the most bizarre ones that had invaded her sleep when she'd been feverish—had her aunt spoken such gibberish. Nor had she ever had the kind of dream in which a naked man invaded her room. Her bed.

He'd stalked to the door and shut it, thankfully, though not before she'd realised that the landlord was staring at her chest. Her
bare
chest.

Why hadn't she checked to see if she was naked before sitting up? And why
was
she naked? Where was her nightgown? Her nightcap? And why wasn't her hair neatly braided? What was going on?

The naked man by the door was ruffling his closely cropped light brown hair repeatedly, as though his head hurt. And he was muttering something about horses and gravy.

Naked.

Man.

Her stomach lurched. She had a clear recollection of snuggling up against that man a few minutes ago. He'd had his arms round her. It had felt...lovely. But then she'd thought it was all part of a pleasant dream, in which someone was holding her, making her feel safe for once. Loved.

Instead he'd probably...

She swallowed. Heaven alone knew what he'd done to her.

And now he was standing between her and the door. The door he'd just bolted.

Don't come near me. Don't turn round. Don't turn round.

He turned round.

Looked at her searchingly.

Appeared to like what he saw.

Started walking back to the bed.

She opened her mouth to scream for help. But the only sound that issued from her parched throat was a sort of indignant squeak.

She worked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, desperately trying to find some moisture so that she could call for help.

Though from whom? That landlord? The man who'd just taken a good look at her breasts?

Aunt Charity? Who'd come in here and called her a trollop?

Although...it didn't look as though she needed to call for help just yet. The man was standing still. Fists on his hips. Glaring down at her.

Glaring down from a face she suddenly recognised. Now that she was actually looking at it. And not at those broad, bare shoulders. Or the bruised ribcage. Or the... Well, she'd never seen a naked man before. She couldn't help looking at
that
. Even though she knew she shouldn't.

But anyway, now that she was looking at his face she knew she'd seen it before. Last night. In the dining room.

He'd been sitting in the corner, at a table all on his own. Looking dangerous. And it hadn't been just the bruise to his jaw, or the fact that one eye had been swelling and darkening, or that he'd had the grazed knuckles of a man who'd clearly just been in a fist fight. It had been the cold atmosphere that had surrounded him. The chill emanating from steel-grey eyes that had dared anyone to try and strike up a conversation, or walk too closely past his table, or serve him with anything that didn't meet his expectations.

She hadn't noticed him observing her. But he must have been doing so. He must have somehow known she was in a room on her own and followed her up here, and then...

But at that point her mind drew a blank.

He hadn't handled her roughly—that much she knew. Because she didn't feel the slightest bit sore anywhere. Though perhaps she hadn't put up much of a struggle. Perhaps she'd known it would have been useless, given the size of the muscles bulging out all over that huge, great body...

‘It won't work!'

‘Pardon?' The word just managed to crawl over her teeth.

‘This—' The big, dangerous, naked man waved his arm round the room. Ended up pointing at her. ‘This attempt to compromise me.'

Compromise? What an odd choice of word. Besides, if anyone was compromised it was her.

She tried clearing her throat, in order to point this out, but he'd whirled away from her. Was striding round the room, pouncing on various items of clothing that lay on the floor. He bundled them up and threw them at her.

‘Get dressed and get out,' he snarled. And then, for good measure, he drew the hangings around the bed, as though to blot out the very sight of her.

Which at least gave her the privacy to scramble into what turned out to be the clothes she'd been wearing last night. Clothes which had been scattered all over the room as though they'd been torn off in a frenzy and dropped just anywhere.

Which wasn't like her at all. She was always meticulous about folding her clothes and placing everything she might need upon rising close at hand. It was a habit ingrained during the first dozen years of her life, when the ability to move out of a billet at a moment's notice might have meant the difference between life and death.

Still, she wasn't going to dwell on that. If ever there was a time to make a swift exit then that time was now. She needed to get decently dressed, as fast as was humanly possible, and out of this room before the gigantic, angry, naked man changed his mind about letting her go.