Page 3 of The Winter Husband
Huron? Wives?
Her wits were in fragments, she couldn’t make sense of that.
“I thank you for intervening, sir.” She leaned away from the wall, trying to stand steady on her feet. “Were those men really in jail?”
“Less than a year ago, yes.”
“I see.”We had much more in common than I realized.“But they were set free.”
“Yes.” His voice rumbled with disapproval. “Not by innocence. By bribery. And the help of powerful friends.”
By the love of Mary, what kind of world was this? “It’s a pity I have no money and only poor friends. I may never be released from my cell.”
“So you’re the lady prisoner.” He swung his hands behind his back. “Chepewéssin.”
How quickly vulgar wit travels.“The men of Quebec must spend an inordinate amount of time in taverns.”
“Until Madame Bourdon told me your real name, I only knew the other. I’m here to make you an offer.”
Dear heavens, another suitor?
“I’m an officer in the Carignan-Salières Regiment. Recently discharged, about to settle land. I could provide the money and influence you need to be released from jail.”
“At the price of my eternal devotion, I know.” At least this man didn’t mince words or spewed false flattery. “I’m afraid you’re wasting your time, sir—”
“Captain,” he corrected. “Captain Lucas Girard.”
She met his powerful gaze. Winter gray, those eyes. Pale light glancing off snow. “I am honored by your attentions, Captain. But I assure you, you’ll find a kinder welcome among the other women.”
“Will you not hear my offer?”
His softer tone gave her pause. This man had just saved her from worse attentions. What could she say without being rude? The polite ones were the hardest to refuse, but she was so weary of this farce, tired of the noise of the room, irritated by the burning rawness forming under the sleeve-seam of her new dress. Was there no easier way to be released from jail than to be married?
How had she come to this?
“That landholding,” the giant began, “that Fortin and Landry were offering. It’s nearly two hundred acres on the south side of the St. Lawrence River.”
“Which I am sure any other woman in this room would be happy to be the mistress of.”
“It comes with a knighthood. People will call me ‘sire.’ They’ll call you ‘lady.’”
She stifled a snort. Even as the granddaughter of a baron’s brother, she had the right to call herself a lady. But after all she’d done, she would never be called a lady again.
“I believe you’re trying to bribe me, Captain.”
His brow rippled.
“I take no offense, sir. It seems to be how this is done.” She sighed and dropped all pretense. “Forgive me for being blunt, but telling the truth is the kindest way to dissuade you. Many responsibilities await a wife of New France, yet I can’t cook, launder, skin game, pluck fowl, or make candles or soap. I know nothing of gardening or animal husbandry or medicinal plants. I can’t do anything more useful than play the pianoforte. Do you have a pianoforte?” She doubted he did. The only one in the whole settlement stood just across the room. “Knowing all this, what use would I be to you as a wife?”
His gaze drifted somewhere above her. He didn’t say a word, but she sensed a lot of thinking going on behind his strong features. And what striking, sun-weathered features he had. Smooth of brow, straight of nose. He’d shaved recently, but not with the help of a barber, if the small cut near his Adam’s apple was any indication. Perhaps it was a wonder he wasn’t bloodied more. He had such an expanse of throat to be shaved, such a strong neck upon those imposing shoulders. Her gaze wandered down his well-tailored uniform jacket, stretched taut against a solid wall of an abdomen. Buffed boots fit his muscular calves. Slightly breathless, she was reminded of the tales of Gargantua the giant and his larger son, Pantagruel, scandalous stories she’d once devoured under the linens with an insatiable and dangerous curiosity.
“It appears,” he said, breaking into her thoughts, “that the cousins did not tell you the whole truth.”
She blinked. What had they been talking about?
“There’s a condition on this land grant.” He turned his head as if in search of words, revealing a queue of shoulder-length hair he’d tied back with a strip of leather. “The land cannot be claimed by a bachelor. The new landholder must be married.” Massive shoulders moved beneath the epaulets as he spoke. “Talon won’t even sign the official papers until after the wedding night.”
For a flash of a heated moment, she imagined this muscled man, in all his nakedness, looming above her unclothed body.
