Seventeen

“She gets married. Today. Problem solved.”

“What?” Miss Turner gaped at Samuel, her mouth twisting with distaste.

“Married?” Marcus exclaimed.

Miss Turner’s distaste metamorphosed to slight horror. Was the idea of marriage to him that awful? He didn’t have time to delve deeper into her reaction or to soothe his dented male pride.

“Marriage is the way out,” Samuel said, his finger spearing the contract. “Read this clause.”

Miss Turner crowded close to Samuel’s side, but Marcus’s boots were stuck in place.

“It says ‘…and the indentured servant shall have no reprieve from service’”—Samuel paused for dramatic effect—“‘except if a marriage results during the time of service. If marriage occurs, the indenture shall be considered dissolved, and the servant may live free and clear of obligation.’” Samuel’s knuckles rapped the paper. “That’s our answer.”

“Let me see.” Marcus pushed off the mantel and grabbed the contract.

Lines slanted from hasty writing. The release clause was there in black ink, freedom for Miss Turner. She sidled up to him, all the better to read the paper. Her mouth moved and barely audible words poured from her lips.

“‘…may live free and clear…’” Her words were reverent at his side.

Did she linger on the word free? Her face lit up as she exhaled a deep sigh of relief. She had a path out of the trouble that dogged her. Marcus scrubbed a hand across his face and gave the contract back to Samuel.

Did it have to be marriage?

Marcus situated himself in front of the fire, his teeth grinding. Mr. Wolf couldn’t have her. His blood had boiled at the scene in the forest, the giant Prussian touching her face intimately. He’d grabbed his wheel lock and cocked the pistol, ready to shoot first and ask questions later. Samuel’s staying hand had stopped him from doing anything rash.

Samuel pored over the contract with Miss Turner. They spoke in hushed tones, their words eluding Marcus because of the rush of blood through his ears.

“I’m not sure marriage is the answer. Why can’t we take her to her grandmother tonight?” he suggested, tugging on his collar. “She could hide there until we find a better solution.”

With his head bent over the paper, Samuel’s blue gaze shot up. “That’s an option, but marriage offers the only legal protection.”

“Reinhard would eventually find me,” she agreed. “There’d be no hiding from him.”

“Then it’s all settled.” Samuel gave the contract back to her. “Get married, then tomorrow you can burn this.”

Her joyful intake of breath was music to Marcus’s ears. But marriage?

His spine hit the mantel, the hearth’s inferno scorching his legs. Marriage to Miss Turner would be a new definition of purgatory. “This is all going too fast,” he said to Samuel. “This isn’t good for Miss Turner.”

Samuel balked. “Says who?”

“Says me.”

“Thank you, milord,” she quipped. “But Miss Turner can decide what’s best for Miss Turner. I’m quite done with men making decisions for me.”

“Because you’ve done a fine job thus far.”

“Well enough.” She glared at him, clamping both arms under her bosom. “If this gets rid of Reinhard, I’ll do it.”

Her cloak fell open, and creamy, desirable flesh pillowed from the russet bodice. Her arms pushed up the very curves that were his downfall. She was beautifully proud in her faded gown with bits of wood in her hair. Sweat pricked his skin, the fire bitingly hot at his backside. He was the worst wastrel. Even in her desperate hour, lust, not reason, clouded his brain. But he couldn’t stop what came out of his mouth.

“Don’t you think you ought to call him Mr. Wolf? Or Herr Wolf?”

Samuel’s icy gaze scanned him from head to toe. “Did the laundress put too much starch in your shirt? Since when do proprieties bother you?”

Marcus looked down. Shoulders stiff, he held his hands clasped behind his back. Legs rigid, the toes of his boots angled slightly out and he groaned, “Bloody hell. I’m turning into my brother.”

“Something’s got you in a stir.” Samuel chuckled.

Marcus exhaled slowly. “There’s got to be another alternative to marriage.”

“If you’ve got one, let me know, but the clock’s ticking. Herr Wolf will be here tomorrow, and if Miss Turner’s not wed, he’ll have every lawful right to take her to Prussia and keep her there.”

“The marriage… It doesn’t have to be forever,” she interjected, her coffee-dark eyes glittering. “I’m not sure why it bothers you so much.”

“Exactly,” Samuel agreed. “While you were mooning about over there, Miss Turner and I realized she need only be legally wed until the Prussian leaves. Then both parties may seek an annulment. An expensive and lengthy proposition. There’d be drastic steps to remove the marital yoke…but it is possible.”

“Still, marriage,” Marcus muttered. “Seems too severe an option. I’m not ready.”

Miss Turner’s brow arched. “And who says I’d marry you?”

He blinked. Though he stood on the hearth’s stony foundation, the earth shifted again. Too much of late with her around. His mouth opened, but no words came.

Her lips pursed with a pretty moue. “Mr. Beckworth offered to marry me until Rein—I mean, Herr Wolf—leaves.”

“You can’t marry him.”

“I can, and I shall.” She faced Samuel. “Let me clean up and get my gloves.”

Both men kept an eye to the doorway, waiting for her footsteps to fade.

“What’s wrong with that plan?” Samuel asked. “Coldstream is across the bridge, perfect for quick weddings.”

It was true. Coldstream rivaled Gretna Green for fast weddings over the anvil. Many a blacksmith turned his hand at forging frantic travelers into newly married couples.

“And perfect for you to get Miss Turner in your bed.” The image singed him badly.

Samuel folded the contract with care. “I’ll forget you said that.”

Mouth pinching, Marcus hated thinking the worst of his friend. The truth was he wanted Miss Turner in his bed, and by the knowing light in Samuel’s eyes, his friend knew it.

“She’ll sleep in the same bed off the kitchen.”

“Think of Adam,” Marcus protested. “An impressionable young man. How would you explain your wife sleeping in the servant’s room?”

Samuel’s smile split wide. “Let me worry about Adam’s youthful sensibilities.” A taunting brow arched high. “No one else is stepping gallantly forward to help Miss Turner. I might as well.”

Marcus sucked in a deep breath. “Is this part of your plan to keep me in Northumberland?”

“You’ve discovered my evil plan,” Samuel mocked. “I’m tying you down with horses, a housekeeper, and chickens.”

“Chickens?”

“Mr. Dutton’s delivery when he collected his sisters. Alexander and Adam put them in your grandfather’s old chicken coop. They’re tending the horses as well.”

Marcus pulled at his neckcloth again. If his grandfather were here, what would he have to say about this madness?

“It’s you or me,” Samuel said quietly. “We have options, one being a plan of desertion. Miss Turner could leave an unhampered woman once this Prussian is gone, and you’d be free to leave by winter’s end. Now stop acting like an ass.”

Marcus stared at the settee, recalling Miss Turner’s reverent touch on the purple velvet her first night here. “I did the same to her in your barn. Traded her like chattel.”

“We both did. It’s why we’re indebted to her.”

True. They both owed a debt of gratitude to the amber-haired housekeeper, but that wasn’t the cause of his internal bedlam. He couldn’t let her go. He craved her presence. Singing in his kitchen while he soaked in the scullery. Outwitting him in negotiations. Sitting with him before this very fire at night, her body cozy against his as she read.

His mouth quirked. Would she come to his bed if they were lawfully wed?

Samuel crossed his arms, straining his blue coat. “I know what you’re thinking. Let it go.”

“What am I thinking?”

Samuel shook his head. “She’s a fine young woman with more spirit than most. Don’t think to use her for sex and cast her aside.”

“Coming to her aid all of a sudden?” Marcus taunted.

Samuel stalked to the fireplace, his voice low as he faced Marcus. “She’s a lowborn woman. Don’t use her for sex. We both know you’ll leave someday and find a woman of your station.” A mischievous smile flashed. “Why not let her swan about as Lady Marcus Bowles? Then she could cry impotence to the courts as reason for leaving you.”

“Very funny.”

“I’m serious.” The smile faded, and Samuel’s eyes were keen. “Impotence is another option. You want to help Miss Turner, don’t you? How far will you go to protect her?”

Marcus rubbed his breastbone with the heel of his hand. Allow ravaging testimony about his manhood in court? He hoped his brother had a bride ready and would wed her soon…before damaging gossip drifted south.

“The noble thing would be to give her the protection of my name and deliver her to her grandmother. It’s why she came north in the first place.”

Samuel slapped his shoulder. “Now you’re thinking.”

A parched sensation clawed at Marcus’s throat. His sight line wandered to the lone cabinet in the parlor, empty save a few books. Those tomes sat in place of whiskey bottles. His vices. He’d exiled himself to become a changed man, but he’d never expected to pay such personal costs.

How far should a man go to rescue a woman in need, a woman he harbored deep affection for?

Miss Turner appeared in the doorway, her face washed, her gloves on, and her red hood framing her pretty visage. Big dark eyes shined with depth. However absurd this marriage idea was, she was ready to take charge of her life.

Marcus pasted a smile on his face. Samuel thought he wanted her for convenient sex. It was his own fault that Samuel saw him that way. He couldn’t deny Genevieve Turner’s ripe curves appealed to him. Pushing off the mantel, a deeper question gnawed at him.

What if he never let her go?