Page 8 of His Bride for the Taking

She smiled wryly. “I’m not too concerned about the hem of my gown. It’s not as though I’m going to wear it again.”

“It’s our wedding night,” he said. “On the wedding night, the groom carries the bride over the threshold. As hasty and patched-up as the whole thing has been, and considering that you didn’t have so much as a ring, I thought I’d do that one thing properly.”

“Sebastian. That’s terribly sweet.”

Sweet,she called him? Good God.

Outside, the coachman snapped the reins and drove off into the night.

Sebastian shoved the door closed and propped it shut with a chair. Mary located a flint and used it to light a candle, giving them their first proper look around the cottage.

Sebastian cursed. It was a shambles. He’d seen henhouses in more habitable condition.

“How long has it been since you visited this place?” she asked.

“Years. But there’s supposed to be a caretaker living here with his wife. At least, I’ve been paying a caretaker’s wages. I didn’t expect the place to be sparkling, but this?” He batted at a cobweb.

“At least we’re out of the rain.”

Except that they weren’t truly out of the rain. When he looked up at the leaking thatch roof, a cold rivulet of water hit him square in the eye.

Not a few hours ago, he’d stood before a man of God and vowed to keep and protect Mary for so long as they both shall live. He wasn’t off to a smashing start.

“We’ll go to an inn for the night,” he said.

“How? The coachman already left. Shadow’s thrown a shoe. And I don’t recall seeing an inn when we passed through the village.”

“Well, we can’t stay here.”

“It’s only a few leaks, some dust and cobwebs.” She scouted around the place, holding her candle high. “This room off the kitchen isn’t so neglected. It’s dry, at least. And there’s a bed. I have fresh bed linens and a quilt in my trunks. They’re part of my trousseau.”

He slicked back his wet hair. “At least let me walk to the village and find us something to eat.”

“Oh, no you won’t. You are not leaving me alone in this place.” She picked up a hamper he’d unloaded from the coach and set it on the kitchen table. “Giles’s sister said she’d packed us a little something. Well, notus, but you know.”

Yes. Sebastian knew. And he hated the thought that if she’d married that prig she’d be warm, dry, and fed right now.

She opened the hamper. “We have a bottle of wine. That’s promising. And…” She unwrapped a packet of brown paper. “Cake.”

Sebastian looked at it. That wasn’t merely cake.

That wasweddingcake.

Suddenly, he wasn’t hungry.

She broke off a hunk of cake and took a healthy bite. “We’ll survive until the morning,” she mumbled with a full mouth. “It will be fine.”

He supposed they didn’t have much choice.

“Are you sure you don’t want some?” She took another bite of cake, then licked her fingers. “It’s good.”

He shook his head. “I’ll lay a fire. You make up the bed.”

While she unbuckled the straps on her trunk to search for the bed linens, Sebastian removed his coat and undid his cuffs, turning his sleeves up to the elbow. He searched the kitchen for firewood and found a paltry number of logs. Nowhere near enough to keep a blaze fueled through the night.

He ventured out into the rain and made his way around the cottage’s exterior until he found a depleted woodpile beneath a crumbling lean-to. The wood atop the stack was damp. Much of the rest was rotting.

When he got his hands on that caretaker, he would make the man pay for leaving his property in such a state of neglect.

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