Page 13 of An Inconvenient Vow

“That cousin of Hendry’s has taken possession of the widow’s property—they’s been in dispute over which of them is the true owner, ever since the husband cocked up his toes and died. A pretty little property next to Langley Woods. They do say as possession is eleven points in the law when it comes to property, so mayhap he has already won the battle. Or as good as.”

Jeffree shrugged contemptuously. “Some paltry land dispute is hardly my concern. You say she returned to her father’s roof directly after her husband cast her off?”

“Aye,” Osborn agreed, “that’s right enough. Old Burrell had to have her back at his table, poor old sod. He’s well-thought of locally, is Burrell. A fair landlord and a good master though he’s no head for business and suffered many losses this past five years what with one thing and another. They do say his income has more than halved. It must have been a blow to have his daughter returned in disgrace, another burden on his purse.”

Jeffree grunted. The Burrells had the look of people struggling to keep up appearances. The finery of the youngest daughter’s bride clothes had contrasted heavily with her older sister’s shabbiness. Likely they viewed the beauty as the means to restore her family’s fortunes. “Is that all?” he asked as Osborn drained his goblet to the dregs.

“It is, Master Jeffree,” said Osborn glancing hopefully toward what was left of the wine.

Jeffree waved him toward it. “Help yourself,” he said dryly. “How goes the feasting below?”

Osborn poured his cup with his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration. “Dismally, Master Jeffree. How but dismally, when a wedding feast lacks both bride and groom?”

“What?” Jeffree’s tone was sharp. “The wedding did not go ahead as planned?”

“Only you was married in the house this day,” Osborn replied. “The Burrells carried off Mistress Isemay in great umbrage at the dishonor done to her. By all accounts, the duke don’t blame ‘em one bit.”

“What of Master Leland?” Jeffree frowned. “Has he remained under my uncle’s roof?”

“Oh-ho! Not he, the rascal. He showed a clean pair of heels and cleared out when everyone was distracted. Powerful put out, Sir Charles was about it, though everyone agrees young Master Leland could not have stayed put, not after the trick he played.”

Jeffree grunted. He supposed that was true enough. If Leland had not the money to put up at an inn, for his father kept him frequently short of funds, he had a friend in the next county whose place he could make for at a pinch. Mallenby would no doubt think this latest mischief of Leland’s a grand jest. None of Leland’s friends had any morals to speak of.

Dismissing Osborn, Jeffree bolted the door after him. He shrugged off the robe he had wrapped himself in after his bath, climbed into bed clad only in a pair of braies, and tried to forget that tonight was his wedding night to the biggest shrew in Ganfordshire.

*

“Wake up, damn you!”

Someone was shaking her arm. Someone insistent and gruff. Sabina gasped and sat up abruptly, nearly bumping heads with the half-naked man crouched beside her cot. It took her a moment to recall who this man was and why he had access to her bedchamber at some ungodly hour in the morning.

“Come on!” Jeffree scowled at her, flinging back her blankets.

His hissed breath made her glance down to find her shift had ridden up her legs as she slept and was now tangled at her thighs. Sleepily yanking the hemline down, she allowed herself to be half-dragged out of the room and into Sir Jeffree’s bedchamber next door.

“Get in the bed,” he said in an urgent undertone, his hand at her elbow propelling her in the direction of the bed.

This brought Sabina up short. “What? Why?”

“I can hear the household stirring.” He scowled. “Servants will be lighting the fire and bringing us washing water. You had best be in the marital bed by then, or there will be even more talk.”

His tone, as usual, was irritated, and Sabina was too tired and muddled to demand an explanation, though she opened her mouth to attempt it.

“Just get under the covers,” he snapped impatiently, thrusting her toward the huge bed. Sabina shrugged and climbed onto the mattress. She crawled up to the top of the bed and then slipped under the sumptuous blankets, burrowing down into the soft comfort with a sigh.

The truckle bed had been rather hard in truth, and she had woken in the early hours feeling cold. The spot she had gravitated toward felt so warm; she realized she must be lying directly where Sir Jeffree had been sleeping. She was so comfortable, she did not even care. Rolling onto her side, Sabina closed her eyes and allowed herself to drift back to sleep.

When she woke again, it must have been at least an hour later, for it was a lot lighter in the room and two servants were crouched over the large fireplace, feeding the blaze. Sir Jeffree must have overestimated his ranking among the duke’s houseguests, for clearly, he was way down the priority list for them to have left him waiting so long.

Either that or they were trying to give him some extra time in his eager bride’s arms, she reflected, pulling a face. Two more servants entered with steaming ewers of washing water which they set carefully on the table. Sabina felt herself prickle all over at the curious stares that were turned her way.

Rolling onto her back, she turned her head and found Sir Jeffree lying not even an arm’s length from her. To her surprise, he was sprawled out on the bed with abandon, most un-De Crecy-like. Not only was his chest uncovered and his arms flung wide, but he had one well-formed leg lying on top of the covers. Despite his arrogant coldness, his body must run hot, she thought, for there was not a goose pimple in sight even with the amount of bare flesh on display. Likely sleeping in such a huge bed had given him bad habits.

She considered him critically a moment. There was no getting around the fact, he was a fine figure of a man. Not just tall and well-built, but heavily-muscled too, which surprised her. Her first husband enjoyed hunting and archery, but he had certainly not had a physique like this one.

Her eyes ran over Sir Jeffree’s golden hair and short curling beard. Even disliking him acutely as she did, she was forced to admit he was probably the most handsome man she had ever seen at such close quarters. In truth, she could see no fault in his looks, though some might say it was a pity that his eyelashes and eyebrows were as fair as his beard. His face did not lack distinction for this, all the same. Even without those piercing blue eyes opened, he had a heart-stopping face. Shame he was so absolutely loathsome in his character.

Seeing him stir, Sabina turned hastily away to study the vaulted ceiling which was crisscrossed with beams. She wondered if the fireplace, however vast, could warm such a huge bedchamber in the winter. Turning back, Sabina found Sir Jeffree’s very blue eyes trained on her. He said not a word. The absurd notion flashed into her head that Sir Jeffree must never have woken with a woman in his bed before. She cleared her throat and sat up.