His Christmas Pleasure (18 page)

Andres would like nothing better than to slam his fist into the banker’s smug face.

But that would have confirmed the man’s low opinion of him. Banker Montross assumed that in spite of being titled, his Spanish birth made him inferior.

Andres might have been a bastard, but his father’s aristocratic blood flowed through his veins, as did his pride.

Andres took the pen and signed his name.

“Leave us,” he ordered her father.

The banker did not appreciate the command. He sat back, blinking at Andres’s audacity. Andres stood. He’d not spend a moment more in this man’s company. “We are done,” he said. “You have insulted my wife. I wish not to see you again.” He offered his arm to Abby.

She’d gone very pale. But she stood, her hand shaking as she placed it on his arm.

Andres didn’t hesitate; he left the room quickly, taking Abby back to the bedroom they’d shared. “Prepare to leave,” he said as he dropped her off at the threshold, then went in search of David Laing or his wife.

He found Mrs. Laing in her kitchen. “I need a vehicle to take me to a place called Corbridge in Northumberland. I was told it isn’t far from Newcastle.”

“I don’t know,” Mrs. Laing said. “Johnny Whitacre left this morning with some passengers and there isn’t much else in town unless you go to Carlisle.

Everything leaves out of Carlisle.”

“Are there horses I can hire to travel to Corbridge?”

“Oh, that, yes there are.”

“And how much would they be?” Andres didn’t want to sound anxious, but he was concerned.

She rolled her eyes as if trying to guess and then shrugged. “A good amount.

Perhaps, if you are going any distance at all and wish to save funds, my lord, you’d best consider the mail. It comes through here but never stops. You’ll need to board it in Carlisle. How far will you be traveling?”

“I’m not certain,” Andres had to admit.

And he was just now realizing the enormity of what it meant to have Abby’s funds in trust.

He was done up. He had supplies coming, horses, and tack—and he had no way to pay for them. He had a wife, property, expenses … and no money.

“The reason he can’t tell you where he wants to go,” Montross’s voice said from the door of the kitchen, “is because he doesn’t know. He has no idea where Corbridge is.”

Abby’s father had donned hat, gloves, and coat and was ready to leave. He walked into the kitchen. “You thought to steal my daughter. Now what?”

“Now what?” Andres echoed, offended by the man’s manner because he was right. “Now I take my wife and leave.”

The words “my wife” wiped the smug expression off the banker’s face. “You don’t truly care for her,” her father said. “You look at her and you see pound sterling. But I have nurtured and protected her from the moment she drew her first breath. Let her come home with me, Barón. We’ll strike a bargain, you and I. I pay you five hundred pounds and you disappear. Vanish. Just as Dobbins bribed you to vanish.”

So, Montross knew Andres had accepted payment to leave London … but he didn’t think the banker knew more, for he would have used it to his own advantage.

“You think she is only worth five hundred pounds?” Andres challenged.

“She’s worth far more,” her father said, hands doubling into fists at his sides.

“Of course, now you’ve ruined her—”

“I’ve done nothing of the sort,” Andres flashed back. If Montross wanted a fight, he’d picked the right man. Andres wouldn’t mind releasing the tension he was feeling with a few throws, especially at a man who mocked him….

“Stop it! Please.” Abby rushed into the room and placed herself between the two of them. Her back to Andres, she faced her father. “Go,” she told him.

“You’ve had your say, now go. Let me live my life.”

“This isn’t what I want for you,” her father said.

“It’s what I have chosen for myself,” Abby countered.

“A life in the poorhouse?” Her father stepped back, as if amazed. “He’s no good, Abigail. I can smell with my nose that something is not right here. And if you leave with him, if you don’t come home with me now, don’t think you can turn to your mother and me later when you discover the mistake you’ve made.”

“She has made no mistake,” Andres said. He would have lunged at the man if Abby hadn’t been standing between them. As it was, he raised a fist.

“Do you see? He’s hotheaded and a fool,” her father predicted. “Look at him.

Some nobleman.”

Abby’s back straightened. “He is my husband,” she said. “Please tell Mother I love her. I love both of you, but I have chosen my own course.”

Her father stepped back, his lips pressed together so tightly that he had to force himself to answer her. “Very well. Have it your way. Enjoy your ride on the Mail,” he said to Abby and walked out of the room.

Abby started to collapse, as if struck by the finality of what had happened.

Andres caught her, wrapping his arms around her. “You’ve made the right choice, palomita. The right choice.”

She shook her head and pushed away. “Let’s go,” she pleaded with him. “Let us go to Stonemoor.”

“We shall.” He looked to Mrs. Laing, who had been watching this whole scene with a dazed expression, her hands gripping her apron. Andres decided then what he would do—it was the only thing he could do. “I need to hire a horse to take us to Carlisle.”

“I’ll go ask Mr. Laing,” Mrs. Laing said and hurried out.

Andres and Abby were alone.

Andres had never ridden on the Mail, but he had an idea that it would be like many public vehicles he’d taken in other countries. He was certain, however, that Abby had never experienced such a ride.

“I’m sorry,” Abby said.

Andres shook his head, his mind preoccupied with all sorts of “what if’s?” He had to reason it all out. He had to think. “I’ll bring us through this,” he promised, but he knew he sounded curt. “Come, let’s gather our things. The sooner we leave, the sooner we reach Stonemoor.”

She nodded and hurried through the door in front of him. They didn’t speak much as they prepared to depart. Andres wanted to tell her what a bastard her father was, but he knew it would be the wrong thing to say.

And he wondered if her own silence meant she was wishing that she’d left with her father. Wondered if she didn’t regret coming with him.

His saving grace was that he had been honest with her. There had been no false promises of love in his proposal to her. He’d remind her of that if she expressed recriminations.

As it was, she held her tongue, so he held his.

The trip to Carlisle did nothing to clear the air between them. Andres tried to act as if all was well … but Abby answered him with monosyllables. Nor did she look at him.

The horses were very tame. She had been telling him the truth when she’d said she wasn’t a good rider. Her balance on the back of her beast was too stiff for enjoyment. Andres offered to take her reins, but she rebuffed him with a shake of her head.

And so they went … taking twice as long to reach Carlisle than it would have if Abby had unbent and let him help.

Abby knew she’d made a mistake in her marriage.

Her father’s final words burned in her mind. She shouldn’t have run away.

She’d hurt her parents deeply, especially after they’d lost Robert not more than four years ago.

She couldn’t imagine what her mother was feeling … and she wished everything was different.

And the guilt of what she’d done to Andres weighed heavily on her.

He’d married her expecting a fortune. She’d told him she’d had a fortune.

He’d built his dreams on that belief, and now they were in a terrible situation.

Abby had never experienced fear—or doubt, its uncomfortable companion—

about her future. Her life had been cushioned by doting parents and no cares about money. Overnight, all had changed.

It didn’t help that she was on a horse, never her favorite place to be. She was all too aware that her husband, who had an excellent seat, was riding slowly to accommodate her.

He couldn’t hide his annoyance either. She saw it in the tight lines of his mouth and in his silvery eyes, now dark with frustration. She’d learned to tell his moods by the color of his eyes. When he was upset or concerned, they darkened. When he was pleased, they were brighter than the stars.

And as if to add insult to injury, riding sidesaddle was even more difficult when a certain part of her anatomy was very sensitive from making love.

Who would have thought it? Not herself—and yet, she was now more aware of her private areas than she could ever have believed possible.

They reached Carlisle late in the afternoon. It was growing dark. They turned the horses over to the stable Laing had told them about, and Andres, for the first time since they’d left Gretna, took Abby’s arm. He made some inquiries and found a respectable house where they could spend the night.

The owner, Mrs. Rivers, was a bosomy widow in a lace mobcap who had at least five cats that Abby could see, although her watering eyes warned her there were more.

Abby ducked her head, not wanting to let Andres see how his choice of establishment was affecting her … yet she did not know how she could stay here.

These shabby accommodations were not the sort Abby had been accustomed to patronizing when traveling with her father. She tried to be receptive to Andres’s choice. Their financial situation was critical, and taking lodging in a private house was a sensible idea.

Still … so many cats?

Abby smiled and held her eyes wide, hoping no one noticed how distressed she was. Then again, she wished she could close her eyes, because closer inspection revealed a layer of dust and cat hair coating every table and cushion. It also didn’t help that apparently there would be fish for dinner.

The smell filled the air.

She could feel Andres watching her, judging her. She refused to meet his eyes. He already had enough on his mind without thinking she was being critical.

Even if she was.

He took her arm, and they followed Mrs. Rivers to a small room with two separate beds. “Will this do?” she asked.

“It will be fine,” Andres said.

And it would be, Abby silently vowed. She’d muddle through … but it would have been nice if he had asked her opinion.

“We’ll be taking the morning Mail to Newcastle,” Andres said to Mrs.

Rivers. “I believe it leaves early?”

“Oh, yes, earliest,” Mrs. Rivers said brightly. She had picked up one of her cats from a hall chair. It was a fat tabby with a disgruntled expression. She shifted the kitty’s weight from one arm to another. The cat growled its displeasure. “I’ll leave you alone, sir, while I set the table. I can see you are Quality. Who would have thought I’d have the likes of you here under my roof? Such an honor to have you here. Such an honor,” she repeated, backing out of the room. Abby and Andres were alone.

She was exhausted.

Her first action was to sit on the edge of the bed furthest away from the window. There was a meow, and a calico kitten dashed out from under the bed. It raced to the door but turned and froze, as if uncertain what to do, when it saw that the door was closed.

“He acts as if Mrs. Rivers doesn’t receive many lodgers,” Abby observed.

She’d meant the comment to be a lighthearted remark, but it didn’t come out that way. Her nose was starting to run and she sounded more pinched and annoyed than she actually was.

With an angry sound, her husband opened the door for the cat, who scrambled in his rush to leave them. “I need to see to something,” Andres said, not looking at her. He still wore his coat, but he’d lost his hat in the inn in Carlisle when they’d jumped out the window. “I’ll be back.”

Abby did not want to be left alone. “Must you leave?”

He stopped. From where she sat, she could see his jaw tighten. She wanted him to look at her. He didn’t.

“I must,” he said, his voice quiet—and she let him go.

The door shut. She sat still for a long time. She was tired. Defeated, actually.

Yesterday she’d been so happy.

Today, she didn’t think she’d ever felt worse, and she sensed that Andres was experiencing the same.

Abby stood. She had to do something. She couldn’t just sit there. What she needed was to wash her face and brush her hair and feel civilized.

As she’d done since the beginning of the trip, she’d layered her clothes; even now she was wearing the day dress with the nightgown beneath it. Abby stripped down, thinking to take a quick sponge bath, and was not pleased to discover there was no water in the pitcher by the wash basin. She dressed again, leaving off her nightclothes, then picked up the pitcher and left the room.

Mrs. Rivers was singing at the top of her lungs from some point in the house.

Abby followed the sound, which grew louder as the smell of fish grew stronger. Abby was not surprised to find her hostess in the kitchen cooking their supper. She was surrounded by very hungry, very demanding cats.

Ten of them.

They looked to Abby for support in commanding their dinner. Several jumped down from the chairs or turned from pestering Mrs. Rivers to rub Abby’s legs and yowl mightily.

“Ah, good of you to come,” Mrs. Rivers said. “Supper is almost ready.” She tossed a piece of fish from the pan onto the stone floor. The cats fell on it.

Abby’s stomach churned.

“I was going to wash my face,” Abby said. She held up the pitcher. “And I don’t know how hungry I am—”

“Nonsense, you must eat. You are paying for it. Ah, water! I don’t know why I didn’t think of it.” Mrs. Rivers took the pitcher from Abby and carried it to a bucket by a door leading to a small garden. She began ladling water as she chattered, “As to food, in these trying times, what with winter upon us, a wise traveler eats when the opportunity presents itself. I’m preparing my special buttered beans.”

Abby didn’t know if she’d like buttered beans. And while the advice was that nourishment was needed, she didn’t know that she could manage one bite surrounded by cats. She took the pitcher from Mrs. Rivers, saying, “I’ll see how I feel later.”

“Very good, missus,” Mrs. Rivers said.