Verity and the Villain Page 21

  Another spoonful popped into her mouth and Verity gagged. “Augh, it’s really awful.”

  “But it works.”

  “Yes. See, I’m much better, so you can stop. With the soup.”

  “Hmm. Not yet, I think. I’ve some questions.”

  “And unless I answer you’ll torture me with soup?”

  Trent didn’t say anything but sat down beside her on the couch. He trapped the quilt beneath him making it so that if Verity shifted, the quilt stayed. Moving risked exposure.

  “You aren’t being very nice,” she told him.

  “You knew Steele in New York.”

  “That’s not a question.”

  “In fact, he courted you.”

  “Again, not a question.”

  Trent paused the spoon, inches from Verity’s lips. “What ended it? What did you mean by lucky girl?”

  Verity stared at Trent, her eyes wide.

  “In your sleep, you said you wouldn’t be a lucky girl. What did you mean?”

  “You must know.”

  “Could I persuade you to be a lucky girl?”

  “Not in that way, no. I’d rather die.”

  “As you pretended to do.”

  “How much do you know?”

  “I know you staged your suicide.”

  “How?”

  “And then you stole Steele’s passage to Seattle.” Trent bent over and placed the bowl of soup and spoon on the table beside the couch.

  Verity felt a wash of relief that her meal had ended, but her pulse quickened as Trent leaned over and gently kissed her forehead.

  “How could you know all that?”

  “Darling, you talk in your sleep. A trait that will surely come in handy in the future.”

  “Future?” Verity pulse fluttered as Trent began to nuzzle her neck. He smelled of soap and faintly of garlic. The soup. She wanted to push him away, to remain angry, but she hadn’t the will, and if she were honest, the desire. She really wanted only one thing. She wanted him.

  “Our future.” Trent breathed against her skin.

  The quilt shifted between them and Verity tugged on it. Trent hovered above her, one hand stroked her cheek while his eyes lingered on her lips. “You really couldn’t expect to spend the night alone in a cottage, nearly naked, with a single man and not be compromised.”

  He kissed her long and deep and Verity felt dizzy again, although this time she suspected the spell had nothing to do with her aching head. Her arms slipped free of the quilt and circled his neck, her hands touched his hair. She remembered this. This was exactly how she’d felt on the bank of the Stilly river.

  The shadows had fallen and a weak moon poked through the thinning clouds. A wind danced the tree branches across the windows. The fire cast an orange glow through the room. But Verity couldn’t hear the wind or see the shadows or feel the fire’s glow; every sense focused on Trent.

  Could this be love, she thought. This warmth, this safety? Could she stay sheltered with this man for a lifetime? Could she tell him about Steele, trust him with her secrets and with her heart? Of course, he hadn’t said he loved her. He hadn’t asked her to be his wife, in so many words. He’d talked of their future. Did he want to marry her? He hadn’t actually said so.

  Trent had his face buried against her neck. His kisses sent spirals of heat across her body. She sank beneath his warmth and size, knowing she would never tire of this. A small voice in her head sent warning signals, but she didn’t try to turn away from temptation.

  The door opened and closed with a click. Cool wind blew into the room and Verity heard a small gasp. Struggling beneath Trent’s weight, Verity tried to see who had arrived, despite her reluctance to face the intruders. Trent remained slumped against her, a heavy weight and immovable protection against the interlopers.

  “Oh dear,” a female said, her voice filled with a host of emotions.

  Verity flattened her hands against Trent and pushed his chest. His heart beat rapidly beneath her hands. He leaned into her and held her tighter, despite her attempts to wiggle free.

  “Get. Off. Of. Her,” a male voice demanded.

  Trent was wrenched from her arms, leaving her cold and shaky. Sitting up, Verity clutched the quilt beneath her arms, exposing her shoulders.

  Miles held Trent by the collar and Chloe looked on with a horrified expression. “Oh Trent,” Chloe said, disappointment and a touch of amusement in her voice. “Gram is going to fillet you.”

  Miles cocked back his arm for a right hook, but Trent grabbed him around the middle and the two men crashed to the floor.

  “Stop,” Verity pleaded, suddenly conscious of her near nudity. She wanted to spring between the men, but she couldn’t risk losing the blankets. “Please, Miles. Trent.” She sent Chloe an imploring glance, but Chloe shot a look at Verity’s exposed shoulders and shook her head in disgust tinged with amusement.

  Trent had Miles on the floor, wedged between his knees, but Miles had his hands around Trent’s throat.

  “Chloe, stop them,” Verity called from her perch on the sofa.

  Chloe folded her arms across her chest. “He deserves it. I know Gram would do much worse if she were here.”

  Verity fluttered between the horrible realization that Chloe would probably tell Mrs. Michaels everything and that she would lose the good opinion of all of Trent’s family. “It’s not how it looks,” Verity said. She motioned to her clothes lying near the fire. “I fell in the river and hit my head.” She lifted her hair away from her face to show Chloe her wound.

  Chloe took her eyes off the two sparing men for a moment to inspect Verity’s forehead. Her eyes crinkled with concern. “Oh, nasty.”

  “Yes, so you see—”

  Chloe gave her head a tiny shake. “I know what I saw, and I still think Trent deserves this.”

  “Then so do I, but honestly, does Miles?”

  Chloe’s attention returned to the men sparring in front of them. They’d long since crashed to the floor. Miles was on top, and then Trent, and then Miles; Verity couldn’t tell who was winning, for they both appeared to be losing. Their fists flew around them and occasionally landed with a sick thud. Trent managed to ease away from Miles and tried to stand, but Miles grabbed his ankle. Trent went down with a bellow and then quickly retaliated, catching hold of Miles’ shirt and bumping his head on the floor.

  “Boys!” Chloe marched over and kicked Trent’s shoulder and he sagged onto Miles. Miles managed to get his fingers around Trent’s throat.

  When Trent and Miles had both secured each other’s throats and their faces were turning motley red, Verity turned toward Chloe, but Chloe was not where she’d been just moments earlier.

  Oh dear. Take two men, add sexual tension, a spark of fire, a hint of wind…Verity twisted around in time to see Chloe tripping forward, the pot of broth in her hands. Chloe splashed the broth on the wrestling men and then hit her brother over the head with the pot for good measure.

  When the two men separated, she said, “Broth heals all wounds.”

  #

  Twilight tinged the sky pink by the time they returned to the ranch. From the kitchen, Verity could smell a savory smoke and she imagined Mrs. Michaels, capable and unflappable, whipping up something for her guests, minus trout, minus huckleberries and minus her two grandchildren and their two guests. The twist in Verity’s stomach had nothing to do with hunger.

  Her clothes, sodden earlier, had been wrung out and laid before the hot stove so that they were now merely damp. At first, because of the fire, they’d been warm and moist, but sometime during the walk, the heat had chilled. The wrinkly clothes clung to her like they were a part of her skin, and Verity felt as wrung out and battered as her dress.

  Because he’d insisted, Trent carried her in his arms. He’d wrapped her up in a blanket, but her bare feet dangled in the air. Her shoes had never been recovered. Trent radiated with nervous energy. Miles, on the other side of her, looked hostile and stony-faced. He had wan
ted to carry her and Verity had been so worried that another fight would follow that she’d started to cry. That had shut up both of the men. Only Chloe seemed to be enjoying herself. She bounced beside Miles as if the impending scene could only promise great fun.

  A soft yellow light shone through the farmhouse windows. From the porch, Verity heard the sound of clattering silverware and subdued conversation. Looking through the doorway, she saw twelve men sat around the dining room table. Mr. Steele sat wedge between a heavyset man with a bolero around his neck, and a barrel-chested man who was tucking into his food with unabashed gusto. Had Steele wished to leave, he’d have to extricate himself, and between the table, the company, and the overflowing food board immediately behind him; it wouldn’t be an easy task. Steele was trapped.

  As was Trent. Did he wish to marry her or was he ensnared by convention and a misplaced sense of responsibility? She didn’t need his protection. She could manage on her own. Verity slid a glance at him. His jaw set, his eyes serious, his lips firm, he gently set her down and took her hand when they passed through the door. Behind them trooped Miles and Chloe. If she dug in her heels at this point, how would Trent respond? And how could she drag her feet without shoes?

  The seated dinner guests turned to stare. Verity could feel Steele’s gaze on her face. She caught the widening of Mrs. Michaels’ eyes. Verity tucked her bare feet out of sight.

  Trent smiled in a greeting, but it looked forced and fierce. He dropped her hand, placed his hand around her waist and said, “Grandmother, friends, I’d like to announce my engagement to Miss Verity Faye.”

  The company stomped their feet and cheered their approval. Mrs. Michaels raised her goblet and demanded a toast, but Mr. Steele put down his drink and stared at Verity with ice blue eyes that seemed to say, you cannot hide behind this man.

  #

  A few minutes later, Verity bumped inside the coach between Trent and Miles. An angry heat pulsed between the two men, and tucked inside of blankets, Verity was, thankfully, at last warm. Stifled, in fact.

  Since Trent had announced their imminent marriage, Miles had looked, if anything, angrier. When Trent arranged to return Verity to her aunt, Miles had refused to be left behind. Without him, she would have had an opportunity to talk with Trent and she had things to say, difficult things that she didn’t know how to vocalize. As she sat in the neutral zone between two hostile countries, she tried to marshal her thoughts. She had questions for Trent, but none seemed acceptable for Miles’ ears, so she held her tongue and chewed on her lip.

  Slipping Miles a guarded glance, she knew she should be glad of his livid hulk. Without him, she didn’t know where or what she’d be doing. She flushed.

  Of course, she knew.

  And from the grim expression on Trent’s face, she was fairly sure he was of the same mind. And he minded. He wanted to be alone with her as badly as she wanted to be with him, but propriety, something that had been recently disregarded, whispered that she should be grateful for Miles. She didn’t want to be married under duress. She shivered.

  Trent noticed and turned to her. “Cold?” He brushed the hair off her forehead, exposing the bruise.

  Beside her, Miles bristled and emitted a noise that could only be described as a low growl.

  Verity sighed, leaned back against the cushions, and watched out the window at the shadows dancing in the woods. The dark trees swayed in the wind. The noise of the coach and the rattle of the horse’s gear blocked out all other sound. The wind did little to lift the oppressive warmth of the coach. Once, through the trees, Verity thought she saw the shadow of a passing rider.

  She clutched Trent’s hand. “Could someone be following us?”

  Miles looked out the window. “It’s just your conscience,” he said after a minute. Then he settled back into the seat with a disgruntled harrumph.

  It would be a long seven miles. Trent let go of her hand and Verity felt alone, bereft, and frightened.

  #

  When they pulled up in front of Miles’ townhome, they were surprised, given the late hour, to find the windows ablaze with light, the front door standing open, and Laurel, Minnie’s maid, standing on the front porch, wringing her hands.

  “I’m not getting out until I see Verity safely back at her aunt’s house.” Miles sat in the coach like a large, immovable boulder of ill will.

  “I’m fine,” Verity promised Miles.

  Miles looked first at Trent and then Verity, folded his arms and stared straight ahead.

  Verity watched the maid jittering on the doorstep. “I think Laurel needs to speak with you,” she told Miles.

  Miles sent the maid a questioning look but refused to budge from the coach.

  Laurel hurried down the front path and motioned to Miles. From her stricken face, Verity knew something was wrong.

  Miles must have had the same idea because, after a backward warning glance at Trent, he sprang from the coach. “Do not leave, I’ll only follow.”

  Trent groaned and sank back against the cushions. “I’ll make the arrangements with the pastor at first light,” he said as soon as Miles slammed out the door.

  “You needn’t bother,” Verity said, leaning away from him. Her voice sounded strained to her own ears.

  Trent leaned forward. “And why not?”

  Verity lowered her voice so that Miles couldn’t hear. “You haven’t even asked me to marry you, you oaf, you just announced our marriage to the world without even my consent.”

  Trent leaned back and chuckled, clearly relieved. “Oaf?”

  Verity looked out the window, away from Trent. She watched Laurel catch Miles by the jacket, drag him away out of earshot and whisper in his ear.

  “I’d hardly call my gram’s dining room the world.”

  “I’m extraordinarily angry with you,” Verity whispered, not wanting to be overheard by the approaching Miles and Laurel. “Not to mention embarrassed—”

  Trent reared his head back against the seat as if she’d pushed him. “Why would you be angry?”

  Verity leaned forward and pointed her finger at his chest. “Why did you take off my clothes? That was completely inappropriate. You must have known there would be no going back—”

  Trent did nothing to lower his voice. “You had been soaked in running glacier water. I suppose it would have been much more appropriate to let you die of hypothermia!”

  “You could have taken me to the ranch, sought help from your sister or grandmother. I wouldn’t have minded if they’d taken off my clothes.”

  Trent opened his mouth to argue and then flushed. “I didn’t mind taking off your clothes, and to be honest—”

  “You didn’t mind? Perhaps I minded!”

  “May I remind you that you didn’t seem to mind at the time!”

  “I wasn’t conscious!”

  “Later, you were very much awake.”

  Tears welled in her eyes and she batted them away, praying Trent wouldn’t see. She didn’t want to marry because propriety dictated it or because their marriage would soothe his guilty conscience. If she became a ‘had to’ in his life, how long would it be before the balm that eased his shame grew sticky and uncomfortable? When she married, if she married, it would be for love, like the love that she’d felt between her parents. The sort of love that made one get out of bed every morning at four to bake bread, that held hands every evening during prayer, that clung to one another despite pain, illness, and death. She turned away, not knowing how to say that marriage, at least her marriage, couldn’t be fabricated, thrown together, willy-nilly, with as little thought as a mincemeat pie.

  Trent took her hand. “Verity, will you please marry me?”

  She hated him then for making a mockery of her and her beliefs. Verity waved her hand to shush him when Miles, with a stricken face, appeared at the coach’s window.

  “It’s Minnie. She’s eloped.” His voice sounded breathless, hoarse.

  Verity craned her neck out the window and saw
what looked like a long white sheet suspended from a second story window blowing in the wind. It billowed and fluttered like a live creature and looked startling white against the dark sky.

  “Eloped?” Verity’s voice caught and suspicion swelled in her chest. “With who?”

  Miles leaned against the coach and ran his fingers through his hair. “Probably Aidan Steele. She’s been fawning over him for weeks.”

  At the news, Trent leaped from the coach and came around to Miles. Verity also slipped out the door. Dizziness swept over her and she grabbed the coach to steady herself. Her knees felt weak.

  “That’s not possible, we just saw Steele at the ranch,” she said. Absently, she rubbed the sore spot on her head. It’d begun to throb.

  Trent looked at the sheet writhing in the wind. “A lone rider could easily outstrip a coach by hours.”

  Verity persisted, “But it would have had to been prearranged…I just don’t think it could be Steele.”

  Miles looked mutinous. “Who else? My parents will be livid.” His expression cleared. “Maybe we could find her, and the lot of you could have a double wedding in the morning.”

  Trent caught Verity’s gaze and she had to look away. Trent gazed back at Miles with a grim expression. “If she’s with Steele, I’ve an idea of where to look.”

  Verity nodded and took Miles’ arm while Trent told him all they knew of Mr. Steele’s involvements with young girls and the Lucky Island brothel.

  #

  Moments later, Verity found herself deposited at the house on Lily Hill. Irritated at being left behind, angry and frustrated with the unresolved conversation, she sat on her bed mindful of the glaring fact that this was supposed to be her wedding eve.

  Through the window, she caught the sparkling lights of Lucky Island. A petticoat strapped on the flag pole flapped in the wind and looked eerily like the sheet hanging from Minnie’s window. Would Steele take Minnie there right away? Verity doubted he intended to marry her, but would he take her straight to the island, or first to his home? Maybe he had another voyage in mind.

  Verity’s fingers crept to her bruised forehead and she touched it gingerly. She knew she was unwell, not up to snuff and shouldn’t be doing anything more strenuous than having a good night’s sleep. But how could she sleep when worry for Minnie dogged her every thought? Should she have warned her? Should she have told her? Of course. Why hadn’t she?