Promise Me Tonight (28 page)

James bit back a smile. Isabella hated to be crossed, and she most especially detested not being let in on a secret. She had probably thrown a royal fit. His humor began to fade, however, as Mr. Marbly resumed his tale.

“Lady Dunston then requested that I attend her in Scotland.”

“Scotland? What the devil is she doing there? The hunting lodge is hardly fit for a lady.”

“Her ladyship is residing with Lady Sheldon at Haile Castle.”

“I am sorry you had to go to so much trouble, Mr. Marbly. It must have been a nuisance to travel all that way, only to repeat what you had already told her.”

The solicitor shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“You
did
repeat what you had written in your letter?”

“My lord, I am ashamed to say that your wife completely outmaneuvered me. Faced with the choice of disclosing your whereabouts or booking your wife passage to Jamaica or—”

“Jamaica?”

Mr. Marbly sighed. “Her ladyship was quite insistent about beginning her search for you at the plantation.”

James didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. Amusing as it was to think of his little slip of a wife bullying his solicitor, Mr. Marbly’s confession meant that Isabella had known about the navy for months. Months and months for her anger to build. Damn, damn, and damn again. He had been counting on her relief that he was alive to outweigh her sense of betrayal. Somehow, he didn’t think the technicality that he had joined the navy rather than the army was going to hold up in Isabella’s court of law.

“I am sorry to say, my lord,” the solicitor said stiffly, “your wife did not take the news well.”

James’s laugh was bitter. “No, I don’t suppose she did.”

“I don’t think it would be overstating to say she was devastated.”

“
Pax
, Mr. Marbly,” James said, raising his hands in surrender. “I am more than aware of my failings as a husband, but I am going to do my damnedest to make it up to my wife.” The sight of the solicitor’s mouth gaping open afforded James no small amount of satisfaction.

“I must say, my lord, I didn’t realize you cared so strongly.”

“To be honest, Mr. Marbly, neither did I. But facing death has a way of making a man look into the deepest parts of his soul, forcing him to face certain truths long denied out of fear.”

“I think you missed your calling, my lord,” said Mr. Marbly. “With that silver tongue, you should have been a poet or a politician.”

“Someday, perhaps. For now, all I want is my wife.”

“Then go get her,” the solicitor urged, rising to his feet and shaking James’s hand. “And good luck!” he called as James headed out the door.

You are going to need it.
Though neither man voiced the words, they hovered in the air, echoing in each man’s mind, as each wondered whether it was too late after all.

With every mile that brought him closer to Haile Castle, James’s enthusiasm waned and dread began to take its place. As eager as he was to see Isabella, he was beginning to have some doubts about his grand plan to declare his love and sweep her off her feet. He had a feeling she might prove a bit resistant. Then a horrible thought occurred to him—what if she refused to see him at all? Given all that had passed between them, he wouldn’t have been surprised to find his likeness pasted near Lady Sheldon’s front door, with the butler given orders to shoot on sight. Forget the butler, his wife would insist on doing the honors!

Struck by an all-too-clear vision of Isabella pointing a pistol at his black heart, James concluded that a peace offering was most definitely in order—something to at least get him through the front door.
Flowers
, he thought. Women always loved receiving flowers. Pleased with his own ingenuity, James instructed Davies, who was serving as his coachman, to stop at Haddington, the county town of East Lothian. He was fairly well acquainted with the town since it was a convenient stopping point on the way to his hunting lodge, which was farther north. As it was already midday, he decided he might as well pass the night there. If he remembered correctly, the George boasted an excellent kitchen and cellar in addition to comfortable accommodations. Surely he was deserving of the condemned man’s last meal.

When they pulled up alongside the front of the inn, a young lad ran over to investigate the new arrival. The boy was reverently eyeing the matched bays when James stepped down from the carriage. He smiled as the boy, a charming little scamp who couldn’t have been more than six or seven, reverently ran a hand along the nearest horse’s nape, saying, “Aye, they be rum ’uns. Right beauties.”

The lad clearly had an eye for fine horseflesh, James thought appreciatively. He reached out without thinking and tousled the boy’s hair, surprising himself with how natural the gesture felt. “Thank you, er?”

“Rory, yer lairdship.”

“Right then. Thank you, Rory. This pretty lady is Lucy,” he said, laying a hand on one of the horses, “and that is Adele, and they are both prodigiously fond of apples. I am sure you have chores to do, but once they are finished, I don’t suppose you would like to help my coachman see to them?”

A brilliant smile spread over Rory’s face, and he nodded vigorously. James only wished everyone else were so easy to please. He waved the beaming boy toward the front door and watched as Davies led his horses away to be stabled. Not for the first time, James wondered how foxed he had been when he had decided to name the bays after his former mistresses. He grinned as he wondered how many apples Lucy and Adele, who were as spoiled as their name-sakes, were going to get. They would be very happy ladies. As he set off down High Street, James chuckled to himself as he wondered if Isabella and Lady Sheldon liked apples.

He located a flower shop fairly quickly and ordered for two lavish arrangements to be delivered to the inn the following morning. For Isabella’s bouquet, he requested nine white roses, one for each month they had been married, surrounded by fourteen yellow roses, one for every year they had known each other—for every year she had brought sunshine into his life. Damn, but he was becoming a sentimental fool.

With that errand accomplished, he walked on, peering into the shop windows and amusing himself by imagining Isabella in this bonnet or that gown. He considered himself fortunate that it was unacceptable to display unmentionables so publicly. He hadn’t had a woman since Isabella’s premarital seduction, and the sight of a woman’s stockings or a lacy chemise just might drive him over the edge. Mentally and more than a bit physically uncomfortable with the direction of those thoughts, he forced his mind back to the far less arousing and far more likely notion of his wife wielding a pistol.

That was, of course, if her aunt didn’t beat her to it. If Lady Sheldon’s protective instincts were anything like her sister’s, he had probably been safer fighting the French at sea. As he walked past a toy shop, he paused, suddenly struck by an ingenious idea. Lady Sheldon had a child—a girl, he thought—and Isabella, as well as her aunt, would surely be pleased if he brought some sort of a toy or doll for the little one.

Of course, a little one of her own would please Izzie more than anything. She had promised him that they wouldn’t have children if he didn’t wish it. He was so tempted just to accept her sacrifice, but he couldn’t. It was the coward’s way out, and it wouldn’t be right. She was meant to be a mother. He was still scared—terrified, actually—especially now that he had figured out how much he loved her.

The hole in his heart left by the tragic loss of his mother and sister was a constant reminder of the risks women faced in childbirth. And try as he might, he couldn’t shake that haunting omen. The nightmare lingered with him, burrowing insidiously through his mind, causing him to wake in the middle of the night, his heart racing and his body drenched with sweat.

He would keep trying for her, though. As his wife had said, marriage was built on compromise; with Isabella’s help, James thought he could lay the demons of his youth to rest. Together they could face all the future dangers and past devils. And, of course, there was the making of the babe to take into consideration. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation. That would be his pleasure—and hers. He would make sure of that. He grinned. It was going to be his very great pleasure, indeed.

As he entered the shop, the woman sitting behind the counter lumbered to her feet, exposing the fact that she was clearly with child. James began to protest, but the woman cut him off.

“Dinna fash yerself. ’Twill be good fer me to stand awhile. Now, how can I help ye?”

“I need to buy a doll,” James said offhandedly, trying to mask his embarrassment by pretending that a doll was the most normal thing in the world for a man of his age to be buying.

“And what kind would ye be wantin’?” The woman gave James an encouraging smile.

Kinds. There were kinds? “Er, well, whichever one is most expensive. It’s a gift, you see,” he hastened to add.

The woman retrieved a doll in full court dress, white ostrich feathers and all, and held it up for his inspection. James had no real idea what he should be looking for, but presumably Izzie and Lady Sheldon would, and even he could tell that the craftsmanship was exquisite.

“Yes. Fine. Perfect,” he said, nodding.

The woman didn’t even bother asking whether he wanted to know the cost, but given that he had asked for the most expensive doll, she must have assumed, correctly, that he had the blunt to afford it. As she made her way to the counter she asked, “Will ye be wantin’ it wrapped?”

James had a vision of himself strolling down Haddington’s High Street with a doll tucked in the crook of his arm. “Yes, please,” he said hurriedly. There was no bloody way in hell he was going to be caught carrying a doll in public.

While the woman busied herself with wrapping the doll in tissue and brown paper, James perused the other items on the counter. He picked up a little wooden horse, which he decided to buy for the boy at the inn, and then his eyes came to rest upon a small blanket, obviously intended for a baby or young child, made of what looked to be the softest wool imaginable. It had been dyed pale pink, embroidered with delicate ribbon roses, and trimmed with fine Brussels lace. His imagination conjured up an image of an infant, with Isabella’s fair hair and aquamarine eyes, swaddled up in this confection of a baby’s blanket.

He was an idiot. It was women who were supposed to have these daydreams of babies. Men weren’t supposed to daydream or, if they did, it should be about something manly, such as food, or hunting, or sex.
No!
he thought, as his body instantly responded to the thought of sex. He was
not
going down that road, not when his breeches were finally starting to feel comfortable again.

The shopkeeper caught him eyeing the blanket and smiled, patting her rounded stomach. “Me, I’m hopin’ fer a lass. Callum, me husband, is wantin’ a lad, but such is the way of things, I’m thinkin’. I brought the blanket here since Callum canna stand seein’ it in the house. Keeps insistin’ it’s goin’ to be a lad. With the way the bairn’s been kickin’ me lately, I’m startin’ to think he might jest be right.”

She scowled, so obviously chagrined at the thought of her husband besting her that James had to laugh. He reached out and ran a finger along the edge of the blanket; it was as soft as he had suspected, and although it might damage his reputation as a sterling specimen of masculinity, James knew that he had to have it. Still, there was enough of the rake in him to be embarrassed over his desire for a baby’s blanket.

“It’s exquisite,” he murmured. “Might I ask where you purchased it?”

“Purchased it?” The woman gave a little laugh. “Bless yer heart. It’s jest somethin’ ta keep me hands busy an’ pass the time in betwixt customers.”

James’s face fell. A baby blanket would have been the perfect gift for Isabella. Flowers were all well and good, but a present for their future child would show her how much he had changed and how hard he was trying to be the husband she deserved. But he had time. The flowers would be a start.

“I am certain you must be terribly busy,” he said, “but would you consider taking a commission for a similar blanket? I would pay you quite handsomely for it.”

“Och, it warms my heart to see a man sae excited to be a father. If ye like it sae much, ye can have this one.”

“Oh, I couldn’t take this one,” he protested. “And besides, I’m not . . .”

He had been going to say that he wasn’t going to be a father, but given that once he got Isabella in bed, he didn’t plan on letting her out for at least a month, there probably
would
be a babe arriving in the coming year. His stomach pitched as he fought off the vision of a coffin being lowered into the ground. It wouldn’t happen, he told himself, hoping that this time he would believe it. He swallowed hard. If and when the time came for his wife to give birth, James would see to it that London’s finest accoucheur—no, a team of England’s finest accoucheurs—stood at her bedside, ensuring nothing went wrong. But still . . . James forced the thought from his mind, and focused instead on the words issuing from the shopkeeper’s mouth.

“Och, Callum will be glad to see it go, and I can easily make another. Besides, I ken it sounds a bit daft, but it seems like ye should have it. Let me wrap it up for ye, and the toy horsie as well, aye?”

“Oh, yes. There is a boy back at the George who was rather taken with my horses. He’s helping my man care for them, and bringing him a small gift seems the least I can do.”