A Gentleman Never Surrenders Page 5

  He groaned. It would be sheer luck if his new wife didn’t smother him with a pillow tonight while he slept.

  Chapter 5

  Milly hugged her parents goodbye and gave Rowena a kiss on the cheek. Rowena wiped tears from her eyes.

  “Oh, Milly, you’ll let me come visit you? Mama says once she’s hired a lady’s maid for me, she’ll let me come and see you.” Rowena hugged her again, her little nose turning red as she sniffled.

  Milly glanced at Owen, who stood by the hired cab. “I’m sure that will be fine. I’ll write to you and let you know once I’m settled.”

  “Good.” Rowena stepped back, clutching her hands together, trying to smile, but it wobbled. Milly wanted to stay here, with her family, in a place she was familiar with and comfortable. She was heading off to the unknown tonight and not having any control was terrifying. She was married to a stranger, going to a town she’d never been to before, and she was so alone. Her stomach clenched in tight knots and her heart ached as she realized her life would never been the same.

  “Ready?” Owen called out a little loudly from behind her. She flinched and gave her parents one last smile.

  “You’ll be fine, Milly. Write to us as soon as you can,” her mother said, blinking away a suspicious sheen of tears in her eyes.

  Milly pulled her coat tighter about her as she turned and walked over to the cab. She paused before she climbed inside, her heart clinging to one last moment of the life she’d known, and then with a sigh she entered the vehicle. The driver in the front seat had already loaded their travel cases and they were ready to leave. Milly scooted over to allow Owen inside. He sat down and told the driver to leave.

  As the cab pulled away from Pepperwirth Vale, she turned in the seat to peer through the small window. The shrinking view of her former home shattered her heart. She was leaving everything and everyone she loved behind for a forced marriage. If she had been marrying a man she loved, and one who loved her, she still would have felt sad at leaving her home. But leaving it while being tied to a fortune hunter who would never see her value, never care about her heart or her mind or love her? It was too much to bear. Her bottom lip trembled and she bit it to keep it from showing. As she turned back round, she noticed Owen watching her, a solemn expression on his face.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  She blinked rapidly as her eyes burned. “Yes, quite fine,” she replied crisply.

  “Very well,” he responded gruffly, and focused on something outside the cab window.

  She regretted her tone, but it was too late to do anything about it. They had a long ride ahead of them. She fluffed the fur of her coat collar up higher on her neck and settled in to watch the passing scenery. She closed her eyes, only for a moment…

  The cab rolled to a stop and the motion shook her awake. Milly was leaning not against the side of the vehicle but against the warm body of the man beside her. Owen. He had one arm around her shoulders and her head was tucked beneath his chin. He was resting his cheek against the crown of her hair, apparently having drifted off to sleep as well. Milly held still, her breath shallow as she took stock of the situation logically. Not an easy thing to do when her body was more than happy to remind her it was cozy and warm, and a little tingly too. Why did he, of all men, have to affect her like this? A devious little voice in her head laughed.

  He is my husband…would it be so bad to enjoy this?

  Yes. The man is a cad. A womanizer who ruined you and trapped you into marriage.

  “Sir?” the cab driver prompted.

  “What?” Owen jolted woke, then glanced down at her, her face reflecting her own sense of shock.

  “My apologies,” Owen muttered. He removed his arm from her shoulders and leaned forward to speak to the driver about where to leave the car until they needed him tomorrow. Then Owen helped her out of the cab.

  Milly realized it was evening. The light of the sun was barely a razor-thin shred of pink dawning on the horizon. She’d dozed off for a length of time, then. In front of her was a quaint little two-story building. An inn, with a wooden painted sign of a white rosebush.

  “This way,” Owen said, taking her arm and tucking it into his as he led her to the door. They entered the cheery interior of the inn. Several tables were full of local folk who were dining and drinking. A man in the corner by the fire was entertaining the crowd with a lively fiddle. Owen approached the bar, where an older man was filling pints of ale.

  “Good evening, Mr. Hunter. My wife and I have a room reservation under Hadley.”

  The man smiled. “Ahh, Mr. Hadley, me and the missus was just wondering when you’d turn up. Long journey eh?” Mr. Hunter turned his warm smile at Milly and she found herself returning a sheepish smile.

  “Yes, very long,” she agreed.

  “Well”—Mr. Hunter slapped his bar towel on the counter—“no worries about that. I’ll take you straight up to your room and send a lad to fetch your luggage from the cab once it’s parked out back. The missus will see some hot food and drink sent up to you as well.” He walked over to a wooden plaque behind the bar that contained keys hanging from nails. The innkeeper plucked one brass key with a number on a silver tag attached to it.

  “Follow me.” Hunter led them to a set of stairs with worn carpets. They tramped up behind him and down a narrow hall, where he stopped at the middle room and unlocked the door.

  “This here is your room. I’ll see to the food and luggage. If you have need of anything, just come on down and find me.” As he left them, he set the keys in Owen’s hand.

  “Thank you, Mr. Hunter.” Owen spread an arm wide to indicate for Milly to enter the room ahead of him.

  She entered but froze at the sight of the single bed.

  “Owen—” She spun but ran into his chest and had to stumble back.

  “What’s the matter?” He caught her by the shoulders to steady her.

  “There’s only one bed,” she pointed out with a panicked jerk of her head.

  He nodded, not looking at all disturbed. “We’re married, Milly. If I had requested two rooms or even a pair of beds, it would have raised questions about us.”

  “But we are married. Why would questions worry you?” she asked.

  “I didn’t—” He rubbed a hand over his jaw and scowled. “I don’t have to explain my decisions to you. Now, get out of your coat and I’ll start a fire so you can warm up. You’re freezing.” He turned away to shut the door.

  Milly would have bristled and said something waspish about him not having to explain his decisions, but she was cold and tired. Sliding her coat off her shoulders, she came over to the pair of chairs facing the fire and eased down onto the edge of the seat, leaning toward the cold, dark hearth. Owen swept his cap off his head and raked a hand through his dark hair as he knelt by the fireplace. She couldn’t help but study his fine form as he located a box of matches and a set of kindling before he began to prepare the fire. Milly watched him, fascinated. Once little flames sparked and glowed over the soft kindling, Owen added several logs, hoping to spread the fire until it warmed the room with a healthy heat.

  “How did you know how to do that?” she asked as he stood and gazed at the little clock on the mantel. Without looking at her, he retrieved his silver pocket watch from his waistcoat and checked the time against the watch. He opened the glass case and tweaked the minute hand before closing the glass and turning back to her.

  “Know to do what?”

  Milly gestured to the fire. “Make a fire. I don’t know how to do that; my servants take care of lighting fires.”

  Owen walked over to the bed and retrieved a thick woolen blanket from the end of it. He then held the wool out in front of the fire for a few minutes before he approached her and settled the blanket around her body.

  “What are you doing?”

  He tucked the blanket firmly around her, then pressed her back into the chair so the hot blanket warmed her from neck to bottom. The singeing sensati
on against her skin burned her deliciously. When he didn’t immediately reply, she decided to nudge him a little.

  “Owen,” she murmured, wishing he’d speak to her. The silence between them was unsettling.

  He seated himself by the fire, arms resting on the chair arms as he gazed at the flames.

  “I learned to make fires during the war.”

  His words pulled her out of her cozy contentment.

  “The war?”

  He nodded, finally glancing her way. There was pain in his eyes, and something about it sliced her heart to ribbons.

  “I had two friends growing up—Leo, whom you’ve met, and Jack Watson.”

  “Jack?” In their dozens of conversations leading up the wedding, they had spoken lightly of their pasts and she hadn’t heard Jack mentioned until now.

  “Yes. Leo stayed home under orders from his parents, but Jack and I…we rushed off to be soldiers. What fools we were.” He closed his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “We fought against the Boers. We were always on the move, columns of troops constantly deployed to South Africa, but whenever we left an area, the enemy troops came back. Out on the African plains, you learn to keep warm at night when the air turns colder than ice. Jack was our regiment’s doctor, but I was more of a solider than Jack. I learned how to survive out there and made it my mission to take care of everyone, especially those closest to me. I didn’t always succeed.”

  Something about his hollow tone made her chest ache.

  Milly’s lungs burned and when she inhaled, she realized she’d been holding her breath. Owen had been a soldier? She studied history, knew how hard the war had been, the guerrilla fighting, the destruction of innocent towns, the concentration camps. What could she say to a man who’d seen so much death and destruction?

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you’d fought in the war. It must have been very terrible. My father had friends who perished on the battlefield as well.” It was a feeble attempt to soothe him, but what else could she have said?

  Owen shrugged. “It was years ago.” Yet the dark shadows behind his eyes said so much. “Jack suffers more from the memories than I do; he always had a bigger heart than me.”

  Milly studied her husband closely, wondering if that were true. There was something about the way he spoke of Jack that showed he cared about this other man, that friendships with Owen ran deep. It surprised her. She expected a man driven by money to not have strong loyalties or ties to anyone but himself.

  There was a knock at the door. Owen stood and opened it, allowing a young man to enter. He carried two travel cases, one under each arm. Owen relieved him of one and helped the man set it on the bed. Behind him, a plump, sweet-faced lady bore a tray with a pair of covered plates, a pair of bowls, also covered, and a basket of fresh bread.

  “Here you are, dears. Thought you might be a bit peckish after your journey.” The woman, Mrs. Hunter, carried the tray over and set it down on the little table between the two chairs by the fire.

  “If you need anything, you just come downstairs and I’ll see to it.” Mrs. Hunter winked at Milly, her bright smile a comfort in this strange place.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Hunter,” she said just before the woman and the young lad exited the room. Owen closed the door behind them and slid the latch into place, securing them in the room alone.

  “Why did you lock us in?” she demanded, a little breathless with worry.

  He grinned knowingly. “Sometimes men in their cups get a little adventurous. I don’t want any drunken sods stumbling into our room while we sleep.”

  “Oh.” She exhaled in relief. That made sense. She hadn’t considered that.

  He took his chair again and lifted the covers off the food. There was soup and shepherd’s pie and warm bread, simple but enticing. Although she was used to elegant and extravagant meals, this hearty and simplistic fare didn’t bother her at all. It smelled wonderful. Her stomach growled as she leaned close to the trays and inhaled the delicious aromas.

  Owen divided the meal between the two of them and she settled the warm soup bowl in her lap, relishing the heat of the china against her cold hands.

  “Milly.” Owen said her name softly and she looked up at him. He was watching her with an insatiable gaze while one of his hands toyed with a spoon. His fingers were elegant, long, but beautiful in a masculine way. She’d never been alone with a man, and here she was, lost in fascination by his hands. A blush flared in her cheeks.

  “Yes,” she replied, then sipped her soup and tried to remain calm.

  “We don’t really know each other…” He cleared his throat. “At all.”

  She nodded. Their conversations prior to the wedding had always been chaperoned and light in topic. It was hard to learn about him that way and if they were to make this marriage work, which she hoped he wanted to as much as she did, getting to know him would help.

  “I would like”—he paused, lingering on the word—“to know you more. I believe we should try to get a little acquainted. What do you think? We could make a game of it. You ask me anything you want, I’ll give you a truthful answer, and then it’s my turn. We can try it while we eat.” He waited for her to answer and took two spoonfuls of soup.

  A game? Getting to know him? They were trapped in this marriage, and she didn’t like the idea of being lonely. Perhaps he could make this amusing.

  “I think I can play the game.” She gave him a small smile. Why did that make her feel so vulnerable? Offering this man, her husband, a smile…

  “Excellent.” He grinned again and something in her lower belly quivered.

  I shouldn’t like his smile. But I do. Lord help me, I do.

  “Shall I ask the first question?” she volunteered, and dipped some of her bread into the thick soup, soaking it up before she nibbled on the slice.

  Owen chuckled. “You may.”

  She studied him for a long while, then asked her question. “What do you love about Wesden Heath?” She’d heard it mentioned, had seen its listing as his major landholding, but hadn’t been there or to the Cotswolds before, where she knew Wesden Heath was located.

  Owen’s eyes softened and his smile was so tender it surprised her.

  “Wesden Heath is full of color. That’s what I love most about it. It is full of wildflowers, and everything is green most of the year, save deep winter. When I came back from fighting, it was the only place that left me feeling safe.” He chuckled softly. “I suppose that makes me sound foolish, but it’s true. It’s why I love my home.”

  Milly held her breath, stunned to see clear on his face and hear in his voice the truth of that. If he was after money to save a home that had saved him…She tried to bury the rush of sympathy for him that arose inside her in that moment. Thankfully, he laughed and spoke again.

  “Oh, and there are the Cotswold lion sheep. I loved our herds, when we raised them.”

  “Lion sheep?” she asked, leaning toward him curiously.

  “That’s a new question. It’s my turn.” He waggled a finger at her, then reached for his glass of wine and sipped.

  Milly had never heard of lion sheep and she was delighted at the way the game was playing so far; there was a strange anticipation to waiting to learn more about him.

  “What is your favorite novel?” he asked.

  The question surprised her. “Novel? Well, I recently finished J. M. Barrie’s Peter and Wendy. It’s fairly new, only published last week. Have you heard of it?”

  Owen set aside his soup bowl and tucked into his shepherd’s pie. “Barrie. He’s a playwright, isn’t he? I believe I remember the play but didn’t know he’d written a novel. What do you like about Barrie’s book?”

  This time it was Milly’s turn to waggle a finger at him. “Oh no, it’s my turn now. What are lion sheep?” She forgot her sense of decorum as they talked and she lifted her skirts to tuck her legs up underneath her in a curled position on the chair.

  “Oh, you little clever creature,” he teased
with a merry twinkle. “Very well, the lion sheep.” He went on to describe them, and she realized how crucial they were. A staple of the Cotswolds area for wool and food.

  “They’re tall beasts, and extremely intimidating,” Owen finished, but Milly burst out laughing in delight.

  “Sheep intimidating? How so?”

  Owen handed her a glass of wine. “Trust me, when you see one, you’ll understand exactly what I mean. Now, why do you like Peter and Wendy?”

  She sipped her wine, relishing the way it spread warmth all the way through her.

  “It’s a tragic story really, about a little girl who falls in love with a boy who will never grow up.”

  Owen propped one arm on his chair. “I thought the book was about the boy?”

  Milly shook her head. “You might think so, but it is really about the girl, Wendy Darling. How she finds love, then must abandon her childhood and her dreams, which are represented by Peter. She has to grow up. The plight of all women.” She glanced away, feeling suddenly foolish for trying to explain something that she had understood on a deeply personal level. She’d had to abandon her own dreams of love and freedom when she’d returned home from school in France and realized that living with a husband as an equal would likely never be possible. The husbands of England weren’t accepting and respectful of women as equals, not to the extent that she’d seen in France. Having to face that any man she married would see her as “less” even if he claimed to love her had broken her heart. It didn’t stop her from secretly hoping she’d find a man someday who would prove her wrong, but now it was too late.

  “I suppose we men make it seem like we never grow up,” Owen said, his voice a little gruff as he once again stared at the fire. “But some of us do, at great cost.”