And how had those kisses felt like coming home, except it was a new house where you want to explore every room, not simply remain in the foyer?
She let out a soft huff of frustration.
This marriage of convenience was turning out far more complicated than expected.
Chapter Sixteen
The anvil wedding drew closer with each passing moment. Lizzy had ordered a bath and used more of her precious soap than usual. Her heart raced, each beat a frantic flutter against her ribs, despite her best efforts to remind herself that this was to be her one—and only—wedding, a superficial ritual that would ultimately grant her freedom. It didn’t mean anything. But she couldn’t shake the silly impulse to look pretty for the occasion.
No, not just for the occasion. For him.
She wanted to look pretty for Tuck.
That was why she scrubbed herself until her skin went a rosy pink, cleaned her teeth twice, washed her hair, and sat by the sunny window brushing it out until it dried in shiny waves. She donned a high-waisted white muslin gown and swept her waves into a neat twist, wrapping a single ribbon around her hairstyle in a simple bandeau à la Grecque.
She frowned at her reflection in the room’s cracked mirror. Her face was distorted but her eyes matched her blue shawl and held a hectic brightness.
Never mind.
She would simply stop looking. The expression was nerves. Not from repressed excitement, but from what her family would dowhen they discovered what she had done. At least they wouldn’t ever learn her husband was an American hockey player from the twenty-first century. That would send Mamma, Mr. Alby, and her brother straight to the grave. It was quite bad enough that she’d be introducing them to Tucker Taylor, a Baltimore dry-goods merchant.
But it wouldn’t be for long.
She left the inn, and Tuck was waiting in front of the blacksmith shop as planned. He’d come back to the room last night and she’d pretended to be asleep as it took him three tries to get off his boots before he then walked into a wall. It appeared he’d had quite a lot more than one drink, and when he lay down on the floor—no blanket, no pillow, just a coat under his head—and began to snore, this day she dreaded couldn’t have come quickly enough.
But the man waiting had on fawn-colored breeches, a royal blue coat, and shiny boots, and didn’t look like a man who’d spent the evening in his cups. He was beautiful. There wasn’t another word for it. His face and form weren’t cold, remote, and perfect like one of those Greek statues in the British Museum. Yes, he had impressive height and an angular jaw, but the true secret of his look hid in the collection of small so-called flaws: a wide mouth, close-set eyes, the odd dark hair on his knuckles, the pockmark on his cheek, and the broken nose. It made him more accessible, more human somehow.
And infinitely more fascinating.
As she neared, he stuck out his arm, a few buttercups in his hand. “Here.” He offered them awkwardly, avoiding eye contact. “It’s a wedding, so I suppose the bride needs to carry flowers.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, taking the posy. A few stems were threatening to snap off, as if he’d been holding them too tightly.
“I like what you did with your hair. You look... nice.”
“Y-you too,” she murmured.
“I clean up okay.” He glanced down and flicked away some invisible lint. “I have the rings as well.” She studied him. His voice was rougher than normal and he was so pale that his copper-penny eyes almost seemed to glow.
“Are you all right, Mr.Taylor?”
“One rule for this marriage.” He turned to face her fully, holding up a finger. “When we are done with this... event, I need you to promise not to call me Mr.Taylor ever again.”
“You seem to have a specific dislike that overrides any politeness I intend in the gesture. Does this all truly have to do with your father?”
“Yes,” he said after a short pause. “I guess it does.”
She waited for him to go on, but that was all he was willing to offer for the moment.
“Very well, Tuck. Are you ready?”
His gaze searched her face. “Are you?”
“Yes.” And as she said the word, she tasted no lie. The realization calmed her. This was what she wanted. “Once we do this, we can go to London and research a way home for you.”
She might have imagined the glint of disappointment in his eyes, it was there and gone so quickly.
A deep voice boomed from the blacksmith’s doorway. “How long are ye two gonna be standin’ out on the street haverin’?”
