Bride Who Fell in Love with Her Husband (8 page)

Rose sighed and plucked at her still slightly damp clothes. “I will tell you my story, later, when we have a private moment.” If she were to be true friends with her new sister, she wanted Priscilla to know the truth. About everything.

Weary, Rose climbed the stairs. She still wasn't completely certain that Thomas could keep Wilkinson from telling the world her history. Truthfully, the only thing she was confident in was her husband's love.

Would that be enough to carry through each marital storm? Could she be happy living in Virginia if Wilkinson made good his threats?

Thomas had gone off to confront Wilkinson and Rose knew she would worry every minute until he returned. As she stepped onto the second-floor landing, she nearly stumbled into the baroness.

“Pardon me, Baroness,” she said politely, and moved to pass. The baroness stepped in front of her.

“You have returned.” The woman's face was so pinched that Rose was certain she'd just come from dining on a bowl of lemons. “Pity.”

Shocked by the outright insult, Rose could not come up with a single biting retort. In fact, the baroness had gotten all the way downstairs before Rose's spine stiffened, her stomach burned, and her fists closed so tightly, her nails bit into her palms.

Her home was supposed to be her sanctuary, and she'd almost lost it all. In those rainy moments on the back of the swaybacked gelding, she'd realized how much she loved her life, and this house. She wasn't about to take one more moment of abuse at the hands of the bitter woman, not under this roof.

Spinning about, she lifted the hem of her dress and stalked down the stairs, caught a glimpse of the baroness heading for the library, and stalked off in that direction.

“Baroness,” she said, her voice so full of anger that the older woman stopped in midstride and turned to face her.

Rose stepped close enough to punch the baroness in the nose, if she were so inclined. Good sense won out over that temptation. “I have spent almost three weeks with your ill humors and veiled insults until I cannot take any more. You have been rude and condescending and have questioned everything I do here. I do not expect your love or even hold out hope that you'll ever like me. However, I do expect civility in my home.” She leaned forward. The baroness leaned back. “I have decided that if you cannot behave, you will be packed up and sent to an inn, back to your husband, anywhere but here. Do you understand me?”

The baroness's eyes were wide, and her face white. Rose was convinced no one had ever stood up to her before. She only hoped Thomas would accept the ejection of his mother in the name of making his wife happy.

“Yes.” The single word came out sounding like the baroness expelled it while being strangled.

Rose nodded. She had won the battle . . . and the war. “We will be having partridge for dinner, your favorite.” She really hoped the cook had a partridge lying about. Extending a small token of peace was the least she could do after threatening Thomas's mother. She took a step back down the hallway. “Oh, and one last thing. Priscilla is in love with Byron and we will soon have a wedding. I think we, as her mother and sister, should help her plan the happy event. It is high time she got on with her life.”

Leaving the baroness gaping, Rose smiled all the way up to her room.

* * * *

Thomas found her there an hour later. She was humming as the maid put the finishing touches on a tidy twist at the back of her head. He sent the maid off and took a seat on the bed.

“I have some grim news. Wilkinson has been severely injured in a fall and may not live through the night.”

Rose spun on the stool. “Thomas, you didn't?”

He rolled his eyes up and smirked. “No, love. I did not have the pleasure of wringing his neck. He injured himself in a fall, running from an outraged duke who found him abed with his duchess. He tripped over his trousers and tumbled headlong down the staircase.”

“Oh, dear.” Though she hated Wilkinson with everything in her, she hadn't wanted him dead. “I cannot believe His Grace did not cover up the incident. What a scandal.”

Thomas nodded. “He tried. It was the servants who spread the gossip. Apparently, they are not fond of the duke or his spoiled and unpleasant wife.” He leaned back on the bed. “Wilkinson is under the care of a physician. His back is broken. It will take a divine hand to help him now.”

“Then I shall pray for him,” Rose said.

Silence fell between them for a moment, then Thomas smiled. “I understand you took Mother to task and threatened to send her back to Father. She would rather be dragged behind a coach than suffer that fate.”

Rose smiled sheepishly. “I hope I have not overstepped?”

He stood and walked to her, pulling her to her feet. “If you have saved us all from her scowls, then you have done well, love. My sisters and I thank you.”

Bright laughter followed as Rose slipped from his arms. “I have one more matter that needs taking care of.” She walked to her dressing table and pulled the hat from beneath the shawl. She held it up. “This is my last connection to my past. Truthfully, I do not know why I kept it. Perhaps because being a courtesan was the only life I knew. Perhaps it was fear of the unknown.” She smiled. “After all, I married a stranger.”

“And now?” Thomas asked.

Clutching the hat, she walked to the fireplace and tossed it into the flames. The fire crackled as the feathers went up in smoke. “Now I know that I no longer need to fear the unknown, for we will meet our challenges together.”

With that, she ran across the room and threw herself into his arms.

* * * *

The wedding of Byron and Priscilla was small yet happy, as the union was blessed by all. Even the baroness, though grudgingly, had helped with the flowers and the preparation of the trousseau.

The idea of having grandchildren almost put a smile on the baroness's face. Almost. Rose hoped the woman might discover that unused part of her expression someday.

A week after Priscilla and Byron's wedding, she and Thomas received an invitation to the wedding of Miss Eva and her duke. There was a flurry of preparations for the travel to Highland Abbey, where the ceremony was to take place. Exhausted by the time the coach rolled out of London, Rose slept nearly the entire way.

“You are a very dull traveling companion, dearest,” Thomas teased as she finally roused when they turned up the drive to the abbey. “I should have brought a book.”

Rose's eyelids narrowed. “And you are a selfish husband. After days of planning every detail of this trip, you can certainly allow me a few hours' rest.” She yawned when he helped her from the coach, into the waiting arms of Miss Eva. Though the courtesan rescuer kept her work with the courtesans separate from her private life, an adventure to save a kidnapped courtesan had turned Miss Eva and a small party of former courtesans, Rose, Yvette, Pauline, and Sophie, into friends.

The wedding on the Saturday afternoon was lovely and the bride and groom blissfully happy. During a small party following the ceremony, the women had a chance to visit with each other and catch up on news. They chattered happily together while the men watched, bemused, as men often were in the company of the fairer sex.

As the evening closed, Thomas had to all but carry Rose to their room. The maid helped her change into a nightdress and get into bed. “I do not know why I am so fatigued. I have slept well the last few nights.”

“Are you ill?” Thomas waited for the maid to depart before undressing himself. He blew out all but a bedside candle and climbed in beside her. Rose snuggled against him.

“I do not think so.” Her lids drooped and she felt the pull of sleep. It was the tug of a thought, rooted deep inside her mind, that snapped her eyes open and caused her to scramble from the bed with wide eyes.

Startled, Thomas sat up. “Rose, what is it?”

She rubbed her hand over her flat stomach. Could it be? “Lud, I think we are having a baby.”

He rolled from the bed and kicked aside the sheet that was tangled around his foot. Stepping, naked, around the bed, he bent and took her hands. “Are you certain?”

“My last course was three weeks before we wed and I haven't had one since.” Rose bit her lip and nodded. “I believe you are about to become a father.”

Thomas stood stock-still. Rose wasn't sure what to make of his reaction. She knew he wanted children, playfully insisted on a dozen.

“I've gone from courtesan to wife and now to mother.” She smiled sheepishly, hoping he would say something to ease her tension. “What do you think of the name ‘Nathaniel' if it's a boy?”

The comment seemed to snap him from his shock.

With a whoop that rattled the rafters of the old abbey, Thomas lifted her high and spun her around until she pleaded for mercy. “Thomas, please. You are unsettling my stomach.”

He reluctantly released her. But it was the sound of the door banging open and the alarmed faces of the duke, duchess, and their friends, all in various states of dress that brought Rose and Thomas to laughter.

Snatching up a sheet to cover his nakedness, Thomas grinned. “We are expecting a baby,” he said, beaming.

He gave no time for anyone to recover from the surprise as he walked to the door. “There will be time for all the particulars tomorrow. Tonight I plan to celebrate alone with my wife.” He closed the door tightly in their faces and crossed to lift Rose back into his arms. “I love you, Rose Stanhope.”

“I love you, Thomas Stanhope,” she said, gasping as the spinning and laughter began anew.

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Read on for a special preview of Cheryl Ann Smith's next School for Brides romance

THE SCARLET BRIDE

Available June 2012 from Berkley Sensation

 

Chapter One

Simon Harrington, an ill-tempered brute if Lady Jeanette Abbot was to be believed, rode down the deserted streets of London with no particular destination in mind. Lamplight flickered in fresh puddles gathered from the same light rain that splattered his coat, dripped off the brim of his hat, and trickled in cold rivulets down the back of his neck. The discomfort fit his mood, as his sober expression was on the edge of turning grim.

The blasted wench had refused his suit again, calling him untamed and beneath her consideration as a husband, in spite of his family's wealth. She'd flashed an abundance of tiny, albeit slightly crooked teeth, stepped away from his bent knee as if he had some horrid disease, and politely asked him to leave lest she have him tossed out into the street by her footmen.

Now as the horse beneath him ambled freely down the street, he considered letting the beast carry him all the way to Scotland, where no one knew his history, and the women had much less starch in their drawers. His father had married Irish, so taking a Scotswoman as his wife wouldn't shock the Ton. The path to scandal had already been paved with the bodies of all the disreputable Harringtons before him.

Unfortunately, as the elder son of his branch of the family oak tree, he had to make a wise marriage. If his uncle and father decided to drop over dead, he'd be the earl and head of the notorious clan of bounders and rakes. Without Lady Jeanette, his chances of dragging the family firmly into societal favor were slim. Tonight's rejection was certainly a blow to his carefully laid plans. Though a few Harringtons had risen to prominence in society, Simon's Irish blood and lack of a title made the path nearly impossible for him. He'd not care what anyone thought of his family if not for his sister, Brenna.

“Onward to Scotland then, er, Horse,” Simon commanded, his voice a touch slurred from several pints of ale downed at a bawdy pub somewhere near Whitechapel.

He really should name the beast, he decided, as he peered down at the pair of furry ears that had turned backward to listen for his commands. After all, he'd owned the large gray for over a week now. The finely bred animal needed something majestic to make him stand out among less well-bred and costly beasts.

But the search for a name was to be delayed as a piteous sound, carried on the wind, immediately brought him upright, sober, and nearly off his horse. Horse himself nearly leapt out of his hide and braced to bolt. Only sawing at the reins kept the gelding in check.

It was the cry of a child in distress. Wait, no. Not of an infant but of a woman in trouble. Serious trouble, if the second louder cry was to be believed.

Simon jerked up the reins, startled the horse a second time, and kneed the beast in the direction of the sound. As soon as he rounded a corner, he spotted two large men in footmen livery, struggling with a woman in rumpled clothing. She appeared to be fighting for her life, or perhaps only her virtue. Truthfully, it didn't matter which. Trouble was trouble and she was outnumbered.

At least that was how Simon saw it. He wasted no time on further speculation. The damsel was in danger, and by the looks of the empty street, he would be pressed into service as her knight in damp armor.

She struggled mightily against two brawny pairs of hands as the men did their best to unwrap her arms from a streetlamp. She wasn't weeping and her cries were more of the desperate sort. Simon was impressed by her determination to succeed against greater forces than she.

“No! You will not take me back!” she cried as one arm was finally dislodged. It would be but a matter of seconds before she was carried away in the waiting coach.

Simon wasted no time. He kicked Horse to a run and barreled down on the trio in a clatter of racing hooves. The two men had just a moment to register their surprise when one of them took Simon's knee to the chest. The man flew up with a pained grunt, landing awkwardly backward on cobblestones. The other jumped back to avoid the horse. Simon shot out a foot and kicked him in the face. His nose shattered.

The woman swayed but reclaimed the pole. Simon spun Horse around as the first man shook his head and began to rise. The other cupped his broken nose and groaned.

There was no time to spare. He edged the horse close to the woman and reached out a gloved hand.

“If you don't intend to embrace the pole all evening, then perhaps you should allow me to rescue you.”

Wide eyes peered from beneath tangled and soaked sable hair. Her confusion over the sudden turn of events showed in her face. She hesitated for a heartbeat, and then shoved her slender hand into his. She lifted her foot and placed it on his in the stirrup. He pulled her up behind him.

“Hold tight,” he commanded and she grabbed for his coat. Then, with a sharp tap of his heels, they were off.

A bellow of outrage followed, with a trail of curses to show deep displeasure from the two ruffians. Simon grinned. After the evening he'd had, it was pure enjoyment knowing there were two men in London who were unhappier and more put out than he.

Two hands clung to him as the horse sped through the streets, the cool breeze forcing out the lingering effects of imbibing too much cheap ale. The excitement of the rescue sent his blood racing and cleared the fog of whiskey from his brain. It wasn't until he was certain they weren't followed that he stopped the horse.

The gelding bobbed his head and snorted.

Simon glanced over his shoulder to see the woman twisted around to peer behind them. She'd clearly lost some of her starch. Her body trembled as she clung to his sodden coat. He thought of offering her the item; however, she wasn't nearly as wet as he. Better just to leave her as she was for the moment.

“We must go,” she urged and turned back to dig her fingers tighter into his coat. “They will come.”

There was such terror in her voice that Simon was taken aback. No simple runaway was she.

“You must tell me your story,” he said, resisting the urge to kick the horse back into motion. He needed to know if she was not a victim but a criminal before he became further mired in the situation.

“There is no time,” she pleaded and clawed at his arm. “If his lordship finds me, it will mean my death.”

His lordship? Death? The words ripped through his brain. “Who are you? Who is this man who would kill you?”

“He was my patron, I was his courtesan.” She shook uncontrollably until her teeth chattered. “I ran away.”

Simon reconsidered offering his coat but had no time to shrug out of the wet wool. Her eyes pleaded with him. “Please, you m-must t-take me to safety. I have money to pay y-you for y-your help.”

Simon swept his gaze down her face. There was nothing untoward in her pale features to give him pause. No deception, no untruths. She was truly in fear for her life.

“I know a place where you'll be protected.” He nudged his horse into motion. The animal easily complied. Horse was probably eager to get out of the misty cold.

Simon quickly navigated the rain-slick streets. Though the brim of his hat kept the rain from his eyes, the grim weather made keeping on course difficult.

Thankfully the destination wasn't far. He knew Eva and Noelle would be displeased with this unexpected arrival. However, his mysterious passenger would be safe there. There was no other option. Bringing her to his family home was out of the question. To show up with a courtesan in tow would certainly press the boundaries of what his mother would consider proper.

It took several wrong turns to finally find the correct street, as the increasing rain made navigation challenging. Thankfully, within minutes, he came upon the address he sought.

The town house was as he remembered—dull, nondescript, and dark. The household was asleep. By now the woman was dazed and half-frozen. He dislodged her fingers from his coat and swung down from the horse. She was thistledown light as Simon removed her from behind the saddle and she slid limply down his body. Her toes had barely brushed solid earth when her knees buckled.

Alarmed, Simon caught her about the waist and noticed her unfocused eyes. He scooped her up into his arms and carried her toward the darkened town house.

The door was locked. He kicked the panel several times with his boot, rattling the door on its hinges. After a brief delay, candlelight flickered through a narrow window.

A man of middle years cautiously opened the door and peered through the crack, a nightcap covering his hair. He stared first at Simon and then at the woman, clearly confused by their appearance at the late hour.

“I need to see Miss Eva,” Simon demanded.

The man shook his head, his face stern and his eyes puffy from sleep. “Miss Eva is not here and Miss Sophie is sleeping. Go away.”

Simon didn't have the patience for further conversation. He tucked his damsel higher on his chest and forcefully brushed past the servant.

The man sputtered. “Sir, you cannot come inside.” He slammed the door closed and scurried after them. His bare feet slapped on the parquet floor. “This is unseemly.”

Unfamiliar with the floor plan of the house, Simon strode down the hallway with only the muted candlelight to keep him from stumbling about. He quickly found a dark room with a settee near a cold fireplace.

“Get Sophie,” Simon ground out.

“What is happening here?”

Simon spun to see a shadowed blond woman hurrying down the stairs, clutching a robe protectively around her body. A trio of women gathered at the upper landing behind her.

“How dare you force your way into this house.” She shot the servant a glance and demanded, “Primm, get Thomas.”

The man took a step. Simon's voice brought him upright. “Miss Noelle is my cousin. I need your help.”

Sophie started, then paused, uncertain. Finally she turned to the women on the landing above and snapped, “Return to bed. I will take care of this.”

Simon wasted no more time. He entered the room and eased the courtesan down on the settee. Sophie took the candle and lit a pair of wall sconces. She spoke to Primm in low tones and the servant left the room.

When they were alone, Sophie scowled at him and walked over to check on the woman. She took a blanket from a nearby chair and tucked the edges around his charge. The courtesan's eyes fluttered when Sophie's warm hand pressed against her cheek.

“You are safe now,” Sophie said softly and brushed damp hair from the courtesan's pale face. “Rest.”

The woman settled back as Sophie stepped away. She indicated for Simon to join her, and they moved to a corner of the small room. She crossed her arms.

“Tell me who you are and what happened to her.” Her whispered tone was sharp and her glare sharper.

“I am Simon Harrington.” He looked toward the settee and lowered his voice. “I apologize for the intrusion but I had nowhere else to go.”

“Who is she?” Sophie asked.

“I don't know.” He shrugged. “She was in danger and I rescued her. She claims to be a courtesan who fears for her life. Otherwise, I have no other information.”

Sophie scanned his face. After a long moment, she sighed. “You've done the right thing by bringing her here. You can explain yourself to Miss Eva later.”

Simon grimaced as she returned to the courtesan and sat beside her on the settee. Forgiveness was the least of his concerns. Eva owned the school and fiercely protected her privacy. She would be livid to find out he'd been spying on her. Worse, he hated to think how his cousin Noelle would take the news. She volunteered at the school and was just as protective of the young women. Coming here had breached their sanctuary and both women would have his hide.

Laura peered into the stranger's face and saw compassion in the woman's wary eyes. She hadn't any idea where she was, but suspected her rescuer had delivered her to a safe place.

“Where am I?” she asked weakly. Her body shivered beneath her wet clothes and she struggled to keep her teeth from clacking together. She was so cold that she couldn't move, and her limbs felt frozen in place.

The woman smiled and her face softened slightly beneath a fringe of blond hair. “My name is Sophie. We run a school that rescues courtesans.”

Laura glanced around the small and tidy blue parlor. She wanted to laugh at the irony of the information, but didn't have the strength. She shifted her attention to the tall man near the fireplace. His face was shadowed by his hat, but she knew by his sodden appearance that he was the man who had swooped in and rescued her.

“Thank you,” she said and managed a weak, but very grateful smile. If not for him, she'd be dead. He could have ridden off, minding his business. Instead he'd provided her assistance, protection, and a haven from her demons. “You truly did save my life.”

He tipped his black hat and bowed slightly. “I shall leave you now in capable hands.” Without another word, he crossed the room and vanished out the door.

Laura felt slightly bereft with the absence of her savior. Still, she couldn't ask for more than he'd already given.

“I'm sorry to cause such trouble,” she said softly.

Sophie patted her hand and stood. “Not to worry. We are used to dealing with the misfortunes of women here.” She tightened the tie at her waist and darted a quick glance over Laura. “When is the last time you've eaten?”

Laura scrunched up her face. The veil of exhaustion kept her from an immediate answer. “Two days. I think.”

It was clear that Sophie wanted to ask questions about her history, but wisely held her tongue. Laura was relieved. She was too tired to think, much less speak, of her horrible ordeal. She needed rest, food, and dry clothes. Tomorrow she would explain everything with a clear and rested mind.

Now that she was free, she would die before she'd ever return to the clutches of the Earl of Westwick again, the vile bastard. She'd kill him first.

“Let me help you up.” Sophie assisted her to sit then stand. The woman wasn't large, but was surprisingly strong. She bore much of Laura's weight as the two women gingerly crossed into the hallway and up the stairs, to a room halfway down the narrow corridor. Sophie had no difficulty managing the distance without a candle or while supporting the wobbly Laura.