How to Wed a Baron

“Justin,” he said, cocking his head very slightly. “Go on.”

“Justin,” she repeated, trying out his name, wishing her heart would kindly stop racing as if she’d just run up the long, curving flight of stairs at home. “Those were the king’s reasons, and your king’s, as well, I suppose. But I could have refused, you know.”

“How fortunate for you.”

She heard something in his voice, something that pulled all of her attention to him. “You had no choice?”

“Well, we all have choices, I suppose. Mine, however, were not acceptable to me.”

“Neither were mine,” Alina said, pushing up the pillows behind her so that she could sit back against them. She felt ridiculous, just lying there, while he stood over her like some…some…stallion. “Aunt Mimi made it very clear that if I refused this grand honor the king was gifting me with, I would be married off to someone of her choosing. She seemed entirely too delighted to have that power, so here I am.”

“I’ve been many things in my life, Alina, but I believe this may be the first time I am being seen as the lesser of two evils. I’m flattered.”

“You probably shouldn’t be, you know. I really never considered you. I’ve always wanted to travel to England. I want to meet the rest of my family, now that my parents are gone. It isn’t pleasant, you understand, to think that your single remaining relative is Aunt Mimi.”

Justin chuckled softly. “We must be thankful, then, that she didn’t decide to escort you here herself.”

Alina nodded, actually beginning to relax. Which was ridiculous. She was in bed, and he was standing there, and these newly awakened parts of her body were becoming more and more interested in having him continue to stand there. “She’s convinced Englishmen are all barbarians, so she refused to accompany me. She may even now be rubbing her hands together in glee, believing some great bear has already eaten me, or something.”

“There are no bears in England, Alina. At least not of the four-legged variety. I was told your mother was English, but I hadn’t given that fact very much thought. What’s your family name?”

“You’ll allow me to go see them?”

Justin shrugged. “I see no reason not to, do you?”

“No, I don’t. But Luka told me that English husbands are very strict, and that I will not be allowed to walk out alone, most especially in London, and that, as a wife, I will no longer have a mind of my own, but only my husband’s will and permission.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed, which for some unknown reason suddenly seemed quite a natural thing for him to do. “God’s teeth! No wonder you don’t like me. He told you all of that? Did he tell you that we lock wives in the cellars if they dare to disobey, and keep them there on a diet of stale bread and ditch water for a month?”

Alina’s eyes widened at this, but then she noticed the tiniest bit of crinkling around the outside of Justin’s eyes. “You said that you and he had a long talk this evening. Did he tell you that I’m a very good shot and that I have a very bad temper?”

“He said you are prone to do whatever people tell you not to do. He didn’t mention any proficiency with firearms.”

“Oh. Then perhaps I shouldn’t have mentioned it, either. And not just with firearms. I am also extremely proficient at archery, and I know how to throw a knife so that it actually sticks in whatever it hits. That isn’t easy, you know, getting the handle not to hit first.”

“Now I’m intrigued,” Justin said, and she believed him, because he was looking at her with some interest. “Many Englishwomen are proficient at archery. Some enjoy shooting, although not many. But I don’t believe I’ve ever met a female who knows how to throw a knife without the handle hitting the target first. Why would you want to learn such a thing?”

Alina lowered her eyes for a moment, and then looked at him again. “Your English ladies were safe here, on your island, while Bonaparte seemed to go where he willed all across Europe. My father said that when the fox threatens the chicken house, even the hens must know how to defend themselves.”

“Luka told me your father died at Waterloo. I’m sorry.”

“So am I,” Alina said, sighing. “But he didn’t mean to die. If he did, he wouldn’t have left me with Aunt Mimi. He would have been certain to leave instructions that I be sent to England, I’m sure of it. But Luka isn’t so sure, as Papa never said anything to him.”

“Ah, yes, your mother’s family.”

“My family,” she clarified. She hadn’t really thought seriously about her mother’s family, not until her father was gone, but she’d daydreamed about how they would be. How they’d love her. “They live in Kent. I looked at a map, and it isn’t all that far away from London. It’s all down here the way Portsmouth is, at the fat end of the island, and not up near Scotland.”

“Yes, I am familiar with Kent. My own estate is located in Hampshire, also in the…fat part of the island. What’s your mother’s family name?”

“Farber,” Alina told him proudly. “My mother was Lady Anne Louise Farber, daughter of the Earl of—”

“Birling. Yes, I know the family title.”

She watched as Justin stood once more, his handsome features suddenly cold, hard. She sat up straighter, sensing that the ease they’d seemed to have found with each other these past minutes was just that, a thing of the past. “What’s wrong?”

His expression softened, but only with some effort, she was sure. “Wrong? Why, nothing, my dear, nothing at all is wrong. I just thought of something else I must discuss with the Prince Regent when next I see him. I must tell him how very clever, no, how fiendishly clever he is.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You will, unfortunately. But not right now. It’s time you slept. Good night.”

“But…but you said we had to talk, that there was something you needed to tell me.”

His hand on the door latch, Justin turned, looked at her in the near darkness. She couldn’t see his eyes now, and she had the strangest feeling that this was because he didn’t want her to see them.

“Yes, it had to do with our destination. I’m afraid we won’t be traveling to London tomorrow. Instead, you’ll be heading off to West Sussex, and the estate of my friend Rafe, the Duke of Ashurst. And his wife, Charlotte,” he added almost immediately, as if he felt he should. “You’ll travel quickly, I’m afraid, with only a single night spent on the road and two full days in the coach.”

“And then we’ll go to London?”

“I will,” he said, and opened the door. “I most assuredly will be traveling to London. I’m convinced there is someone there who can barely contain his glee as he awaits my arrival.”

She threw back the covers and got out of bed. “But I won’t be going with you to see this happy person? Is that what you’re saying? You’re going to take me to this Ashurst, and this Duke, and leave me there?”

“You’ll remain with my friends until I return for you, yes.”

“But—why?”

He didn’t answer her. Instead, he closed the door and walked to where she was standing barefoot on the chilly wooden floor, and put a hand to her cheek, which made her feel very strange indeed. Not frightened. Not at all frightened. She fought to keep herself from tipping her head, so that she could press her skin more closely against his, feel the strength of his hand, the slight roughness of his skin.

“You’ve been badly used. I’m sorry, pet,” he whispered softly. “I’m so very, very sorry. But I’ll fix it, as best I can. I promise.”

“You make precious little sense, Justin,” she told him, caught between anger and fear…and a hint of something she felt fairly certain, after her instructional talk, Tatiana would have termed interest. Mostly, she knew she didn’t want him to leave. “How can you fix something I don’t even know is broken? How would I even know when you’d fixed it?”

He smiled, but it was one of those smiles that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Aren’t your feet cold?”

“Never mind my feet,” she shot back, deciding anger was perhaps the best option at the moment.

“Ah, but I find them adorable. Small and slim. Have you ever heard the expression I kiss your hands and feet?”

Alina curled her toes and clenched her fingers, and those parts of her that had been so happily slumbering shot out warnings that she might soon be in significant trouble if she didn’t apply some maidenly common sense and put a halt to this strange conversation, and that those previously slumbering parts weren’t all that averse to a little adventure.

“Once again you’re not answering my questions,” she pointed out, striving to regather her scattered wits. “We were speaking about my family, and suddenly you ran for the door.”

“I beg your pardon. I do not run for doors.”

“Very well, then, why did you come back?” she asked, believing the answer to that might be more important.

“Perhaps for this?” he offered, moving his hand so that now he was tipping up her chin. “One more look, and perhaps even a small taste.”

“Oh. I…that is…you shouldn’t have to answer every quest—”

Her eyelids fluttered closed as he brought his lips to hers, and then retreated before she could react at all.

“Innocence,” he said softly. “You taste like innocence. And I should be shot.”

And then he was gone, and Alina crawled back into bed, holding a hand to her mouth, knowing she wouldn’t sleep a single wink for the remainder of what was going to be a very long night.

CHAPTER FOUR

WIGGLESWORTH DEPOSITED the coddled eggs in front of his master with all the trepidation of the servant charged with delivering the head of John the Baptist to Salome; he thought it might be what the baron wanted, but could not be sure of its reception now that it was a done thing.

The porridge had been looked upon, but not eaten. The kippers—done to a turn!—had been waved away without so much as a “ye gods, Wigglesworth, not those horrid things.” Even the inn’s own country ham, purely a desperate move by the servant who put little trust in any cooking save his own, had been met with a fairly blank stare and a short shake of the head.

“Wigglesworth, I said I wasn’t— Oh, damn. Here, let me force these down. I wouldn’t want to put you into a sulk.”

“Thank you, sir,” the servant said, sighing. And then he dared more. “Is there…something amiss, my lord?”

“Your solicitude becomes tiresome. A man can’t forgo a single breakfast out of thousands without something being wrong?”

Wigglesworth wrung his hands even as Brutus, standing in a corner—hulking in a corner—shook his massive head sorrowfully, either for worry over his employer or the fact that he now, after being passed the porridge and the kippers for his own consumption, would be denied the coddled eggs.

“Your bed wasn’t slept in, my lord,” Wigglesworth pointed out quietly. “There was nary a hint of reproach when I nicked you that small—infinitesimal, I assure you—cut with the razor. And you did not even a single time remonstrate with me when I informed you that your second-best Hessians seemed to have suffered a fatal crack to the heel on the cobblestones yesterday.”

“My, what a litany of abuses you’ve laid before me, Wigglesworth. Very well, consider your sorry self run up and down by the rough side of my tongue. Now may I be left alone? Wait—a fatal crack?”

“Possibly. Perhaps. I may have overstated. I will deliver them personally to Mr. Hoby when we are returned to London.”

Justin put down his fork, what little appetite he may have had, either for the eggs or soothing Wigglesworth’s feelings, now gone. “An event that is to be somewhat delayed,” he said as the major entered the breakfast room. “Ah, Luka, there you are,” he went on, no trace of anything but happiness at the appearance of the man in his voice. “Would you like my man here to prepare you something with which to break your fast? He has quite taken over the kitchen, you understand.”

“Thank you, no. I’ve been up for hours, and have already eaten,” the major said, a note of recrimination in his tone, as if anyone who remained abed past dawn was a sluggard not worth considering. “Pardon me, but I could not help but overhear. We are not immediately setting out for London? It was my understanding that Lady Alina was to be presented to your Prince Regent, and then you and she were to immediately exchange your vows, sealing the…the, um, bargain.”

“Just what I tarried here to speak to you about. Such haste is unseemly, don’t you think? Her ladyship is fatigued from her travels. It would be unconscionable to force her to continue her journey without some small respite, which is why I sent off one of my outriders at first light to the estate of my dear friend the Duke of Ashurst, to alert him that Lady Alina will be his guest for a few days. The duke will be dispatching outriders to meet you along the road and escort you the remainder of the journey. They’ll be with you by the time you arrive at your first night’s lodging, I’m sure. Rooms will be waiting for you.”

Luka narrowed his eyes. His moustachios may have twitched as well, but it was a close-run thing to know if this was a natural occurrence or a remarkable aberration caused by the man’s consternation at the position he had been forced into by his king. If it was the latter, Luka had Justin’s full sympathy. And empathy, if it came to that.

“Lady Alina will be the duke’s guest? And you will be…?”

“Elsewhere. I see no need to provide you with a listing of my comings and goings, I’m afraid, as I’ve been my own master for quite some years now. Until recently, that is, which is a circumstance that is about to change. You’ve protected her thus far, and Brutus and my own trusted and quite prodigiously well-armed outriders will be with you. I imagine you’re up to getting her safely to Ashurst Hall. Well, Brutus is,” Justin qualified, getting to his feet, quitting the room and leaving the major to follow or not, whatever his inclination. Not that he was surprised to have the man hot on his heels as he strode out to the inn yard.

“I beg your pardon? Have you forgotten that you are charged with protecting Lady Alina?”

“She has her prepared-to-die-for-her secretary,” Justin said, turning to his left and heading for the stables. “Anyone approaches with a nefarious look in his eye, and you just be a good fellow and attack him with your quill. You—yes, you. Saddle the bay now, my fine young fellow, and there’s a guinea in it for you.”

The eager ostler hastened to do Justin’s bidding, but not quickly enough to save the baron from the major’s fury.

“You’re leaving? Just like this? I can’t allow you to do that.” To give credence to his words, he roughly took hold of Justin’s arm above the elbow.

Justin turned slowly to face the irate man. “Allow? You cannot allow? Worse, you’re putting a crease in my jacket.”

The major loosed his grip. “The devil with your jacket. Last night you looked like a man who was going to tell her about the threat to her life. Did you?”

“I allowed my mind to be changed on that head,” Justin told him, taking the gloves and hat and riding crop Wigglesworth, who had materialized seemingly from out of nowhere, pressed into his hands. “Thank you, Wigglesworth. You remain, as always, a treasure.”

“You’re welcome, my lord. I would have been here sooner, had you but told me you were about to depart. You will be careful, won’t you, sir?”

“Am I not always careful, Wigglesworth?” Justin asked, putting on his curly brimmed beaver and lightly tapping it into place.

“No, sir, you’re not.” The servant turned to address the major. “He’s not, you know. But he always triumphs. If his lordship says that everything will be fine, then it will be fine, because he wouldn’t have it any other way. But perhaps not always immediately.”

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