The Plain Bride by Chasity Bowlin
CHAPTER ONE
1826
Sinclair stumbledover nothing in the inn yard. Losing his balance, he spun about, arms pinwheeling until he managed to right himself. The world is spinning, he thought, and I am not. Even when he’d come to a stop, the world had a topsy turvy feeling to it all.
He chuckled for a second, but that led to a wave of nausea which quickly banished his mirth. Swallowing thickly, he managed to stave off disaster. There was a willing woman awaiting him in a room upstairs. Casting up his accounts would certainly put a damper on his amorous plans for the evening.
Fumbling with the buttons at the fall of his breeches, he managed to release the fabric, and then relieved himself into the bushes at the edge of the yard. It was a far better option than any of the reeking chamber pots in the outdoor privies or the discreetly placed chamber pots inside. At least he was in the cool, fresh air.
He grinned as he thought of Nancy, the very eager and very buxom serving-girl for the establishment he’d elected to visit for the night. It was the only tavern in Boston Spa that had any sort of socialization. And company, though not necessarily carnal in nature, had been his sole pursuit that night. In truth, he’d simply wanted to not be alone with his own thoughts.
As for Nancy, she was a pretty enough thing. Cheeky and flirtatious, with an unparalleled bosom, she was never at a loss for attention. He’d never availed himself of her charms, but he’d come to the village that night seeking companionship, seeking a reprieve. She offered that in abundance.
Stumbling again, he righted himself. Looking up, he frowned. Clouds had drifted over the moon, leaving the inn yard completely dark. It was next to impossible to make out the shape of the buildings in the blackness. Staggering a bit, he moved toward one hulking shape, and when his hands connected with stone and wood, he grinned. Even drunk, he could find his way to a warm and willing woman.
Sidestepping, clinging to the ivy-covered bricks in an effort to keep himself reasonably vertical, he finally found the back door of the tavern. Reaching for the door handle, he had to fumble with the thing a bit until it finally opened. Stepping inside, he frowned. It was darker than he’d imagined, but then he realized he must have entered through a service door rather than the main door. The stairs leading up were narrow and dark, but Nancy had told him she’d be in the first room at the top of the stairs. She’d suggested she might even be waiting for him entirely naked.
Easing that door open, he stepped into a pitch-dark room. Squinting a bit, he could make out a large bed in the center of the chamber. The room was rather shockingly large. For a serving girl, it was positively palatial. But perhaps the innkeeper was aware of just how many of his patrons would be spending time in Nancy’s room, he thought with a grin.
Making his way toward the bed, trying to be as quiet as possible, he removed his clothes along the way, dropping his cravat, his coat, and his waistcoat. Hobbling on one foot, he barely managed to stay upright as he tugged off one boot and then the other. At last, he dropped his trousers and stepped out of them. Reaching the bed, he lifted the sheets to climb into the narrow bed where the warm and curvaceous female body awaited him.
The mattress dipped beneath his weight, and that warm female body rolled toward him with a mildly alarmed squeak. As he caught her, wrapping his arms about her waist and tugging her bottom firmly against him, that squeak turned into a terrified shriek that threatened to split his skull completely open.
The most puzzling thing wasn’t that she was screaming in his ear. It was that she was wrapped head to toe in heavy cotton. Why in heavens name would a woman who entertained gentlemen for a bit of coin, be wearing such a garment?
Althea Parker had been sleeping soundlyin her bed. She’d been dreaming of silk gowns and chocolates, things her miserly father would never permit her to have even if they were within their meager budget. After long days of scrubbing the floors in the vicarage, imagining a life of luxury was something she would often do to help take her mind off her aching back and knees. Floor scrubbing was her father’s idea of punishment. Any time she wasn’t suitably pious or obedient, he’d suggest they looked dusty and that it wouldn’t do for the vicarage to be deemed slovenly.
It had been during that dream of decadent chocolates that she’d been rudely jolted awake by the weight of another person settling into her bed. Confused at first, she’d thought perhaps she was still dreaming. It was only as she’d tumbled toward them and reality intruded fully that she’d managed to make a sound. But when she’d felt strong arms close around her, pulling her against an obviously masculine frame in an unmistakably intimate manner, fear had settled in quickly. Realizing what was happening, Thea had screamed down the heavens.
The room was so dark she had no notion of who had forced their way into her bedroom. In truth, she had only the vaguest of ideas what this person’s intentions might be. In short, she knew only enough to be terrified. But as she struggled to get away from him, he simply held her more firmly, his hands moving over her night rail as he muttered in what appeared to be confusion.
Please, do not let Father have consumed too much brandy. Please, do not let this stranger do unspeakable things to me while I scream for help that will not come.
It wasn’t a formal prayer by any stretch. But the lord knew her heart, and those urgent requests were made with genuine feeling and a great deal of faith and humility.
Perhaps for the first time in her life, the Lord did actually answer her prayers. Within seconds of her ear-splitting screams, her father kicked in the door to her chamber. He stood there in his patched dressing gown and cap, with a lamp clutched in one hand and a fireplace poker in the other.
“What is this? What sort of wickedness is taking place under my roof? Explain yourself, Althea!”
It took her a moment to realize that, although a strange man had burst in to their home and climbed into her bed, quite literally scaring her half to death, her father was assuming she was a willing party to the lot of it. If she hadn’t still been clasped in the embrace of a very naked man who had been invited into neither her chamber nor her bed, she might have been insulted by that. As it was, she was a bit too preoccupied to really take that in.
“I didn’t invite him here, Father! Would I have screamed for help if I’d wanted him in here?” she demanded.
As if recognizing the sense in that, her father then turned his attention to the man in her bed. “Sir, you will unhand my daughter and remove yourself from her bed immediately!”
“I will happily unhand her, but as my trousers are on the floor, I think my getting out of this bed would not be recommended,” the words were slurred but the speech was unmistakably aristocratic and terribly familiar.
With her back pressed to his chest, she hadn’t seen his face. But she knew that voice. It couldn’t possibly be.
He leaned his head closer to her to whisper in her ear. “I take it I wandered into the side door of the vicarage rather than the side door of the tavern…and that your name, my dear, is not Nancy?”
She was not Nancy. But she knew precisely who and what Nancy was, and her face flamed in humiliation. But before she could reply, another commotion occurred. It was at that moment that her private shame became public.
Apparently, her scream had been loud enough to attract the notice of the tavern’s patrons. Several of them came rushing up the stairs, brandishing weapons, to find her naked in bed with none other than Sinclair Wortham, Lord Mayville.
