How to Train Your Baron (What Happens in the Ballroom) Read online

  Goldie, standing still as a statue near the gate, whispered, “When he gets one foot inside, I want you to put the bowl on the ground and back yourself up to the fence. I’ll shut the gate while he’s eating and then come help you climb out.”

  Afraid to speak, Elsinore only nodded. The majestic beast trotted right up to the gate and then stopped. A man’s shout rent the air, and the horse tensed and tossed its head. “Please,” Elsinore whispered as she gave the bowl one more shake before slowly lowering it to the ground.

  Large dark eyes stared at her, noting her every movement, her every breath. Slowly, cautiously, Elsinore took one step back. And then another. After that it was measure for measure, as she retreated the animal stepped forward. When her back pressed against the side of the paddock, the stallion lowered his head to the bowl and Goldie swung the gate shut.

  The great animal’s head jerked up at the sound, and he gave a stomp of surprise. Fearing she was about to be trampled, Elsinore turned to scramble over the fence. She was halfway over when a strong pair of hands circled her waist and helped lift her the rest of the way.

  “Elsinore.” Quin’s one-word rebuke hung in the air between them.

  “I was just helping Goldie here”—she waved her hand toward the servant—“recapture a horse who seemed to have gotten loose.”

  “So I see.” He reached down and picked up the bonnet she’d lost earlier, having dropped it when he helped her over the fence. “Did you perhaps lose something earlier?”

  She swallowed hard. “I… I…wanted to see the stallion.”

  “As I recall, I distinctly told you to stay away from the horses.” As Quin spoke, he put his arm around her and led her away from the commotion now surrounding the horse’s return.

  Snatching the bonnet from his hand, she replied, “I don’t recall there being anything in our wedding vows giving you the right to decide what I can and cannot look at.”

  Quin arched a brow. “Ye promised to obey.”

  “And you promised to love and honor.”

  “It would certainly be much easier if you did, indeed, obey. Ye could have gotten yourself killed, Elsinore. And the horse you were so determined to see might have broken a leg in his panic. Do you know what they do with injured horses?”

  She nodded glumly.

  “Let me guess.” Quin folded his arms across his chest. “After changing your clothes you skipped out by way of the kitchen and tra-la-la through the rubbish heap where you climbed—”

  “Jumped,” she corrected.

  “Jumped the hedges and scurried across to the other side like a small woodland creature who then jumped?”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  “Jumped back over the fence and navigated your way to the far side of the paddock where you would most likely not be seen. What then, Elsinore? Did you wave your handkerchief to get the beastie’s attention?”

  “Of course not. I was attempting to pet him when the handkerchief slipped from my sleeve.”

  “Pet him? I should have paid more heed to your father when he warned me about you.”

  “Warned you?” she asked. “What do you mean?”

  “He told me of your penchant for doing things without thinking them through. I assumed he was exaggerating. I’ll not make that mistake again.” It didn’t surprise her that her father warned Quin, but hearing it this way only served to remind her why she could never go back home.

  “I’m sorry. I hadn’t considered what would happen if the horse injured himself. As soon as I realized my mistake, I tried to make it right.”

  “You might have been harmed as well, you know.”

  “I’m fine, thank you for asking,” Elsinore replied, not trying to hide the sarcasm in her voice.

  “Are you certain? Yer gown is a fright.”

  “Goldie informed me that it was beyond repair.”

  “I’ll see if for a few extra shillings she might be able have a tub and some heated water brought up for you, along with some supper for the both of us.”

  “You’re not angry?” Elsinore had half expected her father’s brand of loud blustering rage at this latest indiscretion, but once again Quin surprised her with his quiet acceptance of yet another unfortunate circumstance. Another confusing facet of the man she found herself married to.

  “No. Yes. I’m relieved that you were not injured. I have valid reasons for doing the things I do, Elsinore.” His voice deepened with solemnity. “You wouldn’t understand, but I beg of you to trust me.”

  “Perhaps I would. Understand, I mean.” For the first time, it occurred to her there was something more to his story. He didn’t just wake up on a random morning and sometime between his coddled eggs and kippers decide to devise a plot to set aside a wife. Something had brought him to this place. If she had any chance at all of changing the dire course her life had taken, she needed to find out what it was.

  “Impossible.” He shook his head.

  “Help me understand,” she said. He’d lost a wife and a child, so, surely, grief would shade his manner. And, yet, it seemed to her there was something more just under the surface. Something bigger than death, which could only be love. Was he still in love with his first wife?

  “It doesn’t matter if you understand or do not understand.” Quin sighed and pulled his hand through his hair. “I ask that you trust me.”

  His voice was harsh and yet Elsinore recognized an undertone of desperation. How could she possibly trust a man who admitted his intentions of using her so callously? If he allowed his love for his first wife to rule his heart, there’d be no room for anyone else no matter how hard Elsinore tried.

  When they reached their room, Quin turned from her and placed his hand on the doorknob. “I’ll inquire about the bath and supper. Will you be here when I get back, or should I check the roof or nearby treetops for you?”

  “I’ll be here,” she said, ignoring his sarcasm.

  Within minutes, Quin had located an ancient hip bath and a few able boys to haul heated water. For a few extra shillings, Goldie not only produced a lovely rose-scented soap and reasonably clean flannels but was easily convinced to act as lady’s maid and see to Elsinore’s bath.

  He didn’t return to the room until the hip bath had been removed. “Elsinore?” he called out as he closed and locked the door behind him.

  “I’m here,” she said from behind the screen where she changed into her night rail after her bath. “Are you surprised?” she asked, as she pulled on her robe and stepped out into the room.

  “A bit.”

  “I’m sorry my actions put the stallion in danger, but I’m not sorry I disobeyed you.” She blurted the words out, afraid if she thought too much upon it she’d lose her nerve.

  “Well, that’s a damp apology.”

  Elsinore shot him a withering look. “My family—well, everyone really—treats me like a child. I’m shooed from the room whenever anyone wants to discuss anything of substance, I’ve been sheltered and ignored and…and…”

  “Elsinore,” he tried, cajoling her.

  “Oh, do be quiet, Quin.”

  His mouth snapped shut in shock.

  “What I’m trying so inelegantly to say, is that I’m not a child, and I don’t want to be sent up to the nursery anymore. I’m a married woman, and if I want to see a stallion, then by God, I’m going to see a stallion. If I want to swim in a pond, then I’ll swim in a pond. If I want to…climb out a window, then I’m going to climb out a window.”

  Quin’s eyebrows rose at that last statement, but he kept his mouth shut.

  “I refuse to be treated like a helpless, senseless child anymore.” She looked into his eyes to make sure he knew how serious the subject was to her.

  “Am I allowed to speak now?”

  “Yes.” Having stated her piece, the burst of boldness faded quickly, and she chewed her lip as she wondered what damage her declaration might have done to any feelings he may have for her. But the words she’d longed to speak for y
ears could not have stayed inside her one moment longer. Whether he would ever love her or not, to think that he might begin treating her as her family had always done was unbearable.

  “I don’t think protecting you is quite the same as treating you like a child. However, as it was never my intention to be married to a child, I can agree I also would prefer that you act like, and be treated like, the married woman that you are.”

  Further conversation was cut short by a knock at the door. “Apparently, our supper has decided to make an appearance,” Quin said, as he walked to the door. “I’m fairly starved. I wonder what they’re serving tonight.”

  “Lamb stew.” Quin had much to learn, but not on an empty stomach. “It smelled delicious.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Rather than cane or strop, this master of the hound allows for a more restrained response. It is the hound’s mission to please always and the master’s duty to reward that above all other.” Oglethorpe’s Treatise on the Obedient Canine

  “Time for bed, Elsinore.”

  Already dressed for bed, she’d been staring at the remains of their supper, watching the stew grow cold as the candles burned down. With trembling hands, she fussed about the small dining table, stacking dishes and eating utensils back on the tray. She’d rearranged the stack twice before she felt Quin’s hand on her shoulder.

  “I’ll take care of those,” he said, as he gathered up the tray and placed it on the floor in the hall just outside the doorway.

  Elsinore took advantage of his industry by slipping out of her robe and folding it over the back of her chair before crawling into the bed and pulling the counterpane up to her chin. There was something simmering just under his skin that she couldn’t name. It wasn’t exactly anger, it was more that Quin was terribly, nearly desperately, troubled by something. And she knew whatever it was, it had something to do with her. She closed her eyes and tried to feign sleep.

  She listened to him move about the room, his boots scuffled on the floor as he removed them, followed by the rustling of clothing. The unmistakable swish-swish of bristles as he brushed the road dust from his coat. They were the comforting, mundane sounds that tracked his progress about the room. Another rustle of fabric and she imagined his crisp white shirt being folded over the back of a chair, perhaps side by side with her robe.

  How long ago it seemed that she vowed to make him fall in love with her. It had all started off so well with his kisses. Surely that was something she could build upon. How could he make her feel such things while he felt nothing? She was supposed to be seducing him, not the other way around.

  She turned her face into the pillow, hiding a frustrated blush as the memories flooded her body from head to toe. She recalled the feel of him, the taste of him, and even the scent of him. She knew the texture of his hair, the softness of his lips, and the exact angle of his jawline. She played a scandalous game once at the Darden’s house party called “blind man’s buff,” and she knew that for the rest of her life she’d be able to recognize Quin by touch alone.

  But he wouldn’t be around for the rest of her life unless she could stick to her plan of training Quin to fall in love with her. Tears once again prickled behind her eyes. No, she told herself, I will shed no more tears for him. She was his wife whether either of them liked it or not. What was it her father liked to say? Oh, yes, you may lose a battle but still win the war. She could hardly call herself victorious after today’s debacle, but the war had just begun.

  With that in mind, when he finally put out the candles and slipped into bed, she reached for him. His body tensed at first, but slowly his muscles relaxed as he accepted her touch, and he drew her into his arms. She rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes.

  You will not get rid of me so easily.

  …

  Quin listened to his wife’s gentle breathing until he was certain she was asleep. If she knew how badly he’d wanted to ravish her body, she’d have turned her back to him and let him ruminate on his frustration through the long, cold night. He was hard as a pike just thinking of her. He reached out, then stilled his hand. He didn’t deserve her.

  Slowly he untangled himself from her arms and eased himself away. Sitting on the edge of the bed he watched her sleep. Watching each other sleep had become somewhat of a habit, he smiled ruefully. He kept vigil over her on their wedding night. Then, in the coach, when he surrendered to his own slumber only to be awoken by her kisses.

  Ah, her kisses. Therein lay the problem. For a few moments that afternoon—a few precious, carefree moments—he forgot his misery. He forgot about infidelity, treachery, and death, and thought only of being with Elsinore. For one second, the length of time it took for their hearts to beat once, in perfect unison, he imagined love.

  Quin scrubbed his hand over his face. Love had played him false before, and two people had died as a result. One he mourned every hour of every day, the grief seeping out from the marrow of his bones until it covered him like the cold sweat of sickness.

  Quin took a deep breath and stood. He wiped at his face with his hands. He’d once again shed tears as he thought of his son. He cursed his heart for having any feelings left. With a last backward glance at Elsinore, he walked to the chair and retrieved his clothes. He would not, could not, allow himself to fail again. There was enough blood on his hands.

  He was damned to eternal perdition for his failure to protect his son and his role in his first wife’s death. Elsinore would be better off without him. He didn’t deserve love, even if she came to offer it. Moreover, he knew, as much as he hated to admit it, he had to stop himself from falling in love with her.

  Because she was loveable. His crazy, clumsy, drink like a sailor, dress like a siren, and kiss like an angel Elsinore was ripe for love. She wanted it, she craved it, and after a life spent being looked down upon by her entire family, she deserved it. Only not from him. From someone worthier. If he couldn’t keep her safe, he had no right to her love.

  But hadn’t he stolen that opportunity away from her when they married? The question nagged at his brain as he pulled on his clothes, and he nearly shoved his foot right through the end of his stocking. All he could do was make sure her life was safe and comfortable. He’d double her allowance. He’d build her a cottage anywhere in the world she wished. The farther away from him she was, the safer she would be.

  Boots in hand, he tiptoed to the door. If he hurried, he’d have time for the one thing that might ensure her safety. It was time to be strong. He dared one last glance at her sleeping form. She had no idea what she’d gotten herself mixed up with. He mouthed the words, “I’m sorry” without making a sound, and went in search of the innkeeper and a bottle of ink.

  …

  Waking slowly, Elsinore reached over to the other side of the bed to find it cold and empty, the slight indent in the pillow the only sign that Quin had shared the bed with her. She’d slept soundly, thinking herself warm and safe in his arms and hoping for a fresh start this morning. A fresh start to discover his secrets and make him love her. She could hardly be successful if the blasted man insisted on disappearing just when she could be implementing her plan of seduction.

  What plan? Oh, yes, she thought, throwing the covers aside, I need a better plan. To be honest, she needed any sort of plan at all. She washed quickly and dressed the best she could without benefit of a maid. Another not so subtle reminder that she was in this mess all alone and she would succeed or fail by her own devices.

  As the enticing smells of breakfast seeped into the room from the kitchen below, she quickly repacked her bags. Once full, her small trunk was too heavy to carry so she pushed it along the floor until it bumped against Quin’s portmanteau, which was already sitting by the door. The case wobbled, and Elsinore grabbed at it before it could fall over. Made of good quality saddle leather, she noticed that it fastened by a metal clasp and not a sturdy lock. It would be a simple thing to slide the hasp and have a peek inside.

  What
better way to uncover a secret? After all, hadn’t she already taken a peek into his wallet? There’d been a clue there, she thought, recalling the ominous skull and crossbones. Perhaps his traveling case would provide another clue to the mystery that was her husband. She could always claim it had simply fallen open. Decided, she gave it a push and it fell over with a dull thud. But the clasp held firm.

  Fiddlesticks. She gave it another not too gentle push followed by a nudge with her foot. This was quickly followed by a swift kick that left her toe smarting but had no discernable effect on the clasp. Elsinore stopped and listened for the telltale sound of footsteps in the hallway as she made up her mind. Dropping to her knees, she slid the hasp and dumped the contents onto the floor.

  At first glance, it was rather disappointing. Two shirts, a waistcoat, a meticulously folded cravat, a set of clean underthings that made her blush as she pushed them aside, and an assortment of shaving and grooming gear. But there, a flash of polished metal caught her eye, a flask? No, she found upon picking it up, it was an exquisite silver portrait case. Elsinore’s hand shook as she stared at it. A miniature of another woman perhaps? A lock of hair from the first wife who still held his heart? She almost didn’t open it.

  Curiosity won the argument, and holding her breath in anticipation of what she might find, Elsinore opened the folding frame. A child. His child stared back at her. Until now, the boy had been no more than a sad story, an intangible sorrow that someone else carried. The small drawing made him suddenly real. Her heart clenched for the short life of the child staring back at her with happy, laughing eyes. Oh, Quin. How it must have hurt him to lose his son.

  “What happened to you?” she asked the small sketch.