Almost Perfect (16 page)

“Ach, ye poor wee creature,” Jamie said, reappearing above the coach.

“Egad, no wonder it hurts when you bend it,” Lucien said, new gentleness in his voice. “How did it happen?”

Cassie opened her mouth to tell him that the trunk fell on her, only to swallow her explanation as she caught the sly look he sent her way. This was a trap and the opening wager on their next hand.

“I don’t know,” she replied. “My ankle throbs as well.”

“All the more reason to get you home as soon as I can, darling,” Lucien said, threat still lingering in his voice.

Darling. What would it be like to hear him honestly call her that? Lucien slid his arms more carefully beneath her this time. Cassie clasped her hands together behind his nape. As he lifted her she breathed in, her lungs filling with his scents, that of sandalwood, damp breeze, and horse.

He lifted her with ease, coming upright in the fallen coach’s open doorway. When he sat her on the coach’s side, he reached out to gently tuck a strand of Cassie’s tumbled hair back behind her ear. Although it was a gesture in which a husband might indulge, it was also a threat. With his touch Lucien hinted that if she pushed this game to its logical conclusion he might well demand his husbandly rights.

Not certain how to respond Cassie eyed him for a moment, only to lose herself in appreciation. He looked very fine in his blue, long-tailed coat, buff waistcoat and buckskin trousers. How she liked his rugged features and the way the rising breeze tousled his honey colored hair.

Would Lucien truly press her into his bed? The certainty that he would never force her rose from the depths of Cassie’s soul. If he’d been that sort of man, he would not have left her in the garden when she’d all but begged him to use her. That left her wondering what it would it be like to be Lucien’s wife, if only for what little time it took her injuries to heal and to guarantee Eliza’s safety.

In that instant Cassie hated her life and the barren, impoverished widowhood she expected would be her lot. It didn’t matter that she would never be Lucien’s cherished love or that he would never honor her above all others by offering his marriage vow. She would take the pretense he offered and be his ever-so-brief wife.

How could the woman he’d known and admired six years ago have changed so much?

Under a glowering ceiling of clouds another gust of sodden wind tugged at Lucien’s hat. Raindrops pattered on his back. The breeze smelled as wild and vast as the almost treeless sweep and roll of the Scottish landscape around him.

He looked down at Cassie, dozing fitfully against his shoulder as she sat sideways in front of him in his saddle. It wasn’t an easy ride for her. He’d used his waistcoat to bind her injured knee to keep it from bending then braced her leg on his thigh. Her bonnet lay in her lap, the hat’s brim too wide for their intimate position.

Her hair, smelling of rainwater and rose, brushed his jaw. Her breast pressed against his chest, her hip against his open thighs. Three days ago her nearness might have left him wild with wanting her. Today, Lucien kept as tight a rein on his reaction to her as he did on his gelding. For the second time in twenty-four hours Cassie was getting the best of him and again doing it in front of a witness.

He glanced at Jamie. Riding alongside his employer, the servant squinted back at Lucien, one eye closed. Confusion and amusement filled the harsh lines of the man’s face then he shook his head and chuckled, the sound no more than a breath.

And once again, Lucien was the butt of someone else’s amusement. His hands tightened on the reins. His gelding, already unhappy about carrying Cassie’s additional weight, pranced in protest.

The movement jolted Cassie’s knee. Gasping, she jolted out of her doze, straightening between Lucien’s arms and grabbing for her leg. Her breasts pressed on his upper arm. Blast the conniving little sharp! Blast himself. How could he still want her knowing that she used him?

And, she had to be using him. Why else would she persist in the pretense of amnesia when they both knew there was nothing wrong with her memory?

A tiny voice rose from deep within him. If he didn’t want Cassie to use him all he had to do was take her Philana Forster’s house, then ride away without a backward look. Every ounce of pride Lucien owned roared in refusal. He wouldn’t let her go until she admitted to being a sharp and a liar, thereby restoring his dignity.

Cassie sagged back against him, her face pale. “Can we stop for a little?” she asked, her voice thready.

“My lodge isn’t much farther,” he replied, then added in bitter afterthought, “darling.”

Blast, blast, blast. Taking her to his lodge meant violating the sanctuary he’d made of the place. In the two years he’d owned the house not even Devanney had visited.

Philana Forster’s house.

Again, Lucien’s jaw tightened in refusal. Why hadn’t Cassie folded when he named himself her husband?

“How far?” she begged.

“You can see it now. Look there, to the west,” he told her, another spate of rain tapped at his back.

Cassie turned her head in the direction he indicated then sagged back against him. “Not so far,” she said in deep relief, leaning back against his shoulder, her head tilted up, her eyes closed.

That she could remain so relaxed when she was completely at his mercy bothered Lucien. Perhaps she believed him too honorable to fulfill his threat. In that she was wrong. He’d give her until nightfall to admit the truth. If she didn’t, he’d join her in bed and demand she play the role of his wife.

The corners of Lucien’s mouth tightened. Not even this new Cassie would go that far to avoid confessing. Once she realized that he meant to take her unless she admitted to everything, she’d crumble. Only then would he return her to Philana Forster.

It wasn’t long before Lucien and Jamie were drawing their horses to a halt in front of his lodge, which was in truth a Border Pele tower. Originally a sort of fortified farm house, the square structure was built of stone and stood three storeys tall and a good forty feet wide. It nestled in the embrace of the rugged hills at the point where they gave way to the long plain that stretched down to the Ettrick Water.

Behind the tower the stream Lucien fished had cut a broad, snaking trench into the hills, one deep enough that it took a good climb down to reach the water’s edge. In wilder times men from this side of the Scots side of the English border had raided the other, bringing their stolen English cattle and sheep to graze in the stream’s hidden trench, protecting their ill-gotten gains with this tower.

Except for the apple orchard outside his door, which concealed Jamie and Maggie’s cottage, and a good sized copse planted by the previous owner on the tower’s north, there were no trees. Instead, the hills that rose some three or four hundred feet above his tower’s roof wore an emerald cloak of rough heather, bracken and grass, nothing growing taller than his knees.

Jamie dismounted then hesitated. “Shall I take the cart and bring back yer lady’s trunks, m’lord?”

“First, go within and warn Maggie that I and my wife,” Lucien’s tongue stumbled over the word, “intend to spend the night here.”

Jamie choked back another chuckle. He trotted to the tower, leaving the door open behind him after he entered. The savory smell of baking bread and roasting meat flowed out of the tower kitchen. Lucien’s stomach reacted; he hadn’t eaten yet today, but this was Maggie’s and Jamie’s dinner, not his. Lucien hadn’t expected to return to the tower tonight, and Maggie used the kitchen as she pleased.

“Maggie, his lordship comes, bringin’ his wife with him.” Jamie’s amused announcement echoed out to Lucien.

He clenched his teeth, dismounted around Cassie, then turned and held his arms up to her. She slid into his embrace. He lowered her until her feet met the earth. She gasped then clutched at his arm to hold herself erect.

“Pins and needles,” she said, looking up at him, a rueful smile twisting her lips. Her voice was barely louder than a whisper. New trepidation filled her expression.

Confidence rushed through Lucien. It was about time. All he need do was press her a little more, pretending to want marital concourse and she’d be singing of her sins in no time.

“Let me carry you in, darling,” he said, pasting a smile on his face and sweeping her up into his arms. Since she couldn’t walk she had no choice but to agree.

He carried her through the door and directly into the kitchen. As always, the room’s comfort and clutter closed about Lucien, welcoming him home. The walls were white plaster, the ceiling wooden and crossed by thick, ancient beams. To call the chamber crowded didn’t do it justice. The scullery consisted of a pump and two stone sinks against the back wall. A narrow wooden cupboard stood to Lucien’s left. At the center of the room was a thick, scarred table, its age-darkened surface littered with whatever bowls, knifes and other cooking implements Maggie had been using. More dangled from hooks driven into the table’s thick sides. Pans hung on the walls along with bigger implements, ricers, sieves and choppers and such. A number of small cheeses hung in net bags. Bunches of herbs dangled from the beams. A cheery blaze burned in the round brick-trimmed mouth of the fireplace set in the wall to the right of the door. The oven was a smaller opening high on the hearth’s plaster face.

The air was warm, fragrant and moist; Maggie had water boiling at one side of the hearth. A good sized piece of meat roasted on the other, sizzling and spitting as it cooked, more than enough for four. Two smaller pots sat at the front of the hearth, their lids chattering. The smell of stewing apples rose from one of them.

Jamie and tall, narrow Maggie stood in front of the two small doors that led to the tower’s tiny pantry and its just-as-small dairy. A youth of no more than twenty and as tall and thin as Maggie stood beside her. That he was one of Maggie’s nephews there was no doubting. He shared his aunt’s coppery hair, long nose, thin lips and pale, freckled skin.

“My lord.” The boy bowed to Lucien then swiftly disappeared through the door into the gray afternoon.

As the lad left, Maggie fixed Lucien with her sharpest gaze. Framed by her ruddy lashes her green eyes narrowed. One faint, red brow lifted. Maggie wore her Sunday dress and her best lace-trimmed cap, something that startled Lucien. She’d taken care to roll up her sleeves and cover her finery with her well-used apron.

He waited, tensed in preparation for battle. Servant or not, Maggie was her own person; if she considered Lucien returning with a wife to be ill-considered, she’d say so. Instead, Maggie turned her pointed gaze onto Cassie, staring as if her look could penetrate the little sharp’s heart. A moment later Maggie’s face softened in consideration. She gave a single nod as if something of import had been decided, then bobbed.

“Lady Graceton,” she said to Cassie then looked at Lucien. “I see ye’ve found her, m’lord.”

“I have,” Lucien replied, not certain why Maggie supported his bluff, nor was he grateful that she did.

“She’s injured,” he added. “I’ll take her up to her chamber. Fetch fuel for her hearth and come see what you can do for her leg.”

Maggie smiled openly at him. “Aye, ye do that m’lord, take her to her chamber. I’ll be na a moment ‘fore I come after you.”

Frowning in surprise, Lucien turned toward the stairs. What in the world had gotten into the woman?

Lady Graceton. The title pierced Cassie like a knife driven all the way to her core. Why had that woman called her Lady Graceton when she had to know Cassie wasn’t Lucien’s wife, or his lady? No matter that beyond these humble walls she was vulnerable to Lord Bucksden. Inside, she was at Lucien’s mercy, her position all the more precarious if his servants supported him in his ruse.

Now was the moment to speak the truth, admitting to everything Lucien wanted to hear. Once she’d done that she could demand he return her to Philana’s house. She opened her mouth. No words came.

Now! It had to be now, before he took her to her chamber. Not so much as a vowel formed on her tongue.

Turning, Lucien headed for one corner of the kitchen. Cassie looked back over his shoulder at the tall red-headed woman. The woman smiled at her, the movement of her mouth filled with approval, as if she were congratulating Cassie on a job well done. Cassie frowned in confusion.

“Have a care,” Lucien said sharply as he slid sideways into a narrow, spiraling staircase, “sit as straight as you can or you’ll hit your head.”

It was a good thing he warned her. The plastered wall of the stairwell closed around them, pressing them close. The only sounds were their breathing and the echoing scrape of Lucien’s boots against the stone steps. With her arms around his neck Cassie felt the beat of his heart against her own.

Lucien paused on the second storey landing to resettle her in his arms. That gave Cassie a glimpse of a large room, a hall of sorts. Like the kitchen it had a beamed wooden ceiling and white plastered walls, the expanse of which was decorated with portraits. A pretty blue and green carpet covered its wooden floor. A pair of blue sofas stood at the room’s center. The empty fireplace against the far wall was nearly as wide as the room and deep enough that it contained a pair of benches.

Lucien continued upward to the next landing, which opened up into a stark, spacious bedchamber. Here, the sharply pitched ceiling was the underside of the roof, support beams crisscrossing in the open air. White wainscoting trimmed with a simple molding decorated the lower portion of the plastered walls. The fireplace stood on the stair wall.

There wasn’t much in the way of furnishings. A well worn carpet covered the scarred wooden floor. A washstand and a chair stood next to the bed while a chest and single small dresser offered storage. The bed, although constructed of fine mahogany, was as lacking in decoration as the walls. Only the barest of yellow fringe trimmed its solid red counterpane.

Another door cut into the wall across from the landing. Lucien carried Cassie to it, taking her past a wide window that offered a spectacular view of a long plain and a distant river. Behind the door was yet another bedchamber, nearly the twin of the first one, right down to the window, except that the bed was bigger and the counterpane done in glorious blues and golds. The hearth in the far wall was empty, but the room’s chill had less to do with the lack of a fire than with the sense that the room hadn’t been used in a long time.

Lucien set Cassie on the edge of the bed then dropped onto one knee before her. After removing his hat and gloves, he lifted her hems to reveal her waistcoat-bound knee then began to unwind her makeshift bandage.

As he worked Cassie looked at the door behind him and the other bedchamber. Lucien’s bedroom. He would sleep between her and the stairs, or rather between her and escape.

Lucien pulled his waistcoat off Cassie’s leg, dropping the muddy garment onto the floor. The binding had not only kept her knee from bending too much, but eased the throbbing. As it began again to pulse she eyed it in critical concern.

“I think the swelling’s worse and it’s darkened much more,” she said, speaking more to herself than him.

Lucien sat back on his heel then gently lifted her leg, bending her knee a little. She flinched as pain shot through her. It wasn’t as bad as she expected. He put her foot back on the floor and glanced up at her.