Thirty

Lord Barnard turned heel and exited the parlor. The cottage door slammed shut. Genevieve flinched, staring at the empty hallway. Icy coldness seized her. The loss of the stallion last night…the money.

“Lord Barnard. Wait!” she yelled and dashed to the front door. If she could stop the man. Leave with him now…

Footfalls thumped behind her. Beyond the door, Lord Barnard’s voice carried, snapping orders at his servants. She lunged for the iron latch.

Strong hands grabbed her and spun her around. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to stop this disaster I created,” she cried.

“You did nothing wrong.”

“Let me go.” She fought to break free, yelling, “Lord Bar—”

Lord Bowles clamped a hand over her mouth and pinned her against the door. Blood coursed in her veins. Outside, a carriage door slammed shut. Horses snorted. Men shouted. She struggled, but her husband’s body made a formidable wall.

“Not more than an hour ago, you said you trusted me with your life,” he growled into her ear. “Now you’ve lost faith in me?”

Hair fell across her eyes. Panting hard, she tasted his salty skin mashing her lips.

Faith in him? If he only knew how much he meant to her.

She’d already crashed headlong into all-consuming want when it came to Lord Marcus. She craved the man, but he’d not last. Their arrangement, meant to save her, was destroying him…and little by little it was crushing her. The vain hope. To be with Lord Marcus and make Pallinsburn their home? This was foolish playacting.

It could never be.

Lord Barnard had spewed offal today, but there were bits of truth in what he’d said. She was no lady. One plea to Reinhard would solve everyone’s problems. He’d return the stallion, the money, and she’d go away with him. She would serve his whims. For six long years until her indenture was done. Or when he tired of her. Her leaving was the tidiest answer.

A whip cracked outside. She slumped, the fight draining out of her. Running away cost so much, a price she’d willingly paid. Dragging Lord Bowles in this deep wasn’t part of the bargain. He ought to be glad to wash his hands of her, yet his fierce glare kept her in place. Beyond the cottage door, harnesses jingled. Carriage wheels ground the earth. Noises of man and beast faded, leaving them alone. Brown hair loose from his queue, he eased his hand from her mouth and gripped her shoulder. The pad of his thumb pressed bare skin by her collarbone, at once invading and intimate.

“I was trying to get your stallion and your money back,” she whispered hoarsely.

“And offer what in return?” He bit out. “Yourself?”

His eyes burned hot, the gold shards a banked fire in hazel brown. Their hard slant accused her. The oak at her back was as unforgiving as the man.

“It doesn’t matter.”

Lines around his fine mouth deepened. “Yes. It does.”

What bothered him more? Her choosing to give herself up? Or his notion that she didn’t believe he’d be able to solve this?

“I’m still here.” Glancing at his hand on her shoulder, she attempted a smile. “You’ve got me stuck between a hard place and a hard man.”

“Don’t jest,” he snapped.

Her heart thumped faster. She’d come to learn he could be mercurial. Burying her hands in the folds of her skirt, she resisted the urge to touch him. Last night, this morning…everything was spinning.

“I took a lesson from you, milord, a dose of humor in a tense moment. It’s what you do.”

“I’m not laughing.” Nostrils flaring, he dipped his gaze to the creamy flesh spilling from her bodice. “Did you plan to barter yourself like common goods?”

Her chin tipped, nearly bumping his. “This is a mess of my own making. I’ll thank you not to judge how I clean it up.”

His scowl deepened. “I gave you my name.” From the parlor, the clock ticked. The touch under her collarbone lightened. His thumb rubbed minute circles, sliding lower, finding the upper curve of her breast. “We’re both up to our ears in messes of our own making,” he drawled, his thumb petting her breast. “Forgive me for believing we had a plan to help each other.”

And he let go.

Her palms flattened on the door. How could he say something so…so…knee-weakening? He said we as though the two of them together could solve anything. Lord Bowles stood an arm’s length from her, both hands on his hips. In shirtsleeves and waistcoat with his hip boots on, he was more a man of the land and less the fine London nob.

She rubbed her breastbone where her heart beat under her hand. “Why is this so important…you helping me?”

“My solemn vow,” he rasped, “is to protect you.”

“And there’s absolutely no possessive I-have-what-he-wants male tit for tat going on here between you and Herr Wolf?”

“Not at all.”

Her brow arched higher.

“A little. Very little,” he insisted, a boyish grin in place.

Lord Bowles reached for her hand, pulling her closer. He rubbed her arms from shoulders to elbows, the friction sweet, their bodies bumping gently, even sweeter. Being with him called to her soul. They fit.

A hot shiver slipped between her legs. She couldn’t help but recall what had happened the last time he’d pinned her to a wall.

“There’s something else you ought to consider,” he said.

“Such as?”

“You scared me.”

“How?”

“When you charged off, I knew what you had in mind.”

“I’ve taken care of myself for too long,” she said. “You don’t need my hardships.”

Awareness teased her. His scent, his heat bounced off his body to hers. She wanted to escape, but her leaden limbs refused to move.

“There is nothing so frightening as an independent woman,” he murmured between kisses on her forehead. “I don’t want to lose you.”

She nestled in to him, the last threads of control snapping. She wanted to cry and laugh at the same time. This was victory and defeat. Her hands wandered over his wool waistcoat. Burgeoning whiskers scraped her nose. Scents of plain soap lingered on his skin from hasty ablutions at his washstand. Whiskey’s aroma clung to his neckcloth…the same one he wore last night.

“Let me take care of you,” he whispered.

Her eyes squeezed shut at his tender plea. They were in a race to care for each other.

“I can’t help but blame myself for what’s happened.”

“What use is blame? Life’s hard enough. Live each day as it comes.”

With his arms around her, she could believe anything was possible.

“What are we going to do?”

“Give me time to think,” he said, massaging her shoulders. “We must be vigilant. For your safety, you have to stay by my side.”

A tiny line slanted between his brows. Her husband was quite serious about this.

“Is that a ploy to get me into your bed?”

He flashed his satyr’s grin. “Is it working?”

She stood in the shelter he offered, her will to run lost. Her body had wedged its way between his thighs as though being there was her natural right.

Wool scraped her palms. She caressed his waistcoat-covered chest, staring at the weave. “You’ve convinced me. My well-being rests entirely in your hands.”

One hand coiled her braid. He tipped her head back and kissed her mouth. Slowly. Thoroughly. One scorching, toe-curling kiss. A promise for later. Warmth pooled between her legs. Lord Bowles gave her a wicked smile, taking his time to release her braid.

“The first place I’m dragging you off to is the barn.”

She blinked. “The barn?”

“Yes. Big building. Lots of horses. Some need fresh bandages, ointments applied.” He smirked and led her to the kitchen. “You’re going to help me.”

“But I need to finish the mural.”

“Not today. I’m not letting you out of my sight.” He flung open the old green cabinet and crouched low.

“Don’t you think that’s a bit much? My staying by your side all the time.”

He braced a hand on a shelf and commenced his search. “You tell me. Large Prussian soldier puts off his duty to hunt for one runaway indentured servant.” He reached in deeper, bottles clanking. “He finds his maid cloaked in red in a northern cottage, but she’s married, thus, legally free of her contract.”

“There’s your answer. I’m legally free of him.”

“But did the Wolf tuck tail and leave?”

“No.”

Bottle in hand, Marcus stood. “The Wolf loiters, seeking weakness. With my gambling and whiskey, he did.” He shut the cabinet door with a decisive click. “A mistake I won’t let happen again.”

“We don’t have much time to solve this.”

“By my calculation, we have three days before the Prussian must leave in time to board his ship in Alnmouth. Good thing Herr Wolf’s ally showed up on our doorstep to kindly inform us when the enemy leaves. I know how much time I have to outsmart him.”

Her heart fluttered like a silly girl. He said our doorstep. Forget the predator who wanted to steal her away; she was in danger of falling in love with her husband.

He dusted off the bottle. “Now tell me I’m exercising too much caution.”

She fretted with her gown’s front lacing. Three days to outwit the Wolf. Lord Bowles had taken the morning’s dreadful visit and turned it into a positive equation. He faced her like a chivalrous knight of long-ago tales with his arrow-straight nose and natural handsomeness.

And he was all about helping her.

“You’re right.”

“What?” He chuckled. “No negotiations?”

“This morning… It was enough to scare me.”

“You will be safe.”

Her gaze landed on the bottle. “It’s not me I’m worried about. It’s you.”