Page 23 of The Banished Bride
Aurora gaveone last tug at her tresses before crossing the threshold. What a strange and quixotic man this stranger was, she mused, all leers and laughter one moment, coldly calculating the next. He was certainly unlike any gentleman of her acquaintance—not that there had been that many!
Her limited contact with the opposite sex had left her with the distinct impression that men were, in general, vain, shallow, self-centered and prone by their very natures to be bullies. But while the major possessed a goodly amount of arrogance and was obviously used to having his word obeyed, she sensed there was a great deal more depth to his character than just that. It was difficult to put into words. There was an undeniable strength about him, yet oddly enough, it was more comforting than intimidating. He was kind as well, though he chose to mask it with casual bravado. Perhaps even odder was the fact that he appeared able to recognize his own foibles and find some measure of ironic humor from them.
Now, that was truly a rarity—a man who could laugh at himself.
“Your shirt is almost dry, sir.” She draped it over his shoulders as she passed by, taking great care not to touch the tanned flesh. “Put it on before you catch cold. I should not wish to be accused of sabotaging the mission, all for want of a bath.” Spying the pots on the earthen floor and the sack of provisions on the table, she scooped them up and made toward the small hearth. “Why don’t I see to some supper while you go on with your plans.”
A short while later the rich aroma of a simmering stew wafted up with the spreading warmth of the fire, causing the two men to pause for a moment in their measurements and calculations.
“By Jove, Mr. Sprague is a singularly lucky fellow,” murmured Jack as Aurora stirred some of the fresh herbs she had gathered into the mixture of lamb and turnips. “I hope he recognizes his good fortune in having a wife who is beautiful, clever and a marvelous cook, to judge by the smells drifting our way.”
Her knuckles went very white from the force with which she clenched the wooden spoon.
Unaware of her reaction, he continued on in the same light vein.” Why, if you were not already taken, I should consider falling on bended knee?—”
“Such a romantic gesture would be entirely wasted on me. I don’t plan toeverwalk to the alter again.” Her mouth set in a tight line. “Not that I chose to do so the first time.”
All the humor went out of Jack’s face. “Please forgive such cow-handed teasing. I-I did not mean to upset you in any way,” he finished lamely. Striving to understand the source of her agitation, he added, “Is your husband, however unlamented, recently deceased, then?”
There was an awkward silence before Aurora answered. “I have no idea,” she said with exaggerated unconcern. “Nor do I care.” Carefully ladling a generous helping from the pot into each of the tin bowls Jack had brought from town, she carried them to the table. “Are you married, Jack?” she asked abruptly.
He shook his head.
“Then it is you who are the fortunate one.”
There was no reply, only a slight creasing of his brow as he bent his head and began to pick at his food.
“I’m afraid that like us, Jack, Aurora has taken on the sort of duties that have given her a rather jaded view of the human race. Men in particular.” Alex had not yet touched his stew and Aurora was all too aware of how his gaze had remained focused on her face. “Actually, now that I have my wits about me, I am more than a little curious to hear in more detail about the working of Sprague Agency for Distressed Females.”
Jack made a choking sound.
“That is,” continued Alex, “If it wouldn’t be too distressing.”
Striving to mask what those probing blue eyes were doing to her insides, she gave a careless shrug. “You’ve heard the gist of it. Women come to me with a problem, one that usually involvesmen. Using common sense and reliable sources I am almost always able to solve it.”
“For example?” Jack’s spoon hung in mid-air, stew untouched.
Aurora rubbed at her chin. “Let me see, there was a certain lady of title whose husband was being particularly intransigent about untying the purse strings for a Season in Town. Claimed there wasn’t enough blunt for it, even though the lady in question had brought a hefty fortune as a dowry. Now, she was sensible enough to decide the little matter was worth investigating, so she came to me.”
“And then?” prompted Jack, who was clearly hanging on every word.
“And then only the Good Lord could help the poor devil,” quipped Alex with an amused chuckle.
Aurora ignored his interruption. “Well, it was really quite simple. The pompous prig was so sure of himself that he consigned his frequent billet doux to the waste bin, where any maid might retrieve them, rather than locking them away in his desk or burning them in the grate. He also made the rather foolish mistake of riding past where the milkmaids churned the cream on his way to the summer house by the lake. That made it even easier to discover that he was tossing up the skirts of not one, but three of the local ladies.”
Both men made a weak attempt at a grin.
“Once I had the basic information in hand, it was child’s play to make a quick trip into the nearest town of any note and visit the purveyors of such fripperies as filigree ear bobs, silk parasols and the like, always implying how much I wished to emulate a certain gentleman’s purchases. The list was quite extensive.” There was nothing forced about the smile that spread over Aurora’s lips. “When presented with a full overview of the situation, he became eminently reasonable about how expensesmight be reallocated to allow his wife to spend time—and a full purse—in London.”
Jack made a convulsive swallow, but not of any morsel of lamb or turnip. “Amazing. I, er, understand now how you have come by your expertise in the field.”
“Of course,” she added, unable to suppress a touch of smugness in her voice. “There are the cases where a merchant or supplier simply seeks to cheat one of my clients because she is a female, but those are usually not so interesting, for they involve little more than patience and a skill for arithmetic.”
It was not hard to read the look of admiration writ across Jack’s open face. Alex’s expression was much more difficult to decipher, especially as he had turned away to contemplate the fire, as if the flickering embers were of more interest than any of her words.
It didn’t matter a whit what he thought, she reminded herself. She had long ago left off caring what others thought of her.
Was it because rejection still had the power to wound after all these years?
