A Convenient Bride Read online

  Brenna watched the arrival of the guards from the bedroom window. Several coaches pulled to a stop in front of the hall, and the men alighted.

  They were all different in age and size, and gave off an air of confidence, as the trained fighters they were.

  Pleased with Richard’s plan, she left James with Nanny and the footman, and joined her husband in the foyer. Up close, the men were even more intimidating. They were all stern-faced and ready to protect Beckwith Hall.

  “The guards look positively menacing,” she whispered to Richard, as Jace led them into the hall. She did not need to see the weapons under their coats to know they were armed. Jace would leave nothing to chance.

  “Jones picked each one for his skills.” He drew her hand to his mouth. “You and our son will be safe.”

  The tension between her shoulder blades eased as Brenna watched the last man enter the hall. There were a full dozen men, excluding Jace and Mister Freemont. Mrs. Beal and Joseph began the process of getting the men settled into the empty rooms on the servants’ floor.

  The maids rushed about, carrying bedding and trays of food. Though the men were considered employees and not guests, they would be well taken care of.

  Lucy watched the commotion from halfway down the stairs. She pulled her skirts aside when the men passed, and took care not to take special interest in Mister Freemont. The more she ignored him, the more he watched her.

  Mister Freemont frowned but said nothing as he passed her. When he was out of sight, a small secretive smile escaped her.

  When she finished her descent and joined Brenna and Richard, Richard excused himself. Brenna’s eyes narrowed. “Must you torture poor Mister Freemont?”

  Lucy shrugged. “He paid far too much interest in that awful Bethany. I will not be his second choice now that she’s gone.”

  “He paid attention to her because you ignored him.” Brenna crossed her arms. A pair of maids rushed past. “I remember a certain companion who pointed out to me that my husband had no interest in Bethany and that I should see what was in front of my eyes. I think she should take her own advice when it comes to Mister Freemont.”

  “Hmm.” Lucy sniffed. “You act as if I have some interest in the man. Just because I find him handsome does not make him a proper man to court me. I was a courtesan. That will make some men flee.”

  “You will not know unless you speak to him.” Brenna tapped her foot. “His reaction will tell you much about his character.”

  Sobering, Lucy looked up the staircase. Mister Freemont was no longer in view. “Even a good man can be put off by my former profession. I fear seeing condemnation in his eyes.”

  Brenna’s heart tugged. She hugged Lucy. “You are a wonderful person and friend. If he cannot see what I see, then he is not the right man for you.”

  They leaned back, holding each other’s arms. “I am still in mourning. I think it is too soon for another suitor,” Lucy said. “Perhaps I shall take the path of spinsterhood. It is much less troublesome than risking my heart.”

  The dejection in her friend’s voice pricked Brenna’s temper. “I never thought of you as a coward, Lucy.” She watched Lucy’s face flash from miserable to angry. This pleased her immensely.

  “I am not a coward,” Lucy snapped. Then she must have realized Brenna’s game. She let out a thoroughly exasperated sigh. “I do not know why I keep you as my friend. You do know how to rile me up.”

  Brenna hooked her arm in Lucy’s. “We are too much alike not to be friends, and you know I adore you.” She led Lucy through the foyer. “Since the day is sunny, I think we should collect James, and a guard, and enjoy some time in the garden.”

  Mister Freemont was subjected to over an hour of torment in the form of a pair of women and a baby. Brenna had deliberately chosen him to watch over them, then spent most of their time together asking him questions about his life, generally interjecting herself into his privacy. He answered most queries politely while pointedly ignoring Lucy.

  Lucy tended James, pretending disinterest, though Brenna knew her ears were locked on their conversation.

  “I understand that you were a soldier?” Brenna asked.

  Mister Freemont looked pained. “I was.”

  “And you fought against Napoleon?” She wondered when he’d be pushed to the end of his patience, but he forged on with calm indulgence.

  “I did.”

  Brenna glanced over at Lucy seated on the garden bench rocking James. The baby began to fuss. Lucy tried several ways to soothe him, but the boy was not pleased with her efforts.

  “I think it’s time for his nap.” Brenna walked over and reclaimed her son. The interrogation of Mister Freemont was over. “You two are welcome to stay and enjoy the garden. The flowers are particularly fragrant.”

  Without pause, she hurried off, giving Lucy no choice but to accept Mister Freemont’s company.

  Once she returned to the bedroom, she went to the window and looked down into the garden, giving into her desire to snoop. From her position, she could see Lucy and Mister Freemont strolling briskly up the path. Neither appeared happy.

  Her shoulders slumped. Her attempt to match-make had failed. Perhaps Lucy was correct and Mister Freemont was not the man for her.

  “Shall we feed you, love?” Brenna moved away from the window and curled up with him on the bed. Once James was fed and asleep, Brenna rose to remove her dress. She returned to the bed, pulled the quilt over them, and joined him in his nap.

  Richard spent several hours with Jones, planning where the guards would take positions around the manor and grounds, and the shifts each would cover.

  Once he was satisfied that Jones had everything taken care of, he went off in search of his wife. He found her asleep on the bed, cuddled up with their son.

  He stood in the open doorway for several minutes, his heart softened by the scene. Never once had he thought the impulsive, sometimes reckless, and stubborn Miss Brenna Harrington would turn into such an excellent mother and wife.

  The bed drew him, and he lay down on the other side of James, reaching across the boy to place a hand on Brenna’s hip. Her soft scent and warmth washed away all the tension he’d felt over the last few hours. When he was with her, she had the ability to make him forget anything but her.

  Brenna drew in a deep breath, and her eyes opened. She saw him watching her and smiled. “Richard.”

  In that moment, with his eyes on hers, Richard realized that in spite of his protests to the contrary, and all his best efforts to keep his heart protected, he’d done what he feared most.

  He’d fallen irrevocably in love with his wife.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Brenna wanted to know how his afternoon fared but did not want to wake the baby.

  “Come with me,” she whispered, and carefully eased off the bed. After placing a pillow on each side of their son, she led Richard through the sitting room to her old bedroom. They left the door ajar, in case James awakened.

  She climbed onto the bed, and he joined her. She snuggled close. “How goes the planning? Are the guards in place?”

  “They are.” He ran a hand over her bare arm and over her hip, covered with only the thin chemise. “Mister Jones is well qualified to watch over Beckwith Hall.”

  “He is a good man,” she agreed. He was also becoming a close friend. “I trust him completely.”

  Richard played with her hair. Brenna bit her bottom lip and drew a fingertip down his chest. His muscles twitched. Then she moved lower, careful to avoid anything below his waistband.

  She took pleasure in teasing him to inflame his passion. The end always led to their mutual satisfaction. And she did so enjoy being satisfied by her seductive husband. Since the night of the ball, he never refused her wifely demands.

  “Simon once told me that Jace used to be a marshal in America and hunted down wanted criminals,” Brenna said. “And Jace was a trapper and a soldier. I do not know how much of that is true, but it certainly
makes for a colorful history.”

  “Hmm.” His hand casually cupped her left breast. He rubbed the nipple gently between his fingers.

  “Can you imagine the danger in hunting wanted men?” Brenna said, pretending to be immune to his advances. She twitched as he kissed the spot below her ear. “I wonder if he was ever shot at by the criminals he hunted?”

  “Hmm.” His hand flexed. Her nipple hardened.

  “That must be why Jace is good at searching for killers,” she said, hiding a smile. “He has experience in that regard.”

  Richard grunted, his lips on her neck. His breath tickled her skin. “Must we talk about Jace Jones?”

  Brenna shrugged. “Is there something else you wish to discuss?” She finally placed her hand over his erection. “A highwayman with a dusty coat and a huge, er, pistol, perhaps? I’ve heard he likes to chase down coaches and ravish young innocents.”

  He lifted his head and grinned wickedly. “The highwayman of Beckwith Hall does like to ravish.” Brenna laughed. He pushed her over onto her back and ripped off her chemise.

  The evening meal was lively. Jace had been convinced, by Brenna, to tell some tales of his days as a marshal. Mister Freemont appeared pleased to find her attention off of him. Lucy flirted outrageously with George, who seemed delighted by her sudden attention. Richard sat next to Brenna and was the recipient of her stocking-covered foot, teasing his leg while they shared warm glances.

  “How terrible,” Brenna said. She struggled to focus on the conversation, with memories of a certain highwayman-viscount driving into her heat just two hours previous, with her ankles positioned somewhere near her ears. “An arrow in the side? How did you survive?”

  Jace rubbed the spot covered by his coat. “An army surgeon tried his best to kill me with his inferior treatment, but I won the battle to live. I did learn to keep my head down once the arrows started flying.”

  “How fascinating,” Lucy said. From her position at the table, Brenna wasn’t certain, but she thought Lucy batted her lashes at Jace. She almost felt sorry for Mister Freemont.

  “I was once almost decapitated by a tray thrown during breakfast when I was at Cambridge,” George interjected. “Two of the lads were arguing over a girl, and trays, and food, flew.”

  “You were lucky you weren’t killed,” Lucy said. She placeda hand on his arm. “Who knew Cambridge was so dangerous?”

  Brenna nodded and removed her foot from Richard’s thigh. “Who did the young lady choose?”

  George’s face was serious, but his eyes showed good humor. “The chit ended up choosing someone else, with a more even temperament.”

  Laughter followed. The rest of the meal went along those lines, with Brenna telling the tale of how she and Richard met, and how he’d killed a thief. Once the conversation turned in that vein, the men shared more stories of brushes with death.

  Even Mister Freemont managed to hold Lucy’s interest when he spoke of killing a man who’d pulled a knife on him in an alley. “He wanted both my purse and my life. Instead, he came to understand the error of his decision.”

  Lucy gaped. This was a side of the quiet Mister Freemont that Lucy had never seen, a bold and dangerous side.

  Brenna hoped her friend would give the former Runner a chance to woo her. He was just the sort of fascinating man Lucy needed to keep her intrigued.

  Later, in the drawing room, the men shared glasses of port while Lucy and Brenna settled on the settee and talked softly over tea. As the evening aged, George went off to bed, after bowing over Lucy’s hand.

  “You have an admirer,” Brenna said, frowning as George left them. “I hope you do not encourage his attentions. He is a nice man and should not have his affections toyed with.”

  Lucy grimaced. “He is a friendly sort. However, I will make certain he knows we can be nothing more than friends.”

  Brenna looked over to where Jace and Mister Freemont were whispering together as Richard refreshed their drinks. The two men had serious expressions. As Richard returned to them, Mister Freemont nodded to Jace and took the drink, tossed back the port, and excused himself.

  “Ladies.” He bowed. “Thank you for the interesting evening, but I must go. My duties require me elsewhere.”

  As he walked out, a curious Brenna turned to stare at Jace. He shrugged. She suspected there was something about Freemont’s abrupt departure that he had no intention of sharing.

  “That was odd,” Lucy said.

  “Yes, it was,” Brenna said. “Jace does have his secrets.”

  Lucy twisted the thin necklace around her neck. “I think we should torture him for information. Then perhaps he’ll tell us where Mister Freemont had gone off to.”

  “What are you thinking? A torture rack? Tied to a post and covered with ants?” Brenna got into the spirit. “Unfortunately Beckwith Hall does not possess a dungeon. We could chain him to a wall in a dank cell until he cracks.”

  “A delicious prospect, that,” Lucy said. “He does like to tease me. Yesterday, he said my gown was too drab and my hair too severe. As if I care what he thinks. I am in mourning.”

  After two months of wearing black, Lucy had decided the color too horrid to continue wearing and changed to grays and browns. Though she continued to mourn, and did miss her husband, Brenna knew that beneath her drab gowns she was wearing a chemise she’d purchased in bright blue.

  Brenna could not fault her. She’d not been married long enough to truly consider herself a wife.

  Richard walked over. “I think I shall retire. The day was long. Would you care to join me, Wife?”

  The warmth in his eyes spoke of something far more salacious than sleep on his mind. Heat sluiced through her. Richard presented himself as a bit of a staid presence to the world outside their bedroom, but behind the closed door, he was a man of great passion and seductive skill. And he was hers.

  She took his outstretched hand. “Good night, Jace, Lucy.” Brenna waited until they were up the stairs, and had dismissed Nanny and the guard, before she lifted her skirts with a laugh and raced him to their bed.

  It was much later, when their passions were satiated and James was fed and sleeping again, that Brenna turned on her side and placed a hand over his heart.

  “Why did Jace send Mister Freemont away?”

  Richard caressed her back. “I’m not certain. It did rouse my curiosity, too. He said Freemont has gone off to investigate a new clue to the case and will return in a few days.”

  “This is curious,” Brenna said. “And so sudden.”

  He rolled Brenna onto her back and reached for the laces on her bodice. “We will have to wait until Mister Freemont returns for our answers.”

  Brenna walked into the sunny garden, having found time for a few minutes to herself. She enjoyed the spring flowers as they bloomed, smiling at each new arrival.

  Several birds splashed in the fountain as she passed. The lovely morning lifted her spirits.

  After about fifteen minutes, she thought she heard two male voices speaking in hushed and angry tones behind the hedge that separated two sections of garden. She froze, unsure of her next course of action.

  Not wanting to spy on a private conversation, she called out, “Hello.” The voices went silent. “Is someone there?”

  Still nothing. Though she was within sight of the manor, and several guards lingered nearby, a sudden feeling of unease brought her hands to her skirt. She readied herself to spin about and flee.

  The desire proved unnecessary. She heard the crunch of footsteps, and George appeared around the hedge.

  “Brenna.”

  Her shoulders slumped. “Thank goodness it’s you,” she said. “I’d thought I’d stumbled upon the killer.”

  George’s smile wavered. “That would be unfortunate. Luckily, there are no killers here today.” He glanced over his shoulder, then back to her. “How long were you standing there?”

  “Not long,” Brenna replied. “Who were you speaking with?”


  Stepping forward, George took her arm and steered her back toward the manor. “It was a guard. I thought he’d left his position, but I was incorrect. He’d only stepped out of sight for a moment to, ah, take care of a delicate matter.”

  She did not need any more information. “I see.” She hoped the delicate matter did not involve the desecration of the rose bushes.

  They walked slowly back to the hall, chatting about nothing in particular. Eventually the conversation turned to the missing Mister Freemont. “Have you heard any news about his mysterious trip to who-knows-where? He has been gone over a week,” George said.

  “I have not learned why he is gone, though I did manage to learn his destination,” she said, in a low voice, as if she had learned a very important secret.

  George leaned in. His eyes gleamed. “Do tell.”

  “Cambridgeshire,” she whispered, behind her cupped hand. “I overheard Jace discussing it with one of the guards. I was eavesdropping, though I do hope you will keep my secret.”

  “Cambridgeshire?” He stopped walking. “What sort of clues does he expect to find there?”

  Brenna shrugged. “I cannot fathom what. But it was clearly of some urgency, as Jace rushed him off after supper without a word to anyone.” It took a moment to realize George had gone pale. “George, are you ill?”

  He shook his head and pressed his fingertips to his temples. “I am suddenly struck by a headache. I ask that you please excuse me.”

  “Of course.” Brenna squeezed his arm, and he hurried away. She made a note to have someone take him up some headache powder. Mrs. Beal mixed it herself, and it worked quite well.

  She paused to examine a topiary shaped to look like a fish. Somehow she’d missed the creation in previous ventures into the garden. Either that or the gardener had suddenly become artistic. Thoughts of George faded.

  Smiling, she continued on toward the manor, nearly colliding with Richard as he rushed from the house.