Nothing but Trouble (14 page)

He stroked her, long and deep, until she was thrashing again, reaching for the peak
. She wrapped her legs around him again, inviting him deeper. His own limit was growing near, but he held off, needing her to come before him. He brought his fingers between them, rubbing the sensitive nub in front of her entrance, now slick with moisture. Her hips bucked, and he stroked her faster, inside and out. Her eyes closed and her back arched as she came undone, pulsing and throbbing around him.

Just in time
. Graeme threw his head back as he found his own release, coming long and hard, before the strength in his arms gave way and he collapsed, gathering her to him and rolling to the side.

Slowly, their breathing calmed
. He buried his face in her still-damp hair, amazed at his own reaction to their lovemaking. Amazed by the deep sense of belonging that filled his chest. He would never grow tired of this woman. Fate had handed him a gem indeed.

Charity
fell asleep curled against Graeme’s chest. Secure, she slept dreamlessly, awakening only when the tantalizing smell of roast pork wafted up from the dining room of the inn. Her stomach growled. Or maybe it was Graeme’s. With her body pressed so tightly to his, she couldn’t be sure. They were both famished.

Clothing, however, was a problem
. She wasn’t wearing any. The thought of putting on that same blue theater gown…ugh. Fortunately, Graeme peeked outside the door to find two parcels neatly wrapped in brown paper. The good Mrs. Partridge had delivered. One package contained a simple but well-made cotton dress of cheery yellow. A shift accompanied it, along with a lace garment she lifted from the paper. It spilled over her arms, soft as baby’s breath, and sheer as mist. There could be only one purpose for such a thing. When the older woman had suggested a nightshift, Charity had pictured something far more practical. Silly her. Smiling, she tucked it back in the paper.

The second package was much smaller, but brought Charity just as much relief as had t
he sight of fresh clothing. She turned away from Graeme as she unwrapped the paper, hating herself for needing it, hating herself for lying to Mrs. Partridge about having cramps, yet terrified of ruining her chance to hold onto Graeme’s love. Even though he hadn’t spoken the words, she’d felt it in his touch. The paper fell away and she released a breath she hadn’t known she was holding. The shameful answer to her secret prayers. How ironic that, months after her rescue from that dark cellar with a single vial of poison as her only companion, the relief from such memories came in a similarly-shaped vial.

Chapter
10
:

In which Charity learns that the honeymoon is sometimes the first true test of strength in a marriage.

Hiding in plain sight
. It was so deceptively simple. Jasper Morton was proud of himself for thinking of it.

Escaping to faraway lands, like André Denis had done, might have been safer
. But that required the ability to ease smoothly between cultures. Jasper didn’t have that. He was a two-bit thief and he knew it. A common thug.

So he’d headed north.

Jasper didn’t especially like life on the run. He hadn’t really liked being a spy, either. But the problem with being a petty criminal was, sometimes you fell in with folks even worse than yourself. He’d done a few odd jobs for André Denis, and before he’d known it, he’d been sucked in. He had little understanding of the world of politics and intrigue. But he understood orders. And Jasper had a talent for making things, and sometimes even people, disappear.

When their little group of informants had been compromised last year, they’d split and run
. He’d heard about the ones that got captured. Not too hard to get the news when every inn across the country was abuzz with it. He hadn’t even considered trying to follow Denis. For one, Denis held an “every man for himself” kind of philosophy when it came to taking risks. He’d have sold out Jasper in a heartbeat if he thought it would save his sorry butt. It would have been only too easy, because Jasper knew he’d stick out like a sore thumb anywhere outside the British Isles.

North, though still risky, was his best option
. Smaller towns, where everyone knew everyone. But there was also a certain stoic acceptance among the locals. If a man kept to himself, earned his keep, and didn’t bother anyone, he was unlikely to be bothered in return. Jasper was counting on that. Most people who moved north had some kind of story. Bad debts, family trouble, you name it. It wasn’t too hard to come up with one of his own. He barely even had to lie. He just had to focus on the rough upbringing rather than the string of crimes that followed it.

There was plenty of work to be had, even if it came mostly in the form of odd jobs
. For the first time in years, it was honest work. There were no quiet knocks on the door in the middle of the night. 

Jasper had almost grown comfortable
. He could forget the past, and the past would forget him.

On the way from
Gretna Green to Leventhal House, the Maxwell family seat, Charity and Graeme took a more leisurely pace. They stayed an extra day at The Dog and Anvil, allowing Charity to shop for a few additional provisions. She needed stockings, a sturdier pair of shoes, and a few other things, knowing that her trunks might be weeks in arriving.

Once on the road, they stopped often to stretch their legs and take in the countryside.

Charity peppered him with questions, and Graeme told her all about his lands and the people of his home.

“Many of the crofters are related
. Have been for generations.”

“A clan?”

“At one time, yes. Most of the clans have broken up now, what with the crofters heading south and to the coastal towns for work. I can’t compete with the railroads and the coal mines, but my family and our lands have fared better than most. Many of the families date back to the clan days.”

She could sense his pride in this.

“We have excellent weavers, and the wool from the Leventhal sheep is always in demand. Add in a bit of mining and stone masonry, and we manage to find steady work for all who wish to stay.”

It was so odd to hear a noble speaking in such terms
. In Charity’s experience, noblemen spent their time on leisurely pursuits. Gaming and spirits, and occasionally horses. She knew of a few who’d invested in shipping ventures, but hardly any who were directly involved in how their people made a living. It sounded almost like a feudal system, but in a good way.

Only once did Chari
ty slip up. The second night after leaving Gretna Green, they stayed the night at a well-traveled inn—one very accommodating, but less luxurious than the others they’d stopped at.

From their room, the occasional murmur of voices could be heard, and outside, the arrival and departure of riders
. Charity made sure to take her medicine before bed, attending to that and other necessary matters in privacy. But it wasn’t enough. In the dark of night, a rider pulled up in front of the inn—someone the staff at the inn must have recognized and deemed unwelcome. A man shouted. Another angry voice responded. Argument ensued.

Charity snapped from slumber to panicked action
. “They’re coming! Hurry, hide.”

The only window looked down on the yard, where
two dark figures gesticulated angrily. Too dark to make out their features. Not too dark to know they were angry. Angry was bad. Scary. No escape that way. She would have to hide.

“
What is this place?” she worried aloud.

Her body moved sluggishly, her limbs and mind still woozy from
laudanum. Her head swung wildly as she searched for a hiding place. How had she forgotten to make a plan? She always had a plan.

She crawled under the bed, squeezing as small as she could, hugging herself
, unable to distinguish whether she shivered more from chill or terror. Maybe they wouldn’t find her. Maybe.

Only when Graeme’s head poked over the side of the bed did reason penetrate the haze of fear
. “Charity?”

Graeme
. Husband. Traveling.

Flaming hot embarrassment erased the chill
. She was naked and shivering under a bed in an inn in Scotland.

“I—I thought someone was robbing the inn
. I heard men arguing.”

“My
sweet, come back to bed. You are safe here. I don’t know what the argument was, but it seems to have ended.”

She listened
. It was true. The night outside had fallen still again. If she strained her ears, she just make out hoof beats in the distance as the unwelcome rider retreated.

She wedged herself back out from under the bed, painfully aware of each inch she had to scoot until she could climb back under the covers like a normal person.

Her eyes welled with tears. Her husband must think her such a fool. He pulled her over to rest her head on his chest. The tears spilled over.

“Don’t cry, love.”

“I—I’m sorry. I overreacted.”

He stroked her hair
. “Maybe a little, lass.”

“I was frightened
.”

“T
his is a strange bed, and you have had a tumultuous few days.” He made the excuse for her. Made it sound almost reasonable. “You must have just been too tired to think straight.”

Too tired to think straight
. Yes, that was it
. If only that were
all
of it.

“You needn’t worry
. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

She nodded against his chest
. Oh, how she wanted that to be true. He didn’t seem too worried about her irrational behavior. She didn’t deserve such a good man for a husband.

Graeme’s breathing soon returned to the even rhythm of slumber, but Cha
rity stayed awake in his arms. He’d excused her this once, but what would happen the next time? Or the time after that?

She would have to do better
. Try harder. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes.

They continued on
toward Leventhal House the next morning, and the strange episode was not mentioned again.

Charity knew when they finally got close
to Graeme’s homeland, because his whole body shifted to alertness. He kept an eye on the window, drinking in the sight of his lands.

Curious, she knelt on the opposite bench, her nose pressed to the glass
. The sky had grown steadily darker since they’d set out that morning. Thunder rumbled in the distance. The shrubs and trees growing at the edges of the road were foreign to her. Wild, stalky plants with odd-shaped pods, dotted here and there with pale blooms. The hills rising in the distance, covered in moss and rock, seemed to impose their greatness over anything humans might try to construct. Charity shivered, hoping the people would prove friendlier than the land.

To Graeme’s eyes, his
homeland had a wild, primitive sort of beauty. Untamed. He observed his new bride. The place suited her perfectly, though her scrunched-up nose and distinctly unhappy pout suggested Charity might not agree with his assessment. He reminded himself to give her time. She’d already adjusted from a dream of a long engagement and large wedding to an engagement that lasted only long enough for their coach to carry them over the border, and a wedding with a single, near-stranger as the only guest. She’d come through with remarkable good grace. He could afford to give her more time on the many other adjustments their marriage would require of her.

No London girl
knew what to think of the highlands upon first sight. To her, the surroundings would seem strange, the customs foreign. In time, though, the strangeness would wear off, and the charm would shine through. He hoped.

Leventhal House had been built to blend with the landscape, using rock quarried locally
. He heard Charity’s indrawn breath as it came into view.

“Welcome home, my lady.”

She tore her gaze from the window. “It’s huge.”

He laughed
. “You said the same thing last night.”

Her eyes popped wide and the first smile he’d seen in hours cracked her face
. She batted at him with a pair of gloves she’d been clutching. “That is too bad of you, Lord Maxwell.”

“Well,
Lady Maxwell
, the manor house is of good size for a reason. My ancestors had a mind that we Maxwells would reproduce rather liberally.”

Her mouth fell open
. “My lord!”

“
I think ten or twelve is a reasonable goal. How soon do you think we will get started?”

By the time the coach stopped and Charity took her first steps onto Maxwell land,
Graeme had her giggling so hard she had a hard time keeping upright.

Her infectious laught
er rang out, signaling their arrival to all. The staff rushed to greet them, and soon the normally-stoic faces of the servants were wreathed in smiles as well.

It was not, perhaps, the most
dignified
way to introduce one’s new wife and mistress of Leventhal House, but Graeme had a feeling it was, in this case, the
right
way. There was nothing his home needed more than good cheer.

“Uncle Graeme
!” Nathan came running pell-mell from the grounds behind the house, ending with a flying leap into his uncle’s arms.

“Oomph
.” Graeme exaggerated his stagger as he absorbed the little boy’s weight. “You’ve gained a full stone, I’d wager.”

He giggled
. “I have not.”

He set the boy down
. “Nathan, I’d like you to meet my new wife, Lady Charity.”

He settled down, eyeing her with a mix of interest and trepidation
. “A pleasure to meet you, Lady Charity,” he recited, as though he’d practiced.

Charity stooped to his level
. “No, the pleasure is mine. Would it be all right if you call me Aunt Charity?”

Nathan nodded
. “Aunt Charity.”

“May
I hug you?”

He shrugged
. “I guess so.”

Graeme knew his nephew
was trying not to get his hopes up, but the smile tugging at his mouth gave him away. As Charity gave him a hug, the boy looked up at him and mouthed “she’s pretty.”

Graeme nodded and winked
. “I am a lucky man, don’t ye think?”

He introduced her more formally to the butler, housekeeper, and other staff, then insisted on giving her a tour of the house himself
. Nathan tagged along for most of it, before finally getting bored and running off to play.

Graeme seized the opportunity to finish the tour by stopping to kiss Charity in each and every room.

The rain that had threatened earlier had now begun to fall in earnest, bringing a chill over the burgeoning spring. Graeme led Charity back to the library, which boasted three walls stacked floor to ceiling with books and other oddities, and a fourth with large windows overlooking the grounds. A fire burned merrily in the hearth, dispelling the gloom outdoors.

“Ooh, I think this room is my favorite,” she exclaimed, moving over to stand by the fire.

“It is?” He pulled a face of disappointment.

“You don’t like it?”

“Oh, I like it, lass. ‘Tis only that I’d hoped the bedroom would be your favorite.”

She laughed and teased him right back
. “The bedroom? With that huge, enormous bed? I cannot possibly imagine why anyone would need such a monstrously large bed. Unless your ancestors were giants. Were they?”