A Marriage Of Rogues. Margaret Moore

Sir John Markham.

      And cheated.

       Chapter Two

      “Can I get you anything, miss? Some bread and butter? A cup of tea, perhaps?” the servant girl asked Thea the next morning as she sat by the window in the main room of the inn overlooking the yard.

      It was a large chamber and comfortable, with wide chairs and a fire blazing in the hearth—comfortable, provided you weren’t waiting to discover what your future would be. Or if you were not the object of curious stares and whispers, as Thea had been since she arrived on the coach from London two days before, alone and with only a small valise. It would surely cause more talk when—if—Sir Develin arrived and she left with him.

      “No, thank you,” Thea replied to the plump young woman. The maidservant’s hair was messily tied in a loose bun. Her dress and apron were clean and neat, though.

      Thea was glad she had so much experience keeping her expression placid. The ability had stood her in good stead with angry merchants and landlords for many a year and had proven rather impressive at curtailing gossip, or the persistent inquiries of curious people.

      The young woman nodded at the hearth. “Maybe you’d rather wait by the fire.”

      Thea shook her head. “No, thank you.” She preferred to stay where she was, watching the yard for any arriving carriages.

      “We’re not expecting any coaches for some time yet,” the servant girl noted. “You are waiting for a coach, aren’t you? To go back to Liverpool? Or London maybe?”

      Thea wasn’t about to tell her where she was bound. After all, she wasn’t really sure herself. In spite of what Sir Develin had said the day before, he might not keep his word.

      When Thea didn’t reply, the maid frowned, then shrugged and mercifully went away, leaving Thea to watch the activity in the yard. Although the day was getting off to a cool and misty start, the yard was already a-bustle with grooms, stable boys and servants mucking out the stable or washing down the cobbles, filling the trough and bringing wood to the kitchen. Steam issued from the door of an outbuilding Thea assumed was the laundry—judging by the huge baskets of linen being carried there by strong-armed maidservants—any time it was opened. A cart full of large milk cans arrived and unloaded at the dairy, where a glimpse inside showed at least one young woman churning. A fishmonger came next, with baskets of freshwater fish and eels. The cook, wiping his hands on his apron, came out to appraise his offerings.

      Then, when she was beginning to believe Sir Develin must have changed his mind, a shiny, black barouche-landau pulled by four beautifully matched white horses rolled into the yard. A coachman in dark green livery expertly brought the vehicle to a halt. When the coachman got down from his seat and opened the door, Thea’s heart leaped with relief. Sir Develin Dundrake, resplendent and handsome in a tall black hat, three-caped greatcoat and shining boots, stepped out.

      Thea wasted no time. She grabbed the worn handle of her small valise and hurried outside, walking as fast as her pride and dignity would allow before coming to a halt a few feet from the barouche and Sir Develin. She also did her best to ignore the inquisitive stares of the coachman and other servants in the yard.

      “Good morning, Sir Develin,” she said, managing to sound much calmer than she felt.

      “Good day to you, Lady Theodora,” he replied, running his gaze over her from the crown of her bonnet to the hem of her pelisse.

      She was aware her garments were not pretty and his intense scrutiny only made that fact more painful. Undaunted, however, she returned his perusal, noticing that in spite of the energy with which he’d disembarked from his coach, he was clearly exhausted. There were dark circles under his eyes, as if he hadn’t slept all night.

      Perhaps he had had second thoughts and had come to tell her—

      “We’d best be on our way if we’re to reach our destination before the day is out,” he said, giving her a smile and holding out his arm.

      He hadn’t changed his mind! He was going to marry her!

      As exhilarated as she was at that moment, though, a sense of dread haunted her, too. But it was follow through with her plan, or live in poverty and insecurity the rest of her life.

      She put her hand lightly on Sir Develin’s forearm, aware at once of the muscle beneath the fine clothes.

      “We’re going north,” he said to the coachman. “To Gretna Green.”

      Ignoring the shocked look on the face of the coachman, Thea straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin and climbed into the carriage.

      * * *

      As the barouche rocked and bumped its way north toward Gretna Green, Dev surreptitiously watched the woman seated across from him. She’d squeezed herself into the opposite corner, as far away from him as it was possible to get within the small confines. What did she think he was going to do? Attempt to seduce her right there in his barouche?

      Even if he was tempted to do so—and he was, a little—he was too exhausted to make the effort. He hadn’t slept well for the past fortnight, and last night was even worse. He’d paced the floor for hours, trying to decide if marrying her was the right thing to do, for either of them. In the end, the arguments she’d presented in favor of the marriage had outweighed his objections.

      At least for now.

      Until the ceremony was concluded, he could still change his mind. And so could she.

      “How long do you think it will take us to reach Gretna Green?” she suddenly demanded, one shapely eyebrow arched in query.

      “By midday, I should think, if the roads are dry,” he answered.

      “Your coachman looked quite surprised when you said we were going to Gretna Green. Did you not tell your household where you were going and why?”

      How could he, when he wasn’t even sure she’d be waiting for him at the inn despite her boldness the day before? “I said I was meeting a lady.”

      “That’s all you told them?”

      “That was all they needed to know.” He crossed his arms and regarded her with a serenity he didn’t feel. “After all, you might have changed your mind.”

      “Not I,” she swiftly and firmly replied before she went back to looking out the window.

      She was certainly determined. That made her an interesting female, but was that really a quality he wanted in a wife? On the other hand, she had kissed with a boldness that had been quite exhilarating. No squeamish missishness from her!

      As for the wedding night...

      He wouldn’t think about that. Instead he took the opportunity to study this woman he had pledged to marry.

      She wasn’t beautiful, but she was pretty. Her movements were graceful, her fingers long, and her body slim and shapely beneath that horrible pelisse. Her straw bonnet was equally unattractive and cheap. It looked like the sort of thing a farmer’s wife would wear. A very poor farmer’s wife.

      She abruptly turned and fixed him with her powerful gaze. “Has no one ever told you that it’s impolite to stare, Sir Develin?”

      Like a green lad, he felt a flush steal over his face and damned himself for it. “Those are the ugliest garments I’ve ever seen,” he said, his embarrassment making him sound more harsh than he intended. “Surely that wasn’t the only color of fabric available. It looks like snuff. Used snuff.”

      She did not blush. Instead she regarded him with what could only be called a glare. “It was the best fabric I could afford. The color made it less expensive. I daresay the cost of clothing is something a privileged scion of a noble house never has to consider.”

      He didn’t bother to defend himself,