Page 10 of The Rebellious Countess (The Ruined Duchess #2)

Shaking off memories that threatened to engulf him with melancholy, Elias pulled the desk chair over to the table and offered it to Máira. “Have a seat. As soon as our food arrives, we’ll eat and then you can take your bath.”

She nodded and did as she was told, which spoke of how hungry and tired she had to be. “Start with yesterday morning and tell me everything that happened to bring you here tonight.”

She sighed. “As I said, Peter came to my cabin after breakfast. He said we were going ashore, but I had to hurry and be quiet, lest one of the crew saw us and reported my escape to you.”

“Report your escape? He said he was helping you escape— me ?”

“Yes.”

His teeth ground together. “Continue.”

“When we got ashore, he helped me out of the dinghy and told me to go to The Happy Hag. He said you would be at the tavern later that evening, so I should not lollygag around if I wanted get transportation back to Scotland before you arrived. I was to tell Hag I was your wife, and she would help me get passage on another ship.”

That was true. It would take some work on Hag’s part, but she would get it done and then charge him the price of his ship for her help when he came into the tavern in the evening.

But Peter knew he was going to meet the captain of another ship before his meeting at The Happy Hag.

He had made arrangements for Máira’s trip home first thing when he’d come ashore.

“What time did he bring you ashore?”

“It was seven o’clock. I know, because my meal arrived promptly at half past six every morning I was on the Maribelle, and several of the crew were awake.”

“I had left the ship by then and was already making arrangements for you to be on a ship home this morning.”

Her blank stare said she didn’t believe him. He didn’t blame her. His first mate would have no reason to lie to her. Even he couldn’t see a reason why Peter would fabricate such a story. Why had he circumvented Elias’s plans? Had Peter known he’d been kidnapped?

No. That couldn’t be. Jack and Billy had thought he’d hidden Máira somewhere in town, so Peter had left the ship with Máira prior to Jack and Billy kidnapping him.

He needed to speak with Peter and find out if the mission was in jeopardy, then kill him if treason was the reason for his deception. “Did you make your way directly here?”

Máira shook her head, attempting to hide the fatigue a young lady of society was not allowed to display, the back of her hand covering her yawn.

“No. There was a group of questionable men going into the tavern at the time, so I decided to walk down to the market and see if I could find anyone there to help me.”

Elias didn’t want to think of the danger she’d been in while walking around the seaside port. For the most part, the town was safe—for men, but when sailors came ashore, anything could happen to a young woman walking alone.

A sharp rap at the bedchamber door caused Elias to draw his pistol and cock it before answering.

A tavern maid about the same age as Máira stood there with a tray of meat pie and a pitcher of ale.

She took one look at his bare chest and her grin grew saucy.

The twinkle in her eyes and the proposition on her tongue were a thing of beauty.

Not as pretty as his wife, but if he weren’t a married man, he’d be damned tempted to invite her for a tumble.

As it was, he smiled, winked, and opened the door wide enough for the maid to enter.

The maid and Máira were a dichotomy of womanhood if he ever saw one.

Whereas the maid was tall, thin, and graceful, dark hair and eyes to match, her experience in the bedroom was obvious in every single movement.

From the pout of her mouth to the way she walked across the room with the food and ale, her hips swaying in a manner to catch a man’s eye.

Máira, on the other hand, was as innocent as the day she was born.

Blonde, blue-eyed, petite, dainty, with feminine curves that drove a man batty.

Her jealous fire as she watched the maid set the tray down and then walk to the door made him harder than he’d ever been before.

Of course, the maid noticed his condition, licked her lips and winked. “That will be all,” Máira said and gave the door a kick to slam it shut.

“That was rude,” he teased.

“You’re married. Remember?”

“But the lady was enjoying the view.”

“The lady will have to enjoy other views downstairs.”

He shouldn’t enjoy her jealousy as much as he did.

She was not his to keep. He would not ruin her, as much as he wanted to.

He should take what the tavern wench obviously offered, but he wouldn’t do that, either.

He was married, even if it was in name only.

He had made vows to Máira he would keep until the annulment was procured.

He owed her that much, and more for taking advantage of her the way he had.

Again, his chest twinged, and he rubbed it to make the blasted feeling go away. Then the aroma of the meat pie hit him, and his mouth began to water. “That smells like heaven.”

“You know what heaven smells like?” she asked, mockery lacing each word as she stood at the wash basin cleaning her face and hands.

“As a matter of fact, I do.” He said the words the same way he’d said them during their wedding, full of meaning and genuine sincerity.

She froze for a moment, hiding any expression behind the cloth she’d used to dab her cheeks dry as her eyes connected with his in the mirror. Then she turned around and glared at him. “Don’t. You’ve already made a mockery of me. Don’t act as if it meant something.”

He nodded and gave her what she needed to hear. “My apologies.” Then he moved toward the table and took a seat.

She didn’t need to know he’d meant the vow from the moment he spoke and looked into her cornflower blue eyes during the ceremony.

He’d had to tell himself countless times their marriage wasn’t real.

He couldn’t have her in the manner a man bedded his wife.

Their marriage would be his first, and his last. She would be his only bride.

A man like him had no business subjecting a woman to his life.

One day he might not come home, and no one would visit his wife to tell her why.

If she went in search of him, contacted shipping company after shipping company, none of them would know the captain she believed him to be.

Even if one day she stumbled across the crew of the Maribelle , they would respond as if he never lived and she a candidate for Bedlam.

They would make her believe she was a mad woman searching for a ghost. He would just cease to exist and she wouldn’t know why.

No, he would not leave that fate to any woman or child the way his own father had. It was only a stroke of luck that he’d learned of his father’s fate.

As she filled his plate with the best-looking meat pie he’d seen in ages, he said, “Thank you.” It took everything he had to remember his manners and wait until she was seated—his stomach, however, wasn’t as polite. It growled as if it caged a magnificent beast.

The corner of her mouth quirked. “Go on, eat your food. Don’t fret about your manners and I won’t worry about mine. I feel as if it’s been a fortnight since I ate.”

“When did you last have a meal?”

“I had a biscuit last night.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes, so you better eat up before I eat it all myself.” She grinned and filled her fork with the biggest bite he’d ever seen a lady take.

He joined her with a monster-size bite that made hers look like it was a wee bitty bite for a faerie. He grinned at her, stupidly enjoying this time as if it were a memory they would share for a lifetime—instead of a memory he would cherish alone.

Elias folded his hands across his bare stomach which didn’t look at all like he’d just consumed large quantities of food.

It was as flat and rippled with muscle as it had been prior to their meal.

How did he consume such mass quantities of food and still look the way he did?

It was beyond comprehension. She felt as if she might roll out the door, down the steps, and go splat.

“It’s time, Wife,” he said.

“Time for what?” she asked, her stomach completely content.

Her nerves, however, were bouncing off the walls.

She couldn’t look at him. He was too tempting.

Sitting next to her gorgeous and well-formed husband, while he wore nothing more than a horse blanket was more enticing than any dessert.

The young miss in her wanted to squeal…the lady in her took bite after bite of her meal while not tasting a thing.

She needed the nourishment for what life threw at her next.

“For your bath.”

She nearly sputtered. “I’m not taking a bath in the same room as you!”

He grinned. “It’s my right as your husband.”

“It’ll be your bloody damned death!”

He smirked at her profanity, and she wanted to throw her ale in his face.

The knock at the door saved him. How dare he act as if they were on their wedding night!

Elias—the name suited him she thought, much better than Ellison.

Elias Drake, the Earl—blast him! Was he an earl?

He’d tricked her into marrying him, so why wouldn’t he have lied about his title?

Her glass smashed against the wall next to the door before she even realized she’d thrown it. Elias flinched, but opened the door to two boys carrying a pair of buckets, each full of steaming water.

Her husband said something in French to the teens that sounded very much like, “My wife will be needing a broom to clean up the mess I made.” Then he winked at them as if they understood how things were between men and women.