The Rusticated Duchess (27 page)

It was the sound near her ear that drew her from sleep, to find that she was draped against Clare’s shoulder, her hands tracing his torso and her night-rail pulled up to her waist. She wiggled her toes in the warm blankets, surprised to find he’d removed her stockings, and her hands slipped helplessly down to his waist.

He’d undressed. Completely. His hips were bare but he was twisted in the bed, easing her loose gown higher and higher.

She rested her head on Clare’s shoulder and allowed it, then helped more by reversing the direction of her hands until they reached his scalp.

Gloria fingered the brown locks, revelling in the silky texture of them, silently absorbing Clare’s tenderness as he lifted the gown over her breasts. He held her in place then and shifted in the bed until her back rested in the sheets. He slid a palm down her arm and slowly moved her fingers out of his hair until they rested above her head on the pillow.

He repeated the gentle motion with her other hand, and Gloria’s heart beat faster. He’d promised, she remembered. He’d promised not to forget.

She let her head fall to the pillow as soon as the flannel cleared her head. She kept her breathing slow, and managed a grunt when he finally freed her wrists and the night-rail disappeared.

Would he forget? There she was, vulnerable in her sleep. She could scream of course, bringing Jenson and Astrid and the others, but what good would it do? She’d be married to Clare shortly, if he had anything to say of the matter and she knew he had quite a lot. After that, what could she do to stop him if he wanted her swollen with child again and again?

Panic rose in her chest, but he was simply drawing her to cradle against his side and settling the blankets over them.

Her head found the familiar niche on his shoulder and his arm slipped around her. She couldn’t resist the urge to shift closer and slide her fingers into the hair on his chest.

A deep sigh of satisfaction greeted her caress and she felt his head lift and tilt and he kissed the top of her scalp.

“Sleep again, Glory,” he murmured. “There are hours to dawn and I’ll keep you safe.”

“Jeremy,” she murmured, sleepiness spreading through her body again. “You wanted—”

His chest rumbled and Gloria’s low voice stopped. “Go to sleep,” he whispered against her hair. “And don’t worry. Not tonight.”

Hours later, she woke in an empty bed. Astrid was bustling into the room, refraining from comment even as she bundled up Gloria’s night-rail and stockings and laid out yet another warm, black travelling gown, petticoats, chemise, stockings and shoes.

Gloria looked at it in distaste. She knew there were two more days to go in the carriage and one more night in between until they reached Norham—Brody had given her an outline of Clare’s plans while Eynon had fallen asleep on her shoulder and Astrid had trimmed his hair into a fashionable mop.

He’d been displeased about leaving her with Clare, should they be attacked. Gloria reminded him that she carried her own pistol and would use it if she had to. As difficult as it’d been to agree with Clare in those moments, she reminded Brody that his duty was to protect her son.

Beneath the blankets, Gloria trailed her hands down her body. She’d been warm last night—exceptionally warm—with her body pressed to Clare’s skin. It was the first time she’d ever actually slept with a man, and she was still absorbing the affection and consideration he’d shown her. He’d wanted to do more with her than simply sleep, she knew. Even an hour earlier, she’d been half-awake when he’d turned her in his arms, snugged her back to his chest, and kissed her ear, then her shoulder. She’d felt the unmistakable evidence of his attraction against the bare curve of her bum even as he’d whispered, “Stay for a half-hour and keep warm. Astrid will come in.”

After she was dressed and had eaten a quick breakfast, she was shocked again. She’d known Clare had wanted a special licence, and she’d assumed he had gone to request an audience with the man. However, the faint aroma of scotch on his breath hadn’t been because he’d been avoiding her, or because he’d gone to visit with friends.

He’d not only been to see the Bishop of Carlisle, he’d apparently shared whisky with the bishop. He had commandeered the bishop’s travelling coach, driver and guards to travel with them.

Gloria couldn’t decide whether to be stunned or appalled, whether to thank him or whack him over the head with the pistol she carried still inside her muff and pelisse.

Shock held her speechless as Jenson whispered in her ear, explaining, but she heard little of it. The outriders were already mounted, an armed guard was on the box of Gloria’s carriage beside the driver, and Eynon was safely stowed in the first rented conveyance with both Mrs Pitcher and Mrs Sinclair.

“Glory,” said a deep voice behind her, very near her ear.

Startled, Gloria nearly tripped, but Clare caught her and lifted her in his arms and climbed into the carriage. A hotel footman put up the steps and Clare deposited her on the seat and latched the door.

She stared at him until her mouth moved. The carriage jerked with the first pull of the horses and shifted while Gloria tried to sort through the turbulent emotions racing through her.

Clare watched her without comment, then warily asked, “Are you going to lambast me or cry?”

Gloria couldn’t imagine what to say, except, “Both. Eventually.” She pressed her lips together and fought the numbness that spread through her, reminding her that she was trapped.

“Do you know Carlisle?” he asked finally, when the silence had stretched to awkwardness.

Gloria’s head ached dully. “Yes. Socially. He’s been a guest at Lennox House for political dinners and small soirees that Lennox hosts. He, Winchester and Lennox are all Tories.”

“Yes,” Clare agreed, unperturbed.

“And now he knows where I am, where I’m going, who I’m with,” she returned woodenly.

“Yes, angel.” He nodded gently. “But Uncle Ambrose could have lectured, and urged me out of town in the dead of night like a thief. Instead, he gave us an escort that will almost for certain mean that, even if followed, few locals will speak of us to strangers like Winchester’s men, and they’ll think carefully before making any attempt to take you by force before we reach Norham.”

Gloria swallowed, blinked. Thought.

“Last night when I saw him, he offered his own servant James to augment Jenson and I, as well as four outriders. This morning, his carriage and two armed guards arrived as well.”

“It’s a blatant announcement that we intend to marry,” she returned. “Travelling together in the bishop’s carriage?” Even as she said the words, realisation dawned. “You asked him for a special licence!”

Clare frowned. “Of course I did. If we are trapped inside Norham Castle, we’ll need the licence even for my own rector to legally marry us in England, and we’ll need episcopal support to fend off any legal or ecclesiastical challenge to the marriage, given your age.”

Gloria’s eyes widened as understanding from his earlier words rushed into her. “
Uncle Ambrose?
”

Clare’s eyes twinkled. “You didn’t think bishops grew from under rocks, did you?” he asked. “And yes, he is my mother’s brother.”

Gloria closed her eyes, put her head back against the upholstery and held back a moan.

He told her more about his family tree as they rolled through Longtown. The party paused while they crossed the border into Scotland, but with the bishop’s own men guiding the carriages, a border guard barely looked inside the carriage before waving them on. Gloria kept her face buried in the marquess’s shoulder, pretending to sleep. When they reached Canonbie, they turned northeast on a small road towards Newcastleton. 

At noon, on the tiny road outside that village, Clare called a halt.

To Gloria’s surprise, not only did people spill out of the carriages and guards dismount, but lunch mysteriously appeared, courtesy of the bishop’s chef.

Eynon explored on the large blanket spread out around them, and Clare teased the infant’s ears and nose, making him scrunch his face and Gloria laugh. They looked up as a man knelt and situated a low table on the grass between them and presented two glasses and a wine bottle.

Gloria blinked.

“This is James, my uncle’s irreplaceable butler and expert in all things regarding household management. James, this is Lady Gloria, my irreplaceable and exquisite companion for this guided tour of the borderlands,” Clare introduced them, amused by Gloria’s open perusal.

“Why thank you,” she murmured, flushing a bit at the outrageous compliment. She’d been praised before, but the unexpected words from Clare startled her. He’d never been so forwardly appreciative before, and she liked knowing he found her appearance attractive enough to say so even in front of others. “And Mr James, thank you for agreeing to this misadventure of mine.”

James remained determinedly impassive but Gloria could see crinkles in the edges of his eyes, a sure sign of a smile in a lesser man. To her surprise, Brody joined them on the blanket, and James took one look at him before setting down yet another glass and pouring it full.

Brody stayed for the meal, which was delicious chicken, hand-held apple pies, cucumber slices and other picnic fare. Clare didn’t seem at all fazed by his presence but chatted with him easily about conditions in the Welsh cottage industries and drew Gloria into the conversation by the simple expedient of describing the long-abandoned nurseries at Norham Castle.

After the meal and a short excursion into the nearby trees that required Astrid’s assistance, as well as Brody and Clare to keep their hands on their pistols and frown grimly, Gloria didn’t even object when Clare lifted her into the carriage and deposited her in the forwards-facing seat. She was starting to get used to it.

The carriage settled into its bumpy rhythm, passing through Dinlabyre and heading north towards Jedburgh.

Clare was in the seat opposite her and had been studying the countryside, but when he finally turned to her, she said evenly, “I can’t imagine there are any hotels in Jedburgh that would be comparable to the last two.”

Clare shifted a bit uneasily. The shock of the previous days was beginning to wear off and inevitability set in, but most importantly, Gloria’s head was clearer. She’d slept better last night—and refused to credit the man who’d held her for that—than she had in some nights. He’d fed her regularly, made commonsense and tactical decisions without requiring her direct management and left her to cope as best she could without aggravating her more than necessary.

She was ready for the impasse she’d instituted about their relationship to end.

“There is a fine inn of eleven rooms in the centre of town, where there are plenty of people about. Colman was to engage all of the upstairs for our party—and now that we have the extra guards, we’ll need them all.”

Gloria looked at him without expression for an entire minute before she said, “I haven’t promised to marry you.”

Clare’s mouth twisted. “We’ve made no announcement.”

“We’ve travelled together in a very public way, and I have not had a chaperone.”

“You are a mother and a widow, not a maiden,” Clare growled.

“My virtue can be impeached now, however,” Gloria stated, commending herself for speaking the words emotionlessly. “You could have at least attempted to shield me from being recognised. Instead we’ve stayed in the most obvious locations and made no secret of our association, travelling in the same carriage.”

Clare stared at her. “Are you trying to convince me to marry you?” he asked incredulously. “If I remember correctly, you are the one dragging your heels.”

“I want to understand why—”

“Because it’s safest this way!” he exploded. “No English gentleman in his right mind would break into a hotel. They won’t have had time to get any sort of warrant from London, so the only way they’ll get you at night is if they do it illegally. Making this public spectacle of our relationship—in the bishop’s carriage no less—makes a statement that you are my intended bride as clear as crystal to everyone: servants, innkeepers, peasants we pass by on the road.”

“But I haven’t agreed—”

“I don’t bloody well give a damn, Gloria, if you’ve agreed or not. You
know
how this will end, one way or another. You agreed to come here with me, presumably resisting so that we could work out some of your legitimate concerns before the deed was done. You have to know I’d put a bullet in Winchester or that animal Sykes before I permit him to take you. Is that what you’d
prefer
me to do, instead of marry you?”

Gloria blinked, taking in his aggravation. The notion that she might be harmed or at Winchester’s mercy
upset
him. It was a heady realisation, that he was worried about her. Not about her mother, or her sisters, or Eynon—at least not to the same degree.

He worried about her.

“No,” she whispered. “No.” No, Clare could hardly go about shooting a belted earl, she realised. Not unless Winchester attacked him first. Clare might be a marquess but it was a mere courtesy. He was not yet a peer.

Clare’s eyes scrunched up at the corners when he frowned.

“You’re even more handsome when you smile,” she said, then covered her mouth with her hand as she gasped and her cheeks coloured.

To her continued embarrassment, Clare laughed, then leant forwards between them and took her hands in his. Despite the leather of his gloves and her black suede ones, she felt the pressure of his fingertips in her palms and breathed deeply.

“You said, not so very long ago,” Clare murmured seriously when she finally looked at him, “that Lennox—or whoever succeeds him as Eynon’s guardian—had too much control over your life, by being able to dictate Eynon’s whereabouts. And that marriage would put you in a different man’s control over
your
whereabouts, although that certainly hasn’t been the case with your mother. I see the conflict. There may come a day when I think it would be best for you to reside at Norham, or in Ireland, while Eynon may be in Wales.”

A fierce emotion rose in Gloria’s breast, a memory of her reaction to the notion that Lennox would separate her from her son. She tried to jerk her hands away. “Do not even think about sending him—”