The Bride Says No (8 page)

“Why would you say that?” Blake asked, curious to know her impression of him.

“It was very obvious,” she said. “You barely looked at her a moment ago, and you don’t act like a wounded swain. When you didn’t rise when my sister and I entered the room, I thought it was poor manners born out of a sense of arrogance. And I’m not going to say you aren’t arrogant—but . . . ,” she said thoughtfully, “I don’t think you are afraid to let her jilt you.”

“Afraid? No, but my pride is all I have that is truly my own. I have no desire to be known as the man Tara Davidson refused to marry, not without a hand in my own destiny.”

“Oh, you will have a hand in your destiny, sir. You’ll have a miserable hand, one that will make you rue the day you agreed to this marriage.”

He already did wish he wasn’t promised to marry, but no good would come from admitting it to the sister.

“I also know that Tara will make you a beautiful and dutiful wife. You will be the envy of your peers, and your children will be precious replicas of the two of you—”

“You sound resentful,” he observed.

“
Although,
” she continued, ignoring his statement but exerting the authority of her opinion, “the two of you will live separate lives. That is completely to be expected, since it is so
common
. But it makes me sad to contemplate the possibility. While I am not acquainted with you, I do know there is more to my sister than meets the eye. She deserves better than a cold marriage.”

Her blunt assessment stung. “Says the woman who is divorced.”

Her chin lifted a notch. “Yes, I am divorced and at peace with it. Trust me, I am not comparing my marriage to yours.”

“That is comforting,” he murmured.

“Because if I did,” she went on, her smile growing steely, “I would have a pistol in my hand and not allow you a step closer to Tara.”

“I shall consider that a warning,” he answered.

“It’s a promise. But if I were you, I would be afraid to give up my life to another. ‘Till death do we part’ can be a very long time.”

“Not if we have separate lives,” he reminded her.

She gave him an assessing look. “Is that what you really want? A life spent avoiding your wife, of pretending all is good?”

“So I take it that you plan on marrying again?” he challenged, baiting her, wanting to know what she would do.

A sad smile crossed her face. “You said you knew my husband. Perhaps you did not know him as well as you thought or you wouldn’t have asked such a question.” She walked to the door. “We eat early in the country, Mr. Stephens. Dinner will be in two hours. I pray you make yourself comfortable. If you need anything, you have only to ask a servant.” On those words, she left the room.

And with her went that strong sense of presence, of vitality.

Aileen Davidson Hamilton was a force of nature. And perhaps one of the most interesting women he’d ever met. She didn’t hesitate to speak her mind. Nor was she coy or flirtatious in the way one would imagine a woman rumored to be promiscuous would be. He found her directness and her loyalty refreshing.

He walked to the door. The hallway was already empty. She’d disappeared somewhere in the house. He leaned against the door frame and wondered what he would do, what he
could
do, to honorably escape a marriage to Tara.

Because she was right—he would not be able to stand the married life she had described.

His mother had been the most manipulative woman he’d ever known. And his early years of being raised in her room at Madame Lavatt’s whorehouse had taught him that any woman could give a kiss as quickly as a slap. They were mercurial, difficult, grasping and greedy.

They were also a necessary evil for any sexually vigorous man, and Blake was that . . . although he was wise in his choice of partners. Discreet. He valued quality over quantity.

He also knew himself well.

If Tara had not been
the
loveliest woman in London, if everyone had not wanted her, especially Arthur, he wouldn’t have courted her no matter how hard Penevey had pressed. There had been a challenge in winning the woman they had all wanted. However, when he’d paid calls on Tara, there had been times when fifteen minutes had seemed like fifteen hours. She bored him.

But he had a feeling he would find Lady Aileen anything but boring.

It was said that a wise man stayed away from a clever woman. Blake had always wondered what the saying meant. He’d known women who were witty and humorous . . . but he’d never met one he’d consider “clever” in a dangerous sense.

He believed he’d just met one.

I
had not heard that Lady Tara was planning to return to Annefield,” Jane Sawyer said.

She and Ruary were riding on the tree-lined road to Aberfeldy. At least once a week, she managed to steal away from her father’s watchful eye and catch Ruary at whatever stable he was working at that day. She valued these rides. She liked being near him, and not just because she adored looking at him. He was a handsome man. But there was also something about his presence that filled a need deep within her. Something she’d not felt with any other man before.

If that wasn’t love, then she didn’t know what was.

But this was the first time she’d been with him and sensed that his thoughts were far away from her . . . and perhaps on Tara Davidson?

Ruary gave a small start at her mention of Lady Tara. A dull red rose up his neck. “I don’t believe anyone was expecting her.”

“Isn’t she supposed to be married sometime soon?” Jane knew the answer. The whole countryside knew. It was all anyone could talk of since they’d first heard the news a month ago.

“I don’t know what she is supposed to be doing or not doing,” Ruary answered, a note of annoyance in his voice. “I work for the earl of Tay. I don’t keep track of his daughters.”

He kicked his horse into a trot. The action itself was a signal that in his mind the discussion was over, and that was very unlike him. Ruary was known for his patience. Even the annoyance in his voice was not his usual manner.

Jane had to wonder why.

Ruary trotted a good ways up the road before he realized she was not beside him. She was surprised at the distance he’d traveled; in the past, he would have noticed her absence immediately. She halted her horse.

He reined in his horse and frowned before walking back to her. “Is there a problem?”

For a long moment, she studied this man she loved so dearly. Her heart always gave a little skipping beat whenever she saw him, just as it had that first time they’d met when he’d come to talk to her father about training the very mare she was riding.

That he had chosen her for his wife filled her with pride . . . and also a sense that perhaps he wasn’t aware of how plain and ordinary she was. On market day, women would stop and stare when they saw him, and there would be admiring whispers and giggling, even when Jane was standing right there by his side. It was very clear they didn’t think Jane was worthy of such a fine-looking man, a fear she equally harbored.

“Jane, I’m already late for Laird Breccan. I told him I would see him before afternoon.”

“I know.”

Something in those two simple words seemed to give him pause. “Are you all right? You are very quiet.”

Jane started to speak, then realized she didn’t know what she wanted to say. The words roiling in her mind came from her worst fears, her doubts.

And when she did answer him, she was startled to hear herself say, “I love you.”

She had not said these words to him. She’d felt he should speak them first. Even when he had asked for her hand, he had not mentioned love. Instead, he’d said he’d come to “greatly admire” her.

Then there was the day he said she gave him peace . . . but, of course, that was before Lady Tara had returned.

Her declaration hovered in the air between them.

He spoke. “I appreciate you as well, Jane. That is why we are going to marry.”

Had such a statement been enough before?

It was not now.

“Did you not hear me, Ruary? I didn’t say I ‘appreciate’ you. I said, I
love
you. I can’t wait to be your wife.”

“Jane, I can’t wait to marry you either,” he answered, but something was missing in his tone.

Something had
always
been missing, and she’d not noticed its lack until this moment.

“Lady Tara isn’t going to marry, is she?” Jane guessed.

Ruary had the good grace to appear startled. “I don’t know, Jane. I don’t know.”

His repetition of the phrase gave him away.

He
did
know.

And she realized she had a choice to make. She could pretend as if all was well.

Or she could confront the niggling doubts that had started to assail her the moment Lady Tara had come out of the dark grain room, where she’d obviously been with Ruary.

“I don’t mean to annoy you,” she said.

“You
aren’t
annoying me. I just—” he started and then stopped. Releasing a breath of feigned exasperation, he said, “I sense you are accusing me of something, and I don’t know of what.”

“I’m not accusing you of anything.” She had trouble meeting his eye. “It’s just that you have become my life,” she said, studying the well-worn leather of her gloves holding the reins. “I care so deeply for you that I can sense your moods, and I believe there is something
strained
between us right now.”

“What is strained is your sudden, odd behavior. Are you unhappy? Is that what you are trying to say?”

“No, of course not,” Jane answered, caught by how quickly the focus of this conversation had turned to her. “I want
you
to be happy—”

“I am happy.
I am
.”

There was that repetition again, and that is when Jane
knew
that his feelings toward her were changing. Her mother had told her that when a woman loves a man, she can sense what he cannot say.

Ruary and Lady Tara, together, was not innocent.

“Are you satisfied?” he asked her, leaning over to lift her chin so that she had to look at him.

A deep weight pressed against her chest, making breathing difficult. “I just want you to be certain,” she murmured.

“The time for being certain was before I went to your father. The banns have been announced once, and they will be announced again this Sunday. You will be my wife, Jane—” He broke off, studied her a second and then said, “Unless
you
have doubts?”

“I have no doubts at all,” she rushed to tell him, and she prayed that was true.

“Good,” he said, and, for a moment, she expected him to kiss her. She wanted him to.

Ruary rarely gave into passion. He respected her that way. He was always circumspect, and this was public road.

Still, she hoped, and was once again disappointed when he dropped his hand and leaned back in his saddle. “Perhaps I shall see you on the morrow?”

“Of course,” Jane answered, picking up her reins and trying to not let her discontent show.

He gifted her with a smile that melted her heart, then rode away with a wave of his hand. Jane watched him before turning in the direction of her home.

And knew all her suspicions were correct.

A
ileen was now more convinced than ever that Tara would be making the gravest mistake of her life if she married Mr. Stephens.

He didn’t care for Tara, just as Geoff had not cared for her. If it was within her power to stop this marriage, she would.

And how dare he challenge her? He thought he was so quick, but she saw through him. He didn’t value Tara, not in the way she should be cherished.

Right now, Tara was emotional, afraid. This talk about love had confused her. That is why she needed Aileen’s support. The brain was a far better barometer of the future than something as fickle as a heart.

Filled with a new determination, Aileen set off to find Tara. She assumed her sister was with their father. However, an inquiry of Ingold revealed the earl was in the kitchen. He did not know where Lady Tara was.

Assuming Tara had to be with the earl, Aileen marched down the stairs to the kitchen. Fortunately, she had the good sense to wait on the stairs a moment before charging into the room. Listening carefully, she realized that the earl was in the process of eating Cook’s pork pies by the handful and washing them down with copious amounts of cider. Cook was giggling with glee over his effusive praise of her “good Scottish cooking” while she assured him they were all pleased to have him home.

“So much for planning a wedding,” Aileen muttered under her breath, quietly backing up the stairs. She continued her search.

But Tara was nowhere to be found. Aileen even walked to the stables.

And Aileen began to worry.

Her sister was not acting herself—first running away, then changing her mind this way and that about the marriage. Who knew what she was about now?

Eventually, Aileen looked where she should have started—Tara’s bedroom. Her sister was there. Through the closed door, Aileen heard her crying, low, muffled sobs, as if her heart was breaking.

Aileen knocked.

The crying stopped.

“Tara, please, we must talk.”

There was no answer.

Aileen leaned toward the door. “Please, Tara, let me in. I can help.” She
wanted
to help.

She waited, expecting the door to open.

It didn’t, nor did Tara say a word . . . and Aileen felt slighted. Her goal wasn’t to make Tara feel worse. They were sisters, and she had Tara’s best interests in her heart—

A door
did
open, but not the one she had anticipated.

No, the door that opened was to Mr. Stephens’s room only two doors down the hall, and the man himself poked his head out. He had removed his coat and waist coat, and his neck cloth was undone.

Aileen was a bit startled to see him that way, as well as embarrassed to think he might have overheard her pleading.

“Is something the matter?” he asked.

“No, nothing,” Aileen said, a trifle too quickly. “I have a message for my sister.”

“Warning her away from me?” he suggested.