Hunting the Hero (The Wild Randalls 4)

Leopold stood and leaned over her. When he pressed a fierce kiss to her brow and strode from the dining room with long, determined strides, she hoped she would never see him again. It was best he knew as much of the truth as she could bear to share. She could never be considered clean again. Not wholesome. Not good. She had too much dirty laundry weighing her down to ever be what they wanted or expected of her.

Mrs. Lamb bustled over with two overflowing plates and set them down on the table. When she returned, she placed one before Rosemary. The panic she’d felt on seeing the Romsey carriage had subsided enough for her stomach to remember she was ill. The scent wafted to fill her nose and her nausea returned. She breathed through her mouth. Unfortunately, that didn’t help enough. With a strangled cry, she bolted from the table and rushed upstairs to the rented room. She flung herself toward the chamber pot in the nick of time. The tea and scrap of bread she’d consumed earlier reappeared.

She closed her eyes as the spasms passed, willing yet another terrible day to end.

CHAPTER 27

WHEN CONSTANTINE REENTERED the inn after a short walk to clear his head, he discovered he was not the only worried man to grace the dining room. Two of the brothers were in deep conversation on the far side of the room. Several times the elder started for the stairs, but Oliver was quick to call him back.

Mrs. Lamb bustled over with a mug of ale and a plate of food and set them out on the table. “Something to whet your appetite, my lord?”

“Thank you, Mrs. Lamb. You’re very good to me.”

The look she gave him was tinged with distrust. “You returned. If you let her get away, I might not be so kind the next time you stay.”

“Then I shall never let her go, just to keep your good opinion.” Constantine didn’t say it lightly. He’d had enough time to consider that her connections had no bearing whatsoever on his decision to marry Rosemary. The acquiring of her name was not the least bit important in the scheme of things. The woman was. He loved her, no matter what she called herself.

He sat beside Oliver Randall and took a long swallow of ale. The solitude of a short walk had also stirred his compassion. The situation was difficult for all of them. “Where is Rosemary now?”

Oliver pointed toward the staircase. “Upstairs. Tobias followed her to be sure she didn’t run off again while we were eating, but I suppose her condition may hamper any plans for immediate flight. She couldn’t stand the scents wafting up from the plate set before her, so the innkeeper’s wife may be corr

ect. Congratulations.”

“Thank you.” In the sudden rush of discovery, Constantine had managed to push the notion of being a father again to the back of his mind. To his surprise, he was not unduly worried about the birth. He was more worried Rosemary would take care of the matter without telling him and ensure she would never be in any danger.

Constantine picked at the food on his plate. He was almost certain he could convince Rosemary not to run away and to return to Stanton Harold Hall. But avoiding Romsey Abbey and her family was definitely part of her plan. He was torn in two. He had to prevent becoming separated from her again.

He cast a quick glance at Leopold and decided the man needed time to regain his temper before he discussed marrying his sister. Oliver was another matter. He didn’t seem the least perturbed by his sister’s recovery or her expectant condition. Constantine caught Oliver’s gaze. It was almost as if sentimentality had no place in his life. Rosemary was like that at times. “Are you injured?”

A rueful smile flittered over Oliver’s face as he tested his ribs. “Ribs ache, but no lasting damage.”

What a strange response. Constantine set down his fork. “When Mercy and Blythe were young, the most I ever did to them was pull their braids. Did you make a habit of fighting with Rosemary? Is that why she distrusts you all?”

“You have to understand that Rosemary is different than most females. She always wanted to do what her brothers did and if we would not oblige, she found a way to do it anyway.”

Constantine raised a brow. “Boxing?”

“Rosemary doesn’t box. But she was popular with the local lads when she was young, and after one such fellow proved a bit too forward she wanted to know how to protect herself. I taught her without letting anyone know and she excelled at the vigorous activity. Her current fighting style has evolved in a way I never expected. She’s limited, you see. Her shorter stature and the gowns society expects her to wear hamper her movements, so she’s had to adapt.”

“For God’s sake, Oliver. She was supposed to have the education of a lady, not an assassin,” Leopold growled.

Oliver leaned close to Constantine. “He’s just annoyed that I won while he ended up flat on his belly with the wind knocked out of him. Elder brothers always like to be ahead of the rest of us.”

Constantine found that offensive. “Do bear in mind that I’m an elder brother.”

“Exactly. I gather you are completely in sympathy with his feelings.”

Leopold scowled and resumed eating like a man preparing for battle. Rosemary was likely to give him one. Constantine had never seen a woman move as she had. He’d never known a woman to hold her own in a physical fight, either.

Leopold stood. “That’s enough time.”

Oliver pulled his brother back down to his seat. “I know what you intend and it won’t work. She will not come peacefully and deep down, you know it. You cannot fault her for her fears. She needs time to trust us again.”

Leopold looked set to argue but then shook his head. “She’s always been pigheaded. I knew the moment I saw her that she hadn’t changed.”

If only they knew the ways Rosemary had changed, then perhaps they might have more compassion. As it was, only Constantine understood some of what had happened to her. He’d thought he’d have more time to learn the rest and gain her trust. But time and opportunity were fast running out. “Let me talk to her before you do anything rash.”

Oliver shrugged. “It cannot hurt.”