“Perhaps.” His gaze flickered over her face, and he stood so suddenly that she blinked up at him. “We need whisky.” He went to the sideboard and poured himself a generous measure of whisky, then returned with the decanter and refilled her glass. “You’re still pale, and nae wonder. You always get squeamish when you travel. Dinnae your mon know that?”
My man. She’d never thought of the squire in those terms and it made her oddly uncomfortable. “He’s aware of it now.”
Conner grinned with the mischievous expression that always made her want to flash an answering smile. “I’m glad you’re nae holding back with your intended.”
She had the glass halfway to her mouth, but at this, she lowered it. “Holding back?”
“You’re too polite, lass, and have a tendency to nae say what you think. Nae with me, of course, but with others.” He placed the decanter on the table and settled back in his chair, unaware he’d left her gaping. “Your thoughts always show in your eyes.”
And all this time, she’d thought she’d hidden herself and her thoughts from him. Good God, what had she revealed? She wished she could ask, but was afraid she wouldn’t like the answer. Besides, whatever he thinks he’s seen in my expression, it hasn’t made any difference. More dispirited than ever, she took a generous sip of whisky.
He watched her over his glass. “I was shocked to find oot you were eloping. It dinnae seem like something you’d do.”
She fought the urge to tell him that he didn’t know what was or wasn’t something she’d do. “The squire is kind and a gentleman. He’s well established and has much to offer. And I’ve no wish to spend the rest of my days doing nothing more exciting than organizing for yet another move to a state post, or sitting at some dull function, pretending I am enjoying myself. And I’d like to have a family if the fates permit it—”
A shadow crossed Conner’s face, so dark and nakedly painful that she blinked. What had caused that? She’d said something about the fates and family— She caught her breath, then leaned forward and gripped his hand. “Oh no. What’s happened?”
Conner had spent the last month and a half trying to get used to life without Anna. Until she’d gone, he’d had no idea how much he’d relied on simply knowing she was there and would always be there. Thea’s concern, so genuine and unexpected, hit him like a hammer, shattering his thin hold on his composure.
His throat tightened into a noose and wouldn’t let a single word slip free. Bloody hell, how did she know? I spent a half hour with Derrick and her parents, and they never noticed a thing.
Emotion pressed against him until he couldn’t breathe, so Conner took a large gulp of the whisky, forcing the fiery liquid down his throat. After a long moment, he managed to rasp out, “Anna.”
“She—no!” Thea’s eyes filled with tears and her hand tightened over his. “Oh, Conner, no.”
He nodded, fighting a swell of emotion as big as the inn itself.
“I’m so, so sorry. What—when—”
“Six weeks ago.” And two days, three hours . . . He clenched his jaw against the tears.
Thea’s soft sigh washed over him. “Anna was expecting a child. Was that . . . was that what happened?”
He nodded miserably, his gaze dropping to where Thea’s hand covered his. To distract his mind from his painful thoughts, he looked at her hands—really looked at them. They were surprisingly beautiful—long and slender with tapered fingers, like an artist’s. Somehow, he’d never noticed them.
“Oh Conner, if only there was something I could do. I know this is hard for you.”
He ran his thumb over her soft skin, wondering when it would feel normal to say aloud that he’d never see Anna again. He still couldn’t say it, his soul obstinate and aching and refusing to accept his loss. The thought beat him into yet more of a bloody pulp each time he faced it.
“The baby?” Theodora asked softly.
“A beautiful lad. He’s well.” But Anna will never see him grow up. Conner took another desperate gulp, determined beyond all else that he would not weep. Not in front of Thea.
People assumed that her brother Derrick was his closest friend, and at one time that had been true. But after Derrick married, Conner found himself seeking out Thea more. She was delightfully levelheaded, had a dry wit, and was always honest, at least with him—he valued her opinion more than anyone else’s.
Of all the women he knew, Theodora was the easiest to talk to. In some ways, she was the only woman he trusted.
Which was why he was here now, he reminded himself.
He freed his hand from hers under the pretext of refilling his glass, unable to handle more sympathy.
As if understanding, she pulled back. “I know how much you loved her. Is there anything I can do?”
Conner replaced the decanter on the small table, and sent her a straightforward look. “You would help me if you could?”
“Of course.” Thea’s clear gaze met his, questioning but unflinching.
“Thank you, for I’ve need of you. It’s why I came.”
Her brows rose. “Oh? This . . . isn’t about the baby, is it? I’m not certain I’d be able to— But if there is need, of course I’d—”
“Nae. Anna’s husband has hired a squadron of wet nurses. ’Tis something else. ’Tis the reason why I went to your house to begin with.” He rubbed his chin. Where to begin? “ ’Tis a bit complicated. There’s some history I must explain first.”
She cupped her glass with both hands, her eyes locked on his face, a hint of wariness now in her gaze. “Yes?”
“You know my parents died when I was but a lad, but I dinnae think I ever mentioned the Douglas lands and fortune.”
“Lands and fortune?”
“ ’Tis a guidly parcel in the north—over a thousand acres, and quite a bit of gold and silver, as well. It was placed in my sister Anna’s care until my brothers and I were ready to assume our responsibilities. She turned it into far more than it was; she has a knack for such things.” He stopped short. “Had. I cannae seem to remember that.”
Thea’s warm brown eyes darkened. “It will take time.”
He rubbed his neck, wishing his throat weren’t so tight. “Anna watched over our inheritances, waiting for the time when my brothers and I were ready to claim them.”
Thea frowned. “You say that as if none of you have done so.”
“Aye.” He didn’t like the disbelief in her eyes.
“For the love of heaven, why not?”
“We do fine withoot it. Besides, Anna got to be such a stickler over it. She said that in order to take our portions, we had to prove our worth and settle doon. None of us wished such a thing, so . . .” He shrugged.
“Fools, the lot of you!”
He raised his brow, astonished to hear her speak so sharply.
She didn’t flinch from his surprise. “Your brother Declan is besotted with horses and racing, which is hardly a firm foundation for running an estate. As for Jack, they don’t call him Black Jack for nothing. He’s even more of a pirate than you.”
“I’m a privateer, love. ’Tis nae the same as a pirate. I’ve a letter of marque that spells it oot to anyone who might claim otherwise. I’ve made a guid living at it, too, so I’ve nae apologies to make.”
“Anna didn’t think so, or she wouldn’t have put stipulations upon you claiming your fortune.”
“You think I should claim it, then.”
“Of course. I don’t understand why you haven’t.”
“Guid. Because that’s why I’m here today.” He finished his drink, oddly hesitant to continue, now that the time had come. Which was ridiculous, because he knew Thea, and knew she’d help him. She’d just said as much. “According to Anna’s will, I and my brothers must marry, and soon, or the Douglas fortune will go to the Campbells, our blood enemies.”
“Why would Anna do such a thing?”
“Because she knew us weel. Had she left our estate to charity, we would have glad
ly let it go. Who needs the burden? But the Campbells? That is nae acceptable.”
“I see.” Thea’s gaze never left his face. “So . . . you must marry. All of you.”
“We’ve only a few months to do so. And it must be to a lady of quality.” Conner rested his elbows on his knees and leaned forward. “And that, Thea, is why I came. As soon as I found oot aboot the will, I thought of you.”
“Of me.” She said the words flatly, as if she couldn’t believe them herself.
“Of course you,” he said impatiently. “You know me, and you’re a sensible sort, so we’d do well together. We’d have reasonable expectations of one another, with nae silly drama. Surely that is a guid foundation for a marriage.”
“No. You can’t be—” She stopped, took a deep breath, and placed her whisky glass at the table at her elbow. Then she said in a slow, calm voice, “Conner, you’re not proposing to me while I’m eloping with another man.”
His smile slipped. It sounded rather poor when she said it that way. “Lass, I’m nae disparaging your decision. I’m sure this mon is a fine choice, for a squire. But I am making you a better offer, a step oop from your current path.”
She stared at him as if unable to grasp his meaning.
With an impatient sigh, he took her hand where it rested on her knee and pressed a kiss to her fingers. “Come, love. Say aye, and let’s have a wee dram in celebration—”
“No.” She tugged her hand free and stood, pulling his coat from her shoulders and dropping it onto her chair. Bedraggled and damp, her hair curling about her face in a thousand rebellious curls, she glared at him.
Conner stood. “Wait, lass. I was a bit overbold, I know it. Let me explain.”
“No. I don’t want to hear another word.”
“But—”
“Not. Another. Word.” Theodora turned to leave.
Conner grasped her wrist and turned her back so he could explain himself, but her wet skirts became tangled around her legs and she fell.
He caught her against him, her chest to his. She looked up at him, her eyes wide, her mouth parted in surprise.
Because it seemed the most natural thing in the world, and because he wanted more than anything to keep her from leaving, Conner kissed her.
It was a gentle, because you are here kiss, the kind he’d shared with a hundred women before. But the second his lips touched hers, a blazing shock of passion shocked his entire body to life, his senses floundering in surprise.
She must have felt it, too, for she went still in his arms, her hands tangling in his lapels where she gripped him as if suddenly afraid of falling from a great height.
Her passion ignited his own, but he moved slowly, as it was obvious she had little experience. She was awkward and uncertain, her lips pressed together, her eyes tightly closed, her expression tense with yearning. Gently, he kissed her, tracing the captivating line of her lips, feathering soft nips until she gasped with want. He instantly captured her mouth and deepened the kiss. She stiffened, but he continued, stroking her back, holding her close.
Slowly she softened, accepting his kiss, and when his tongue brushed hers, she moaned in pleasure. He released his passion, plundering her mouth, teasing her tongue as his heart thundered in his ears.
She was so warm, so soft in his arms, her body fitted to his as if made for it. God, why had he not kissed her before? He slid his hands down her back and held her closer—
She turned her face away, breaking their kiss. “No,” she gasped, her sweet breath brushing his cheek.
He almost groaned, and he rested his forehead against her temple, struggling to find his own breath, his body stiff with desire.
“We cannot.” She pulled away.
Though it cost him greatly, he released her. “Thea—”
“No.” She turned and limped toward the door as quickly as her injuries allowed.
He took a step toward her. “Wait!”
She stopped, although she didn’t turn to face him.
His mind still whirling from their stupefying kisses, he managed to say, “I’m sorry. I should nae have kissed you; I did nae think. But . . . I asked you a question, lass, and you’ve nae answered. I asked you to marry me.”
Thea stiffened, her hands at her sides tightening into fists. After a second, she faced him, her face pink, her mouth set in a mutinous line. “No.”
“But you havenae thought aboot it! We’re perfect for one another—even more than I’d realized, judging by the passion of those kisses.”
“We’re not even close to perfect for one another. And even if we were—” Her eyes blazed anew. “I would not marry you, Conner Douglas, were you the last man on earth.”
With those damning words, she turned on her heel and limped out of the parlor.
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 w
ill 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.