Kasey Michaels - How to Wed a Baron

It had all been too easy, even with the added responsibility of keeping his unwanted bride safe until Francis had dealt with the man who wished her harm. Justin should have known nothing with the Prince Regent, or any royalty for that matter, was ever that simple, or that straightforward.

He looked toward the door to the private dining room of the inn and the man standing there, no longer clad in his uniform, but in a rather drab brown jacket and tan buckskins, his cravat a pure horror that would have crumpled Wigglesworth to his knees at the abomination of the thing.

“She doesn’t know,” he said now, flatly, looking Luka full in the eye.

Luka Prochazka merely blinked, and did not answer.

“Cat got your tongue? Very well, Major, we have the whole evening ahead of us. You wouldn’t care for a small side wager as to which one of us outlasts the other?”

“I…that is, you…your statement took me by surprise, and was not a question at all. To what exactly was I supposed to respond?”

“Ah, now you wish to play the fool? Too late for that, Major. Yet, much as such exercises pain me, I’ll repeat myself. She doesn’t know. She’s dancing about somewhere above our heads, delighted in her performance on the dock earlier, happy in her ignorance, and with absolutely no idea her life is at stake at the moment,” Justin said, even as he motioned Luka to take up a chair and avail himself of the bottle of wine that sat on the table between them. “No, don’t look at me as if you still don’t understand what I’m saying. She thinks this is all some political union we’re going to be entering into, an advance of trade between our countries, or some showpiece of how Francis and our George have cried friends and allies yet again. She recited an entire speech on the thing while we were at the docks, just like a good little idiot. But she’s not an idiot, is she, which is why you haven’t told her the truth.”

“But it is all of that,” Luka said, pouring himself a glass of finest burgundy, as Justin never traveled without his own wines any more than he would see it as civilized to travel without his own bed linens.

“Continue to evade my questions, Major, and you and I will go to war. It’s enough that the rain delays our departure to London until the morning and a man of my sensibilities must pass another night beneath this probably leaky roof. The girl is having herself a determined lark, even as it’s clear she loathes the idea of a marriage between us. Ermine tips, enough baggage coming off that ship this afternoon to raise it a two full inches above its previous waterline, a baldly stated intention to take London by storm. She’s beautiful, magnificently so, and she is clearly aware of that fact. As long as she must bow to the king’s wishes, she has come to conquer England, and she very well might. God knows I’d wager on it. If she isn’t put to bed with a shovel within days of her first conquest.”

“She doesn’t need to know that.”

Justin slammed the side of his fist on the tabletop, rocking the bottle of wine. “Bloody hell, she doesn’t!” He sat back, amazed at his outburst—he, who was always so cool, so controlled, so in charge of his emotions. He didn’t much care for the notion he could be concerned with someone else’s welfare, especially some impudent chit who seemed to have taken up instant residence in his head. He’d never been so attracted to a female, and he didn’t much care for the feeling.

His eyes closed, he rubbed at his forehead, willing himself back to his usual composure. “Why? Why hasn’t she been told?”

“It…it was decided that she might…balk at any strictures put on her movements if she were to know our concerns. The Lady Alina is young and…somewhat headstrong. If she can be made to believe that English customs are to be much more strict with the comings and goings of its females, more protective as it were, she would accept that as fact and not chafe at the restrictions quite so much. But if she were to learn that she is being guarded, that she is in fact more a prisoner within invisible walls than she is a young woman on an adventure, a young bride out to make her way in Society…”

Luka sighed and took a long drink from his glass. “A rather superior vintage for a simple inn, even to my admittedly unsophisticated palate. Clearly your economy is not so lowered as ours by the recent war.”

Justin’s mouth lifted in a rueful, one-sided smile. “Yes. And the streets of London are paved in golden cobblestones.” He leaned forward once more, his elbows on the tabletop. “You’re telling me that my soon-to-be wife is completely unaware that her life is in danger. That you or some other idiot has decided it is best she not know—because she might otherwise chafe at her restrictions? My God, man, you speak as if you and your countrymen are afraid of the chit.”

“In my defense, Justin—if I might retain the honor of addressing you informally now that I have so disappointed you—you’ve only just met the lady. She has a decidedly strong will. The only reason she agreed to the marriage, in the end, was that she saw it as a way to become her own woman, out from under her aunt’s thumb. I believe the words she used went something along the lines of once I have put this husband I am burdened with in his place.”

“Hmm,” Justin mused, sitting back once more. “There was nothing in the packet given to me as to why she’s in such danger, but just that I’m to guard her safety until such time I am notified that the danger is past. Now I’m wondering—did she step on someone’s tail?”

Luka took another sip of wine, clearly a cautious man and obviously mentally measuring both Justin and the depth of information he was prepared to share. “Lately? Only her aunt’s, I suppose. But then those two got along like chalk and cheese even before General Valentin met his end at Waterloo. Ever since Lady Alina’s mother died, as a matter of fact. You mention a packet. Might I see its contents?”

“You may not. I am, however, reasonably comfortable with its contents as they pertain to Lady—you call her Alina. Does she prefer that?”

“Magdaléna is her given name, in honor of her paternal great-grandmother, but I’ve been told that her mother loathed it, pointing out that her daughter has more English than any other blood in her veins, and that she would have been fine with Mary, but Magdaléna was unacceptable. Her ladyship has been called Alina from the cradle, a compromise of sorts, I suppose. But to answer your question, if Lady Alina did not like the name, she wouldn’t allow it.”

“You’re trying very hard, and quite heavy-handedly I might add, to have me take my affianced bride in dislike. Is there a reason for that? Perhaps you had seen yourself as her husband until our two royal meddlers decided to gift the lady and me with each other?”

The major’s complexion—what could be seen of it behind the mustachios and ridiculous mutton-chops—colored. “Lady Alina is the daughter of a nobleman. I am the son of a farmer. I would never presume…”

God, the man was in love with her. Or doing his best to give the impression that he was in love with her. And why, Justin wondered, did he always doubt the motives of others? Of course, the simple answer was that it was this doubt, this hesitancy to trust, that had kept him alive all of those long years on the Continent. Yet he had accepted Alina immediately, seeing no ulterior motives, no undercurrents—only her honesty. Did that make him incredibly insightful, or a fool?

“No, of course you wouldn’t, Major. Forgive me. But you would die for her, wouldn’t you?”

“Without question or hesitation,” Luka responded at once, drawing his body to attention—not an easy feat, as he was still seated at the table.