The Last Stroke: A Detective Story by Lawrence L. Lynch (the read aloud family .TXT) 📕

strong to manage the move. Once she was lying on the bench, he slid up to sit on the other.

She missed his heat, the feel of his muscles as she slowly pushed herself up to sitting.

“Take your time,” he murmured.

She slowly pushed up, testing her ability to stay upright. When it did not fail her, she swung her feet to the floor. “You can still change your mind.”

“Pardon?”

She looked down at the seat, the next words more difficult to say than she’d imagined. Though why they should be, she wasn’t certain. Perhaps it was his unexpected gentleness. “About the marriage. It’s not been consummated. You could have it annulled.”

“You’d be impoverished and ruined,” he said, his arms crossing.

His voice was cold and hard, and she winced, despite herself. It was ridiculous to expect affection from a man she’d met this morning, but they were talking about their future, or lack thereof, a bit of kindness was in order.

She nodded. “But I’d also be free and so would you.”

He sucked in a bit of a breath. “Is that what you want? To be free?”

No. She’d be very happy to be a man’s wife. To care for him and their children. But not a man like her father. That was a future she could not abide. “I wish to be free from the shackles of cruelty.”

He paused and the silence was lengthy enough that she finally raised her gaze to his. His face was granite-hard as he spoke. “Did he hurt you often?”

She shook her head. “Physically, you mean? No. Occasionally when he’d drink I’d get a smack or a cuff. Not so unlike other fathers. But emotionally…”

He gave a nod. “I witnessed that today. I understand.”

She leaned forward. “I could be a good wife. Despite what he just did, I was a good daughter. I cared for him, worked hard for him. But I cannot be married to a man who looks at me with a constant sneer. It’s a future that would crush my very soul and—” The words tumbled out of her mouth, and she finally had to press her palms to cover her lips in order to make them stop.

But he didn’t look irritated or vexed. In fact, his face could only be described as thoughtful. Kind. “I see.”

She wanted to ask what he meant by that, but the carriage slowed. She peeked out the window, her brows drawing together as she stared at a small cottage. “What’s this?”

“My friend, the baron, whose wife you met this morning, owns the estate in which this cottage presides. At least for tonight, I thought I’d borrow it from him.”

“We won’t travel to your home?”

“Not today.” He ran another hand through his hair. “I’m not quite prepared for such a journey, and I thought not to take you so far from home until we’d gotten to know one another better.”

She released the curtain as she assessed the strong lines of his face. That was rather thoughtful; her stomach fluttered and she pressed her hands over it. “Thank you.”

He gave a quick nod of acknowledgment. “We’ll need to have you outfitted for a proper wardrobe, and buy you a trunk, and…”

“That isn’t necessary,” she said, her hands pressing harder against her middle. “I know you’ve already paid for my hand. I—”

“Of course it is,” he answered. “You’re mine to care for now. As my wife, you’ll be outfitted to properly represent the position.”

Her lips parted, but words failed her. He wished to care for her. Hope fluttered in her chest.

He paused, his hands lacing together. “And, in addition to all of that, we need to set some parameters for our union.”

Parameters? The hope that had been rising, dashed down to the bottom of her stomach again.

* * *

Austin steeled himself against the slump of her shoulders.

His new wife was fragile. He could see that quite clearly.

Who wouldn’t be today?

While he understood, he felt it important to get the truth out as quickly as possible and be done with it. Then they could go about getting to know one another and figuring out how this was going to all work.

But as he stared at her, his throat closed. He’d held her in his arms, felt the brush of her inky hair. Her skin had been like silk under his hand. He wanted to throw all his carefully built guards out the window, the ones that said he needed to hold himself apart. Instead, he wished to hold her in his arms with complete abandon.

Mistake, his more cautious half screamed. That half had always dominated the other. It had seen him through the toughest years and battles of the disease, and he depended on his iron self-control still.

“Is the cottage stocked?” she asked, her gaze dropping again.

He had not anticipated a marriage, but he had foreseen the need to stow away somewhere, and so he had packed the cottage with food and wood for a fire before he’d left for the auction. “Yes.”

“Let’s eat something then and we can discuss whatever parameters you have over a meal.”

Austin sat back. Her suggestion was not only wise, it showed an amazing amount of decorum. And likely something he should have thought of himself. With a nod, he opened the carriage door and helped her out.

Her legs wobbled a bit, and without thought, he wrapped a protective arm about her waist, surprised by how natural touching her felt.

They made their way inside, and without a word, she left his embrace and stepped into the tiny kitchen. He built a fire in the hearth and then followed her into the tiny cooking area.

With sure hands, she began pulling out flour, eggs, salted pork, and the like. Lighting the stove with a coal from the fire and a pair of billows, she began cooking.

“You’ve done this before.”

She looked over her shoulder with a nod. “Yes. My father has kept our home, his home, though he let go most of the staff and sold off much of the