Chapter 4

T hick stands of pine and oak bordered the quaint buildings and cottages. Aaron rode through the developing town, giving a nod to the smithy as he passed. He followed the path he remembered to the small house just beyond the wooded hill, gritting his teeth until his jaw ached.

Hayes was a bloody lunatic if he thought he could swindle Aaron. Between Nathaniel and Edmund, Aaron had gotten quite an education. In the past year, he'd tackled them both with fierce determination and learned their secrets. Well, maybe not all, but a great deal. Including the man who had been blackmailing Edmund. The three brothers had banded together, fighting pirates, blowing up caves of smuggled provisions, and he even helped Nathaniel escape when he'd been shot.

An old man and a blasted girl were not about to get the best of him.

The tiny house came into view, reminding him that the man he'd met had little funds. Thinking back to that night, he recalled how meager the furnishings, yet the place was clean and tidy.

A woman's touch.

He slipped from his horse and tied it to a bush. No groomsman here. A small flower bed rested below the front window. It had been dark when he'd arrived that night, so he'd not paid attention to the surrounding landscape. Nor had he given much notice the morning he left.

Aaron did not like this one bit. He refused to accept the matter, but he didn't see how he could ignore the situation. Especially after Nathaniel's intervention.

Bollocks.

That night was still foggy. Every time he tried to remember, he got a headache. He knew he had not over-imbibed. He had ale at the inn. After delivering the man home, they had a bit more. In too short a time, Aaron had gotten drunk in a fog, which made absolutely no sense. He liked drink, but would never get so foxed that he would lose control. Not after the way he grew up. Aaron wanted his wits about him at all times. Still, he could not explain his complete lapse in memory of that night. The next morning he had seemed back to normal.

Hayes should not be into his cups this time of day. Aaron would set the damnable man straight.

He took the two steps and knocked on the wooden door.

No one answered. He glanced to the side, and then walked around to the back.

As he strode around a corner, he saw a woman lifting a cloth from a basket, and hanging it over a line—each end was tied to a pole.

"Good afternoon," he said to the young woman. She jumped. He'd startled her. She quickly tucked a blonde curl behind her ear. He wished she would remove the cloth from her head so he could see the full mass of hair he suspected was underneath. "I beg your pardon, Miss …" He paused. When she didn't offer her name, he went on, "My name is Aaron Greystoke. I'm looking for Mr. Hayes."

Her blue eyes filled with worry. Blue striking eyes. He suddenly had a crazy feeling of déjà vu.

"I know I'm a stranger, but I am quite harmless, I assure you. Do you know Mr. Hayes? I believe this is his house."

"My father is in town." Her voice came out low and uneasy.

"I don't mean to frighten you." Then Aaron realized what she'd said. He covered his surprise. "Your father? I see. Do you happen to know when he might be home?"

"I do not see." Clearly, the woman had gotten over her fright. She placed her hands on her hips, and it was clear she was angry. "Why are you here?"

Spirited chit. "I mean you no harm, Miss …" Aaron hesitated. If Hayes was her father …

"Rebekah Hayes," she answered forcefully. "If you plan to marry a woman, don't you think you should at least know her name?"

Good God. This was the female in question? Hayes daughter?

Was this the girl who had gotten her father to trick Aaron into a bogus marriage contract? He should have seen the ruse for what it was. The proof was standing there before him. A young woman of marriageable age. Not a little girl who'd been left at home alone, waiting on her Papa. Insolvent. Doing her own laundry.

Aaron was thunderstruck. Shell-shocked. Stuttering like a blowfish. Never, even when the bullies tried to quash him at Eaton, he had never wavered. Now, he stood here like a—

He shook the stupid off and gathered his wits.

"I presume you are the daughter Mr. Hayes mentioned in the contract? My apologies in advance, Miss Hayes, but I did not agree to marry you or any other ch—" He caught himself before he insulted her. "—female. I am here to discuss the matter with your father."

"You presume a lot, Lord Greystoke."

So. She thought he was a titled lord. No wonder Nathaniel had received the correspondence. She and her father were out to land a wealthy nobleman.

"I am not Lord Greystoke." The shock on her face was priceless. He'd assumed correctly. Aaron was a third son. If she wanted a rich, titled lord, her father would have to look elsewhere. "You and your father have targeted the wrong man."

"If you are not Lord Greystoke, then what are you doing here?"

"Your letter was sent to my brother. Since I was the one who had traveled here on business, I supposed the letter was meant for me."

She swiped at her forehead causing another curl to escape from her tied cap. "You are also a Greystoke?"

"That is my name," Aaron answered with a nod.

Rebekah was doing everything in her power not to run. Dear Lord he was tall. Her gaze drifted down over his tan britches, taut with bulging muscles, slimming down into a pair of black Hessians. He crossed his arms over his chest causing his shirt to shift over more muscles. She stuck her tongue out to lick her lips, and nearly choked on her dry throat.

Dear God, she thought she'd never see him again.

His beautiful green eyes burned. Emerald flames, scorching her on the inside. It was hot. Too hot. Then she suddenly realized—he didn't remember.

But how could he not?

She quickly thought back to that night. He was drunk, but he didn't seem drunk. His eyes were sultry and heavy lidded.

The only saving grace at the moment was that this man did not remember her.

"My mother taught me manners. May I offer you a glass of water?"

"Thank you, Miss Hayes. But this is not a social call. I'm here to find out how your father got my name on that contract and set things straight."

"What?" How her father … He doesn't know? Dear God, what had her father done?

"Lord Greystoke, I'm afraid you've come a long way for nothing."

"I've come to set the record straight. There will be no wedding."

That was a relief. "I assure you—"

"I care not for your excuses, Miss Hayes, and even less for your assurances. Now, do you know when your father will be home?"

He was rude and arrogant. Quite different from what she would have expected.

"My father could come home any moment, or he could be all night. It varies."

"Well, he will have to find his drinking money from another poor soul. He will not get a farthing from me or the Earl of Greystoke."

Blood pumped through her veins in angry spurts. Who did this man think he was? A noble with no manners, obviously. If this was what the aristocrats were like, she was glad she wasn't near them. Papa didn't like them. He'd told her of their self-importance and high-handed ways. How the aristocrats thought they were better than common people. And now she had met one. Her father was right. No wonder her mother had run away.

Rebekah controlled her fury and tried to reason with the blunderhead.

"There is no need to speak with my father."

"Do not try your wiles on me. I will not fall for your treachery. Your father has a comeuppance coming, and I'm here to give it to him."

She could not find a trace of the gentleness he'd shown her that night. Her fear would swallow her whole if she had not seen the kinder side of this man. Even with his rough rugged, chiseled features, she had seen the smile that completely transformed his face.

That fateful night his eyes were soft, like velvet caressing her skin. Now, they were ice. She'd been wicked. Daring. Reckless. The man who held her and made her body burn, had been the most caring and desirable man. She could not have dreamed a more perfect lover.

Looking at Aaron now, seeing the harsh cynicism in his eyes, she could not believe this was the same man.

Rebekah closed her eyes in disillusion, allowing the pain to wash over her. She had made a mistake. One that might cost her soul.

"Leave my father alone," she said forcefully.

He crossed his arms over his wide chest, the movement reminding her of his corded muscles and strength. "Or what?" he goaded.

That did it.

"Listen to me, Nobleman Greystoke. I don't care if you are a highborn or the king of England. Get off of my property. And don't you ever come back." Without realizing it, she wadded up the garment she held and pointed it to a shovel leaning beside the back door.

He followed her gaze, then met it. "What do you plan to do with that?" He smirked.

If the jackass wasn't so big, she'd wallop him with the steel end. But he'd probably just take it away from her. "I was tending my garden. I won't hesitate to use it on you."

He laughed. A loud throaty laugh that tickled her all the way down to her toes. It did other things to her, too. She could not allow those memories to come forth.

"Go away, Lord Greystoke. I am not going to marry you."

He froze, as if he was stunned. "You agree?"

"Of course, I agree. There's no way on God's green earth I would ever marry a man like you."

"I am not speaking about a man like me. My brother is already married, so there is no path for you in that direction. Since I will not marry you, that contract isn't worth the ink that's on it."

"As far as I'm concerned, there is no contract. So, there is no agreement between us."

"Wait a minute. You are right. The agreement was not between us. It was between me and your father—what the hell am I saying? I will not marry you."

"How many times do you want me to repeat myself?"

"I just need to see your father."

"Answer me this, Lord Greystoke. Why did you sign a contract you had no intention of honoring?"

"What the bloody …"

He raked a hand through his wild, long hair. It was striking in the sunlight. She recalled how it had felt within her fingers.

"I'll find your father, and I will set him straight."

She fisted her hands. "Whether you find my father or not, I wouldn't marry you if you were the only man on earth."

The vein at his temple beat a hasty rhythm, and she could hear his teeth grinding together, before he turned around and marched off.

Thank you, God.

If he'd stayed one moment longer, she feared she would have broken.