03 - Dreams of Destiny Read online

  “But have you now changed your mind?”

  Augusta shrugged. “I want her to be safe. And if she is doing all of this to gain my attention, then she has succeeded. But if Sir Allan will still have her, I plan to give them my blessing.”

  ****

  Early in life, Walter had learned the necessity of hiding his frustrations. He was a master at keeping his temper in check. He didn’t complain. He accepted life and its trials as the road that was laid for him.

  More and more, though, his discipline was being cast to the wind. He was angry and unhappy and he was finding it increasingly difficult to keep his anger subdued. As the summer had progressed, he’d found himself in a few skirmishes already with David. He was chafing under the restraints of his duties and under the constant tutelage that the earl of Aytoun had started him on regarding the management of these lands. Walter found himself questioning everything, everyone, and he was never happy with the answers. As a result, he spent endless hours at his refuge in the tower house.

  He knew what it was all about. His growing frustration and restlessness. He was no fool. It was about Emma.

  When she came to him that last time before they all left him to his misery for the lonely winter months, he finally decided he needed to confront her.

  “He follows you around like a devoted hound. For him, no other woman exists but you. He cares for no one but you. Is he the one, Emma?” Walter asked her. “Is David the one you’ve chosen?”

  A smile unlike any he’d ever seen before broke across her lips. He realized at that moment that she’d truly begun to comprehend her power. She was only fifteen, but she already understood the magic she could wield with her woman’s charm.

  “After you, David is the closest in age in me. And I suppose if I were forced to decide on him, he would do.” She shrugged. “But Pierce is devoted to me, too, in his protective way. I could certainly tolerate his lectures if he were the one I fancied most.”

  “Are you blind to the way David feels? You have led him on—encouraged him. No one feels for you the way he does.” It was a lie. Walter felt more for her than any living creature ever could. But his tongue would shrivel in his head before he could say such a thing..

  “What he feels is but a childish crush. He will get over it soon enough when I tell him to go on his way.” She shrugged again. “If I had to chose one of the three Pennington men, Lyon would be my preferred choice.”

  “Lyon? But you don’t even know him. He has been gone from Baronsford more than he has been here. He is ten years older than you!”

  “But Lyon is the next Earl of Aytoun.” The smile returned. “And I shall be the Countess of Aytoun. Baronsford will be mine. I shall never need to worry again about income or inheritances or the ill blood between my parents. If I decide never to see either of them again, that shall be my right.”

  A thousand objections arose in him. Hurt for himself, for his cousins, for everyone who cared for Emma but was blinded by her, burned within his brain. But he forced back the pain that was ripping through him. He could not think straight. The pulsing in his ears was blocking out all sound. And then she spoke again, her words cutting through it all..

  “But I am faced with a dilemma,” she said quietly. “Why must I decide on one of those three…when you are the one I want.”

  He looked up in surprise. His heart was hammering in his chest. She walked toward him.

  “But I cannot have you, can I?” She brushed her lips against his. She kissed him until the wall of resistance crumbled away—until Walter was kissing her back with wild abandon. Suddenly, she broke away, pulling back from his embrace.

  He watched her back toward the door. Her gaze was fixed to his face. Her eyes clear.

  “But you will not do. You know me like no one else…but you cannot give me what I truly want.”

  And then she was gone.

  CHAPTER 9

  Three days of being jounced around together in the carriage. Three nights of adjoining rooms in Stoke-On-Trent, Lancaster, and Penrith. David was impressed at how the little imp continued to carry on her pretence of indifference flawlessly. She was polite, but distant. She was civil in her responses and refused to be provoked by any of his antics or be drawn into any arguments. She also appeared content to go along on the trip without another attempt at running away or tricking him. And that was not for the lack of opportunity. David asked the driver to make frequent stops and each day made sure he wasted at least part of the morning before getting on the road.

  Initially, Gwyneth’s restrained disposition had been a reprieve. He had finally caught up with his sleep. He had actually been able to relax and do a little thinking about what awaited him once he arrived unannounced at Baronsford, and how he was going to deal with seeing his family again. But the boredom of the journey was setting in fast. He had too much time on his hands watching her scribble away in her notebook. He thought back on Gwyneth’s drastic change of mood after he’d read part of her tale. He guessed she had been offended by the comments he’d made about her writing and how she spent too many hours daydreaming.

  Of course, in spending every waking moment scratching away on the paper as they jounced northward, she was proving him right. At the same time though, she was silently reprimanding him, teaching him a lesson, showing him that her passion for writing ran far deeper than any attraction she still carried for him. As far as David could see, Gwyneth had convinced herself that he was no longer even worthy of notice, and she was flaunting it splendidly.

  As they rolled along, David was determined to prove her wrong, and he could think of no more romantic place to do it than in the very village that hundreds of couples run away to every year to exchange their marriage vows. He would win her over in the very same place that Gwyneth had been trying to reach with her beau.

  The sun was descending fast on the western sky. The Scottish border was drawing near. He guessed they would arrive at Gretna Green shortly after dusk. And this suited his sinful plans perfectly.

  Despite her act of indifference, he had not been immune to her these past three days. No, David corrected himself, he had not been impervious to her charms from the moment they’d met in London. Every day, he watched her deep crimson locks arrange themselves on her ivory neck and shoulders. Gwyneth’s lack of attention to her clothes and her increasingly rumpled condition only evoked more erotic images in his mind. He remembered the silky texture of her skin and how it had felt when his fingers were trailing a path under her layers of skirt. He could still recall the heat. She’d wanted him, too. He felt no guilt in wanting to make love to Gwyneth. He had no problem with the knowledge of it being known, either, since he intended to marry her. But he needed to have her consent. He wanted her to be as caught up in that moment of desire as himself. Just as it had been during their first couple of days of travel, David wanted the feeling to draw them together like lightning to the rod.

  He gazed at the sunlight stream through the carriage window, setting her red ringlets on fire. He stared at the freckles on the bridge of her nose, at the full lips. His gaze fell down on her strong fingers gripping the pencil as it moved smoothly across the page of her notebook.

  “Two witnesses and a quick stop at the blacksmith shop, and we could become legally united.”

  Gwyneth obviously considered the comment to be facetious, for she didn’t even bother to look up. The pencil did not pause. He wondered for a moment if she’d even heard him.

  “Then you and I can have the blacksmith lock us away in his back room. I believe the custom is for him to have all of our clothes taken away, as well.”

  The pencil faltered. A blush colored her cheeks. After a moment, though, she went back to her writing.

  “I hear the man keeps a bed back there…for the situations involving angry fathers in close pursuit. When the irate parent demands that the door be opened, he finds himself witnessing firsthand the marital bliss of the newlyweds. There is no question of consent after that.”


  “I have no father, but that matters not, for there is not one chance in thousand that I would get into a bed with you.”

  A reaction. David was extremely pleased. He watched Gwyneth try to focus on the page before her, but the pencil was slow to move. She was obviously distracted.

  “One in a thousand. That sounds like odds for a wager. Are you issuing a challenge?”

  Gwyneth sat back. Her green eyes sparkled. “Now that I think about it, I believe you have just suggested a method for how I could successfully achieve being married, as I had intended.”

  “Well, if marrying just anyone is your goal, why not take me up on my offer?”

  “’Tis absurd of you to think that I would marry just anyone. There is only one man I would consider taking as my husband.”

  “A man whom you do not love, nor have ever been intimate with. A penniless coward who is only after your fortune. A nameless rogue who is afraid of his own shadow.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “If he were not a coward, he would have come to your rescue by now. A dog knows no honor.”

  “You know nothing of what he has done or has planned,” she said, venting her temper and frustration. “And he has a name. A very good name, indeed.”

  “Of course! How could I forget? I believe the name Adams was the one he was hiding behind last week. I wonder what name he is going by this week.”

  Gwyneth crossed her arms over her chest. “’Tis so easy to attack someone in their absence, but I assure you after he and I are wed, your opinion of him will be very different.”

  “Indeed, since I shall be remembering him as your late fiancée, who died tragically on the way to the altar...or rather, the anvil.”

  Her mouth opened but then she clamped it so tight that he heard her teeth click.

  “’Twill be safer for your beau and far more pleasant for you just to accept my offer.” He bumped his knee against hers. “What do you say, Gwyneth?”

  “No!” she shouted. “’Tis unthinkable. And even in the event that the world itself should somehow turn upside down, you, Captain Pennington, would be the least likely candidate for me to choose as a husband.”

  “Unthinkable, you say?” He felt his spirits lift. Now they were getting back to their normal way of communicating. “And would you care to say what you have against me?”

  “I would not.”

  “You do not believe I would make a good husband?”

  “I do not.”

  “And why is that?”

  “You are too arrogant, too stubborn, too proud.” She waved a frustrated hand before her. “You are too wounded. And not I, nor any woman, can help you heal scars you carry from the past.”

  David sat back, trying to formulate a response. She’d caught him off his guard. She was referring to something David didn’t care to looback on. He didn’t want to think of Emma now. He had healed. He just didn’t care to reopen the wound.

  “I can be more agreeable,” he said.

  She shook her head and tucked her notebook away.

  “Do you at least think that I would make a good lover?”

  She turned her gaze out the window. They had passed the border and were approaching the village of Gretna Green. David moved next to her and pretended to look out, too. Her silky ringlets brushed against his cheek. He looked down at the stretch of smooth skin on her neck and fought the urge to press his lips to it. Several of the buttons on the back of the dress had been left undone, and he wondered what she would do if he were to undo the rest of them.

  “But of course, you cannot answer since you haven’t had the opportunity to test my skills as a lover. But how about it, Gwyneth?” he whispered against her delicate ear. “Would you care to test the sheets with me first and then decide if I would make a good husband.”

  “Not in a hundred years, Captain,” she croaked.

  The carriage stopped at Headless Cross, where five old coaching roads came together in the center of Gretna Green. Gwyneth scrambled to get out of coach ahead of him. The carriage lurched, though, sending her stumbling out onto the street and up to the very door of the blacksmith’s shop.

  *****

  She had to find a way to marry Sir Allan before David drove her insane. She had to accomplish what she had planned before he jeopardized the only way she knew of solving her problems. Gwyneth had told him what she thought of him. What she hadn’t dared mention, though, was that he would never understand her need to write. But even if her writing was not an issue, her answer would have still been the same. He could never be a good husband to any woman, for he had been in love with Emma, and his heart would burn for her forever. One man, one woman, one love…forever.

  Gwyneth knew all about that. The feelings that smoldered in her own heart would never change. And she knew she could not cool the way her body responded to his touch. Her only salvation lay in finding her baronet.

  Pacing her room, Gwyneth assured herself that Ardmore could very well be waiting for her here in the village. He possibly could be staying at any one of the inns or taverns within a stone’s throw of Headless Cross. There was no way she could go in search of him, though—not in the dark, and not while she was still unfamiliar with the village.

  She was given a reprieve for tonight. No adjoining rooms, no connecting doors that David required to be left open. Tonight, at least, she would not have to endure watching David parade about his room, shirtless and with his breeches half unbuttoned. No suffering, as she had the night at Stoke-On-Trent when she’d caught a glimpse of his naked backside as he’d lowered himself in a tub of hot water that had been brought up to his room. The devil take him, the villain had even taunted her that night, calling to her to join him in the tub.

  Gwyneth touched her burning cheeks. The air in the room was hot to the point of suffocating her. She walked tothe windows and pushed the shutters wide open, but there was no breeze. The dirt and sweat from days of travel made her clothes stick uncomfortably to her skin. She glanced at her small trunk of clothing, but she wasn’t ready to waste a clean dress yet.

  Arriving at the inn, David had offered to have a tub of water sent up to her, but she’d refused. In keeping with his stubborn character though, he’d ordered one for her anyway. And now Gwyneth was glad that he’d done so. In fact, she found herself growing impatient for it, for an hour had passed and still nothing had been sent up.

  She considered going down and asking for one herself. She even contemplated walking downstairs and right out of the inn. David appeared to be taking his victory over her for granted. Indeed, perhaps just asking at the nearest tavern for Sir Allan…

  The soft knock wiped away that idea. Gwyneth opened the door for a young maidservant carrying clean towels, and two boys carrying a wooden tub. She went to her trunk and chose a clean dress and undergarments as the lads ran for buckets of steaming hot water to fill the tub. She longed to wash her hair and her body. The thought of just sitting in the tub and allowing the weariness of travel to work its way out of her limbs was heavenly.

  Their work done, the boys closed the door on the way out. The maidservant offered to stay behind and help her with the bath. Gwyneth considered refusing the offer, but the luxury of having a bath and actually having someone help her with it convinced her otherwise. Also, she realized that befriending someone who lived in the village might be her best chance at finding Sir Allan if he had indeed beaten them to Gretna Green.

  The maid’s name was Ann, and she was hardly shy about conversing. In fact, Gwyneth was unable to lead the conversation where she wanted as Ann obviously had her heart set on sharing stories of her favorite elopements and the notable weddings that had taken place in their village. One, in particular, had taken hold of Ann’s fancy and she started with that one.

  “The entire thing started at this house party in one of the grand manor houses near Carlisle, not a day’s walk down the road and over the border. The good minister John Wesley was a member of the party, no doubt with a mind
to do the Lord’s work while he was visiting. While he was there, his brother Charles Wesley joined him, as well, bringing along an artist friend of theirs.”

  Ann started closing the shutters as she talked, and then came to help Gwyneth get out of her dress.

  “The wealthy gentleman who was giving the party had a daughter nearly of marrying age. A bonny wee thing, the lass was. Among the others guests was a well-to-do nobleman, come all the way from Germany as the travel companion to another German gentleman. Now the young traveler fell head over heels in love with the lassie as soon as he laid eyes on her.”

  Being a storyteller and a romantic at heart, Gwyneth found herself caught up in the story. With Ann assisting her, she quickly stepped out of her dress but decided to keep her shift on as she stepped into the tub. The water felt heavenly and her undergarment billowed out around her legs as she sat down. Once in the water, she peeled off the wet garment and draped it on the edge of the tub.

  “Being a fine gentleman and all, the German asked the blessing of the girl’s father to marry the lass, but the old man had it in his head that his daughter would marry an English earl, at the very least…and to no foreigner, to be sure. So, stubborn as a mule, the old gentleman refused.” Ann poured water over Gwyneth’s head and worked on untangling the curls. “The story goes that the two Wesley brothers felt downhearted for the two lovers and told the German about us over here in Gretna Green and how the two could be wed without the old bull’s consent. That same night, with the great John Wesley himself helping, the couple eloped.”

  Gwyneth stopped washing her arms and looked up at the maid. “That should have been easy, they being so close.”

  “’Twas, indeed, miss. They say the girl’s father rode hard after the couple, but he arrived too late to stop the wedding.”