The Heiress Bride (Sherbrooke Brides 3)

“I should be charmed, ma’am,” Colin said.

That had gone off splendidly, Sinjun thought, calming her breath. She’d been scared to death when Finkle had told her that her mother had descended upon Colin. She saw that Colin was grinning at his own cleverness, and she leaned down and kissed him. “You did well with her. Thank you.”

“I outlasted her, that’s all. And I heaped her coffers with Spanish coin. She likes Spanish coin.”

“It’s true. Neither Douglas nor Ryder is much in the habit of flattering her. She misses it. You did well, Colin.”

She wanted to kiss him now, but she feared to awaken him. There would be time, all the time in the world. By the time they reached Scotland, by way of the Lake District, she would not be a virgin any longer, she was planning on that. A girl couldn’t elope with a gentleman and emerge unscathed. She would ensure that she was very well scathed indeed. Their marriage, once in Scotland, would be a mere formality.

Sinjun slipped her hand beneath the blanket and closed her fingers around his hand, a strong hand, lean and powerful. She thought of his wife, a woman now dead. She’d asked him nothing more about it, and she wouldn’t. If he wished to tell her more about his first wife and how she had died, he would. Sinjun wondered what her name was.

She also wondered if she would ever tell him that her brother had spoken to her of the letter long before she’d gone to his room. She’d even read it, twice. She’d argued only briefly with Douglas, knowing well he was worried about her, and knowing as well that she must argue with him, else he would be suspicious. Oh yes, she’d agreed with him, yielding to his demand that the marriage be postponed until the charge of murder could be resolved. All the while she was determined to elope with Colin that very night. Perhaps Colin would find out that it had been she who had maneuvered him into making his elopement suggestion, perhaps sometime in the misty future.

It was a pity that she must hold her tongue when it itched to be nothing more than truthful, but she knew men abhorred the notion that they could be manipulated. The thought of a woman managing them sent them into a rage. She would spare his male pride, at least until he was completely well again. And perhaps until he came to care for her. For a moment, the thought of telling him the truth made the misty future look on the dark and gloomy side.

CHAPTER

5

“WE ARE ONLY going as far as Chipping Norton, to the White Hart,” Sinjun told Colin when he stirred. “We will be there in another hour. How do you feel?”

“Bloody tired, dammit.”

She patted his arm. “You didn’t say that with much heat, Colin, which means you’re probably a good deal more than tired; you’re exhausted, what with all our hurrying and sneaking about. But you’ll get your strength back more and more each day. Don’t worry. We won’t be to Scotland for another six days as best as I can figure it. You will have plenty of time to mend.”

Because it was dark inside the carriage Sinjun couldn’t see the irritation in his eyes, and it was there, for he felt helpless, unmanned, like a small child in the care of a nanny, only this nanny was just nineteen years old. He grunted.

“Why in God’s name did you pick the White Hart?”

She giggled. An unexpected sound from a nanny, Colin thought with surprise. “It was because of the stories I heard Ryder and Douglas telling Tysen, and he was appalled, naturally, since he was studying to be a man of the cloth. Of course Ryder and Douglas were laughing their heads off.”

“And none of them had any idea that you—the infant daughter of the house—were eaves

dropping.”

“Oh no,” she said, waving her hand airily as she smiled. “No idea at all. I got quite good at it by the time I was seven years old. I have this feeling you know all about the White Hart and how the young gentlemen at Oxford spent many evenings there with their light-o’-loves.”

Colin was silent.

“Are you remembering your own assignations?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact. The wife of one of my dons used to meet me there. Her name was Matilda, and she was so blond her hair was nearly white. Then there was the barmaid at the Flaming Dolphin in Oxford. She was a wild one, insatiable I remember, loved the feather ticks at the White Hart. Then there was Cerisse—a made-up name, but who cared? Ah, all that red hair.”

“Perhaps we shall have the same bedchamber or bedchambers. Perhaps we should simply hire the entire inn, to cover all the possibilities, so to speak. A symbolic gesture of your sown wild oats.”

“You’re a very inappropriate virgin, Joan.”

She looked at him closely. The moon had finally come from behind thick dark clouds, and she could at last see his face. He was pale, she could see that, and looked dreadfully pulled. The fever must have been more devastating than she’d thought to have left him so very weak. “You don’t have to worry about merely sleeping next to me tonight, Colin. You can even snore if it pleases you to do so. I don’t mind being a virgin until you have all your strength back.”

“Good, because that’s what you’re going to remain.” He felt the rawness in his thigh and wondered why he yet cared that she shouldn’t know about it. It didn’t really matter, not now.

“Unless, of course,” she said, leaning closer to him, her voice dropping to what she hoped was a seductive whisper, and wasn’t at all, “you would like to tell me how to go about accomplishing what it is that should be done. My brothers always accused me of being a dreadfully fast learner. Would you like that?”

He wanted to laugh, but ended by groaning.

Sinjun was forced to assume that was a no, and sighed.

The White Hart stood in the middle of the small marketing town of Chipping Norton, comfortably set in the Cotswolds. It was a fine, very picturesque Tudor inn, so old and rustic Sinjun felt charmed at the same time she was praying for it not to fall down around their ears. So this was where many of the young men came for their trysts. It did look rather romantic, she thought, and sighed again.