The Heiress Bride (11 page)

“Would you just hold my hand?”

He did, and felt very warm fingers. So she was on the verge of freezing to death, was she? He imagined that his soon-to-be-wife would do just about anything to gain what she wanted. He would have to watch her carefully. “I hope you enjoy my dressing gown.”

“Oh yes, it's soft and smells like you.”

He said nothing to that.

“Wearing it, I can fancy you're touching me everywhere.”

 

At ten o'clock in the morning the following day, Colin and Sinjun were wed by a Presbyterian preacher who had been friends with Colin's uncle Teddy—not his father, Colin explained to her, because his father had been all that was sinful and a rotter. Reverend MacCauley, an ancient relic, was blessed with more hair than any old man should have, but best of all, he was fast with his lines and pronouncements and dictums, the latter being the most important consideration. When they emerged as Lord and Lady Ashburnham, Sinjun gave a skipping little step. “ 'Tis done, at last. Now, shall I volunteer to show my brothers our marriage lines?”

“No. Stop, I want to kiss you.”

She became still as a stone. “Ah,” he said, gently taking her chin in the palm of his hand and raising her face. “You're no longer hell-bent on being bedded, are you? It was all an act. But why?” He stiffened then, his fingers tightening a bit on her chin. “I see now. Even last night you were worried that Douglas and Ryder just might discover that we weren't yet wed. You wanted to protect me,
didn't you? You wanted to get your dowry into my hands.”

“No,” she said. “Not entirely. I could look at you naked until I die. Even your feet are lovely.”

“You're always taking me off-stride, Joan. I like it sometimes. Also, just being naked isn't the same thing. What will you do when you're lying on your back in bed naked and I'm standing over you, ready to come to you?”

“I don't know. Close my eyes, I suppose. It sounds rather alarming, though, but not repellent, at least not with you.”

He grinned. “I should like to do something about this right this minute. At least within the next hour, at the most. But your brothers are here and I don't think Douglas would take it kindly were I to throw you over my shoulder and haul you upstairs. Tonight then, Joan. Tonight.”

“Yes,” she said, and stood on her tiptoes, her lips slightly parted. He kissed her lightly, as he would an aunt, and released her.

Abbotsford Crescent was only a fifteen-minute walk from Reverend MacCauley's residence. Colin had stopped Sinjun and was pointing out an old monument from James IV's reign when suddenly, without warning, there was a pinging sound and a shard of rock shot up to strike Sinjun, slicing her cheek. She'd moved in front of Colin and bent over to look at those age-blurred words just a moment before. She jumped now with the shock of it, and slapped her hand to her face. “What was that?”

“Oh hell,” Colin shouted, and pushed her to the ground, covering her with his body. Passersby stared at them, hurrying their step, but one man ran over to them.

“A man shot at ye,” he said, spitting in the next instant in disgust. “I saw him, standing over there
by the milliner's shop, he was. Are ye all right, missis?”

Colin helped Sinjun to her feet. Her hand was pressed to her cheek and blood oozed between her fingers. He cursed.

“Ah, the lassie's hurt. Come along to my house, 'tis just over there, on Clackbourn Street.”

“No, sir, thank you very much. We live just in Abbotsford Crescent.”

Sinjun stood there numb as a frozen toe, listening to them exchange names and addresses. Colin would come by and speak to the man later.
Someone had shot at her.
It was incredible. It was unbelievable. She still felt no pain in her face, but she felt the wet, sticky blood. She didn't want to see it, so she just kept her palm and fingers pressed tightly to her cheek.

Colin turned back to her, frowning. Without a word, he picked her up in his arms. “Just relax and rest your head against my shoulder.”

She did.

Unfortunately for both of them, Ryder and Douglas had just returned when Colin walked in with her. There was no way to hide the blood still seeping from between her fingers, and thus there was pandemonium and flying accusations and questions and yelling, until Sinjun calmly said, “That's quite enough, Douglas, Ryder. I fell, that's all, I just fell like a clumsy clod and cut my face. Stupid, I know, but at least Colin was there with me and carried me home. Now, if you will both just be quiet, I should like to see how much damage there is.”

Of course the brothers weren't at all quiet. Sinjun was carried to the kitchen, just as she had once taken Colin to see to his cut lip in the London Sherbrooke kitchen, a fact that wasn't lost on him,
she saw. She was set down on a chair and told to hold still.

Douglas automatically demanded warm water and some soap, but it was Colin who firmly removed the soft cloth from his hand and said, “Take your hand away, Joan, and let me see how bad it is.”

She closed her eyes and didn't make a sound when he touched the damp cloth to her flesh, wiping away all the blood. The shard of rock had grazed her, and not deeply, thank the good Lord. It looked like a simple scratch, and for that he was grateful, what with her two brothers hovering over him, watching his every move, ready, he supposed, to fling him aside if he didn't do things as they would have done them.

“It's not bad at all,” Colin said.

Ryder moved him aside. “An odd cut, Sinjun, but I don't think you'll be scarred. What do you think, Douglas?”

“It doesn't look like a simple scratch; rather, it looks like something sliced across your cheek with great force. How did you do it, did you say, Sinjun? You really didn't expect me to believe this is from a fall?”

Sinjun, without hesitation, collapsed against Colin and moaned. “It hurts so much. I'm sorry, Douglas, but it does hurt.”

“It's all right,” her husband said quickly, “I'll see to it.”

While Colin was dabbing some alcohol on the cut, Douglas was frowning.

Sinjun didn't like that frown at all. “I don't feel well. I daresay I'll be ill very soon. My stomach is turning over.”

“It's only a small cut,” Douglas said, his frown deepening. “Something that wouldn't even slow you down.”

“True,” Colin said, “but sometimes a sudden injury knocks the body off its bearings. I do hope she won't retch.” It sounded like a threat, and Sinjun said, “My stomach is settling even as you speak, Colin.”

“Good. Look, Douglas, she's very tired, as I imagine you can understand.”

There was dead and utter silence. Both brothers stared from their new brother-in-law to their little sister—their little
virgin
sister, their former little virgin sister. It was a huge pill to swallow. It was difficult. Finally Douglas said on a loud sigh, “Yes, I suppose so. Go to bed, Sinjun. We will see you later.”

“I won't bandage the cut, Joan. It will heal faster.”

She gave her husband a brave smile, yet a smile so pathetic and wretched that Ryder began to frown.

“I don't like this at all,” he said to the kitchen at large. “You have no more guile than a pot of daisies, Sinjun, and you're a wretched actress and—”

It was then that Agnes walked in and Sinjun closed her eyes in relief. The three men were given to know in short order that they were all next to useless and they'd gotten blood on the kitchen table. And here was the poor little missis, all hurt and them carrying on like three roosters with only one hen.

Ten minutes later Sinjun was lying on the bed in the earl's suite, two blankets pulled over her.

Colin sat down beside her. He looked thoughtful. “Your brothers suspect your retching and moaning was an act. Was that an act?”

“Yes, I had to do something quickly. I wanted to faint, but neither of them would have believed that. I'm sorry, Colin, but I did as best I could. We can't have them know the truth. They'd never leave
here, else they'd cosh you on the head and steal me. I couldn't allow that.”

He laughed even though he was amazed. “You're apologizing because you got shot and tried to pull the wool over your brothers' eyes. Don't worry, I'll maintain the charade. Rest whilst I speak to them, all right?”

“If you kiss me.”

He did, another light, disgustingly brotherlike kiss.

 

Sinjun wasn't sleeping when Colin came into their bedchamber. She was scared, excited, and at the moment she was holding her breath. He strode to the bed and stood there, staring down at her, the branch of candles raised high in his hand.

“You're turning blue. Breathe.”

Her breath came out in a whoosh. “I forgot to for the longest time.”

“How does your cheek feel?”

“It's fine, just throbs a bit. I thought dinner went off smoothly, don't you?”

“As well as can be expected with each of your brothers taking turns studying your cheek. At least Agnes sets an excellent table.”

“Is all my money in your hands now?”

He thought it a rather odd way of putting it, but merely nodded. “Douglas has written me a letter of credit. In addition, we will visit the manager of the Bank of Scotland tomorrow. He will have his man of business send me all the information I will need for any future financial transactions and the status of all your investments. All is done. Thank you, Joan.”

“Was I as much an heiress as you hoped I'd be?”

“I'd say you were more than an adequate heiress. What with your inheritance from Great-Aunt
Margaret, you are one of the plumpest-in-the-pocket young ladies in England.”

“What are you going to do now, Colin?”

He set the branch of candles down and sat beside her. “Are you cold?”

She shook her head and said, “Yes.”

He lightly touched his fingertips close to the now-red slash across her smooth flesh. “I'm very sorry about this. We must talk about it, you know. I hope the bullet was meant for me and you were in the way at the last moment.”

“Well, I certainly don't hope that! I don't want anyone trying to shoot you. On the other hand, I don't particularly want to be shot, either.” She fell silent, from one instant to the next, silence, and she was still as a stone, frowning.

“What is it?”

“The knife wound in your thigh. What if it wasn't just a robber? What if it was another attempt on your life?”

He merely shook his head. “No, don't go so far afield for blame. London is a nasty place, truth be told, and I wasn't in a very prime location at the time it happened. No, it was just a little bully trying to line his pockets and I was his mark, nothing more. Now, would you like to be made love to? This is your wedding night, after all.”

That certainly gave her thoughts a new direction, Colin thought, looking down at his bride of one day. She was wearing a virginal white lawn nightgown that very nearly touched her chin it was so high. Her long, tousled hair was loose to the middle of her back, with several tresses over her shoulder. He lifted a handful of hair and brought it to his face. Soft and thick and the scent of jasmine, if he wasn't mistaken. “So many different shades,” he said, quite aware that she was leery about the
entire business now, since there was no more need for bravado and self-sacrifice in order to save him. He knew if he'd allowed it, she would have very likely stripped off her clothes, stretched him out on his back, and done the deed herself. And all to protect him and give him her money. She was sweet and guileless and determined and smarter than she should be. He would have to deal strictly with her, this wife of his, else she would take him over, and he would never allow that. Somehow, though, he couldn't quite see himself locking her in a musty tower room.

He was lucky to have found her, no doubt about that. Then he thought about that bullet hitting the rock and the shard slicing her cheek. What if the bullet had hit her? What if the rock shard had struck her eye? He drew back from those thoughts. It hadn't happened. He intended to take measures to protect her, beginning the moment her brothers left on the morrow. They would leave shortly thereafter for Vere Castle. That was the one place in Scotland he could be sure she was safe.

He leaned down and kissed her mouth. She started, then opened her lips, just slightly, but he didn't take her invitation. He continued to kiss her lightly, his tongue stroking her bottom lip but not entering. He continued to kiss her until he felt her begin to relax. He wasn't about to touch her yet. He just held that thick tress of hair in his hand and rubbed it against his face.

He raised his head a bit and said, “You're quite pretty, Joan, quite pretty indeed. I would like to see the rest of you now.”

“Isn't my face enough for the moment?”

“I should like to see more of the picture.” He should have lit a fire in the blackened fireplace,
he realized. He would have liked to stretch her out on her back and look his fill at her, but she'd freeze, and that would never do. Instead, he helped her lift the nightgown over her head, then he gently pressed her again onto her back and drew the covers to just beneath her breasts. He wanted to see and touch and kiss her breasts.