Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Seven miles was a long way for a well-bred lady to walk on a country road in dainty black boots, but Milly made not one peep of protest or uttered one complaint.
Owen had to bite his lip to keep from grinning.
She was so…different than he’d thought. The Milly he’d thought he’d known had been an arrogant, cold-hearted young woman. And it was all a mask.
The real Milly was passionate, intelligent, and determined.
But she was frightened of him, not physically but emotionally.
He couldn’t forget the way she’d looked when he’d teased her about her book.
She had dared to open up to him about how she liked reading about strong female characters, but he’d said something he shouldn’t have and rather than lash out, she’d retreated.
He recognized that type of behavior only too well.
He’d done the same with his father when they’d quarreled.
She was starting to care about his opinions, and thinking he didn’t like something hurt her.
Owen and his father had never seen eye to eye on anything, and every fight had cost him part of his heart.
I’m going to have to be careful with her. Prove to her that she can trust me, that I do value what she says.
The revelation surprised him. He’d never dared to let a woman influence him before.
“How are you holding up?” he asked as they reached a small stone bridge that crossed a narrow stream. White geese toddled ahead of them, honking and squawking.
He didn’t miss the flash of pain on Milly’s face as she walked, or the slight limp on her right foot, as though she’d gotten hurt. They couldn’t be far now. This stream abutted his property.
“I’m fine.” Her response came out through gritted teeth.
Owen didn’t like knowing she was hurting. It was his job to protect her.
“We have half a mile…” He paused by the bridge and caught her by the arm.
“Why are we stopping?” She glanced down at his hand on her arm.
“Why don’t you rest for a minute?” He patted the gray stone of the bridge.
She looked ready to protest, so he gripped her by the waist and hoisted her up to sit her on the bridge’s edge.
“Oh!” She clutched at him, shooting a panicked glance over her shoulder at the little stream below.
“I’ve got you,” he soothed gently.
She leaned into him, not letting go of his arms. Neither of them spoke for a minute. The babbling noise of the water traveling through the green rushes on the river’s edge was calming. A familiar sound, one he’d grown up with all this life.
“It’s so peaceful here,” Milly admitted, her expression softening as she watched the setting sun.
“It is,” he agreed. The Cotswolds had always been a place of magic, the way the hills seemed to cocoon the little houses and the gardens in a tiny, protected sphere. Time did not tick into the future here. Except for the seasons changing, Owen would have sworn that this part of England never aged.
“Do you spend much time at Wesden Heath now? Or do you prefer London?” Milly asked.
He forced his gaze away from a family of ducks parading down the chilly edge of the stream’s bank. “The last few years it’s been London, but”—he paused, meeting her gaze at last—“I would like to call Wesden Heath home again, now that I have the ability to properly run the estate.”
“Because of my dowry,” Milly surmised. She didn’t seem surprised, but he saw that flash of pain again and he cursed himself.
“I will not lie to you, Milly. It was my motivation for finding a wife.” He cupped her cheek and traced her bottom lip with his thumb. She brushed his hand away and looked away. That hurt him. It shouldn’t but it did.
“I suppose it could be worse. At least you don’t seem prone to vices, besides women.” The last part of this was added with a touch of bitterness. For some reason that angered him.
“I made a promise to your father that I would not take other women to my bed. Only you, Milly. Do not throw my past lovers in my face. They no longer concern what lies between us.” She had to understand that he meant it. He was a man bound by his word.
Her head whipped back around to face him, fire sparking in her eyes.
“What lies between us?” She jabbed a gloved fingertip into his chest. “What exactly lies between us?” Her tone was civil but there was a bite to it he didn’t miss.
Owen scowled down at his wife, torn between the desire to kiss her or turn her over his knee. The woman was exasperating. She drove him in two different directions when she verbally sparred with him, and he couldn’t figure out how to engage her without quarreling or kissing her.
“I have no bloody idea what’s happening between us, but I thought things were improving.” His tone was just as cool but he was barely controlling that desire to grab her and kiss her to remind her just what he felt and how she felt about him.
Her nose wrinkled and she kicked out, her dainty boot striking his knee.
Then she hissed in pain and reached down to hold her right foot.
The action caused her to wobble and almost fall off the little bridge.
He reacted quickly, scooping her up into his arms, catching her behind the back and under her knees.
“What are you doing?” She wriggled in the cradle of his arms and he laughed.
“Stop squirming. I’m going to carry you the rest of the way.”
Her lips parted in shock and she blinked several times. “Put me down. I don’t need to be carried. What if someone sees us? It would be highly improper.”
“I’m not concerned about propriety. I’m more concerned about you.” Owen started walking, easily holding her in his arms. She was a solid weight, but not heavy. He gazed down at her. “Do your feet still hurt?”
Her hesitation told him everything he needed to know.
“I’m trying to help you, sweetheart. Don’t be so bloody stubborn.”
“Stubborn?” she almost shrieked. “Oh! Put me down, you cad!”
“You’re hurt and I’m not letting my wife walk on wounded feet to the front door of my home. You may think me a cad, but by God, I’ll show you I’m not because I can’t stand the idea of you in pain. Now stop thrashing about like an angry polecat,” he growled.
Milly slowly stilled and wound her arms around his neck as she fully gave in to him. She bit her bottom lip, muttering under her breath about him being ridiculous.
He carried her in silence for several minutes before she spoke again, her voice less prickly.
“You called me sweetheart. Were you just saying that, like you would with any woman? Or did you mean…” She trailed off, a blush staining her cheeks.
Every time she nibbled her lip, he wanted to lay her down on the nearest flat surface and claim her.
With kisses, with his hands, with his body.
His cock twitched at the mental image and he blew out a breath, trying to regain control.
“A man ought to have a pet name for his wife,” he said. Especially when he was coming to care for her…he silently added.
“Hmm…” She made a sound that was halfway between a hum and a sigh.
“You object to being called sweetheart?”
“Oh, no,” she said, a look of feigned innocence warning him she had something up her sleeve.
They fell into silence again, but it was less charged with tension than before.
“I’ve never been to the Cotswolds before,” Milly suddenly volunteered, and he glanced down at her in surprise. “It’s very colorful. Pepperwirth Vale is very green, but we don’t have hills and wildflowers like this.”
“And what do you think?” He looked around at the countryside, the sights so familiar to him.
To her it must seem foreign and so different from the flat emerald woods of Pepperwirth Vale.
He thought of everything he would show her of the Cotswolds soon, the river valleys, the high wind hills, narrow paths, and lush shires.
The chain of limestone hills slanting in a thin strip from northeast to southwest. This fairyland with its wildflowers and tiny cottages and Elizabethan era charm ran deep in his blood, as deep as the rivers that ran through the valleys.
This place was a part of him, more than he could explain to his new wife.
It would have been easy to sell his estate and walk away, but he couldn’t sell a part of his heart.
He wanted Milly to like it as much as he did.
This was to be her home and he wanted her to be happy.
“It’s lovely. More lovely than I expected.”
Her reply pleased him so much that he was grinning by the time they finally reached the front gardens of Wesden Heath. The sun was hanging just above the horizon, casting a gold glow of evening light over the house and grounds.
“Let me down. I should walk to the door.” She patted his chest gently and he stopped.
“Ready?” he asked. When she nodded, he carefully let her legs drop down and then let her go, but only enough to make sure she could stand.
“Well? What do you think of it?” He waved a hand at the gray stone manor house.
Ivy climbed the walls at the base and wisteria laced the bay windows of the rooms facing the front of the house during the spring and summer months.
A stone fountain with a rim covered in moss was in the center of the wild, unkempt gardens.
A pang of sadness struck him. There was so much that he needed to repair on the property.
“It’s…” Milly tilted her head as she studied the manor house. “It’s beautiful, but it needs a lot of work, doesn’t it?”
Owen cleared his throat. “Er…yes. Quite a bit.” He rubbed the back of his neck. A jittery sense tingled through him as they approached the house. The front door opened and a matronly woman in a black dress rushed out.
“Master Hadley, we expected you so much sooner. Where is the car?”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Nelson. The cab lost a tire and we were forced to walk the last seven miles.”
The housekeeper covered her mouth. “Good heavens! Come inside at once. We will get you both settled.”