Free A Convenient Bride by Cheryl Ann Smith Page A

Hall, now would you?” She did not wait for an answer, as his deepening scowl was enough. “I promise not to make unreasonable demands on you. Your life will continue much as it was. You will live in the country, and I will reside in London. We will only need to suffer each other long enough to beget an heir and perhaps share an occasional Christmas goose to consider the union a rousing success.”
    R ichard’s hands twitched. Thankfully for her, they were in a common room with witnesses, making throttling her impossible. His orderly life had been tossed awry these last few days, and Brenna was at the top of the disorder.
    The chit had planned out his life without considering his wishes. He did not want to marry her. Not now, not ever. The difficult part would be returning her to her father without Walter putting a bullet in him.
    “The idea of spending the rest of my life with you strikes terror in my soul,” he grumbled. “You are far too flighty to make a good wife, and the idea of you mothering my offspring makes me shudder.”
    Her mouth dropped open. She sputtered for a moment before collecting herself and leaning forward with a damning glare. “I am not flighty. Though I may be spirited, and sometimes act rashly, I am not without some intelligence,” she snapped. “And I will make a kind and loving mother.”
    He pondered her for a moment. In spite of her impulsiveness, she was indeed well schooled. It was curbing the other that left him concerned.
    “I do not wish for children,” he said finally. “I have seen what happens when childbirth goes wrong. I will not have another wife die at my hands.”
    Brenna’s face paled. He did not take any satisfaction from shocking her with his bluntness.
    “Not all mothers die in childbirth,” she said softly.
    “Yet some do,” he said. “I’ll not take that risk again.”
    He stood abruptly, and the chair wobbled. This was a conversation he’d not have with her. His private pain was not her business. If he ever did marry her, she’d have to learn to keep her nose out of his history.
    Paying the innkeeper for breakfast, he walked out of the inn, Brenna hurrying along behind him.
    Expecting an argument, Brenna surprised him by saying nothing. Clearly, his sentiment about children had finally left her speechless. But he would not change his mind. The loss of his wife and son had sent him into a darkness that had fully consumed him. If it hadn’t been for Walter Harrington, he would be dead.
    M inutes ticked by as Brenna followed Richard, the horses plodding along the dusty path back to Great North Road. She hated the idea of another long day in the saddle but knew complaining would earn her a space in a mail coach heading south. That could not happen before a legal and binding marriage between them.
    The abject sadness that edged his words when he spoke of his lost family had nearly knocked her flat. His determination to never risk another wife and child to death had almost brought her to tears.
    It was the idea of marrying him and never having his love, or his children, that sent a full complement of emotions whirling through her mind and heart.
    Could she make such a bargain to save herself from an unwanted marriage? Was she truly that desperate? These were certainly points to ponder.
    The road seemed an endless line of pits and ruts as Brontes followed Richard’s gelding with minimal guidance. Somewhere up ahead was Scotland. By the time they reached the border, her decision had to be made. How much could she sacrifice?
    The weight of it filled her heart like a stone.
    The morning aged, mist hanging over the low areas, refusing to give way to the sun. The road was eerily quiet but for an occasional coach rumbling past.
    Richard rode in silence. She saw stiffness in his upright posture. She wanted to offer comfort but did not know how. Truthfully, she knew no matter what she said or how she said it, the topic of his lost family would make him angry. She was