“Before then, too,” she said in a low voice, thinking of Mama.
“I know.” His hand closed over hers, warm and comforting. “But although Napoleon is defeated and there is a Spanish king on the throne again, things are still unsettled, and that’s what you don’t understand. Spain has broken into a thousand factions, and without reliable knowledge, you cannot know who that fellow is and what he might want from you.”
There was some sense in what he said, but Bella didn’t like the idea of treating everyone as an enemy until proven otherwise. “How do you know what Spain is like now? You’ve been in England for years.”
“Trust me, I know. It was my job to know,” he told her. “And when situations change, so do men’s alliances. Even if that fellow was your father’s right-hand man, that’s no guarantee of where his loyalties lie now. Men do what they can to survive.”
“So do women,” she reminded him.
There was a short pause, then he said, “I don’t propose to discuss it any further. I know a great deal more than you do about the situation in this country, and the dangers of trusting people you don’t know, so while we are here, you’ll do as I tell you.”
“I’m not a child.”
There was a sudden silence. His gaze intensified. Bella glanced away, feeling suddenly too warm. The clatter of pots and pans came from the kitchen, the clink of glasses and the sound of a woman reprimanding someone. From the public area the deep murmur of masculine voices drifted. Luke’s gaze slipped over her, and for a moment she fancied she could hear her own heart beating.
“No, you’re not,” her husband said, his voice deep and low. “And it’s time we both acknowledged that. Now, it’s late. Time we went to bed.”
Time we went to bed.The phrase wiped every other thought from her head.
They slowly mounted the stairs. Her hand was cold; his was warm. The wine hadn’t relaxed her at all. In fact, she was tenser than ever.
The bedchamber was small and contained only one large bed, a chair, a large looking glass on a swivel stand, anda tiled wash table bearing a large, brightly painted jug of water and a mismatched bowl. There was no wardrobe, only a row of hooks to hang clothing on. The only other item in the room was a small enamel stove. Apart from a coiled and plaited rag rug in front of the fire, the floor was bare, though clean and well waxed.
Bella glanced around, wondering what arrangements the landlord had made at Luke’s behest. Lit the fire? Warm water in the jug, perhaps? Nothing as sinister as she’d first imagined.
Foolish what your imagination will produce when you’re tired and hungry and cross.
Luke opened the stove and fed the fire with chopped logs from the box beside it. He lit half a dozen candles and the shadows receded.
A knock on the door sounded, and the landlord entered with a bottle and a couple of glasses on a tray. “My wife thought the lady might enjoy these,” he said, indicating a dish of caramelized almonds, and though Bella was already full from dinner, she could not resist sneaking one before the man had even put the tray down.
So it was only brandy Luke had ordered when they arrived. She might have known.
“Please thank your wife,” she told the man. “I’m very fond of candied almonds.” She took another.
Luke slipped the man a coin and followed him to the door, locking it after him. He turned, and the look in his eyes sent a shiver straight to the pit of Bella’s stomach. “Come here.”
She swallowed the last of the nuts, tasting nothing, and approached him.
“Are you warm?”
She nodded, suddenly breathless. Tonight she would go from being a bride to a wife…
He began to unbutton the greatcoat she still wore. One button… two… three… His eyes burned into her. He slipped the coat off her shoulders and tossed it over the chair.
He put his hands on her shoulders, and she swayed forward, thinking he was going to kiss her, but instead he turned her around. She found herself facing the long looking glass.
“What—?”
“I had the glass brought in especially for this. Look.”
Puzzled, she looked. All she could see was her own reflection and Luke’s standing behind her. He stared into the looking glass over her shoulder. What was she supposed to notice?
It was eight years since she’d seen herself in a big glass like this, and she’d changed somewhat.Her skin had improved, and her hair was darker and quite glossy in the candlelight, but she’d still never be a beauty. Or even pretty. She looked quite a lot like Mama, actually. Oh well. Nothing new there.
She glanced at his reflection, all stark angles and shadows in the candlelight. He wasn’t looking at her face or his, butstaring into the looking glass with an odd, brooding expression. Like a starving man gazing through a rich man’s window. A feast he could not have.
Miles away, she thought. Another time, another place. Another woman.
