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 Dillingsworth.”

“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.”

“If he wanted me so badly, why did he put an end to our betrothal?” Clover began gently to wash off Ballard’s face and was pleased to see that, under all the dirt and smeared blood, his bruises were not severe.

“Money, lass. Ye kenned that before. Thomas wants and needs Sarah’s money. He also wants ye to share his bed. He thought he could have both, but I mucked up his grand plan. Do ye ken, when I refused to sell him the stallion, he nearly ran me and Grendall down with his carriage as he left.”

“He certainly sounds like a madman, yet why did I not see it in him before?”

“Ye were nae alone with him. There was always someone with ye, and he kens to behave weel before others. The airs and games one indulges in during courtship can hide a lot of ills. Lass, can ye check that other knot on my head? Just to the left. I dinnae think the skin was split, but it willnae hurt to be sure.”

“They hit you twice?” Clover eased her fingers through his thick hair until she found another swelling. “It appears all right, with no blood or excessive swelling.”

“When the rogues got me down, they gave me a hearty kick in the head to keep me down.” He ran a hand over his rib cage and winced. “The cowards kicked me a few times.”

“Take off your shirt and let me have a look.” She hastily swallowed a gasp when he tossed his shirt aside, for the bruising along his ribs was startlingly livid. “That will have to be seen by a doctor and he might as well look at those head wounds to see if a stitch or two is required.”

When she started walking away, Ballard grasped her arm. “We are nae done talking.”

“You can talk until he arrives and, if that is not enough, after he leaves.”

Clover tugged free of his hold and went to ask her mother to send for the doctor. She kept her conversation with her mother brief, although clearly Agnes could hardly contain her curiosity. Clover wanted to judge Ballard’s truthfulness without other opinions influencing her, so she hurried back to her room.

“Mother has sent Molly after the doctor,” she announced as she found Ballard still sitting tensely on the bed. “There is no telling when he will get here, though.” She sat on the edge of the mattress and faced him. “Now you can finish this wild tale of yours.”

“‘Tis the truth.”

“I am still undecided about that.”

He described how the men had left him in the alley and he had staggered home. The look on her face told him she was seriously considering the truth of his tale. When even Lambert and Shelton suspected he had been trysting with Sarah, he had realized how bad his absence had looked. It was understandable that Clover was reluctant to believe his farfetched tale. He was not pleased when the doctor arrived just as he finished, for he was not sure such an interruption was in his best interest.

Clover left Ballard with the doctor and stepped out into the hall. She found herself smiling faintly when she heard Ballard’s muttered curses at the old doctor. She prayed she was not being a fool, swayed by passion and fine green eyes, but she did believe her husband’s story.

The moment the doctor left, Clover went back into the room. She winced in sympathy when she saw Ballard. He had been stripped to his drawers, a white bandage was wrapped around his head, and another bandage covered his bruised ribs. He looked a little pale.

“The doctor says your ribs are only bruised, not broken,” she said, settling herself on the end of the bed.

“That old coot was so rough, he practically finished the job Thomas started.”

Clover ignored that muttered complaint. “He also said you are to rest for the next few days and that I can remove the stitches from your head wound in ten days.”

“I will take it easy after tomorrow. I mean to greet that bastard Thomas when he comes to the door tomorrow morning.”

“Surely he will stay away now. He must know you have escaped.”

“I cannae believe those two rogues will tell him they failed to do what he paid them for. I have Shelton and Lambert watching for Thomas. If anyone warns him I am still alive, we will ken it. I just hope the doctor’s presence willnae make Dillingsworth suspicious.”

“You mean to thrash Thomas again.”

“Aye, I do.”

“Well, I do not believe the doctor would approve.”

“I dinnae give a tinker’s damn what the doctor thinks. I do care what ye think. Ye have nae said ye believe me.”

She sighed and shook her head. “I am torn. ‘Tis such a wild tale, yet I cannot believe you would concoct it out of thin air. But it raises so many questions.”

“What sort of questions?”

“How carefully could Thomas have thought this out? There are a great many holes in his plan.”

“Enough to sail a clipper through,” Ballard agreed. “I believe he or one of his hirelings was spying on Grendall, for he kenned I saved the horse. The rogues who set upon me thought it odd that they were paid ere they had done their work.”

“What did Thomas plan to do when questions were asked about your death?”

“I suspect he thinks no one will care. I would be just another backwoodsmon killed outside a dockside tavern.”

“And, at the moment the fact that you are my husband would make little difference.”

“Those who suspected something wouldnae speak out. Grendall made that plain enough. Thomas has a tight grip on this town.”

“But he is short of funds.”

“Probably because he lent out so much to tighten his hold on the people here. Grendall said a lot of people could be ruined if Thomas called in the debts owed him. Now, I ask ye again—do ye believe me?”

“Yes, I do. When he arrived on our wedding day, Thomas revealed how low he can sink. He thought he was offering me such a treat, that being his whore would be so much better than being your wife.” Clover shook her head. “It is hard to understand how I could have been so blind to his true character.”

Ballard started to reach out for her in sympathy, then cursed as pain gripped his ribs, echoing the throbbing in his head. As he sagged back against the pillow, Clover scrambled over to his side. He gave her a weak smile.

“I was going to give ye a wee bit of sympathy,” he said.

“‘Tis not I who need sympathy. And you plan to thrash Thomas tomorrow? In your bruised state?”

“After a good night’s rest I can manage Thomas Dillingsworth.”

She could see by the stubborn set of his jaw that he was not going to be convinced otherwise. Ballard would confront Thomas tomorrow even if someone had to hold him up. Clover sighed and lay down beside Ballard. Men were strange creatures.

“I was afeared ye wouldnae believe me,” Ballard murmured as he slipped an arm around Clover and sighed when she cuddled up to him.

“It took some convincing,” she admitted. “I will be glad to leave this town. Everything I believed about it and the people here has been turned on its head. And the way Thomas has acted makes it clear that it would be best to get as far away from him as possible.”

“Aye, ye can soon leave it all behind ye.”

Clover stood at the parlor window staring out at the road. She had not slept as well as Ballard had. He had the peace of mind that came from knowing exactly what he faced and how he would confront it, but that calm had eluded her.

When Thomas’s carriage pulled up outside, she sighed with regret. She had hoped Ballard was wrong about Thomas’s plans. She felt the worst of fools, blind and naive, for having seriously misjudged her former fiancé.

The rap on the front door made her wince. It was difficult to stay where she was and let Molly answer the door, but she had promised Ballard. Molly would come and get her. As she talked to Thomas, Molly would fetch Ballard from the kitchen. Clover suspected that Ballard wanted her to talk to Thomas so that she could see the final truth of his tale for herself. She dreaded the revelation.

“Miss,” Molly called from the parlor doorway, “that man is here.”

“I know.” Clover started slowly toward the door, reluctance weighting her every step. “I just hope I can play the game and not give in to the urge to punch him right in the nose.”

“Best to leave that to Mr. MacGregor.”

Clover nodded and stepped out into the hall. She spared one brief glance toward Molly, who hurried off to the kitchen. She hoped Ballard would not leave her alone long with Thomas. It would be impossible to hide her anger for any considerable length of time. Besides, Thomas’s arrival had given her all the proof of his perfidy that she needed.

Thomas was pacing the front hall and lightly slapping his gloves against his breeches. The bruises from Ballard’s last beating were still faintly visible on his face. For reasons she could not grasp, the sight inspired her to remember things about Thomas she had chosen to ignore and forget—things she had shrugged away as mere rumor and unfounded gossip. The one that came to mind most clearly was the tale of John Reardon.

John had trounced Thomas at cards and had been found beaten nearly to death the next morning. Clover doubted that Thomas had done it himself, but she now strongly suspected he had ordered it done.

She took a deep breath, set her face in an expression of forlorn hurt, and cleared her throat, drawing Thomas’s attention. “Good morning, Thomas. I am surprised you would show your face here after your behavior on my wedding day.”

He took her hands in his. “I had to come, Clover. Once I heard the news—”

“What news?” Clover briefly feared that Ballard’s plan to fool Thomas had also fooled the town, and now a new scandal was brewing around her.

“Come, Clover, there is no need to maintain this dignified facade. When I heard that that backwoods oaf had gotten himself killed in a drunken brawl, I had to come.”

“Why?”

“Why? My dear girl, since that callow dog has been murdered, you are again in dire straits.”

“Ah, and you are here to rescue me.” Clover felt a strong unladylike urge to spit.

“My offer is still open. I realize it is not what a finely bred girl like you deserves, but my hands are tied. I assure you, however, that I will be a husband to you in all but name. This will not be some passing fancy where, in a year or two, you will again find yourself alone. Even if we no longer wish to reside together, I will see that you are well taken care of.”

“She already has someone to take care of her,” drawled Ballard as he stepped up behind Clover.

Clover was startled by Ballard’s sudden arrival. She had not heard a sound until he spoke and slipped his arm around her shoulders. Despite her curiosity about how Ballard could come out of the kitchen and move along the hall like a wraith, unseen and unheard, she turned her full attention back to Thomas.

He looked as if he had seen a ghost. His fair skin had turned a sickly gray. It took only a moment for him to collect himself, however, and his abrupt mood change made her uneasy. He glared at her. Still, she thought she saw fear lurking behind his anger.

“You might have told me that he had not died, Clover,” Thomas snapped.

She shrugged. “You gave me little chance to speak. You were too intent upon your own plans.” She shook her head. “I do not know which makes me sadder—that I misjudged your character and actually contemplated marrying you, or that after we have known each other so well, you would plot to hurt me so badly. In my time of need and grief you have thought only of yourself.”

“How can you accuse me of selfishness? I did it all for you, to help you.”

“Help me? Depriving me of my lawful husband, making me the laughingstock of the town, and setting me up to be your whore—all that was intended to help me? God save me from such help.”

“You ungrateful bitch!” Oblivious of Ballard’s presence, Thomas took a threatening step toward Clover.

“Ye are a little too free with your insults, laddie,” said Ballard as he moved to put himself between Thomas and Clover. “Molly has some tea waiting for ye, Clover. I will join ye in a moment.”

“Yes, send the child away,” Thomas hissed. “Those two fools failed to end your wretched life, but I will not.”

“Let us see if ye have the backbone to live up to your threats.”

“Please,” Clover began, afraid for Ballard.

“Go to the kitchen, Clover,” he ordered.

After briefly hesitating while she debated the wisdom of meekly obeying Ballard’s command, Clover went to the kitchen. Thomas was eager for a fight. In truth, he was eager to kill her husband. There was nothing she could do. Ballard had to defend himself in any way he could.

“Here, miss,” Molly greeted her as she entered the kitchen. “Sit and have some tea.”

Clover smiled faintly as she sat down at the table, in one of the few remaining chairs. “Where are my mother and the twins?”

“Mr. MacGregor sent them off to the shops.” Molly served Clover her tea, then sat down to have a cup herself. “He felt it best that they were gone when that rapscallion came a-calling.”

“He was probably right. I just hope having people thrashed in my front hall does not become a habit.”

“I should not think so, miss. This ought to send that low rascal scurrying back to his hole for good and all.”

Although she was not so sure, Clover did not argue. “You need not keep calling me miss, Molly. It feels strange for you to do so when you are in fact my teacher.”

“I was brought up in service, and ‘tis hard to break old habits. But I will try to be less formal. Ah, I just heard the front door shut. I think your man has done his business.”

Molly had barely finished speaking when Ballard strode into the kitchen. Clearly, yet again, it had been an unequal fight, for Ballard looked none the worse for wear. Clover noticed, however, that as he sat down to accept Molly’s offer of cider, he winced. He might not have gained any new injuries, but he had no doubt aggravated his old ones. When he caught her looking at him, he cocked one eyebrow, and she got the distinct impression that he did not want her to ask about his wounds. She idly wondered how long she would be able to obey that silent command.

“Did you take Thomas over to Sarah’s again?” she asked.

“Nay. I tossed him out into the street. He had come in his carriage so his driver picked him up. Last time I had a thought to keep a scandal from brewing, but I didnae care this time. We willnae be here more than a day or two anyway.”

“A day or two? But the doctor said—”

“To take it easy. ‘Twill be an easy ride down the river and my kin can manage the wagons if need be. The boat will leave soon and there willnae be another for a few days, not one that can carry all of us and our baggage. Do ye have any reason to linger here?”

“None.”

Clover was a little surprised at how quickly and firmly she answered him. Although she was somewhat apprehensive about going to Kentucky, she had no qualms about leaving Langleyville. It was no longer home to her. Friends and family had deserted her. It was a little frightening to move to a place most people still considered a wilderness, but there was nothing left for her here.

“No.” Clover gave a short, mildly bitter laugh. “It was not easy to get Papa’s ‘oldest and dearest friend’ to let us stay in this house for as long as we have. He will be pleased if we leave early.”

Ballard reached out to pat her hand. “Money can turn many folk mean-spirited.”

“True enough.”

Ballard finished off his drink and stood up. “I dinnae have to meet the barge captain until this afternoon, so I think I will take myself to bed for a wee rest.”

“How wise,” Clover murmured and met the look he slanted her with a sweet smile.

“Ye could come to tuck me in.”

“I think you are quite old enough to do that yourself.”

“Weel, ye could check my bandages.”

“If they are good enough to fight in, they are good enough to rest in.”

“Aye, ye are probably right.”

After Ballard left, Clover lingered over her tea. It was a minute or two before she realized that Molly’s gaze was fixed on her.

“Is something wrong, Molly? Are we to start lunch already?”

“No. Lunch is cold meat, cheese, and bread. I was thinking that you ought to be looking in on your man.”

“Why? He has gone to take a rest. I am sure he does not want me pestering him.”

“Miss, I was wed for six years. Injuries or not, if a man like your Mr. MacGregor goes up to bed in the middle of the morning, ‘tis because he wants his wife to come up and give him a bit of attention.”

Clover blushed. “But he is hurt.”

Molly shrugged as she collected the teacups and moved to the sink. “I was certain I heard a hint or two. And no man is ever too hurt, not unless he be near death. It won’t do any harm to have a peek, will it?”

“No.” Clover stood up. “I am sure he will let me know if he wants to be alone.”

“He will. That be a plain-speaking man and you will be fair glad of that someday.”

A nod was all Clover gave for an answer. Although it made her blush, she was glad of his plain speaking. It would help her grow to trust him.

As she entered her bedroom she found it hard to repress a smile. Ballard was half undressed and sprawled on top of the bed. The slow grin he gave her told her that Molly had been right—the last thing Ballard wanted was a rest. She strolled over to the bed.

“You look very comfortable, sir,” she said, and laughed when he tugged her into his arms. “I thought you wanted to rest.” She kicked off her shoes and settled more comfortably in his arms.

“Weel, I seem to be having a wee bit of trouble feeling sleepy.” He slid his hands beneath her skirts and untied her garters.

“You need tiring out, do you?”

“Before I can have me a lazy sleep in the middle of the morning? Aye.” He began to undo the buttons that ran down the back of her mint-green dress. “Now that ye are here, I have an idea or two.”

“I just bet you do. What if someone comes looking for us?”

“Now, who would be so all-fired cruel as to disturb a pair of newlyweds?”

“I have no idea, but I locked the door just in case.” She laughed along with him.

“Now, lass, I think ye may have to give me some help here, seeing as I am a poor injured soul.”

“Since you are injured mayhap you should not be contemplating such a strenuous activity.”

“I said I was injured, lass, not dead.”

She laughed but then grew serious, placing a light kiss on his mouth. “I am sorry for all the trouble I have brought you.”

“Ye mean Thomas?” When she nodded, he cupped her face in his hands and gave her a slow, gentle kiss. “Ye didnae cause that trouble, lass. ‘Tis all that fool Dillingsworth’s doing. Now, I can take care of me and mine, so dinnae fret. We have seen the last of that fancy-dressed skunk.”

Clover appreciated his effort to comfort her, but she could not share his confidence in their safety. Deep down, she suspected they had not heard the last of Thomas Dillingsworth.