He’d thought her artless. Unworldly. Now he wasn’t so certain.
She’d had a lover. The man who abandoned her. Perhaps she knew precisely what she was doing—snaring herself a husband.
He tightened his hands and moved her off him, seating her at the edge of the bed. Her gaze turned wary as she hastily tugged her nightgown down over her legs.
“You’re looking at me that way again,” she murmured.
“What way is that?”
“Like I might pounce on you . . . but then I suppose I’ve already done that, no?” Her voice broke a little, shook between them like a wobbly, drifting feather.
He flung back the covers and rose from the bed, walking naked across the room to the washstand. He heard her suck in a breath, but didn’t bother to cover himself. It seemed a little late to adopt an air of modesty.
He used a linen and washed himself off, his back to her. He felt her stare boring into him, thorough, scouring as a heated blade. He looked over his shoulder at her. “We’ve done nothing irreparable here.”
“Irreparable?” The eyes that gazed at him looked rather haunted. “What does that even mean?”
He turned to face her. Again, she sucked in a breath.
“You’re a clever girl.” He braced a hand on the table behind him. “I’m not saying you manipulated this into happening.” He waved between them.
She made a choking sound. “Oh, that’s generous of you to allow . . . seeing as I only came in here because I heard you cry out. Because I thought you might have fallen ill and be in need.”
He lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “Perhaps . . . but put a bed near us and this is where we always end up.”
“Is it so wrong? If we both want each other, if we both—”
“I warned you not to want more from me. Don’t expect more than an offer of employment.”
She laughed bitterly. “Don’t flatter yourself. This was only a tryst. It happens between people from time to time. I’m not so na?ve I don’t know that. I did not mistake it for more.”
He studied her profile. The clean line of her nose. The slightly pouty push of her bottom lip. They really were luscious lips. Her mouth brought forth all manner of carnal ideas. Staring at it, at her sitting on the edge of his bed, he wanted to cross the distance and claim that mouth again. He wanted to spend hours on it, tasting and exploring and committing it to memory.
“You should return to your room and get some rest. We resume our journey in the morning. This won’t happen again, Miss Bell.”
She stood from the bed, brushing at her nightgown as though smoothing out wrinkles in the fine lawn. She took several steps toward her door, appearing unsteady on her feet. Her voice came out jagged as broken glass, sharp enough to cut. “You really are a coldhearted bastard.”
Then she fled into her room.
He blew out a breath and dragged a hand through his hair. Better that. He could live with being cold.
It would get easier. Once he had her at Kilmarkie House and she was set up properly as the housekeeper it would be easier. He might not even stay very long, after all. He might just leave her there and keep going. Keep riding.
Chapter 19
When the dove looked out from her cage it wasn’t just her wolf out there anymore.
There were wolves everywhere.
He wanted to get rid of her mule. She glared at Marcus. He stared back steadily, looking quite unperturbed by the announcement or her obvious distress over it.
Alyse wasn’t quite certain when she began to think of the animal as hers, but she did, and the thought of giving him up was intolerable.
“We’re not leaving Little Bit,” she announced, staring at the lovely doe-eyed mare that stood placidly beside Bucky, ready to take the place of her mule. Rare sunshine peeped out from the clouds, highlighting the red in the beast’s mahogany coat.
She crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her foot, much in the manner she had done when being firm with any one of the Beard children.
Marcus stopped and stared at her, his expression full of exasperation. “Alyse, he’s much too slow. I would like to reach Kilmarkie House this decade if possible.”
She resisted reminding him that they were back to formalities. He had called her Miss Bell last night. “We cannot leave him behind. He has tried his best—”
“He simply is what he is. An old mule.”
Just as she was what she was. Unwanted. Without family. Homeless. Constantly reminded by him that she wasn’t worthy to be his wife. What if he deemed her worthless as a housekeeper, too? Would he cast her aside?
“He. Is. Coming.” She propped both hands on her waist, determined to stand her ground. Which was odd. She hadn’t particularly enjoyed riding the mule. She didn’t know why she was so stubborn on this point.
He stared at her for several moments before releasing a frustrated growl. “Very well. We don’t have time to stand here and argue.” Turning, he barked at one of the servants, “Fetch the mule please. Take this one back.”
She couldn’t help herself. The mule was going with them. She smiled widely. When he turned back to face her, she was still smiling. He paused as if the sight took him aback.
“What?” Her hand lightly drifted toward her face.
He shook his head. “Nothing.” But he continued to gaze at her as though he had never seen her before.
“Is there something on my face?”
“You look happy. You’re smiling.”
Her smile slipped. She shrugged awkwardly. “Sorry?”
“Don’t be sorry.” Now it seemed it was his turn to look awkward. “You’re happy. No apology necessary for that.” He winced and watched as a groom led out the mule. The beast looked resentful and took several nips at the lad as he tugged it forward. “Even if it is because of a stupid mule.”
She forced down a laugh. He looked aggrieved as he stared at the sulky animal.
They mounted without another word on the matter of the mule and her state of happiness (or lack thereof). She sent a look over her shoulder where Poppy Mackenzie stood before the threshold of her massive home, waving them off from the courtyard. They had already exchanged very proper and polite farewells.
Alyse waved back, deciding that Poppy Mackenzie might be one of the nicest women she had ever met. She couldn’t help hoping that she would someday see her again although that seemed unlikely. “Your sister-in-law is very lovely. Very kind.”
“She is that,” he agreed as they trotted out of the courtyard.
“You seem to know Poppy well. I’d almost say better than your brother.” When they departed the two men had behaved rather stiffly toward each other. Gruffly. Almost not like brothers. At least not brothers who were close. She had noticed. Poppy had watched, too, frowning at the pair of them and bidding them to say farewell to each other like two ill-mannered boys.
He shrugged atop his mount. “I don’t know if I’d say I know her well.”
She stared at him thoughtfully, prompting him to continue.
“But yes, I suppose I know her better than Mackenzie.”
He called his brother by his surname?
“How is it possible you know your sister-in-law better than your own brother?”
“It’s a long and complicated story.”
She snorted. “Considering I am bound to this mule for the better part of the day . . . I have all the time in the world.”
“We were engaged for a brief time.”
All of her froze, went cold inside. He had been affianced to that paragon of womanhood. That lovely and kind lady . . . but somehow she had married his half brother instead.