Page 21 of The Banished Bride
Or the past.
It was, however, inevitable. His sense of duty, and honor, would not let him desert his duties. He would return to London when this mission was finished and figure out how to deal with what the vagaries of life had placed in his hands. All the things he had never wanted—a title, a fortune, a vast estate.
And a wife.
The thought of his unknown bride brought the chill back to his bones. Good Lord, he had never even seen her face! All he recalled was that she was very small and very young. Perhaps she had been as much a pawn in the game as he had, but somehow he doubted it. The son of an earl, even a younger one, was a far greater catch than any daughter of a reprobate baron might hope to land. No doubt the little witch had been happy togo along with the travesty of a wedding, well satisfied at thinking she was soon to be mistress of her own estate, however small and run down. His lips compressed. And now, she must be rubbing her hands with glee at learning she had become a countess in the bargain.
Alex gave vent to a harsh sigh. Yes, in his experience, all females—young or old, titled or not—looked to gain something from a man, be it profit, prestige, protection or simple pleasure. There was no reason to think his nominal wife was any different from rest of her sex.
Was any woman?he asked himself with a sardonic grimace. To his own bemused surprise, the answer to such jaded cynicism that slowly took form in his head was not quite what he expected.
Perhaps there was one.
Aurora Sprague.Now there was a singular young lady. One who was, inarguably, unlike any other female he had ever encountered. She was as brave and resourceful as any of his brother officers. Which, Alex realized with a rueful smile, was about as high a praise as he could bestow on anyone. Rather than resorting to shrieks and tears when confronted with danger, she had displayed a feisty courage, relying on her own wits and determination to see her through.
Her outer toughness could not, however, quite hide what lay beneath the steely demeanor and guarded words. From the few facts he had gleaned concerning her current activities, it had become clear that she had undertaken an arduous—and expensive—journey in order to help a female of no relation, simply because the poor woman had no one else to turn to. She might claim that this rather bizarre hobby of hers was inspired simply by dislike of men, but he sensed it stemmed from far more nobler sentiments. Though she seemed loath to admit it, even to herself, kindness and compassion lay at the core of herbeing rather than the cold cynicism she chose to wear as one would a suit of armor.
His expression turned pensive. Certainly she had revealed a softer side in caring for him. Softer and more vulnerable. It seemed she expected nothing in return. He admitted that it was beyond his experience. It was unexpected. As was just about everything about her.
Yet another quality that had earned his grudging admiration was how she was pluck to the bone. Why, not once since he had accosted her in the gloom of her carriage had she complained of being tired or hungry or uncomfortable. Or, for that matter, any of the myriad discomforts that would have driven another female into a state of permanent hysterics.
It was not that she lacked certain other feminine … attributes. Very feminine, he might add. Though her gown was hardly designed to flatter her figure, it revealed enough of the slim, rounded hips and firm, ripe swell of bosom to have his thoughts straying far from the mission at hand.
It was his own desires that were turning traitorous on him. Never before had he allowed anything—much less a woman—distract him from his duties. With a start, he realized that instead of concentrating on how to ensnare a dangerous spy, his attention had been focused on a very different sort of lady, and how he might capture ….
Capture what? That gave him pause for thought. Oh, he wanted her. Strangely enough, more than he had ever wanted a woman before, though he could not quite explain why, even to himself. There was no question that she was not as beautiful as some of the women in his past. Nor did she lure him on with coy flirtations or seductive charm. A soft chuckle stole forth from his lips. Ha! Her idea of a murmured endearment had been a threat to strangle him.
An odd half smile played at the corners of his mouth, then quickly faded as he reminded himself that all females were adversaries of a sort. The fact that Mrs. Sprague was married and no innocent made her fair game. He was free to pursue her as ruthlessly as he meant to go after the true enemy. After all, it was clear from a number of her comments that she knew the rules and expected no quarter from men.
Alex found himself staring at the scudding clouds, their shapes changing with quixotic whim from moment to moment. Suddenly, desire was tempered by a twinge of regret, even guilt. That was the damn problem, he realized. Though why it should bother him that the young lady had been hurt in the past eluded any reasonable explanation. The stirrings of a conscience—that is, if he had one when it came to his dealings with women—was an unfamiliar sensation, and one he sought to still just as quickly as it had arisen. It wasn’t as if her life, however tragic, had anything to do with him. He had always been most careful to keep an emotional detachment from any female, especially those he had taken to his bed. This shouldn’t be any different.
“Damnation,” he muttered. He must still be suffering the effects of his fever to confuse simple lust with any other more complex feelings.
“Alex? Are you out there?” Aurora’s voice, tight with concern, floated across the field. The cry sounded again, louder this time.
He sat upright. “Yes, I’m over here.”
“Oh!” She turned and rushed forward in his direction. “I feared you might have … passed out again.”
He started to rise, then quickly thought better of it. “Er, you had better stop where you are.”
“B-but why?”
“Because if you take another step, you are going to see a great deal more of me than just my great hairy legs.” He pointed to thebush where his clothes were hung. “If you would be so good as to turn around for a moment, I shall fetch my things.”
She did as she was requested, but not before he saw her eyes flare and her face turn a distinct shade of crimson. With a mischievous grin, he couldn’t resist adding, “And no peeking.”
“Hmmph.” Her head gave a toss. “As if I should find the view in that direction of any interest whatsoever.”
A peal of laughter greeted the steely retort. “I am lucky your razor tongue is the only sharp implement you are wielding at the moment, else I should be forced to turn tail and run,” he murmured, drawing another indignant snort. “Even so, it has dealt the most grievous of all the wounds I have suffered over past few days.” He finished with the buttons of his breeches, then tugged on his shirt. “There. Now you may now admire the view with utmost propriety.”
Aurora made a point of walking toward the river without so much as a glance in his direction. He hurried to catch up and fell in with her stride. “Forgive my teasings. I did not mean to set your back up, but it is hard to resist when you look so very becoming with a flash in your eyes and a glow on your cheeks.”
To his surprise, a pinch of longing seemed to tug at her features before it was quickly brushed away by a look of wariness. “Surely you are not flirting with me, Major Woodmore?”
“Alex,” he reminded her. “And why not? Most any man would find it impossible not to engage in a little harmless flirtation with a pretty lady.” On catching a glimpse of the surprise that flickered for a moment her eyes, he added, ”Can it be that you are not used to men flirting with you, Aurora?”
She stumbled, nearly losing her balance on the rocky ground. “You have spent too much time on the Peninsula, sir, for your compliments have the ring of Spanish coin.” Shaking off the hand he had placed on her elbow, she stalked to the edge of thebank and peered down at the swirling water. “What I wouldn’t give to wash away the dust and grime, too,” she sighed, her words hardly more than a low whisper.
