Chapter Seventeen

T he look on Lady Arabella’s face was almost reward enough to atone for her sins.

Almost.

A wicked little voice in Lawrence’s mind had whispered of the pleasure from seeing Miss High-and-Mighty curtsey before a country squire. But that pleasure had been surpassed, first by the disgust in her eyes when she caught sight of Ivy Cottage, then by the unbridled horror as she set eyes on the children.

Then the guilt that had lingered in the back of his mind came to the fore when that horror turned into distress. During their prior altercations, her emotions had been limited to anger and pride. But now, lying in a heap on the floor of a house she’d not deem fit to stable a horse in, let alone be mistress of, her pride surrendered to misery.

The children stared first at her, then at him. They’d played their parts with aplomb—perhaps too well. But children could not be blamed for the consequences of their actions, not when they’d done what he asked—treat the stranger he brought home as their mother.

He extended his hand to her, but she slapped it away and scrambled to her feet.

“I can help myself,” she snarled.

“Excellent,” he replied. “Then you’re best starting in here.”

He led her into the kitchen, suppressing a laugh as she let out another cry of disgust.

“Here is your realm,” he said. “You’ll have it tidied up in no time. I’ll bring something tomorrow for you to cook—how about a bit of scrag end?”

The panic returned to her eyes. “I cook ?”

“That’s what I’ve been saying, Bella.”

“What do I cook with?”

He gestured toward the iron range beside the window. “With that.”

She approached the range almost tentatively, as if approaching a nest of vipers. “I don’t know what that is.”

“It’s a little dirty, I’ll admit,” he said, “but that’s how we got this place so, cheap seein’ as it’s not been taken care of. You’ll have it shining in no time once you’ve cleaned it up.”

“I-I clean as well?” She teetered on her feet, and he caught her arm.

“Steady, love, we’ll have none of that. You’ll not be able to do your chores if you can’t stand upright.”

She wrinkled her nose again at the mention of chores—oh, how he loved that word!

“You needn’t look worried,” he said. “We’ll help, won’t we, children?”

“Yes, Papa,” the children chorused.

“I’m not one of those husbands who expects his wife to do everything. You’ll not be expected to clean the children’s room—they’re old enough to look after that themselves.” He nodded. “See how generous I can be?”

He fought the urge to laugh at the expression on her face.

“Let’s show you upstairs—with luck, that’ll help you remember.”

“ That’s an element of luck I can do without,” she said.

“Oh, how you amuse!” He chuckled. “What do you think, children? Isn’t Mama amusing?”

“May we go outside, now?” William asked. “We want to play in our den.”

“Run along, then.”

With a clatter of footsteps, the children ran through the kitchen to the back, jostling against each other before slamming the door behind them. Excited voices and laughter faded into the distance.

Lawrence offered his arm and led Bella up the staircase, pausing at the turn of the stairs to show her his study—a tiny parlor into which he’d crammed a desk and chair—before they reached the landing at the top with two doors leading to the bedchambers.

He pushed open the first door. A table lay on the floor in pieces, together with strands of rope. William and Roberta had been playing at pirates since Christmas, when he’d fashioned them swords out of a spare piece of wood as gifts, with Roberta declaring herself as the captain. William staged the occasional rebellion, culminating in swordfights at which she usually beat him. But the two of them often took it upon themselves to declare Jonathan as a Spanish princess, take him captive, and tie him to a chair, and he’d broken free, smashing a table in the process.

Lawrence ought to admonish them, but he’d never had a brother or a sister—and he couldn’t begrudge them the simple pleasures of playing make-believe with a sibling.

The woman beside him let out a snort of disgust as she cast her gaze about, seeing not the fruits of imaginative play, but the evidence of socially unacceptable behavior.

“What a mess!” she cried. “Surely I’m not expected to sleep here.”

“No, it’s the children’s room,” he said. “There’s two beds, see? William and Jonathan share the larger bed by the window. Roberta’s is in the corner.”

Her pretty little nose wrinkled with disgust, and Lawrence tempered his indignation. What right had she to turn her nose up at him and his family?

Her eyes narrowed as she approached Roberta’s bed. “There’s something moving beneath the blanket.”

“Don’t touch it.”

Ignoring him, she reached for the blanket, pulled it back, then let out a scream.

“What devilry is this?” she cried.

A small frog hopped across the bed.

Lawrence let out a laugh and picked the creature up.

“How could you?” she cried. “What a disgusting thing to do.”

“What, take a defenseless creature to safety? He’s more afraid of you than you are of him—unless you’re a coward.”

“I’m no such thing!” she retorted. “Just get rid of it, will you?”

He pushed open the window and placed the creature on the sill. With a croak, it leaped from his hand and disappeared outside.

Lawrence fought back a ripple of guilt at the stricken expression in her eyes.

“Come on, love,” he said brightly. “There’s one room left—our bedchamber.”

She drew in a sharp breath, but complied as he steered her toward his chamber.

For a brief moment, he felt a sense of apprehension—as if he were a bird that had worked tirelessly for days fetching twigs and weaving them together to form a nest to present to his mate, and it now lay vulnerable, awaiting her approval.

He couldn’t afford to furnish it like a fancy gentleman, but the room was tidy, and the bedspread, though a little moth- eaten, gave a splash of color. He’d made an effort—which was more than most men did for their womenfolk.

What the fuck am I doing?

He shook his head, dispelling the notion that he cared one jot about her opinion. But he couldn’t stop the stab of hurt as her eyes widened, not with wonder, but with horror.

“Th-there’s no other room?” she asked. “A-and the—the…” She approached the bed, then stopped and turned to face him. “There’s only one bed in here.”

“We’ve no need for more,” he said, grinning. “We’ve achieved much in that bed.”

“Such as?”

Was she jesting? Surely she’d grasped his meaning. But the confusion in her eyes spoke of her innocence.

“The fruits of our labors are, at this moment, playing in the garden outside,” he said. “But you always said you wanted at least six children, so we can resume our efforts. The bed’s sturdy enough—which is just as well, given how much you like to—”

“Oh!” She let out a shriek, and he fought the urge to laugh.

“Does my wife recall her marital duties?”

Her lower lip wobbled. “A-am I expected to…” She gestured toward the bed, and a tear splashed onto her cheek.

You’re a cad, Lawrence Frederick Baxter—an utter cad.

Bloody hell —it wasn’t often that his conscience referred to him by his full name.

But there was a point beyond which even he wouldn’t travel. As his wife, she’d be his for the taking, and the world would approve of the taking. But she wasn’t his wife.

“This is a comfortable room, Bella,” he said. “The best in the house.”

“That’s not much to boast about, given the state of the rest of this hovel,” she scoffed. “Best in the house indeed! That’s like comparing horse dung to dog excrement—only marginally less repugnant.”

Bloody harpy! Just because he hadn’t been born into luxury, didn’t give her the right to sneer at him.

“It’s only filthy, love, because you’ve not cleaned it,” he said. “You wandered off before we moved here.”

“W-wandered off?”

“We thought you’d abandoned us.”

She glanced around the bedchamber again, settling her gaze on each item as if trying to force her memory to return.

“Is that how I ended up in that river?” she asked. “They said I’d fallen in—th-that I might not have survived. But I can’t recall it.”

Another tear fell.

Harpy she may be, but she had been through an ordeal she’d been lucky to survive.

He took her arm, and she stiffened as he pulled her into an embrace.

“It’s all right, love.”

She remained stiff and unyielding in his arms.

Perhaps he should say something comforting. Wives were supposed to love fancy speeches.

“You did survive, Bella,” he said, “and we’re all glad of it.”

She let out a sigh, then yielded, almost as if, having been hardened to a lack of consideration, she was unable to withstand a few words of kindness.

Almost as if she’d never heard a truly kind word in her life.

Don’t be getting soft.

But the voice inside his mind could go to the devil when there was a female body in his arms.

Soft and slight, yet round in all the right places—a delectable arse he longed to run his hands over, and those lovely teats pressed against his chest.

His cock hardened, but if she felt it, she gave no sign. Her chest rose and fell in a sigh, and she shifted position, her thighs moving against swollen member.

Sweet heaven —he was on the brink of spending!

Then she lifted her face and parted her lips—an instinctive offering. What lush pink lips—his for the taking. Then he lifted his gaze to her eyes, and the vulnerability in their expression broke his heart and doused his lust.

What the fuck am I doing?

Uncouth beast he might be—she’d called him as much. But he was not a man to take a woman unwilling, no matter how her body responded to his touch.

His cock twitched, almost in reproach at being denied the pleasure of her body, and he placed a chaste kiss on her forehead, then pushed her back.

“I’ll be off now to the Oak, to fetch a bit of supper,” he said. “I’ll not be long.”

He almost sprinted down the stairs. Once outside, he breathed in a lungful of fresh air to subdue his raging cock.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to play out. She was to cook, clean, and keep house for him until he considered she’d worked off her debt. That was all.

The last thing he wanted to do was bed her, much less harbor any affection for her.