Hannah Howell (13 page)

“Oh, Ballard, you great oaf of a Scotsman, where the hell are you? Please, please, do not do this to me.”

She turned onto her side and clutched the pillow.
The deep breath she took to steady herself filled her nose with the clean, male scent of him, and tears blurred her eyes. She quickly reached for the anger inside her and used it to push the other feelings aside. When and if Ballard returned, she preferred to meet him with righteous fury rather than weak tears.

Ballard slumped against one of the short pillars that framed the stairs leading to Clover’s home and gathered the strength to climb them. He was pleased to see that no one appeared to be visiting the family. That meant that his absence was probably not public yet and that Thomas had not already come to claim the prize he thought he had won.
I will be waiting for the bastard when he does show,
Ballard thought grimly as he made his painful way up the steps and into the house.

“Where the bloody hell have ye been?” demanded Shelton the minute Ballard entered the parlor.

Stopping inches inside the room, Ballard stared at his young brother in some surprise. Shelton and Lambert stood glaring at him in a way that made him feel like an errant youth. If the situation were not so serious, he would have found the reversal of roles highly amusing.

“Where is Clover?” Ballard asked after a quick look around the room revealed that she was not present.

“‘Tis a fine time to be worrying about her now. Ye should have given a thought or two to her before ye ran off with that slut Sarah Marsten. Curse it, Ballard, aside from it being all wrong, how could ye put me and Lambert into such an awkward position? What did ye expect us to tell Clover?”

At that moment Agnes rose from her chair and walked over to him. Ballard eyed her a bit warily, then began to relax. The expression of disappointment and disgust she had worn when he had first entered the room had been replaced by one of confusion and concern.

“You are bleeding, Ballard.” She gingerly touched the drying streak of blood by his ear.

Shelton, with Lambert close on his heels, edged closer to Ballard. “Have ye been in a fight?”

“Ye could say that.” He gave them a succinct summary of what had happened to him and watched their expressions of disbelief change to outrage.

“Lord Almighty and His mother,” muttered Shelton. “Is Dillingsworth all right in his head?”

“I dinnae think he is too sane and, Shelton, ye shouldnae be swearing in front of Mrs. Sherwood.”

Agnes smiled briefly at a blushing Shelton. “In such a situation cursing is easily forgiven. Come, Ballard, let me tend to your injuries.”

“Nay, but thank ye, ma’am. It occurred to me as I stumbled here that no one has seen or heard from me since I left with Miss Marsten. I reckon I can guess what folk began to think. I have a wild tale to tell Clover, and these wounds may help to make her believe it. Where is she?”

“She went to bed.” Agnes sighed and shook her head. “We all tried to reassure her, but I think we only made matters worse. I am sorry, Ballard, but when you did not return, we all began to believe the worst.”

“There is no need to apologize, ma’am. Ye all ken that I was sniffing ‘round Miss Marsten and ye only thought what anyone would think. I should have
stopped to tell ye I was going with Grendall, but I reckon I am not used to having to answer to anyone. Now Dillingsworth thinks his men have killed me, so I suspect that cur will be here bright and early in the morning, wanting to soothe my poor grieving widow. If I am not here to greet him, dinnae let him ken that I have returned. Just come and tell me he is here.”

“Ye dinnae think he will discover ye have escaped before then?” asked Shelton.

“Nay, I doubt it. Those two men were nae eager to have Dillingsworth discover that they didnae do what he had paid them to do. They are probably halfway to Philadelphia by now. Nay, Dillingsworth will be here to try and take advantage of Clover.”

“Perhaps Shelton and I ought to keep an eye out, just in case Dillingsworth cannot wait until morning or discovers you are not dead and decides to hire someone to do the job right this time,” suggested Lambert.

“It cannae hurt. Aye. Just be sure he doesnae see ye, as that could warn him that we ken his games. If Dillingsworth thinks that, he may turn on the two of ye. I have enough to fret o’er. He may also take it into his head to flee and hide away until I have returned to Kentucky, and I dinnae want him slipping out of my reach. I want a chance to confront that slinking dog.”

“Dinnae worry, Ballard,” Shelton assured him.

“We will do our best to make sure you have that chance,” Lambert said.

“I just find this all so very hard to understand,” Agnes said as Shelton and Lambert left.

“Dillingsworth wants it all, ma’am. ‘Tis that simple. And he doesnae much like that it was a mon like me
who got Clover. He also didnae like being beaten by me. That means he has lost to me twice. There are some men who just cannae abide losing. In truth, I suspect Dillingsworth wasnae too stable before I came on the scene. Grendall implied a lot of people know what Dillingsworth is like but are too afraid to stand against him. Dillingsworth has stepped right o’er the edge now, though.”

“Yes, he must be mad. Well, you go and speak to Clover, and I wish you luck.”

“Thank ye, ma’am. I will need it.”

Ballard started on his way to their bedchamber. He ached all over, but it was not that pain which slowed his pace as he drew nearer. Convincing Clover to believe him was not going to be easy.

As Ballard closed his hand around the door latch, he prayed that she would at least hear him out.

The sound of someone approaching the door pulled Clover out of her depressing thoughts. It was a man’s tread, and she tensed as she sat up. She could not believe Ballard would have the gall to return to her after spending a long, undoubtedly lusty afternoon with Sarah Marsten. Suddenly, her anger took over. She grabbed a heavy candlestick from the bedside table and stood up on the bed. If Ballard stepped through that doorway, she had every intention of doing him some harm. It would never make up for the injury he had inflicted upon her, but it sure would make her feel better.

She watched the door latch move and steadied her aim. The minute the door opened to reveal Ballard standing there, Clover hurled the candlestick at him. A curse hissed through her teeth when he quickly dodged the candlestick, which thumped uselessly against the door he had just closed.

“Now, lass,” Ballard began as he moved warily toward her.

“Do not
‘now, lass’
me, you randy Scot!”

Clover looked around for another weapon, wishing she had had the foresight to stockpile a few within easy reach. On the other side of the bed, she saw the mate to the candlestick she had just thrown. She moved to grab it, but Ballard was quicker. A screech of frustration and anger escaped her when he tackled her onto the bed. Clover tried to hit and kick him, but after a brief, undignified struggle, Ballard succeeded in pinning her to the mattress.

“I suppose I shouldnae be surprised that a lass with a touch of red in her hair should have a temper,” Ballard muttered with a catch of his breath, as if he were in pain.

“My hair does not have red in it. ‘Tis blond. Now get off me, you lecherous barbarian. Sarah is probably eagerly awaiting your return.”

“Clover, look at me,” Ballard demanded.

She continued to glare at the tip of his long straight nose. The very last thing she wished to do was to look into his eyes. They had been married only a week, but she had already learned how dangerously alluring his rich green eyes could be. He could probably make her believe that he and Sarah had done no more than discuss the merits of the sideboard she had purchased.

“Did you expect me to smile and welcome you after you have been dallying with Sarah Marsten for hours?”

“I have nae been dallying with Sarah!”

“There is no need to shout.”

“Look at me, Clover.”

It occurred to her that if she kept avoiding his gaze, he might guess her weakness. Somehow she was going to have to look into his eyes yet not be lulled
by his lies. At the same time she dared not let hurt pride endanger her future with this man, and her family’s security.

Inwardly bracing herself, she finally looked fully at his face and gasped. There was blood on the side and a bruise or two beneath the dirt smudges. She quickly looked over what she could see of the rest of him and her confusion grew. His homespun breeches were quite dirty and torn at the knee. His shirt was half untucked and his buckskin coat was covered in dust. If he and Sarah had been misbehaving, they had indulged in some very rough play and, by the looks of it, done so in the middle of the road. He also smelled as if he had been wallowing in a trash heap.

Still, meeting his gaze, she remained wary. “Did you and Sarah decide to roll about in the fields?” she asked. It would take a lot of explaining from Ballard before she would relinquish her skepticism.

“Nay, we didnae roll about anywhere.” He took a deep breath, knowing that letting her snide remarks provoke him into anger would only make a bad situation worse. “I am about to tell ye a tale ye may find hard to believe.”

“What a surprise!”

Ballard ignored her sarcasm. “I took that hulking piece of furniture to Sarah’s house. Now, I had already figured out that she was trying to, er, pull me into her web. For a fact, I didnae believe it at first, her behavior was so brazen. I thought ‘twas just my vanity. But she got so forward I couldnae ignore it.”

“Neither could anyone else.”

“Once we got to her house, she continued her little game.” Ballard could see that despite her tart remarks, Clover would hear him out, so he released
her arms and sat up a little. “She offered me a cool drink and I accepted. I felt she had some wrong ideas about me and I wanted to set her straight. I didnae want her fluttering about and causing trouble atween us.”

“Sarah must be a great deal more witless than I thought if it took you all afternoon to do that.”

He held her gaze and hoped that his sincerity showed in his face. “I willnae swear that I will never stray, lass, for a mon’s actions are nae always ruled by his brain, but I dinnae treat lightly the vows I spoke afore God. Fact is, I told her I wasnae interested, and I left her house hours ago. I met Grendall as I came here and he dragged me away. He thought the stallion I sold him was dying.”

“And was it?”

“Aye, but we managed to save it. Someone had poisoned the beast. Grendall is sure it was Dillings-worth.”

“Thomas? Why should he do something like that?”

“Because if he cannae have the beast, he doesnae want anyone else to have it. I left to return here, but at the tavern I saw Aaron Spaulding, a mon who is interested in my horses. He and I shared a few wee ales and made a bargain or two. ‘Twas as I left the tavern that I was set upon by two men. They caught me by surprise, grabbing me from behind. I lost the fight and they played a wee bit of kick the ball with my head and ribs.”

It all sounded a little too pat to Clover, but she reminded herself not to judge him too quickly. Ballard was looking very intense and sincere. She decided it would not be fair to assume immediately that it was all an act. She reached out to touch the back of his head and found a sizable swelling still sticky with
blood just behind his right ear. It was not complete proof that he was telling the truth, but she almost believed him.

“Fell off the bed, did you?” she murmured, and met his annoyed glance with a calm look.

“Nay, the men tried to crack my skull. It was all part of Thomas’s plan.”

“Thomas was there too?”

“Nay, but he paid some low hirelings to do his dirty work. One of them cleaned out my pockets while the other revealed that Dillingsworth wanted me dead. ‘Tis my good fortune that they had their money already and were nae inclined to bloody their hands. Thomas’s plan is to come ‘round here in the morning to comfort ye, the grieving widow.”

“How kind of him.” She frowned. “You were right to say that this tale is hard to believe. Why on earth would Thomas want to kill you? What could it possibly gain him?”

“Thomas believed he could get ye back, that ye would agree to be his mistress if ye believed I was dead and ye were alone and destitute again.” Ballard was encouraged by the arrested look on Clover’s face. “I signed my death warrant when I cured the stallion. The man must have learned of it immediately and felt I had thwarted him once too often. In the morning, Thomas is going to come after ye. He figures that, after everything else that has happened to ye—the loss of your new husband, the scandal of my being murdered in a filthy alley outside the Sly Dog—ye will be ready and willing to do all he says.”

“And he will make me accept his nefarious offer.” It all made chilling, horrible sense to Clover, and
she grew so agitated she could not stay still. “Let me up, Ballard.”

“Nay, I have nae finished with my story.”

She swatted his arm. “I will not go anywhere and I
will
listen to you. I just cannot lie here like a lump any longer. Let me up.”

Ballard cautiously moved off her, then watched as she slid from the bed and started to pace the room. After a moment or two she stopped by the washbowl, filled it with water, and brought it to the bedside table. When she retrieved washing and drying cloths, he realized that she intended to tend his wounds. His hopes rose.

Clover rolled up the long sleeves of her nightdress and soaked the washcloth in the cool water. “What else do you have to say? ‘Tis clear that the plan to murder you failed, for here you are.”

“Aye.” He winced when she placed the cloth on the bump on his head. “Thomas didnae like ye marrying me, a mon he believes is far beneath him. I didnae help matters by thumping him or by selling the stallion to Grendall instead of him. He considers himself twice beaten and humiliated by a backwoods illiterate. That the whole town kens about his defeat, or so he believes, only makes him more enraged.”