Page 96 of A Rogues & Gentlemen Christmas

Chapter 8

“Wherein… a winter bride.”

It was always dark when Ned rose, but it was far earlier than usual this morning. He’d been awake most of the night, his eye on the soft flakes that fell in whispers beyond the kitchen window.

He’d got up more than once and stuck his head out of the front door to check how much had fallen. For now it had barely settled, but he was not relieved. If it fell thick and fast for the next hour, they might get stuck on the way to town or, if it got heavier later, get snowed in once they were there, and who was there to feed the beasts whilst they were away? He’d allowed for being away one night, wanting Grace’s wedding night to be special for her. It would mean an early start next morning to get back to the animals, but at this time of year there ought to be no difficulty in getting a room in one of the better inns.

He thought about his wedding night as his heart thudded in his throat and his blood left his brain in a rush, heading south.

The idea of leaving a bed that Grace was in while the sky was still dark struck him then.

Idiot.

The roads might be cleared of snow or ten foot high with it, but there was nothing on God’s green earth powerful enough to make him cut their wedding night short. There was no option, then; he’d have to call in on one of his men on the way and arrange for them to tend to the animals. Then at least they’d be cared for if the roads were too bad.

Today’s plan was simple. They’d leave in the dark, hopefully long before whatever poor blighter was being paid a pittance to keep an eye out for Grace felt any desire to leave his warm bed.

Ned knew there was someone.

Though he’d hoped he was wrong, he had evidence now. He’d kept the knowledge to himself for fear of frightening Grace, but Ned had seen the signs. The ground was frozen solid, or he’d have noticed before. It was hard to hide footprints on a muddy farm, but not in this frigid weather. It was also hard to hide the cloud of a man’s breathing in the cold, even if he’d ducked behind the pig shed and kept his head down. The stupid bastard had smoked a pipe, though, and Ned had caught the scent of it, unmistakable on the clean, cold air.

The urge to grab whoever it was by the neck and shake him was tangible, but Ned resisted. Better the devil grew bored and told Carrington there was nothing to see. Happily, the house was at such an angle to the rest of the farm that the windows could not be seen unless you stood in the open yard. Rufus would have raised merry hell if the fellow had dared it, so there was no way he’d glimpsed Gracie.

Gracie.

His heart skittered in his chest.

By tonight, God willing, she’d be his wife. It seemed too extraordinary and something like terror struck him deep inside with the fear that she’d be taken from him and there’d be nothing he could do to stop them.

No, he reminded himself. He’d fight. He’d die before he let that bastard Carrington, or her vile brother, get their filthy hands on her again. No one would take her from him, not if she didn’t want to go, at least. He’d fight the devil himself if he had to. For the first time since he was a young man, the future wasn’t a barren field, bare and dusty, but lush and fertile with hope, with dreams he’d given up on what seemed a lifetime ago. Not that there weren’t obstacles to overcome, he wasn’t that stupid, though the worry that she’d find him an uneducated fool was one of his deepest fears.

Well, if she could learn to cook, he could learn to converse with a lady. He could read and write well enough, so he could educate himself further. He could read about things that interested her. He wasn’t a dumb brute, though he suspected he looked the part. Ned knew she loved books, and she’d made a comment in passing that made him think she liked to paint too. The vision of a warm day in spring and the meadows full of wildflowers filled his mind, and there was Grace, sitting and painting the pastoral scene before her. The vision pleased him, and laughter rose in his chest, until he realised that was the kind of thing a lady would do, not a farmer’s wife. Anxiety rolled down his spine.

What would people say when they discovered she’d married him?

He knew all too well what they’d say, and felt another shiver of unease. Though she’d not been allowed to socialise a great deal, they’d had neighbours, and she’d said her father had been forced to take her to the occasional dinner party or it would have caused talk. She knew people around here, people of her own class. Those people would sneer and look down on her, just as his kind would view her with suspicion. Never mind, he told himself, they’d get through it. Whatever happened, they’d make it work. He’d do anything to make it work.

Still, fear snaked its way into his heart and coiled uneasily beneath his skin.

Ned dressed quickly in the dark and headed out to deal with the animals, who blinked sleepily at him, bemused by his early arrival and huffing damp clouds into the frosty darkness. Once he was done, he returned to the house and changed into his Sunday best clothes and cleaned his boots. He stoked the kitchen fire and put water on to boil, and then crept up to the bedroom.

He forced himself not to look at the sleeping figure in the bed, instead tending the fire so the room was warm enough for her to wash and dress.

“Ned?”

He stood, his breath hitching as the firelight glimmered upon the tousled golden curls that fell to her shoulders.

“Morning, Gracie,” he said, trying not to stare as the too big nightgown fell to expose one creamy shoulder, gilded in the warm glow of the fire. She looked warm, too, warm and soft, and so inviting that his mouth went dry.

“Is it time?”

“Yes, love.”

She smiled then, and all the fears he’d felt evaporated as the breath whooshed from his lungs. She looked like a woman who was anticipating the day ahead with every expectation of happiness, not one being led to a fate she had no choice but to accept. He held the image in his mind, in his heart, and knew he’d remember it until the day he died. It would be a talisman against his doubts and fears, and the terror of losing her.

“How handsome you look,” she said, admiration in her eyes as she looked him over.

To his chagrin, Ned felt a blush stain his cheeks, but he could not deny the pleasure he took from her words.