South Landers: Wenna Part 5

"Don't be a prude. When we're married, we'll be sharing a bed." He loomed close.

Fl.u.s.tered, she tried to move past him.

He blocked her exit by opening the top drawer and glancing in. "What happened here?"

"I tidied."

"Where did you put my shirts?"

"In the next drawer down."

He smiled and scratched his shoulder. The muscles in his back rippled as he opened the second drawer. She breathed out. His grace of movement fascinated her. His manliness fascinated her. He had smooth, tanned skin and shoulders possibly twice the breadth of hers. A grid of muscle sat across his abdomen. His hips were taut and lean, and his legs long.

"Let me pa.s.s."

"I thought you'd say that," he replied with amus.e.m.e.nt glittering in his eyes. He pulled out a clean shirt and kept barring her progress by pushing his arms into his shirtsleeves. Clearly he didn't plan to don an undershirt. "Wear something prettier," he said, eyeing her. "We're going out to eat."

"This is my best gown. I don't have anything else other than my uniforms."

He frowned. "You can't wear that or black to our wedding. You'll have to buy something else."

"I don't want to waste my money on clothes."

He stared at her. "You can waste mine. As long as you don't waste too much. Money's short at the moment."

"No wonder, if you eat out all the time."

He gave a reprimanding click of his tongue. "I don't need anyone telling me how to spend my money." Then he faced her, his eyebrows raised. "I'm not the one willing to take any offer. You are."

After a long a.s.sessing glance at the full length of her body, he let her pa.s.s. She marched off, sure she hadn't accepted any offer. She certainly hadn't accepted that he would marry her, and she had offered to work for her keep.

If anyone had accepted an offer, he had.

Chapter 5.

After eating dinner with the offended redhead last night, Dev slept well. He'd been friendly, he hadn't made a single attempt to inveigle her into his bed, and still she'd criticized him. She would be the perfect daughter-in-law for his father, both seeing all Dev's faults and both unable to please. This, of course, gave him plenty of scope to keep trying; not to be good enough because he attempted to be successful in all his endeavors, but to find a way of having his efforts recognized.

In the morning he went for his usual run, washed and changed, and found Wenna waiting for him in the kitchen with a dish of porridge. Although he rarely bothered with breakfast, he appreciated her thought. Since she seemed to want to rush him off, he thanked her, ate, and headed into his sitting room, attempting not to look like a man with a mission.

In his enforcedly aimless life, he had only once wanted to make a home for himself. A few months back, he had been unable to resist buying a block of land in the foothills, facing the sea. The Mediterranean weather in the colony mimicked that in the south of France, where he had spent two years living and working with artisans and dabbling in various food-growing industries, which had been meant to keep him away from Jenny until he came to his senses. Instead, when he had arrived in this faraway country, he had noted the many opportunities waiting to be grabbed up by a man with his agricultural background.

As a younger son with an inheritance from his dead mother, he had money to invest in new ventures. The price of land in the colony had been kept cheap to attract more settlers. Although he was very much attracted, he would have no chance to settle here. Now that the last of his brothers had died, he was urgently wanted back home. The most he could do would be to leave a completed project behind. One day his descendants might be grateful for his foresight.

Although he would have liked to spend his day as usual on his foothill's property, he couldn't leave Wenna to settle into her new environment alone. Expecting her to disturb him at will, he settled into his study to read his correspondence, checking letters from overseas suppliers of fruiting stock, bills from tradesmen, and quotes for new work. Again he went over his finances. Every three months, money from England was deposited into his bank account. As usual, he had overspent. The bank would give him leeway, but he needed to be somewhat more parsimonious if Wenna decided to marry him. Women wanted various knickknacks that men needed to supply. He hoped she wouldn't want too many. The less she had to leave behind, the better.

Fortunately, the blunt little redhead appeared to be occupied in the kitchen, rearranging the items in the cupboards. Sometime after noon, she brought him a plate of cheese and pickles. "Your cupboard is now bare. Would you like me to buy more food?"

He blinked, reminded that she needed to eat, and felt for money in his pocket. "Is this enough?" He gave her ten shillings.

"Am I cooking a meal tonight?"

"We'll eat out. Buy whatever food you want when you want it. I'm not normally here during the day." Leaning back, he ate the hard cheese, reminded that he couldn't continue simply pleasing himself. He had asked this woman to marry him, not because he loved her, not even because he desired her, but because he didn't care whom he married. The fact that she was a redheaded maid would set up his father's back, highlighting his needless edict all those years ago. This gave Dev a curious sense of completion.

To keep his word to Wenna, he now needed to seek out a wedding license. He'd already discovered that she wouldn't leap into his bed without a ceremony. As Nick Alden was the only person he knew who wasn't still holidaying in the hills, Dev rose to his feet and donned his jacket. The Old Queen's Arms in Wright Street boasted blackjack tables and a roulette wheel, and therefore, possibly Nick, who spent most of his time either in a tavern or gambling After a comfortable stroll in the April sunshine, he reached the corner where the painting of Queen Victoria and the cast iron bal.u.s.trade identified the hotel. Wandering into the taproom, he glanced around. The bouncer at the door rose to his feet, scanned Dev, and sat back onto his stool. One bored barmaid wiped gla.s.ses on a grimy towel, while another strolled to a booth in the corner carrying two gla.s.ses of ale. Dev's gaze followed.

One of the few patrons, Nick sat sprawled with a painted female beside him. The woman appeared chastened, and Nick indifferent.

"Are you sober?" Dev called as he strode toward the couple.

Nick looked up and spotted him. "I don't know," he said in his world-weary voice. He offered a smile that could charm the angels out of the clouds.

The woman cast her gaze downwards. Obviously she'd had no luck with Nick, but her stiff posture said she didn't want to stop trying.

"Off you go, sweetheart," Nick said, pressing a coin into her hand.

She glanced at the money, heaved a sigh, scooped up one of the newly delivered ales, and moved to the bar where she propped her elbows, awaiting her next potential customer. Dev slid onto the wooden bench seat in her place while Nick quaffed his fresh drink.

"It must be my lucky day." Dev flattened his palms on the sticky-ringed wooden tabletop. The ceiling in the room was also wood, which kept the area cool and dark. "This is the first place I looked for you. I thought I might have to leave a note at your father's house."

"So you haven't come to join me for a drink?"

Dev shook his head. "I can't waste the time. I want to get back to work as soon as I can."

"You'll never change."

Dev smiled. "I need a favor from you, Nick. I want to marry, and quickly. Do you know how to procure a special license?"

"Probably."

"Would you do that for me?"

Nick's eyes focused on his face. "What's the rush?"

"She won't share my bed without a license."

Nick's mouth twisted cynically, and he nodded. "No wonder you want me sober." He pressed his hands over his jacket pockets. "Do you have notepaper and a pencil? No?" He called, "Pencil and paper," through the echoing s.p.a.ce to the barmaid. Like every other woman in the world, she scurried to do Nick's bidding, and within minutes he had a grubby, curled piece of paper in front of him and a chewed pencil. "I need particulars. Your full name, your address, and your date of birth."

Dev told him.

Nick raised his gaze. "The lady's name?"

"Wenna Chenoweth."

"Her date of birth and address?"

"She lives with me, she's twenty-six, and I don't know her date of birth."

"No matter. I'll give her one. I'll see about finding you a special license within the next couple of days." Nick drained his gla.s.s.

"Is that all it takes?"

"I don't think it's too complicated, Dev." Nick was already searching in his pocket for the price of his next drink.

"And you don't want to ask me anything about this?"

"I understand the problem. You want to bed the lady and she wants to see a piece of paper first. Seems to me that you have enough experience to get her on her back without this paper, but who am I to judge?" He stared into his empty gla.s.s.

"I've tried asking nicely. The woman is unreasonable."

Nick shaded his amus.e.m.e.nt. "They prefer being persuaded. A license should do the trick for a f.e.c.kless lump like you."

"Well..." Dev hesitated, but Nick seemed happy enough to see the back of him. He stood. "Thank you."

Nick didn't glance up. Dev b.u.t.toned his jacket and left for the brickworks to supervise the loading of a new batch of red bricks.

Plates clattered, gla.s.ses clinked, and the yeasty smell of hops filled the barroom. Dev idly circled the base of his beer mug on the alehouse's hewn redwood table. He'd finished his supper: roast beef, roasted vegetables, and a potato mash. Wenna had picked at hers.

He moved his gaze from the waitress with the nicely rounded rump to Wenna. "Would you like a cup of coffee before we leave?"

"Coffee? Here?"

"If not, I'll order one for me." He raised a hand. The waitress, Maisie, hurried over. He glanced at Wenna, who nodded, and he ordered two.

The brew that arrived was thick enough to hold a spoon upright, and Wenna sipped quietly with both palms around the mug. She'd had little to say, but the way she rubbed her forehead from time to time gave the impression that something troubled her-being with him in a tavern, no doubt, but the place was filled with respectable tradesmen, most of whom he knew.

"Tell me about Cornwall," she said, tucking a wayward ringlet behind her ear. "Your family, Mr. Courtney. Do you have brothers or sisters?"

"Mr. Courtney? Since we're about to marry, I think you should call me Devon." He leaned back and positioned his palms on his knees. "I have no siblings now. I had two older half-brothers, but they both died without issue."

"Without issue? Is this why you need an heir for your father's lands?"

"My father never thought his youngest son would inherit," he said, shrugging. "He trained my older brother, William, to take over after him. But Will was thrown from his horse a couple of years ago and died instantly. He and his wife had no children. The next heir, my brother John, was with the army in India at that time, but before he could come home to take Will's place, he was killed in a skirmish. My father is panicking. He seems to fear that none of his sons will live long enough to take over from him."

"It must be dreadful to lose one's children." Wenna's large green eyes met his, her face stark. "It's hard enough to lose one's parents."

He nodded, having lost both, one parent to death and one to suspicion. "My mother died young. I barely remember her."

"Both my parents died young," she said in a husky voice. She dropped her gaze. "First my Da, and the next year my mother died, too. They say she died of a broken heart." Dropping her gaze, she swallowed, staring at her lap. Then, her face hardened imperceptibly, and she shifted her empty coffee mug to the outer rim of the table. "Do they ever clean the tables here, or just leave customers with the mess?"

The place didn't look particularly messy to him, or maybe he wasn't as fussy as Wenna. "The barmaids clean up as they wander around."

"I'm not used to eating in hotels. In private houses, the service is more formal."

"Yes, but now you are not governed by those rigid rules."

Her mouth considered, her bottom lip disappearing for a moment. "I suppose not. At least I'm not doing the work. Devon. It's a nice name, unusual."

"Devon is the county next to Cornwall. I was named after land. My brothers were named after ancestors. I suppose there's a message in that." He laughed cynically.

She looked puzzled for a moment. "Perhaps your parents saw you as less likely to follow tradition."

"My father certainly saw me as different." He shrugged. "I was the only child of his second wife. He didn't treat me the way he treated my half-brothers. Each graduated from Cambridge. He sent me to run the home farm at eighteen, and when I turned twenty, he gave me two years at Cambridge. No sooner had I settled in there than he packed me off to France. For the past eight years, I've barely spent a week at home."

"Count yourself lucky. I started work while you were still playing with your tin soldiers."

He heard her tone and blinked. Not too many colonials reprimanded the son of an earl. She'd had no good opinion of his rooms and had been critical about the way he lived his life. She certainly didn't seem impressed by The Pig and Whistle. He had no need to impress her, but he didn't like being seen as privileged and complaining by a woman he wanted to strip naked and drape all over himself. He drew a deep breath, trying to see her as his father would, though he doubted the earl would see past her working-cla.s.s background and her red hair.

Allowing himself to smile at the thought, he leaned back and hooked his thumbs in his waistcoat pockets. "If you've finished, we should leave." Finding the price of the meals in his pocket, he rose to his feet, placing the money on the table.

A local tradesman with a fistful of beer mugs stopped behind Wenna. "Always was a lucky dog, wasn't yer, Courtney?" he said with a wink. "Got a real looker, this time."

Dev knew "looker" meant "good-looking" and smiled at Wenna. "I surely have," he said, appreciating the compliment to her.

However, her chin lifted and she stalked in front of him out onto the dark street, clearly offended. "This time? What did you have last time? A donkey?"

"That was just his little joke."

"I suppose everyone around here counts off your women as they trudge in and out of your lodgings?"

"My, but you're easy to offend. A man calls you a looker and you want to start a fight?"

"Yesterday I lost a high-paying job. I had my teeth jolted loose during a trip down from the hills. I spent some time staring at ceiling of the labor exchange, and I didn't find a job. Today I cleaned your kitchen from top to bottom. Tonight, the locals think I'm just another woman who is about to share your bed."

"Grin and bear it. You'll be my wife soon enough, with a new list of new complaints," he answered, disgruntled.

Share his bed? That might make up for her harsh tongue and her constant criticisms of him. Lord, but he wanted her. Every time he glanced at her, his body clenched with desire. He saw himself between her legs. Siring a child would empower him to make his own choices for the rest of his possibly misbegotten life. He imagined her head thrown back; heard her gasps of pleasure. If he could, he would marry her on the spot so that he could make love to her again and again, and stop thinking he'd missed some vital point along the way.

The gas street lighting, newly supplied, showed the way to his gate. From there, he moved to the door, inside which he kept a lamp. He lit this for Wenna's benefit, as he knew each step of the way. Once inside and up the narrow stairs, he guided her to the sitting- room door. "I'll light the lamp in your bedroom for you."

"No need. I can undress in the dark."

"Do you intend to retire now?"

"I do. This place is untidy, and I can't sit in a mess. I'll have plenty of work to occupy me tomorrow in making this place suitable for human habitation."

"Not this room." He frowned. "This is my office."

She glanced around, tilted her finicky nose, and took herself off.