12
Theodora’s hands clenched into fists. “What are you doing here?”
“Waiting. You took your sweet time.” He nodded to the small clock that sat on the mantel. “The lot of you are a guid half hour late.”
“We stopped for tea, and—” Her gaze narrowed. “What do you mean by ‘late’?”
“You tell me; you’re the one who stopped for tea.” He tsked. “What sort of elopement is this, lollygagging at every inn along the way?”
“It would be a much better elopement if you wouldn’t attach yourself to it!”
“I suppose ’tis fortunate you dinnae see roses from the coach window, or you’d have stopped for those, too.” His blue eyes were alight with amusement. “Tell me, are you lingering in the hopes you’ll find a way oot of your predicament?”
“I’m not in a ‘predicament.’ I’m eloping.”
“With a chaperone.”
She plopped her hands on her hips. “You know Lance doesn’t wish to put my reputation in jeopardy. He’s a good man.”
“I never said the squire was anything else. I just dinnae think he’s the mon for you.”
That gave Thea pause. Too much, in fact. She wished she could ask Conner what he meant by that, but he didn’t need more encouragement to flash his opinions.
She sniffed. “You don’t know what’s good for me and what’s not.”
“Och, Thea mine, I know you as weel as I know my own heart.” He stood in a smooth, powerful movement, and his voice deepened with intimacy that instantly made her picture rumpled sheets and hot kisses.
She fought a shiver and wondered how he was able to make her think of anything so decadent, and with only a few words. “Sadly, you don’t know me at all.” She couldn’t keep the bitterness from her voice.
“I know enough. You’re nae the meek, mild sort, but are filled with fiery spirit. Which is how I know the type of mon that wild heart of yours needs.”
Oh, she did have a wild heart. And it beat harder every time she saw Conner, which she hated. “It’s not your job to know what’s best for me, so I’d appreciate it if you’d stop thinking about it.”
“I worry that you will nae consider what you’re aboot until ’tis too late, and the knot tied. The squire is nae braw enough for a feisty woman like you.”
“I’m not feisty,” she snapped, and then bit her lip when he laughed.
“Lass, I would nae have you any other way.”
If she could control her own emotions, he’d not have her at all, but it was harder than she’d imagined. He made it worse by constantly baiting her, too.
“Think on it, lass. ’Tis obvious you’re nae in a hurry to reach Gretna. Why is that, do you think?”
“I asked that we go faster, but Lance felt it would be a strain on your team. He was determined to follow some itinerary MacLeish had set and—” The itinerary. She narrowed her gaze on Conner. “That’s what you meant when you said we were late. It was you who made that itinerary. I suspected as much.”
“ ’Tis possible I knew of it.”
“I’m sure you did,” she said with awful scorn.
Conner’s eyes twinkled at her over the rim of his glass. “Och, ’twas for the squire’s benefit. At breakfast this morning, he said he was nae familiar with the way and seemed worried aboot it, so I decided to help the puir mon.”
“Help him, or help yourself?”
“That’s one and the same, love. I’m surprised he told you of the schedule; I expected him to take credit for knowing the guid inns and such.”
“He’s not that sort of man.” She retrieved her bonnet from the floor and brushed it off. “I daresay every one of your servants are in this plan of yours to make our trip to Gretna last days, and perhaps weeks longer than it should.”
“Weeks? Lass, I’m guid, but I cannae make the road longer. You’ll be there before the week’s oot, with my itinerary or nae.”
“A week! Blast you, Conner!” Yet a voice inside whispered, Only seven days and I’ll be married. A few extra days would not be amiss . . . Her throat tightened and she had to fight the very real desire to spin on her heel and run away from everything—the elopement, Lance, her chaperone, Conner, all of it.
Conner watched her, all humor gone. “Och, lass. You’re frightened.”
She was, but she could not—would not—admit it. Whether or not she married the squire, she could not succumb to Conner. That would be trading one mistake for another. Oh God—is marrying Lance a mistake? Do I already know it?
Aware that Conner watched, she said with spirit, “I’m only annoyed about spending an entire week locked in a coach, traveling on heaven knows what sort of roads.”
“It’ll be guid for you. You’ll be forced to spend the week with the squire and you’ll soon realize how unsuitable he is for a woman such as you. The question is, will you be able to overcome that pride of yours and put an end to it? Or will you marry him just to spite me?”
“My choice of husband is no concern of yours.”
His brows lowered. “You’ve been my particular concern for years; I’m nae stopping now.”
“Me? You never paid the slightest heed to me before now.”
“Of course I’ve paid you heed! We are friends, lass.”
Friends. Never had a pleasant word caused so much pain. “That doesn’t give you leave to interfere with my life. You have gone too far.”
“You make it sound as if I had evil intentions, when I’ve naught but the best.”
“Don’t you?”
“Nae that I’ll admit to,” he retorted. A wickedly handsome smile touched his mouth as his gaze dropped to her lips. “I’ll be glad to prove my ‘intentions,’ should you wish.”
“No, thank you.” Heart racing, she backed away a bit. She regarded him for a long moment, then sighed. “I’m through arguing about this with you.”
“Guid, for there are other things we could be doing.” He took a step toward her.
She threw up a hand. “Oh no, you don’t! Tell me the truth. You never planned on going to Wentlow Manor, did you?”
“If you decide to have your squire at the end of this trip, then I’ll be left with nae other choice.”
“Then why are you here now?”
“ ’Tis the best inn for miles. Besides, since I’m also heading north, I might as weel travel with you and your party as go alone. When I meet my wife-to-be, the lovely Lora, I will—”
“It’s not Lora.”
He pursed his lips. “Letty?”
She narrowed her gaze.
He sighed and rubbed his chin. “Lucille?”
She frowned.
“Lilah—”
“For the love of— It’s Lydia, you fool!”
He shrugged. “One is the same as the other.”
She hated hearing him say that. It was a pity he wasn’t in love with one of the Lambert sisters. If he were, her own feelings would die a natural death.
Wouldn’t they? Or would she be tormented by the thought of him in love with someone other than her?
The sudden ill feeling in the pit of her stomach irritated her, as did the realization that Conner was right: she was indeed questioning her decision to marry Lance. With each passing moment, once-quiet whispers of doubt grew louder, and she was finding it hard to ignore them.
Restless, she moved to where the decanter sat on the tray. The tea hadn’t warmed her as much as she’d hoped.
“Aye, a wee dram will hit the spot.”
Conner’s voice was so close behind her that she jumped and moved away, oddly uncomfortable in her own skin.
He poured her a finger’s width of the amber liquid and handed her the glass. “Something to hold off a gray day.”
She took the glass and sipped the whisky. Instantly, her throat and chest warmed. “Ah. It’s good and smoky.”
“So ’tis.” He took a sip, satisfaction plain on his face. “Just the way I like it—silky smoke, with just a hint of a bite.”
She paused, her lips on the edge of her glass. Was he still talking about his whisky? Or something . . . else? Her mouth went dry, and she moved to the fireplace as if seeking warmth rather than running from it. “I cannot believe you followed us here.”
“I did nae follow you at all; I’ve been here at least an hour, perhaps longer. I did nae meander on my way, as you’ve been doing.”
“I wasn’t meandering.”
His eyes were the color of a flower she’d once seen on a mountainside in France, a pure, pale blue that could appear both icy cold and burning hot. Now, they burned, and she wondered if the whisky had added to it.
“Are you afraid of marriage?”
The abrupt question took her aback and she had to think about it for a moment before she answered. “I’m not afraid, no. Unlike you, I welcome the thought of marriage and sharing a home with someone who will make the same commitment. I’m sure that’s something you would find onerous.” She didn’t know why she’d added that last bit, but it had slipped off her tongue as if waiting for the opportunity.
“I would like a home,” he said, surprising her. “Eventually.”
She raised her brows. “And when will this magical ‘eventually’ occur? You’re more at home on a ship than elsewhere.”
He looked down at his glass and swirled his whisky. “Do you know why that is?”
She realized with surprise that she didn’t. “Pray tell.”
“When my parents died, we were living in our family seat, Lennoxlove House.”
“Where Jack resides now.”
“Aye. When he’s home, which is nae often.”
“None of you seem fond of staying in one place,” she observed.
“We all had the same experience. After our parents died so suddenly, our lives changed quickly, too much so. Anna had just turned eighteen and she went from being a sister to being a parent, and the only one, too.”
“I cannot imagine how difficult that must have been.”
He took a drink of his whisky, his voice husky. “Anna decided we would stay at Lennoxlove, keep the same tutors, the same servants, and live as if things were the same.”
Theodora saw the shadows in his eyes and said softly, “But things weren’t the same.”
“Nae, and my brothers and I, being too young to understand, were angry. We were angry at fate for stealing our parents, angry at them for leaving, angry with our lives for being less, and angry at Anna for nae fixing it.” He grimaced, his tone heavy with regret. “We dinnae make it easy on her and became wild. And when she grew stern over our actions, it made it seem as if we had nae only lost our parents, but our sister, as weel.”
“You were all hurting.”
“We were raw, cut to the bone with sadness. The whole house seemed like a prison of memories that hurt, a sister who was forever unhappy, and the three of us lost . . .” He sighed. “It was a difficult time.”
“Anna loved all of you.”
“As we loved her, but we dinnae understand her anger. It was just so . . . big.”
“She was trying to keep you safe.”
“Desperately, but that never occurred to me, or to the others. And as soon as we were auld enough, we left one at a time, and never returned. I know now that broke Anna’s heart, but all I could think was that finally, I could start anew, withoot being tormented by my sister’s fury, or the weight of memories of those I’d lost.” He sighed, long and deep. “I was a bloody fool.”
His regret was so evident that Theodora looked away to give him some privacy, dropping her gaze to her glass of whisky, the amber color reflected by the fire. In all the times she and Conner had talked, he’d never mentioned this, which had to have been one of the worst times of his life. She took a sip of whisky to loosen her throat. “I’m sure all of you did the best you could. It was a terrible situation. There was no making it right.”
He finished his whisky, and his gaze found hers. “Perhaps. But now you know why I feel more at home on a ship. There are nae memories from the past lurking oot on the waves. Only the present and the future, for you’re always moving forward. You cannae go backward in a ship.” He flashed a lopsided grin. “At least, nae on purpose.”
“So you ran away from home when you were a youth, and you’ve never stopped since. And now the worst place you can imagine is a home.”
“Och, I would nae say that. The sea called and I answered. There is something glorious aboot sailing, Thea. Something freeing and—” He shook his head in bewilderment. “I cannae describe it.”
“You would never be happy on land.”
“Perhaps nae,” he answered honestly. “I cannae imagine it, although there’s something to be said for having a home port. Anna’s death has brought that fact to light, among others.”
“A home port is not a home.”
“Nae.”
Thea finished her whisky and held out her empty glass.
He fetched the decanter and refilled both of their glasses, putting a goodly measure in his glass, and a small splash in her own.
She might have protested, but then decided she would be foolish to drink too much while alone with Conner. She took a fortifying sip of the whisky, her chest tingling with the warmth. “We are a pair, us two. Opposites in many ways. You went to sea because your house no longer felt like a home; meanwhile my parents moved so often that while we had a house, we never stayed long enough to make it into a home. Not really.”
“You’ve always enjoyed traveling.”
“We didn’t travel, we moved—sometimes for only five or six months at a time, depending on Papa’s assignment. We always stayed in excellent hotels and apartments, as you know, but they were never home. We always had someone else’s furniture, someone else’s beds, someone else’s gardens and curtains.”
“I never thought of how disruptive it must have been—you always seemed to enjoy it.”
“It was what we did.” She gave a small laugh. “I carried just one picture from place to place with me. Do you know what it was of?”
He shook his head, watching her with an intent expression.
“Cumberbatch House.”
“Ah. So you took your home with you.”
“I tried to.” A pang of homesickness made her sigh. “Whenever we were home for a month or longer, I’d plan the gardens, and—if it were spring—I’d put every spare hand to work at the planting.”
“Derrick always complained about that. He said he was forced to learn how to starch his own cravat.” Conner grinned.
She sniffed, unimpressed. “He never had to iron anything, and he knows it.”
“He always complained a great deal more than was necessary.” Conner took a drink of his whisky, watching her over the edge of the glass. “You said that you planned the garden every year. Even for years when you were nae home?”
“Even then. If I wasn’t home, as was usually the case, I’d write instructions to the gardeners.” She thought about all her garden plans, each one carefully drawn out so there could be no question. “Each year since I was seventeen, I’ve added something new to the garden.”
“New flowers?”
She chuckled. “Nothing so mundane. New flower beds, of course, but also a new path, a folly, a fountain.” She finished her whisky and put her empty glass on the mantel. “Do you know how many times I’ve seen my creations in full bloom?”
He shook his head, watching her with such intensity that for the moment, it felt as if the two of them were the only people in the world. “I’ve seen the gardens at Cumberbatch House bloom only twice. Twice, Conner. And one of those times, we came home in the spring only because Mama grew ill and couldn’t stay in Venice because it was so damp.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “That explains why you’re so determined to have your own establishment.”
“It’s more than that.” She lifted her chin. “I want a home. And a family, and children, two dogs, a cat—I want it all. I want to go to sleep at night in the same bed, and never wonder if tomorrow will be the day we must start packing to leave. I want comfort, and familiarity, the beauty of sameness each and every day, and most of all, I want a man who craves those same things.”
“I see.” He rubbed his jaw, looking both rueful and irritated. “We are somewhat opposite, are we nae?”
“Too much so. All the things you dislike, I want.”
His brows locked. “Really? If that’s what you want, this staid life with no changes, then why this leisurely elopement?”
She threw up her hands. “Why are you back on that? I told Lance we should travel faster.”
“Pssht. If you’d wished to, you could have convinced him to forget the damned schedule and race to Gretna Green. He’d do anything you want, and you know it. But you dinnae try, lass. Admit it.”
A vague disquiet held her tongue. Had she truly made an effort to hurry their trip, or had she merely fumed inside her own head? Was Conner right? Was she glad for the lagging pace of the journey? She grimaced. “Blast you. Stop trying to confuse me.”
“There’s naught confusing aboot it. You’re lying to yourself aboot that lug of a squire. You may wish to settle doon and have a home and family, but nae with him.”
Conner was right. But the man she wished to settle down with had just explained to her all the reasons why he would never do so. Her heart felt as if a band had tightened around it, and her eyes grew blurry with tears. To hide them, she retrieved her glass and went to the decanter and poured herself another small measure. When she’d had a sip and trusted herself to speak again, she said in a cool tone, “I’ve made up my mind.”
“Oh?”
“Marriage to Lance is the answer to everything.” Almost.
Conner scowled. “Fine! Wed the lug. I’ve said all I will on it, since you will nae listen.”
He stalked to the window, leaving a teasing trace of cologne in his wake, and she found herself breathing it in deeply.
She’d danced with most of London’s eligible bachelors and had been exposed to a wide variety of colognes. But not a single soul had worn such a delicious-smelling cologne as Conner. It suited him—spicy and tantalizing, it drew one forward. She had but to smell it and her mouth went dry, and the most improper thoughts stirred. She gulped the final bit of her drink and set the glass on a side table, her gaze never leaving him.
What might he do if she followed him to the window and kissed him? Would it shake him as much as his last kisses had shaken her?
She had a sneaking suspicion he would not only welcome her efforts, but would willingly take them further. The thought left her as breathless as if she’d just run up a flight of stairs, and she found herself unable to look away from his mouth, shivers racing through her.
One step . . . and she would reach him.
Two steps . . . and she would be in his arms.
Three steps . . . and she would capture that fascinating mouth and kiss him as senseless as he’d kissed her.
Yet it would only make me more miserable than I am. He’s not for me—not now, not ever.
Conner turned his head, surprising her. His gaze locked with hers.
For a moment, time stood still. Then he dropped his glass to the floor and strode to her, closing the space between them with impatient, furious strides. He reached her and stopped, his boots touching hers, her chest a mere inch from his.
He put his fingers under her chin, tilting her face to his, his blue eyes warm as he—
Lightning flashed, followed by a deep, long rumble of thunder. A hard rain burst from the sky and drummed against the roof and windows.
Conner, about to scoop Thea to him for the kiss she so obviously wanted, cursed as the inn door banged open and the squire’s voice could be heard in the hallway.
Thea spun on her heel and hurried to the door, her face flushed in the most adorable way.
One more second and I’d have had her in my arms, and would have convinced her to wed me. One damn second! Conner clenched his fists against the ache of his empty arms.
Thea stepped into the hallway. “Oh no! You’re both so wet! Come in here. We’ve a fire.” She backed into the room, Lance appearing, his coat dripping on the rug as he assisted a sopping-wet Jane into the room.
The small woman hung on to his arm, her hair flat to her head, her soaked gown dragging about her feet, shivering as if she’d fallen into ice water.
“Jane, you poor thing!” Thea slipped an arm around the younger woman’s narrow shoulders. “You’re shaking like a blancmange.”
The squire wiped water from his eyes, concern plain on his face. “The lightning frightened her.”
“I-I don’t know wh-why l-l-lightning affects m-me so,” Jane said piteously, her pale lips quivering.
“It frightens me, too, when it is this loud.” Thea rubbed Jane’s hands between her own. “You’re so cold! Lance, where’s her trunk? She’ll need dry clothes.”
“Spencer was unlashing it from the coach when we were in the stables.” Lance’s gaze fell to Conner, who was just retrieving his glass from where he’d left it on the floor. The squire gave a visible start. “Douglas? Where did you come from?”
“Happenstance. We’re both going north and this is the best inn in this part of the countryside, so—” Conner placed his glass on the side table beside Thea’s discarded glass. “Here I am.”
Lightning flashed, followed by a loud crack of thunder. Jane gave a startled squeak, and Lance’s attention instantly returned to her. “She’s still shaking.”
“Come.” Thea led the poor woman to the chair by the fireplace.
Conner said shortly, “I’ll fetch my coat from my room. It will warm her.”
“My pelisse is closer,” Thea answered. “It’s hanging in the hallway. We’ll wrap it about her until her clothes are brought in.”
Conner moved toward the door, but Lance was faster. “I’ll get it.” He strode out and returned with the wool pelisse.
Thea tucked it about the trembling young woman. “There. Let me stir the fire—”
Thunder crashed again, rattling the windows as lightning flickered wildly. Jane shrieked and clutched Thea close.
Thea put an arm about the girl’s shoulders. “You’re safe here.” The thunder rumbled again, although not so loud. “This storm came so quickly! Did you see it roll up when you were outside, or were you surprised by it?”
“It came very suddenly!”
“Which made it all the more frightening, I’m sure. I used to be terrified of lightning.”
Jane looked at Thea. “But no more?”
“Not as much, although loud thunder still makes me jump. Once, when I was living in Spain, a fierce storm came through town. It crashed and rumbled so loudly that the floor shook, and the spire on the local cathedral was struck twice.”
“Oh no!”
“Oh yes! Once it was over, I was certain that when I looked outside, nothing would be left standing. But everything was still there—just freshly washed. Spain was like that, always unexpected. Have you ever been?”
“No, but I’ve wanted to visit.”
“Oh, you should go one day—it’s lovely.” Thea began to tell tales of her time in Spain, her voice low and soothing.
Conner watched, admiring the way she distracted Jane from the storm. Thea continued talking over the thunder, wondering aloud whether a hot bath could be had from the inn, how lovely the lemon cake they’d had earlier had been, and other inane comments.
Jane shivered less and less, while the squire hovered nearby looking concerned.
Conner added wood to the fire, thinking regretfully of the kisses he’d been denied because of the blasted storm chasing Lance and Jane indoors. With a sigh, Conner shoved his uncharitable thoughts aside and tugged the bellpull.
The small, thin maid appeared and bobbed a curtsy. “Yes, sir?”
“Is Miss Simmons’s bedchamber ready? She was caught in the rain and will need the warmth of a fire and a warm bed.”
“Oh yes, sir. Her room is ready, and a fire has already been lit.”
“Guid. I daresay the ladies could use a pot of hot tea, as well as a bath if that’s possible.”
“Indeed it is. It won’t take long, as the fire was already stoked for supper.”
“Thank you. That will be all, then.”
The maid hurried off and Conner turned back to the small group, well rewarded when Thea smiled at him. It was a sweet smile, a mixture of gratitude and appreciation.
He felt a surprising rush of—happiness? Pleasure at being useful? He didn’t know, but the strength of his reaction shocked him.
Lance rubbed his hands together, looking eager, obviously wishful of being of some use. “We must get Jane into some dry clothes. She’ll catch an ague if she stays as she is.”
Thea looked surprised. “An ague? Please don’t even suggest it! She’s not shivering now, for the fire is warm and my pelisse is quite thick.”
“You never know when an ague might come upon someone, especially if they have weak lungs. My younger sister Lucy has weak lungs, and being wet is a sure path to a dangerous infection.”
Conner noted the frustrated look Thea sent the squire before she said in a bracing tone, “I’m sure Jane is in no danger of infection. It’s merely a little rain.”
Jane, her hair slicked back from her heart-shaped face, her lashes spiked about her wide eyes, looked more like a kitten than ever. “I’m afraid the squire is right. I have weak lungs. This could well develop into something harsher.”
Lance said in a bracing tone, “You need a mustard plaster. The smell is horrendous, but they do wonders at holding illness at bay.”
Jane looked hopeful. “Do you think one could be made?”
“I will see to it,” he said. “I have a recipe for a most excellent one.”
To Conner’s amusement, Thea was looking from Lance to Jane and back as if they’d suddenly sprouted extra heads. “Jane, surely a mustard plaster won’t be necessary. You’ll feel much better after a hot bath.”
“Oh, you don’t know. I catch every sniffle that comes by. It’s one reason my sister-in-law wished me gone. She felt I’d brought a number of infections into the household which threatened my nephew’s health.”
Footsteps sounded and everyone turned toward the door just as Spencer appeared carrying a small, worn trunk.
“Jane, there are your clothes.” No one looked happier about the arrival of Jane’s trunk than Thea. “Spencer, carry that to Miss Simmons’s bedchamber. The maid knows which one it is.”
“Aye, miss.” Spencer disappeared from sight.
“I’m being such a bother,” Jane said, obviously miserable. “I wish I could just change into fresh clothes and dry my hair, and all would be right. But I know how things are with me; if I get even the slightest bit wet I start to sneeze, and nine times out of ten it goes straight into an earache, and nothing will help but sleeping with a roasted onion tied to my head.”
Thea blinked. “Did you say a roasted onion?”
Lance looked at her with true astonishment. “Surely you’ve heard of that remedy.”
“No. Never.”
“Everyone knows that if you’ve an earache, a roasted onion will draw out the illness.” When Jane sent him a thankful look, he added in a gentle tone, “My youngest sister has the same issue—if the air’s the slightest bit damp she takes ill, and often has an earache. A roasted onion tied to her ear clears it each and every time.”
“It’s an old cure and quite dependable,” Jane agreed. “I did not believe it would work myself, until I’d tried it.” She sent Thea an envious look. “I daresay you rarely take ill.”
It was true; Conner could count on one hand the number of times he could recall Thea’s being ill. She was an amazingly strong woman, in body as well as spirit. She’d take well to the sea, or she would if she didnae have her heart set on establishing herself in a home and never traveling again. For some reason, the thought depressed him. He’d never thought about Thea’s being at sea, but he could easily imagine it now that they’d traveled together.
“I’m sadly robust,” Thea told Jane. “My father says I have a stronger constitution than anyone in my whole family, as I ride so often, and in all weather.”
“For once, I find myself in agreement with your father,” Conner said.
“A momentous day indeed.” Thea sent him a humorous look as she rose and assisted Jane to her feet. “Since your bedchamber is warm, we will get you out of those wet clothes. Hopefully the hot bath Mr. Douglas kindly requested will arrive soon.”
“That would be lovely.” Jane pulled the pelisse tighter. “Do you think we might see if there’s an onion to be had in the kitchen? Just in case. I fear if we do not bespeak it tonight, it might be made into soup or something not as helpful.”
“Of course. I’ll ask the maid when she brings the bath.” Thea slipped her arm around Jane’s shoulders.
As she reached the door, Conner said, “I’ll bespeak dinner.”
She smiled. “Thank you.” The warmth of her look made his chest tighten in the oddest way.
Conner had captained ships over wild seas, fought in blood-soaked wars, and captured numerous enemy ships after deadly battles. He’d been rewarded for those efforts with awards, gold, decrees, and even a bit of fame. Yet he would trade them all for just one warm look from Thea.
Bloody hell, what’s happening to me? He rubbed his neck, wondering at the power of Thea’s glance as Lance followed her and Jane to the door, offering a steady stream of advice that included vinegar-soaked handkerchiefs to calm a cough, extra blankets to induce a sweat, and laudanum in warmed milk to encourage sleep.
Conner had a moment’s satisfaction when he noted the irritated set to Thea’s mouth. Och, lass, if the man irritates you now, he’ll infuriate you after you’re married.
Lance hovered in the doorway, watching the women until they disappeared up the stairs. Then he sighed, leaning heavily against the doorframe. “I hope Miss Simmons will recover.”
“She’s nae yet ill,” Conner pointed out in a dry tone. “She’ll be better after she’s warmed up and had a hot meal.”
Lance frowned. “You do not understand the effect of cold on someone with naturally weak lungs.”
That was probably true. “Still, Thea has the situation well in hand. You know how she is—once she sets her mind to something, nothing will stand in the way, nae even weak lungs. She’s a force of nature, that one.”
Lance stiffened. “I beg your pardon, but Miss Cumberbatch-Snowe is a wonderful woman.”
“I meant what I said as the highest compliment.”
“It sounded like a critique. Women were not designed to be ‘a force of nature.’ ”
“Mayhap nae the women in your life, but in mine they havenae been so weak.”
“They are the weaker vessel. And while I don’t know about women who sail, I know without hesitation that Theodora is a lady first and foremost, and would never wish to be described in such a way.”
Conner didn’t believe that for a second and it took every ounce of self-control he had not to say so. He had to settle for a terse, “Only Thea knows how she wishes to be described.”
Lance nodded stiffly, but after a moment, he sighed. “I’m sorry if I’m overly protective. I’ve never been engaged before and I’m not sure what’s—how I’m supposed to— Not that Thea would like it if—” He caught Conner’s amused gaze and slumped, a sail suddenly without wind. “She can be prickly at times.”
Well. That was something. “We all are.”
“True. Theodora is sometimes a little lacking in empathy. And she can be out of sorts at times, although that’s to be expected, considering the stress our elopement has put upon her tender sensibilities.”
Tender sensibilities? Bloody hell, had the man carried on even one real discussion with his intended?
Lance waved a hand. “But that’s what a husband is for. Females tend to be emotional, and it is up to us to calm their many fears and protect them from the harshness of life.”
Conner chuckled. “Laddie, I fear you’re in for a sad surprise. Thea will nae welcome someone protecting her, nae withoot her say-so. Hell, she barely allows me to offer oop advice, and those are just words.”
Lance’s smile never wavered. “Things are different between Theodora and I, aren’t they, seeing as we’re to be married.”
“There’s that.” The words burned Conner’s throat, and he wished he had whisky to wash the hurt away.
“Douglas, forgive me for saying this, but I still find it odd that you stopped at the same inn as we did.”
“Mere coincidence,” Conner lied without a pause.
“Perhaps, although . . .” Lance’s eyes narrowed. “Are you following us?”
“I was here first,” Conner pointed out. “Which means the real question is: are you following me?”
Lance flushed. “Of course not! I didn’t know you’d be here.”
“Ah. Then I was right to begin with; mere coincidence.”
The squire nodded and then frowned, realizing the conversation somehow wasn’t going the way he wished, but was unable to see his way clear.
Conner sighed. The squire’s reasoning was lacking, a major weakness for a man hoping to be a life mate for a lively lass. Och, Thea, when will you see this man is nae right for you?
That thought was followed by a more chilling one: What if you dinnae realize it until it’s too late?
His first impulse was to tell Thea every ridiculous thing the squire had said so far, but he immediately realized the error of that. There was no telling Thea anything; she’d regard anything Conner told her with suspicion.
I must make certain she sees and hears Lance’s foolishness for herself. Conner thought of the week of travel they faced, and swallowed a scowl. A week might not be enough. He wished he could lengthen the trip two entire weeks, or even three, but if he drew it out too much, Thea’s irritation with him would overshadow her calm reason.
The most Conner could do was add three, perhaps four, more days to the journey. And to make certain that Thea got the true measure of her intended, from now on, Conner would be there every damned step of the way to subtly highlight the man’s flaws.
But that presented another problem. He now had less than two months left to marry, and he couldn’t do both—continue on this journey to prevent Thea from making the biggest mistake of her life, and secure a bride of his own.
To be honest, he was quickly coming to the dismaying conclusion that there was only one lady of any quality he was willing to marry—Thea. He thought of the reasons she’d said she wished to marry, the desire for commitment, and sameness, of hearth and home and a husband who valued those things as well. Conner wanted none of it. He’d been looking for a marriage that would allow him the freedom to continue his life upon the sea, not banish it.
There was no bridge between their two visions of the future.
So that is that. She will never be mine. Never. It was a startling, depressing thought.
And neither would his inheritance. So be it, then. The bloody Campbells can have it. Odd as it was, he regretted losing Thea more than the inheritance. Och, Anna, you would be surprised to know that, wouldn’t you?
“Mr. Douglas?”
Conner realized he’d sunk into a brown study, and the squire was now looking at him in concern. “You look distressed. Are you worried about Miss Simmons, too?”
Conner forced a smile. “Nae. I’m sure Thea has the sickroom well in hand. I was just feeling the weight of my thoughts. It’s been a long day, has nae it?”
“It has.” Lance raked his wet hair from his face. “I should probably call for a bath as well. I don’t wish to take ill during my own elopement and I definitely feel as if I might be catching a chill.”
“Och, you need a wee dram, that’s all.”
The squire brightened. “That could be just the thing.”
It certainly could. Conner retrieved his glass and carried it to the sideboard. He splashed whisky into his glass and a clean one. Then he brought them to the fireplace and handed one to the other man. One could never know too much about one’s enemy. “It’s Meldrum’s, the best there is.” Conner held up his glass, admiring the amber liquid. “Slainte.”
“Slainte.” Lance took an experimental sip. “That’s quite good.”
“So ’tis.” Conner sat in a chair and nodded to the one across from him. “Have a seat. You’re in nae hurry, are you? It will be some time before you can call for a bath, as the kitchen maids will be busy filling one for Miss Simmons.”
“True.” Lance took the chair, looking about the parlor as if seeing it for the first time. “MacLeish was right; this is an excellent inn.”
“One of the best. So, squire. Tell me aboot this farm of yours.”