The Rugged Hunter and His Delicate Heiress

I told Cole Mercer he smelled like sweat before he had finished carrying my trunk through the front door. He set it down on the braided rug. The lodge around us smelled of pine smoke, damp wool, and something savory simmering over the kitchen stove. Cole smelled like all of it and the hard work beneath it. "Then I'll wash before bed," he said. I looked at his flannel shirt, darkened at the collar. "You'll wash before you come near me." His eyes moved from my face to the bedroom door behind me. There was only one bed in the room. "That won't be a problem." He did not argue, did not remind me that I had married him the day before. He only picked up the trunk again and carried it down the hall. I followed him, careful not to catch my skirt on the uneven floorboards. My shoes were thin for the weather, but I refused to admit I'd packed for the wrong life. I had spent twenty-one years in Vale House, where the servants knew which fire to light before I entered a room. Now I stood in a lodge at the edge of Alderwick Forest, the wife of a hunting guide, with no maid and a husband who seemed perfectly willing to let me take up space in the hall. The arrangement had been my father's idea. The arrangement had also been mine, once I understood what it cost to refuse. Cole held the note on Vale House, and my father had no money left to pay it. Cole had agreed to forgive the debt if I married him. The ugly truth was that I had signed the papers with my eyes open. The less ugly truth was that Cole had also signed a statement saying my father owed him nothing whether I stayed or left. It sat in my trunk under my stockings. "You'll find the washroom there," he said, setting my trunk beside the bedroom. "The water's hot if you get it before the kitchen girls use it." I stared at him. "There are kitchen girls?" "Mrs. Bell comes in to cook when the lodge is full. She's gone home for the week." "So I'm expected to cook?" "No." He leaned against the doorframe, broad shoulders filling it. "You're expected to do what you like." I didn't know what to do with that answer. It sounded too much like kindness to be safely ignored. I opened the bedroom door. The bed was wide, plain, and covered with a patchwork quilt. Cole had put his pillow on the floor. "You intend to sleep there?" "I figured you'd prefer the bed." "I do." "Then we've settled something." I turned, stung by how easily he gave up ground. "You needn't pretend this is a choice." "I'm not pretending anything." His voice was low but not unkind. "You can use the bed. You can sleep in the guest room. You can go back to Vale House if you want. I won't stop you." "You would still own it." "I'd still own the note. I wouldn't send anyone to put you out." "I would be living under your charity." "I didn't marry you so you could thank me." A hot flush climbed my neck. "Then why did you?" His gaze held mine. For a moment I thought he might answer. Instead, he stepped back. "Dinner's at six." I shut the door between us. ***** At six, I came out in a blue dress I had worn to luncheon with my mother. The skirt caught on the door latch, and I tugged it free with more force than was necessary. Cole was setting two plates on the table. He had changed into a clean shirt and washed his hands. He had also left the washroom door open so I could see a steaming kettle on the stove. I sat. He served a pot of stew without asking what I liked. I took one bite. It was good. "I thought you'd object to the potatoes," he said. "I don't object to potatoes." "You made a face." "I was thinking." He lowered himself into the chair across from me. "That must be tiring." I put down my spoon. "If you're determined to make a joke of this marriage, at least tell me the rules." "There aren't any rules." "There must be something you expect." "I expect you to tell me if you want to leave." "And if I stay?" "Then you stay." His answer put the entire weight of my decision back in my lap. I had hoped for a villain; I could have made a villain easier to bear than this man who offered me choices I could barely afford to take. "I want a bath," I said. "All right." "And a real bed." "You have one." "Not one I'm sharing." "I'm not asking you to." I glanced at his clean cuffs. "You expect me to believe that?" He looked down at his own shirt, then back at me. "You told me the smell bothered you. I changed." "That wasn't an answer." "It's the one I've got." For the rest of dinner, he let the silence sit between us. When he rose, I left my plate untouched. My appetite had vanished. At the bedroom, my trunk stood open. On top of my folded clothes sat the signed statement about Vale House. I touched the paper, then shoved it beneath a lace nightgown. Cole had not asked me to thank him. I still hated owing him. And I still could not tell whether his patience was generosity or a different kind of trap.