The Unexpected Wife

 

Ashton leapt to his feet and whirled as the wardrobe door slammed back on its hinges and a slim lad tumbled out amid a pile of clothes. He reached the wardrobe in three long strides, grabbed the boy by the back of the collar and jerk him to his feet. The boy’s cap flew from his head and a wealth of auburn curls tumbled down over slim shoulders.

Ashton stared in surprise at a comely lass with large blue eyes framed by thick fringes of lashes.

She stared back, rosy lips parted in shock.

He dropped his gaze in a quick inspection. With the way her breasts swelled above her slender waist and the way her hips filled those tight breeches, it was a mystery why she’d attempted to pass for a boy. Surely, not a soul alive was fooled by the poor disguise.

“Who are you?” He shook her arm.

Something she clutched slipped from her grasp, struck his knee, and landed by his boot. His father’s watch, and his maternal grandfather’s before that. “The watch will one day be yours,” his mother had told him many times.

Guilt stabbed. The image of his father’s bloody body rose before he could slam the wall down on the memory.

He pursed his lips and forced his attention onto the woman. “So, a thief?”

“Heavens, no.” Her blue eyes further widened. “I came to return it, my lord, I swear.”

Bloody likely. He released her arm. “Ah, yes, how silly of me. One hides in wardrobes when they return stolen items, do they not?”

The lass raised her chin and licked her lips. “Nae, my lord, it is a child’s blunder.” Her voice cracked. “A misunderstanding—”

“I don’t believe you.” He grabbed her arm and turned toward the door. “Out you go.”

“Nae, Ashton, have her stay.” Stirling rose from his chair. “I will vouch for her.”

Ashton froze, his grip tight on her slender arm, and stared at his friend.

Stirling’s gaze wasn’t on him. “Lady Ella.” Stirling courteously dipped his head, then redirected his gaze to Ashton. “She speaks the truth, Ashton. Her wee brother, Cyril, confessed his mischief to me only moments before I joined you.”

Lady Ella? Ashton allowed his hand to drop to his side and again regarded the young woman.

“It’s Ella Wetherby now,” she whispered. “I may be a lady no longer, my lord, but I’m certainly no thief.”

Stirling joined them, a gleam of humor in his eye. “This is a case of your reputation preceding you, Lord Strachan. What lad could resist a dare to steal a trinket from a man such as yourself? Another lad put him up to it. He succeeded, and is quite proud of himself, despite the fact his sister discovered his folly and insisted they right the wrong.”

“I’ll see him properly punished, my lord,” Ella hurriedly added. “Please, accept my apologies on his behalf. He is so very young and far too trusting, I fear. He didn’t think of it as stealing, so much as…” Her voice faded away.

After Anne and her constant manipulations, he was surprised to realize he believed the sincerity in the lass’s tone. He took in the sharpness of her cheekbones and the blisters on her hands. A lady no longer? The condition of her hands agreed, but the refinement of her words and gestures confirmed that once, she had carried the title. He expelled a breath. Obviously, her tale was a tragic one, but he hadn’t time to hear it. His world was quickly crashing down around him.

“Very well.” He stepped back. “Think no more of the matter. You may go.”

“Hold a moment.” Stirling startled him with a deep, warm chuckle. “Bless me, but I see the hand of Fate here.”

Hardly in the mood for mystery, Ashton shot him a scowl, then angled his chin toward the door and repeated, “Lady Ella, you may go.”

“No, Ella, stay. Ashton, she’s your answer.”

Ashton sighed. “What the hell are you blathering on about? It’s too late. It is done. Finished.”

“You did ask that I find you a wife.” Stirling smiled. “A wife would keep you in the race, would she not? Especially, a wife such as Ella.”

“A wife?” Ella blurted.

“In name only,” Stirling quickly explained. “Please, hear me out. I’ll see your interests secured. I’ll pen the contract myself. Surely, a position as Ashton’s wife is preferable to washing clothes. Cyril told me you work nigh on sixteen hours a day. Think of this as an opportunity for the young lad. We’ll have Ashton send young Cyril back to school this very week. In fact, I’ll escort the lad there myself.”

Ella’s mouth clamped shut.

A wife in name only. “Clever,” Ashton granted. Still… “Stirling, Duncan’s wife is pregnant with twins.”

“Are you certain?” Stirling asked.

“What—” He broke off and gave a slow nod. “There is no guarantee Duncan told the truth.”

“It certainly wouldn’t be the first time he lied,” Stirling said.

His grandmother was a shrewd woman. She wouldn’t take Duncan’s word. At the very least, she would wait until Linda gave birth. That would give him time. He looked at Ella. Marriage would meet his grandmother’s most pressing demand. As for the heir? He’d worry about that once he got through the night’s announcement. For the first time that day, a shred of hope loosened the tension in his shoulders.

The young woman frowned. “This is too sudden—and frankly, it’s mad.”

“Not as mad as it may appear,” Stirling said. “Surely, Ella, you know me well enough. I’ve proven more than once that I have only your best interests at heart.”

She hesitated, and fear struck Ashton’s heart. What if she said no?

She nodded.

“For your assistance to Lord Strachan, he will not only provide Cyril a proper education until he gains his majority, but he will provide you a townhouse and a yearly sum for its upkeep—for life,” Stirling suggested. “Let’s toss in a coach and four, as well.”

Ella’s long lashes fluttered.

“Stirling, a word?” Ashton cleared his throat and with a vague nod in Ella’s direction, led Stirling into the hall and closed the door. “A rather generous offer. If I fail to secure the inheritance, that bloody might take all I possess.”

Stirling smiled. “You won’t fail. Not with Ella. I promise you.”

Ashton studied him. “Do you know something that I do not?”

“Surely, you can’t expect me to answer such a question,” his friend replied in amusement.

“Who, exactly, is she?”

Stirling clapped him on the back. “She’s the answer to your prayers. A genteel lady, well educated, and more than equipped to play the part. Trust me.”

“I’d find you a damn sight easier to trust if my entire means of survival wasn’t at stake,” Ashton retorted. “I don’t recall hearing of the Wetherbys.”

“Have you not?” Stirling queried.

Discomfort gnawed at Ashton’s gut. “What are you hiding?”

“Come now, I’m insulted at the level of your suspicion. Call it instinct, shall we? You have nothing to fear. Your grandmother will heartily approve the match,” Stirling assured. “I wouldn’t have said the same for Anne.”

Ashton raked a hand through his hair. From the sheer unexpectedness alone, he was inclined to reject the hairbrained scheme, but what choice had he besides walking away? He’d come so far. He gave a curt nod.

“Right then,” Stirling said. “I still have Ella to convince and a contract to write. Let’s assume I’m successful. I will speak with the priest about the license. You find a dress. Unless, that is, you prefer the lass meet your grandmother in breeches.”