5
Muttering curses that no well-bred woman should know, Theodora limped up the stairs and into the bedchamber, where her empty portmanteau sat drying in the sunlight. Tears blurring her vision, she slammed the door and headed toward the faded brocade-covered chair that sat beside the narrow bed.
“Fool!” she snapped at herself as she stormed past the mirror. “That’s what you get for speaking to that man at all! What was I thinking?” She brushed her trembling fingers over her lips, still swollen from their kiss. Why, oh why, had she allowed him to kiss her? And worse, why had she kissed him back?
She couldn’t allow it to ever happen again. Ever. She’d make certain she was never again alone with him, even for a second. He challenged her self-control in ways she’d never thought possible.
She was done with Conner Douglas.
D-o-n-e.
She dropped into the chair, revealing one booted foot and the other covered with just a wet stocking. Blast, I left my boot in the parlor. For some reason the sight of her lonely, bootless foot made her eyes fill with tears.
The entire day had been a disaster; one deep disappointment after another. The elopement was a shambles and now, after that silly kiss, she was beset with fresh doubts about her venture. Was she doing the right thing? This morning, marriage had seemed like a practical path to ensuring her future. But after that kiss, she found herself wondering about Lance . . . In all the times they’d been together—while courting, planning their elopement, and even while traveling alone here—he’d never once attempted to kiss her. She’d ascribed it to his innate politeness, but with the memory of Conner’s passionate kiss warm on her lips, she now found herself wondering why Lance hadn’t done the same. Didn’t he want to kiss her? Was there no passion between them at all?
Though her marriage to Lance would be a marriage of convenience, that didn’t mean she didn’t want passion. She’d always assumed that would develop naturally after they grew closer. But try as she could, when she thought of careful, cheerful Lance, she couldn’t imagine the instant, raging heat she’d experienced with dashing, dangerous Conner.
She brushed her lips with her fingertips, amazed they still tingled. She wanted—
No. Don’t think about that. Conner is not good for me, and his actions today proved it. How could he be so cruel, asking her to marry him just to gain an inheritance he didn’t even want? Meanwhile, Anna—
Theodora stifled a sob as without warning, the deep shock she’d felt on hearing about Anna’s death returned. From their first meeting, she and Anna had liked one another. Distance had kept them from becoming fast friends, for they’d only met whenever Anna happened to be traveling with Conner, which happened less and less once she’d married. But Theodora had always hoped that if she and Conner marr—
And there I go again, blast it! Conner and I will never marry. If we did, it would be a disaster for us both. Theodora pressed her fingers over her hot eyelids and remembered how he’d thought her decision to change her life had been based on the desire to avoid living with her own family because it was “boring” being tied to the same people all the time. Damned by his own words. Why, oh why, did he have to show up at my elopement like this? I will not allow his presence to make me question my decision to find a future with Lance.
But as irked as she was with Conner, she was far more upset with herself. When he’d kissed her, her body hadn’t been the only thing to react. Her heart had leapt with blinding joy, and hope had flared to life. He wanted her. So many of her daydreams had been centered around exactly that scene: where Conner rode hell for leather after her, threw himself before her, declared that he wanted to marry her, and swept her into his arms.
Of course, in her dreams, he’d done so out of love. Never has anyone received a more selfishly motivated and ruder proposal! I deserve better.
But that was apparently far more than Conner could give, and Theodora was left feeling as if she’d lost something yet again. Her eyes burned as she fought the urge to give in to a good, solid cry.
She sniffed and lifted her chin. She was through crying over Conner Douglas. But his appearance had made one thing very clear: if she wished her arrangement with Lance to succeed, she would have to guard her heart much, much more closely. I can do that, she told herself firmly. It’ll be easier once Conner’s gone.
Her only regret was that she wouldn’t be nearby as he attempted to deal with Anna’s death. Even when he wasn’t speaking of his sister, Theodora could sense his sadness, and her heart ached for him. Anna would hate to see him so . . . Oh Anna!
The tears finally came, running down Theodora’s face and blurring her vision. Unable to fight it any longer, she dropped her face into her hands and wept. She wept for what had been, for what would never happen, for the new baby without a mother, and for the desolation she’d seen on Conner’s face.
Finally her tears subsided, leaving her with a sniffly nose and burning eyes. Sighing, she arose and washed her face in the water from the flowered pitcher on the washstand near the window. She patted her face dry, and took the opportunity to undo her hair and tug a comb through it.
She’d just finished pinning it up when the sound of the inn’s door made her peer out the window. In the inn yard below, Conner was motioning for a postboy to come over. He engaged the youth in earnest conversation, pointing down the road in the direction he’d arrived.
The postboy nodded eagerly, and Conner placed a coin into the lad’s open hand. Obviously elated, the lad pocketed the coin, set his hat more firmly on his shaggy head, and then took off, loping down the dirt road.
What’s that about? Theodora watched the lad until she could see him no more, and then returned her gaze to Conner. He was walking back to the inn, a thoughtful expression on his face.
He disappeared as she heard the door open and then close yet again, although she could see him plainly in her mind’s eye, walking down the hallway, entering the parlor, his broad shoulders filling the doorway, his pale blue eyes deepened with his thoughts as—
She closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against the window, the smooth glass cooling her heated skin. Why, oh why, does he affect me so?
She tried to focus instead on Lance, how polite he always was, how enthusiastic he was about their coming marriage, how involved he was with his sisters and mother—all the things that had convinced her to accept his proposal. It took several minutes, but slowly her confused feelings for Conner untangled a bit. They didn’t disappear, but they eased until she could almost pretend they didn’t matter.
She was just about to turn away from the window when the heavy creak of a wagon caught her attention. Lance was returning, and behind him in the wagon bed were two stable boys holding on to the broken curricle wheel. The wagon came to a stop and Lance jumped down. He spoke to the stable boys, and one of them scrambled into the seat and drove the wagon toward the stables. The innkeeper came outside and judging from the way Lance gestured toward the wagon, they were talking about the needed repairs. Then Lance turned toward the inn door.
The door Conner had just walked through.
Her heart leapt to her throat. Lance will go to the parlor looking for me, and find Conner instead!
She bit her lip. Surely Conner wouldn’t say why he’d come . . .
Or would he? She pressed her fingers to her temples. When had Conner ever needed a reason to do anything outlandish or unexpected? No one enjoyed shocking people more. Blast it, I was never going to speak to him again. She scowled. There was no help for it.
Muttering about uppity Scottish pirates, she limped toward the door to confront the damned lout once again.
Conner leaned his arm against the mantel and stared at the crackling fire, wondering what he should do next. He wasn’t used to not having his direction in a mission, and he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that he was sailing with a broken rudder. Should he send word to Thea that he wouldn’t leave until she came downstairs and allowed him to explain things? Or should he wait for the squire and set the man straight about what would not happen? The only thing Conner knew was that there would be no elopement, not while he had breath left in him. He owed it to her, if not her family.
And perhaps to himself, too. He rubbed his mouth, remembering their unexpected passion. Thea was even more suited to be his wife than he’d realized, which made her flat “no” all the more regrettable.
What a blasted coil! One he’d made himself. Had he been a few days earlier in delivering his proposal, he’d have been able to prevent Thea’s precipitous elopement and none of this would have been necessary.
His jaw tightened. He couldn’t change the past, but he could certainly change the future. If only he knew what had led Thea down this crazy, unlikely path to begin with. What was she really after? She’d said she’d wanted her life “to change,” but in what way?
Frowning, Conner kicked absently at an ember that had fallen from the fire, sending it back into the flames. She was not a romantic, nor was her situation at home so dire that she would have felt compelled to marry a lowly squire she barely knew. Whatever her reason was, she hadn’t been inclined to share it with him. In fact, judging from her expression when she’d quit the room, she was of a mind to never speak to him again.
He rested his elbow on the mantel and placed his chin in his hand. Perhaps it was something as simple as boredom. He understood the emptiness that could leave; he always felt adrift if he were too long away from the sea. Even now, he longed for the roll of a ship’s deck under his feet, the feel of the fresh sea breeze rather than the stuffy confines of an antiquated inn. Poor Thea had been becalmed all of her life. She’d traveled, aye, but as she’d pointed out, never to a place of her own choosing. She’d been moored by the expectations of her father’s position, and landlocked by her mother’s oversight.
Perhaps Thea’s motives were as simple as the fact that she yearned for the freedoms that came with being married. Although that didn’t explain why she’d accepted a man who was likely tied to his farm and lacked the social connections that could give a woman those freedoms. That would be changing one prison for another, and Thea was too smart for such a move.
Conner frowned. It had to be something else, then. But what? “Women!” he grumbled. “ ’Tis easier to read the intentions of a nor’easter than it is to follow a woman’s thinking. They never go from one point directly to the next, but wend their way through so many thoughts, back and forth, oop and down, that they drive a man mad.”
All he knew was that his offer had missed the mark. Perhaps it was the way he’d worded his offer, but how else could he have said it? He would never tell Thea falsehoods, even if it was for his own benefit. She deserved the truth. Besides, she knew this wasn’t a matter of the heart, and had he pretended it to be so, she would have seen through him in an instant.
No, he was here with a business proposition, one they’d both benefit from. And if she’d given him a chance to explain those benefits, he was certain she’d have accepted his proposal.
Perhaps his error hadn’t been in the tone of his offer, but in his timing. She’d been exhausted, bruised from the hardships of her botched elopement, aching from her injuries, and cold and dirty from being dunked in a ditch.
That must be it. He sighed in relief that the answer might be something so simple. I was a fool to bluntly tell her my errand right away. I should have waited until she’d recovered from her journey. Worse, I added to the situation by telling her about Anna.
His chest tightened at the thought, and he took a deep breath in an attempt to wash away his pain. I can see why a person may nae be in the mood to hear a proposal of any kind hard on the heels of such a dreadful announcement. Bloody hell, I have botched this proposal weel and guid.
He had to give Thea time to recover her usual calm. Meanwhile, he would stay nearby so that when the time came, he could present his offer again, but in a more well-thought-out manner.
Hmmm. What reason could he make for attaching himself to the elopement party? With the squire’s coach wheel broken they would be stuck at this inn for a while, perhaps even days. Conner could make use of that. Good use.
Conner glanced around the unsatisfactory parlor and shook his head. Thea deserved better than this. If he’d been forced to bring her to such an unworthy inn, he would never have left her alone, wet and bedraggled, bruised and ill, while he went out to oversee the repair of the curricle. There were servants for that, and she shouldn’t have been left to nurse her pain alone.
He would have stayed with Thea. He’d have sent for a physician to see to her bruises and wounds, made sure she was warm, and ordered her some hot tea and a nice luncheon. Then he’d have had the landlady find a local laundress to clean and press at least one of Thea’s gowns so she’d have something warm and dry to wear. Oh squire, the opportunities you’ve missed. No wonder Thea had been so irritated by the time Conner had caught up to her.
Which gave him hope. Not that he would ever give up; he was a Douglas, by God, and the family motto wasn’t Jamais Arriere for nothing. He’d be damned if he’d walk away while Theodora blithely raced to her doom.
A wagon rumbled into the inn yard and Conner turned toward the window. Seconds later, the innkeeper hurried down the hall ordering one of the servants to rush below stairs and tell Cook to ready the meal as “the squire has returned.”
Conner adjusted his cravat, and then heard someone hurrying downstairs. Ah, Thea. That’s drawn you out, has it? The sound of her footsteps caught him, for she was still limping, but there was something else, too . . . was she wearing only one shoe? Surprised, he looked at the chair beside his and caught sight of Thea’s boot, which made him smile.
Yet even limping and one-booted, she was rushing. You dinnae wish me to have a moment alone with your intended, do you? What is it you fear, wee one?
Thea limped through the doorway.
He bowed, noting that she’d managed to put her hair somewhat in order, although it made the scrape on her jaw more visible. “I’m glad you returned. I’m—”
“We will not discuss what happened,” she announced coolly, although her cheeks were flushed. “It was a mistake, and we will never mention it again.”
“Lass, we cannae pretend it never happened. I still wish to marry you and—”
“Don’t! If you continue like that, then I must ask you to leave immediately.” Her head up and her shoulders back, she looked as spirited as a frigate dancing before a storm, but there was a brittleness to her expression that gave lie to her stern gaze. Worse, now that he saw her in the light, there was no mistaking the faint redness to her eyes. She’s been weeping.
Regret caught him and his boldness sank beneath a wave of concern. “Fine. As you wish. I will nae say another word aboot this . . . nae today, anyway.”
“Not ever.”
“So you dinnae wish your squire to know aboot my proposal.” He raised his brows. “That’s why you came limping so quickly doon the stairs.”
She flushed a deeper pink. “There’s no need to tell him about this nonsense.”
“Och, lass, and you walked on that hurt ankle, too.” Conner grimaced. “I truly dinnae wish to cause you discomfort. You’ve had enough trouble today withoot me adding to it.”
Her eyes darkened, her expression losing some of its rigidity. “Thank you. This day has been—” Her eyes shone with fresh tears as she shook her head. “I’m sorry if I made a scene earlier; you surprised me, that’s all. And Anna was always—” Thea’s lip quivered.
He had to fight himself not to go to her and capture her in a hug. His heart ached with hers, but if he touched her now, she would give in to the tears that threatened, and—worse—as fragile as his own hold over his emotions were, he might join her. “I should nae have told you when I did; ’twas thoughtless. ’Tis been a long few weeks for me. That is my only excuse.” He wished he could say more than that, but he was no match for those puppy-brown eyes, especially when they were filled with such sadness. “Lass, I—”
Firm boot steps came down the narrow hall toward the parlor, and Thea whirled toward the door, smoothing her gown.
Conner faced the door with smug certainty. Finally, he would meet this portly squire and put the man on notice, although quietly, without upsetting Thea. The footsteps drew close to the door and then the squire walked into the room. Conner started to take a step forward, but at the sight of his rival, froze in place.
Conner looked. And then looked again.
In his mind, the squire was about forty years of age, slightly balding and a touch pudgy, with bad teeth. But this . . . Bloody hell, the man is an Adonis.
While Conner was two inches over six feet, the squire beat him by an inch, perhaps more. The man was built on massive lines, too, with powerful forearms and thighs like tree trunks. No doubt the lout could rip a spar in two with his bare hands.
Worse, he was handsome of face and possessed white teeth, a blinding smile, and a full thatch of russet hair. Bloody hell. Where on earth had Thea found such a specimen? It’s no wonder she decided to elope with this man, he’s a bloody paragon of male beauty.
Conner realized Thea was watching him, smiling faintly as she savored his surprise, and he instantly schooled his expression to one of polite interest. He’d be damned if he’d let her peer into his soul any more than he already had. He’d just been so shocked to discover that he might be facing a worthy opponent.
Is this why she refused me? Was it possible Thea was in love? She’d denied it, but . . . was she?
His spirits lowered and he covertly examined her expression as she greeted the man.
To Conner’s relief, there was no obvious softening in her expression, no cow-eyed longing in her thickly lashed eyes, no sap-filled emotion in her clear voice. Still looking amused at Conner’s initial reaction, she greeted her intended with the fondness one might have for a well-thought-of acquaintance. Or a lapdog.
Good. Conner turned his attention to his nemesis.
Thea might not be head over heels in love, but it was instantly obvious the squire was. His gaze locked on her face and he hung on every word that passed her lips, which Conner found as annoying as having to sail through thick fog. Thank God Theodora didn’t return the man’s passions for it allowed Conner to bare his teeth in a smile as he stepped forward. “Squire Fox! Finally, we meet.”
The man’s gaze hadn’t left Theodora since he’d entered the room, and he reluctantly turned Conner’s way, looking vaguely surprised to find someone else there. “Why, yes. And you are . . . ?”
Conner arched an eyebrow at Thea.
With obvious reluctance, she made the introductions. “Squire Fox, this is Mr. Conner Douglas, a friend of my brother’s.” She turned to Conner. “And this is Squire Fox, a friend of mine.”
There was no denying the emphasis of her words. The squire clearly noticed, a flash of surprise crossing his face before he turned a happy pink.
Conner was not amused. His smile firmly tacked to his face, he held out his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Fox.”
The squire gripped Conner’s hand. “And you, Douglas. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Indeed?” Conner kept his smile, but increased the pressure in the handshake.
“Oh yes.” The man didn’t seem concerned by Conner’s overly firm handshake, but merely matched the pressure.
Conner tightened his grip to a point where a normal man would protest.
The giant didn’t so much as flinch, but returned the hard pressure and then some.
Pain shot through Conner’s hand as the squire rumbled amiably, “Any friend of Theodora’s brother is a friend of mine.”
Conner gritted his teeth. Bloody hell, he’ll break my fingers! With no other choice, he loosened his grip.
As if unaware he’d even been challenged, the squire released Conner’s hand and then smacked him on the shoulder in a way that nearly made Conner stagger back a step. “This truly is a pleasant surprise! I feel as if I know you; Theodora mentions you often.”
Thea blinked. “Do I?”
Conner supposed that was something. He tucked his hand behind his back and flexed it gingerly, keeping his smile in place. Good lord, the man had hands the size of ham hocks. If Conner wished to win the day, brute strength was a losing strategy.
Fortunately, there was more than one way to scale a rigging. He turned to Thea and smiled fondly. “ ’Tis nae surprising you may have mentioned me, lass, seeing as we’ve known one another for such a long, long, long time.”
Thea’s brows lowered. “So we have,” she said in a flat tone.
“And we know one another better than most. We’re close, we two. Verrah close.”
Her gaze narrowed on him in warning.
“Like brother and sister!” the squire said politely, although some of the brightness of his smile had left.
“Och, nae,” Conner said just as Thea blurted out, “Exactly.”
She blew out her breath in an annoyed puff. “Blast it, Conner! You are the most pestilent and annoying acquaintance I’ve ever had.”
Ah, that was more like the Thea he knew. He laughed at the squire’s shocked expression. She’s been playing the shy maiden, has she? Just as I suspected. You, lad, don’t know Thea. Conner spread his hands wide. “Ah, squire, I am found oot. My ability to annoy is a gift, one my brothers can vouch for.”
“And my brother, as well,” she added, a defiant sparkle in her gaze. “He calls you the Great Inconvenience.”
“Aye, well, he calls you the Greater Inconvenience, so I would nae be announcing such things.”
She choked back a sudden laugh, his joke disarming her as he’d hoped it would. Thea’s temper was always short lived and could be turned with a smile. It was one of the things he most enjoyed about her.
Still, in some odd way, he was surprisingly relieved to see her reacting in her usual manner. She was rarely furious with him, and he now realized how concerned he’d been about it.
“We should sit,” Thea announced and then limped toward the chairs by the fire. “My ankle demands it.”
The squire was instantly all concern, a contrite expression crossing his face. “Your poor ankle. How is it? I wish you’d allowed me to call for a physician.”
“I’ve no need of a physician; ’tis naught but a sprain.” Theodora sank into her seat and realized with a sinking heart that Conner’s presence complicated things much more than she’d realized. Even if he didn’t reveal his purpose in following her here, she now had a secret she had to keep from Lance, and it hung between them like a wet sheet.
Should she go ahead and tell him all? No, in doing so, she might accidentally reveal her conflicted feelings—it was better to keep the truth tucked away. But she was less comfortable with Lance now, and she hated it. It’s a good thing Conner will be leaving soon. He is ruining everything.
“We should all sit and have a wee chat.” Conner stepped past the slower-moving squire and adroitly reclaimed the only remaining chair, which left poor Lance with no place to sit.
She glared at Conner, who merely said in a mockingly concerned tone, “I’m glad you sat doon. You should nae be standing on that injured ankle.”
The squire looked guiltily at Thea’s foot, and she said, “Pssht. It will be fine by morning.” Poor Lance hadn’t meant to hurt her. His ineptitude was only due to a lack of instruction, which wasn’t surprising given his upbringing.
Lance’s father had died when he was only four. Left in the care of his strong-willed mother and five older sisters, he’d been the darling of the family and had received no encouragement to stand on his own, even after he’d reached an age to set up his own household. He’d admitted that at one time he’d been interested in courting the vicar’s daughter, but although his sisters had supported the match (less than enthusiastically, of course), his mother had had a fit of the vapors every time the poor woman was around. The relationship didn’t make it past that.
Theodora was fairly certain he’d shared that story as a warning, and she’d assured him she was prepared for any theatrics his mother might throw their way. So long as the rest of the members of his family were welcoming, she was more than willing to soothe his mother’s understandable fears of losing her son.
It explained why Lance had remained single for so long. He felt responsible for his mother, and Theodora honored him for it. Truly, he was the kindest man she’d ever met.
He shook his head now. “Perhaps we should have a physician look at your ankle.”
Conner said in a cheerful voice that belied the evil he was trying to perform, “Och, squire, you need nae worry; ’tis nae broken. I know for I examined it myself.”
Theodora stiffened.
The squire’s polite smile wavered. “You examined her ank—”
“Fox, fetch a chair,” Theodora announced hurriedly. She warmed the abruptness of her words with a smile. “I’ll get a crick in my neck if I have to look up at you, for you are so very tall. There should be more chairs in the common room.”
He hesitated a moment, but after she sent him a pointed look, he flushed and then nodded. “Of course. I’ll be right back.”
As soon as he was out the door, Theodora whirled toward Conner and hissed, “I know what you’re doing and it will not work!”