Page 1 of To Winter at Wildsyde

Chapter 1

My dear Kitty,

I hardly know where to begin. I only went out for an hour, yet in that brief interval everyone seems to have run quite mad.

Do you remember Ruth’s dare, ‘To say something utterly outrageous to a handsome man’? Well, I’d say she’s outdone herself.

― Excerpt of a letter from Miss Matilda Hunt to Mrs Kitty Baxter.

29th October 1814. London.

Ruth tried not to stare. She really did, but it was impossible. After a valiant battle she gave up and gazed across the carriage at a man she’d met barely twenty minutes earlier. A man to whom she’d just proposed marriage.

Her luxurious carriage ought to accommodate four people with comfort. Gordon Anderson made it look like something a child would play with. His massive frame shrank everything around him, and he appeared somewhat ill at ease against the plush velvet and gold trim of the comfortable seats. No doubt he was wondering if he’d been a little rash himself, but then he was getting fifty thousand pounds as part of the deal. He’d been desperate enough for Bonnie Campbell’s meagre five thousand to come to London after her, so his change of fortune ought to be something to celebrate. Of course, he’d also had Bonnie as part of that original arrangement. A voluptuous Scottish girl, she might be a hoyden, but she’d still have been a beautiful wife he’d have enjoyed bedding if nothing else. Ruth blushed as she considered how she would appear by contrast.

Ruth had no illusions. Her friends were all beautiful women to a greater or lesser degree, and it was impossible not to be aware of one’s attributes when there were so many fine examples to compare oneself to. Not that she was jealous or resented them… well, maybe she was just a touch envious, but they were her friends and she loved them all dearly. Besides which, she knew her own worth. Perhaps she was no beauty, but she was a capable woman more than able to make her husband’s life comfortable and well organised. She had run her father’s vast household since the age of twelve, as her mother was a featherbrain, to put it politely, and a tumbledown castle in the wilds of Scotland should hold no terrors for her.

Why then was she trembling?

Well, perhaps that was because she’d just agreed to marry a complete stranger!

Still, Mr Anderson had given her leave to redecorate the castle as she saw fit and had given no restrictions. Though he might regret that when he saw her father’s house. Happily she did not share her parent’s taste for opulence and ostentation. The running of the household and the staff was also to be her domain and he would not interfere. That was a good start. If they could be reasonable there was every chance they might make a go of their rather unconventional marriage.

“Tell me about Wildsyde, Mr Anderson. What is it like?”

Ruth was relieved to discover her voice was steady, which was a wonder, given that every other part of her was shaking now, as the reality of what she’d done sank in.

A pair of rather unsettling whisky coloured eyes turned upon her and she caught her breath. Good heavens but he was beautiful. That seemed an odd choice of words, perhaps, but he was beautiful, in the same way a harsh and rugged landscape was beautiful. Uncompromising, dangerous, and breathtaking.

“Wildsyde is old and draughty and at this time of year, cold enough to freeze yer ballocks,” he said, his gaze on her placid, showing nothing resembling curiosity or interest. “Have ye changed yer mind then, lass?”

“No,” Ruth replied, a little too quickly lest she give herself time to think about it.

She’d spent far too long thinking and fretting over the kind of husband she might end up with. There had been offers. They came on an almost weekly basis when such a hefty dowry was up for grabs, and not one of them had been remotely tempting. Her father dismissed most of them because they were not illustrious enough. Her optimistic papa seemed to think she still had every possibility to snare a duke, if she only put her mind to it, but he’d settle for anything above a baron if push came to shove. That being the case, now and then she had to suffer through proposals from desperate noblemen who were either on the brink of ruin and a protracted stay in the Marshalsea, or with one foot in the grave. Some of them had made her shudder to consider, others had simply made her want to cry.

She was not some fragile miss to be pushed around, though. Her father had long since realised his daughter had a will as iron-clad as his own and no amount of bullying or wheedling would make her change her mind or accept a match she didn’t favour. This man had at least been her choice, for good or ill. The problem was, she had no idea which was the most likely. It’s not worth it for a title, Bonnie had pleaded with her. He’s not got a brass farthing, the castle is practically in ruins and miles from any society and, what’s more, he’s a dumb brute with as much sensitivity as a rock, and not a civilised bone in his body.

Despite her best intentions, Ruth could not help but survey that body now. It certainly didn’t look civilised. It looked virile and powerful and so shockingly masculine it made her breath catch. His knees were bare and the ungainly sprawl he’d adopted in the carriage had hiked his kilt higher to expose a few inches of muscular thighs. Ruth stared and stared, never having seen anything resembling male skin beyond face or hands in her life before. The sudden awareness that she was being observed filtered through her stunned brain and she blushed scarlet as she realised she was right. A smirk played at his lips.

“Think ye can wait until we get to Scotland?”

Ruth sucked in a breath at his audacity but refused to look away from him. That it was true enough ought to make her ashamed perhaps, but she’d not let him intimidate her. This man needed to know she’d not be bested, no matter if his physical presence made her quiver inside. She could hardly deny that it had been desire that had motivated her. Oh, yes, he had the title she needed to satisfy her father’s longing for a foothold in society and, more to the point, he was desperate enough for money to agree to wed her. Those things had been high on her agenda, but not the sole motivating factor. She’d taken one look at him and wanted.

Mine, had screamed a voice in her head and perhaps it was the aura he carried of something not quite tame that had awakened this savage part of her she’d not known existed. Either way, it was awake and clamouring now, and no amount of second thoughts and anxieties were enough to make it give way.

The carriage drew to a halt outside her father’s lavish home on Upper Walpole Street and Ruth let out a sigh of relief. She needed to get out of this confined space and fast, before she lost her senses entirely.

Mr Anderson got down and then reached his hand back to her. Unlike most men of the ton, he did not wear gloves, and though she did, his touch seemed to sear through them as if they were not there at all. His hand engulfed hers, suntanned and work roughened, not the hand of a gentleman, for all he was heir to an earldom.

The butler, Garrick, smiled at her warmly as they entered, though his smile faltered as he took in the man with her.

“Garrick, is my father at home?” she asked, blushing a little as she evaded his eye.

Not that he would comment. Garrick was a prince among butlers and Ruth was extremely fond of him. To say that she would miss him more than her own parents was not an understatement. A tall sparse man with neat black hair, twinkling blue eyes, and an air of absolute certainty about him, he’d been her ally for many years. He had quickly learned she was the force that ran the household and only took instruction from her and not her foolish mama—not unless Ruth had sanctioned whatever it was the idiotic creature had demanded. Leaving him behind would be a wrench and not only for her, she suspected. Where her father was a doting but absent parent, Garrick had been there since she was twelve years old.

“Yes, Miss Stone. I believe he is in his office.”

“Thank you.” Ruth smiled at him as she handed him her gloves and hat.