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Chapter Sixteen

C aden’s humor faded as quickly as it had come. Anna had survived a harrowing ordeal. More than survived. She’d triumphed against a devil-spawned step-mother, and a vile excuse for a man.

And he’d assumed the worst about her. He hated himself in that moment.

“I’m sorry. For the things I said, back at Femsworth Manor. You didn’t deserve any of it.”

“Apology accepted,” she whispered.

Just like that. Despite his cruelty, how harsh he’d been.

“You’re incredible,” he breathed.

Cheeks going rosy, she waved his words away. “I’m an idiot, more like.”

He glanced at the table he’d shoved away when his need to touch her had overridden all else. “You barely ate a thing.”

He rose and pulled it back into position in front of her.

Damn but she smelled good. Fresh from her bath, her delicate scent wafted off her skin like evening blossoms.

He snapped up the folded serviette beside her plate, then bent to lay it over her lap. His gaze trailed over the loosely tied front of her gown and his breath caught in his throat.

The woman would be the death of him. In her haste to don a gown, she hadn’t taken the time for undergarments, as he well knew. The result? The rosy outline of her coin sized nipples were just visible through the bodice—if one happened to be looking.

He straightened, and dragged his gaze to the plaster-tiled ceiling. “Bon appetite.”

“Merci, mére,” she said, a smile evident in her voice as she tucked in to her now tepid stew.

“As for your self-proclaimed idiocy…”

She snorted, clearly anticipating a snarky comment, and kept eating.

“Tell me again why you’re to blame for any of this?”

She took a moment to swallow her last bite before replying. “Only an idiot would agree to a marriage after one meeting, as I did, even if the man—the decoy, as you dubbed him—was a much younger, pleasant seeming chap.”

Caden had begun pacing the room, mostly to put some distance between them. Her words stopped him in his tracks. “Who was the man, I wonder?”

She gave a graceful, one-shouldered shrug and picked up a piece of cheese, examining it between her fingers. “Bolton’s secretary? I’m not at all certain. As I said, Angelique denied I’d met anyone other than Lord Bolton.” She nibbled the cheese .

Caden frowned. “You said she drugged you the night of your so-called ceremony. Maybe she’d started plying your wits with something medicinal before that.”

Anna’s mouth gaped briefly. “You know, I never considered that. I should have. It’s not as if I’ve no experience in such matters, having helped mother create her tinctures. Too, I assisted father for years. I should have known.”

“Why should you have? At the time you had no reason to question her.”

She gave him a grateful smile. “I still have no notion why it behooved her to marry me off to the man. Except that it obviously did.”

Unable to peel his eyes off her, Caden sauntered back to the spindly chair. He spun it around and straddled the seat, then rested his folded arms on the seat-back.

“I think we can safely assume she had a financial motive. Bolton hasn’t had a pot to…” He cleared his throat. “…hasn’t had means for some time, so it’s unlikely she expected a payoff from him. That leaves you.”

“Me?”

“Yes. Perhaps your father left you as sole heir to his estate?”

She appeared to give his words some thought, then shook her head. “I don’t think so. He would have told me, and, besides, I don’t think he would have done that to Angelique. He appeared quite fond of her before his illness took him.”

“Hm.” It was about money. Caden could feel it.

She lay her serviette across her nearly empty dish and sent him a replete smile. Faint, dark circles underscored her eyes. “That was lovely. Thank you.”

Their gazes caught and held. Something warm and intoxicating invaded his chest and spread like wildfire to all his extremities.

Having learned the truth of her ordeal, her bravery, her utter blamelessness, every defense he’d erected against her siren’s call vanished.

Mere lust he could handle. What flooded his veins now was… something more.

He was suddenly grateful for the chair and cart and every scrap of distance between them.

Still the moment stretched, with neither of them looking away. When her eyelids dipped and her lips parted Caden went painfully hard.

Enough.

He would not take advantage of her again. For that was exactly what he’d done, misapprehension about her situation or no. He had noted her incongruous innocence, and nearly made love to her regardless. Then he’d learned of her married status and insulted her to boot.

Dear God. Anna was—had to be—a virgin. Bloody hell.

He cleared his throat and shoved up from the chair. He carried it back to its place near the window and sat. Outside, the storm had finally died down. If it cleared up by morning, he’d be heading for Derby. And Anna? Did she plan to continue the journey with him?

As if he would give her a choice. She would accompany him to Chissington Hall, and that was final.

“Let’s see if I can work out the rest of your story. You left Bolton’s that evening, took those letters of recommendation you’d so presciently forged straight to an agency, and somehow lucked into your position with Lady Wentworth.”

“You have the gist.” Anna stretched and made a sound that was half sigh, half yawn.

“I endured a terrifying if successful visit to the pawn brokers and a rescinded offer of employment before Lady Wentworth happened upon me. She hired me on sight, thanks to having no time to verify my references. I don’t understand how she came to know the details of my marriage, nor why she went to so much trouble to assure my safety. ”

“Perhaps she looked into your background after hiring you on, as a precaution. The natural affinity the two of you share probably explains the rest.”

“Perhaps…” Bending her knees, she drew her feet up to curl them under her skirts and rested her cheek against the wingback cushion. She stared into the glowing grate as if it held the answers to all life’s mysteries.

In the reflected firelight she looked beautiful and fragile, like fine-boned china. But she wasn’t weak. Far from it.

He found himself smiling, despite her harrowing tale. There was only one other woman he knew with such a strength. Kitty, his brother’s wife. She would like Anna, he decided.

Her face softened and her eyelids drooped as exhaustion overtook her.

“You should go to bed. You’re half asleep already.”

“I’m fine here. You take the bed.”

“I insist. Go lie down.” He rose and headed for the door.

“Where are you going?” she asked, sitting up.

He un-shot the lock and wrapped his hand around the cold brass lever.

“You’ll want to change into your night dress before getting into bed.” He swallowed hard and continued in a voice that sounded almost normal, “I’d rather that happen while I’m gone.” Without waiting for her reply, he let himself into the hall.

** *

He stalked down the dim, musty smelling corridor to the wide staircase. He trotted down the stairs, anxious to put distance between himself and Anna.

He was in serious trouble. The ache to make love to her was now compounded by an even greater desire to fold her up in his arms. He wanted to cherish and protect her so no harm befell her, ever again.

Absurd. He was no Prince Charming, and well she knew it. He’d offered her proof positive at the Fenton’s when he berated her after nearly bedding her.

Lucky for both of them he had a compelling need to step out. A baron had claimed Caden’s chamber tonight. Certainly, England boasted more than a few. Could be a coincidence. On the other hand, it could not be one.

With grim certainly, he knew a fool-safe method to determine whether Bolton was on premises. He need only visit the bar.

He crossed the vacant lobby. Shouldering aside the red velvet-drape divider, he passed through an archway into the inn’s pub-style eatery. The smell of moldering bar mats, stale tobacco, and too-oft spilled-upon carpets warred with the kitchen’s hardy fare, to permeate the air.

Well past the dinner hour, all of the wooden tables lining one wall of the narrow establishment sat empty, but a fire still burned in the grate and a barman still manned the short bar.

A lone man stood before him, huddling over what appeared to be a snifter of brandy.

A tall man, he wore a coat and trousers fashioned of black superfine. At first glance, the patron’s attire reflected wealth and status. But upon closer inspection, the suit of clothes had a shoddy, faded appearance that matched the man himself—a man Caden recognized all too well .

Baron Bolton had lost the air of vitality that had made him seem somehow larger than life the few times Caden had the misfortune to encounter him. He’d lost some height and his broad shoulders had narrowed. His thick cap of hair, once dark brown, had gone dingy gray, and was badly in need of a cut.

Oblivious to Caden’s perusal, Bolton carried on a one-way conversation with the barman. He gestured, snifter in hand, then threw back his head and laughed uproariously.

A chill ran up Caden’s spine. That laugh.

Like time reversed, he saw himself, nine years old, trailing after his father as he made his social rounds.

In his youthful naiveté he’d imagined his presence might sway his father from his usual debauched lifestyle.

He’d told Zeke as much, prompting his older brother to predict Caden would only provide an audience for their father as he drank and gambled his way across town.

As usual, Zeke’s words proved correct.

When they called on Bolton, it hadn’t taken long to recognize the baron and his father as birds of a feather.

Caden found himself in the baron’s dark-paneled, tobacco smoke-filled game-room.

He watched the mantle clock tick in mounting misery as the two men played billiards, waxed laconic over their perceived woes, and drank themselves stupid.