A Scandalous Past (Regency Romance, Book 4) (22 page)

Berate her the entire way?
“Cordelia,
I know you’re accustomed to running around Town and doing whatever
you want, but not anymore. You’re going to be my wife and…” His
voice trailed off when a look of abject misery settled on her
face.

She pushed away from him. “I’ll have to
follow your every dictate. Your every order,” she whispered. “Yes,
I know.”

He’d never seen her look so dejected and his
heart constricted. Still he couldn’t let her go around like she had
been. It was a miracle she hadn’t gotten herself into worse trouble
than this before now. “I only want to keep you safe.”

“I’m not a child.”

As the creamy swells of her breasts rose
with her every breath of air, Brendan’s blood raced to his groin.
“I am well aware of that.”

She narrowed her beautiful green eyes on
him, then reclaimed her spot on the opposite side of the coach,
turning her back on him and snuggling back under the quilt he’d
draped over her the night before. “Do I have your permission to go
back to sleep? I find I am suddenly weary of this
conversation.”

He groaned and rubbed his brow, exhausted
from having driven half the night. Caroline Staveley’s words about
Cordelia from weeks earlier echoed in his mind.
A girl that
could hold her own against
you
, when needs be.
Oh, God! Would the rest of his life be this struggle? He’d be lucky
to make it to Scotland.

A young stable boy gaped at Cordie when she
stepped out of Clayworth’s carriage into the yard at the coaching
inn, muttering something about strange habits of the gentry.
Unconsciously, her hand flew to her unkempt hair.  She must
look a fright. A glance down at her crumpled ball gown confirmed
that her appearance was worse than she thought. No one in their
right mind would travel in such an ensemble.

Wonderful!

Not that she was particularly vain, but
every bride wanted to look her best—even if she was to say her vows
over a blacksmith’s anvil with no one she knew anywhere in sight…
Well, except for the groom. At the moment she didn’t even want to
look at her groom, however. They weren’t even married yet and he
was already telling her what she could and couldn’t do. This did
not bode well for the future.

Blast him for touching her soul too! For
making her want him. He said such sweet and heartfelt words, and
the way he touched her always made her melt. She longed for him to
take her in his arms again and kiss her as passionately as he had
in the past.

But
not
at the moment!

Still smarting from their earlier
conversation, she now had to go sit in the taproom to write a
letter of explanation to her mother. How could she write a flowery
letter, professing her desperate love for the sainted Clayworth,
when she’d like nothing better than to strangle him? Still it had
to be done. Who knew how many people Lady Avery would have to show
the letter to, excusing her daughter’s absence from Town? It would
have to be a good letter.

As she entered the coaching inn, her eyes
adjusted to the darkened taproom. Then she felt a hand at her waist
and looked beside her, up at her intended’s handsome face. He
looked just as ridiculous as she did. Formal wear in broad daylight
and wind-tousled hair from having driven his coach. She hated that
her pulse raced with his touch.

“I’ve rented a private room, darling, so
that you can write your letter. Breakfast will be served soon.
After I help Wilson change horses, I’ll join you.”

His lips barely touched her cheek in the
most chaste of kisses. Then he left her in the care of the
innkeeper’s wife, a portly woman with a large nose and a matron’s
cap.

“This way, Lady Clayworth,” the woman said,
hobbling toward a pair of doors at the far end of the room.

Lady Clayworth
. Good heavens! She was
already playing the role of countess? Cordie caught her breath then
quickly followed the rounded woman, who opened the doors and
gestured her inside. Of course Clayworth would have presented her
as his wife. She couldn’t very well travel the country as an
unmarried miss in the company of a gentleman.

“His lordship said you need some foolscap
and ink?”

“Yes, please. I need to post a letter to
London.”

The innkeeper’s wife smiled, revealing a
mouth missing many teeth. “We’ll do the best we can, milady.”

She was alone then, looking around the
private parlor. It was dark, with a heavy wooden table in the
middle, an old sideboard against a far wall, and the whole place
smelled of stale ale. Still, it was nice not to have her bones
jostled back and forth as they had been in the coach for the last
several hours, if just for a little while.

“Here ya go, milady,” the portly woman
called happily as she entered the parlor, with some parchment, an
ink well, and an old quill. She placed the items on the table and
then bustled out to retrieve her breakfast.

Cordie stared at the blank foolscap. What
was she going to say? Some fabricated tale of romance and
adventure. If she was going to lie… She might as well make it a
good one. She might as well make it what she wished the truth
was.

Dear Mother,

I am certain my disappearance has worried
you, and for that I am sincerely sorry. My intent was never to
cause you grief. I have no excuse for my rash actions except for my
undying love for Lord Clayworth and my impatience to become his
wife. When he suggested we set off for Gretna Green, I couldn’t
possibly refuse. I do hope you will find it in your heart to
forgive your impetuous daughter.

Please be happy for me. In Clayworth, I have
found all I have ever wanted in a husband and am thrilled at the
prospect of being his wife. He is warm, considerate, and he
understands me. He loves me, encourages me to be myself, and
promises me the freedom I have always craved. I am quite fortunate
to have found such a paragon.

While we should have taken a more
traditional route, received Gregory’s approval and waited for the
banns to be read, we were simply too eager to delay any further. We
are quite anxious to start our life together, and I’m certain
you’ll wish us your every happiness. When we return to London, I
will call on you upon my earliest convenience.

Your devoted daughter,

Cordelia

She put the letter aside, rereading it a
half dozen times. As far as absolute fiction went, it wasn’t bad.
She did wish, as she lingered on the words, that they were true.
How different this excursion would be if that was the case.

Breakfast consisted of a meat pie, currants,
and fresh tea. Not the most glamorous meal for a countess-to-be,
but since she was starving, Cordie wasn’t about to complain. 
Flavor danced on her tongue and in no time, she had finished
everything set before her.

She was fairly surprised that Clayworth
hadn’t yet joined her. How long could it take to change horses? Not
that she was in a hurry to see him. She needed to find a way to
deal with him, to keep him from being too controlling. There had to
be a way.

Then the solution to her problems popped in
her head, and a genuine smile spread across her face.
Lady
Staveley
enjoyed free reign. Certainly there was some way to
achieve the same for herself. If asked, the viscountess would share
her secrets, Cordie was certain. She took a relieved breath. It was
still possible for her to have everything she ever wanted.

“You look happy,” Clayworth said from the
doorway, looking every inch like Lord Adonis, if one discounted his
dirty evening wear.

Cordie’s heart leapt in her chest. To have
the freedom she desired
and
this man as a husband. Life
couldn’t possibly be better. She beamed at him, rising from her
seat. “Oh, I am.” Crossing the floor, she rose up on tiptoes and
pressed an innocent kiss to his lips. He felt warm and
heavenly.

Clayworth’s arms tightened around her waist,
and his intense twilight eyes stared down at her. “What was that
for?”

She playfully cocked her head to one side.
“You are very suspicious, my lord. Isn’t a wife allowed to kiss her
husband?”

***

Except that he wasn’t that yet, and she’d
been fairly annoyed with him most of the morning. She was the most
confounding woman he’d ever met. Hot then cold then back again. How
long would this appealing Cordelia last?  Pressed against him
and heating his blood, Brendan wished it would be forever, but he
knew better than that. “Indeed. But what has changed your outlook,
my dear?”

She rested her hands on his chest, making
his heart beat faster and his pants a bit tighter.

“I’m about to get everything I ever wanted.
Why wouldn’t I be happy?”

“You’re about to marry me,” he reminded her.
She hadn’t been happy about that prospect earlier. Something was
going on in her pretty head. Some devious plot, he could tell. Did
she have plans to run off and leave him here?

Cordelia’s smile widened. “Upon reflection,
I think I’ll enjoy being a countess.”

“
My
countess?” he asked
skeptically.

“Who else’s?” she asked, drawing light
circles with her fingertips across his chest.

Dear God, he wanted her. She was going to
undo him, unless… His eyes flew to the table. A reprieve. “Your
letter is finished?”

Cordelia nodded.

“I’ll get it posted right now,” he released
her from his arms.

She frowned at him. “Are you afraid of me,
my lord?”

In more ways than she would ever know. “Of
course not,” he lied, retrieving the letter in his hands. “Do you
mind? We should make certain our stories are similar.”

Cordelia sat back at the table while he
scanned the letter for Lady Avery. He tried to keep his eyes from
bulging out of his head. Where had she come up with this drivel?
“No one who knows me will believe any of this.” He rubbed his brow.
“I promised you the freedom you crave?” Had she lost her mind?

She scowled at him. “Then we are at an
impasse, my lord. No one who knows me would believe I would run off
for less than that, and I’m not writing another letter.”

Dear God she was willful. What did she need
freedom for anyway? He would take care of her the rest of her days.
Give her everything she desired. Love her with his every breath.
What was this drive for something else, something that was
impossible?

“Here ya are, milord,” the portly
innkeeper’s wife said from the doorway with his breakfast. “I’ll
put ya down right there next to her ladyship.”

It didn’t matter. She could want the
impossible, for all the good it would do her. After they were
married, he’d set her straight. There was no point in arguing about
it now.  The tempting smell of meat pie made his stomach
grumble, and he took the spot next to Cordelia.

As he took his first bite, he realized she
was looking at him strangely. “What is it?” he asked after a swig
of ale.

“You look exhausted,” she said. “It’s not
really necessary to move at this breakneck pace, is it?”

Brendan narrowed his eyes on her. Did she
have some plan to run off and leave him here? Something was going
on in her mind. He shook his head. The faster they got to Scotland
the better. The faster they said their vows, the faster he could
bed her. Delaying wasn’t an option. “One doesn’t slowly elope,
Cordelia.”

“At this pace, you’ll be falling asleep over
the anvil.”

A smile tugged at his lips. He wouldn’t fall
asleep over the anvil. After their vows were said, he’d scoop her
off to the nearest hotel and make her his countess in the most
meaningful of ways. “You don’t need to worry about that,
ma
minouche
.”

“Why are you doing this, my lord? Why did
you come to my rescue? Why are you so intent on marrying me?”

If he could alleviate her concerns, it
wouldn’t hurt to tell her, would it? The letter to her mother,
written in her own hand, professed her undying love for him. If
only that were true, the words would be much easier for him to say.
Brendan sat back in his chair and stared into her mesmerizing green
eyes. She was a vision. His vision. Full of life, if a bit
stubborn, but his all the same—or she would be in a day and a half.
“Because I’m in love with you, and I couldn’t allow Haversham or
anyone else to ever hurt you, Cordelia. I’m far from perfect, but
I’ll be a good husband and see that you never want for
anything.”

Her face lit up at his words, and she looked
every inch the raving beauty who owned his heart. “You’re in love
with me?”

“Deeply,” he admitted, with what he hoped
was his most charming smile. “So, I’m afraid we’ll have to continue
at this breakneck pace all the way to Scotland, because I can’t
stand to wait any longer than is necessary to make you mine.” At
least that part of her letter was true.

“Oh, my,” she said quietly as a pretty blush
settled on her cheeks.

Outside the inn in Stamford, Clayworth
resumed his spot on the coachman’s box and Wilson climbed inside
the coach with Cordie. At first, the coachman eyed her warily, as
if he expected her to scream again at any moment. That wasn’t
particularly complimentary. She didn’t go around screaming on a
regular basis—just when she thought she’d been kidnapped. That was
quite an acceptable reaction under the circumstances.

Somehow Clayworth had managed to find her a
copy of Maria Edgeworth’s
The Absentee
to occupy her time.
She and Livvie had both read the book two years ago when it was
first published, without her mother’s knowledge, of course. Lady
Avery had not found Ms. Edgeworth’s view of the
ton
to be
flattering, therefore the book was off limits. The story was still
fresh, and Cordie was grateful for the diversion from her musings.
She could go mad trapped in this coach, wanting to see and talk to
Clayworth, especially after his admission back at the inn.