Rather, he smelled of fresh air, a unique heathery essence that reminded her of her childhood summers, when she had played upon the meadows in the Cotswolds. His scent intrigued her.
This close, she could see the pores of his fine-grained skin. Its color seemed a bit sun-darkened and partially shadowed now by the need for an evening shave.
Susanna was still contemplating his firm jaw and chin when her father entered the coach. He took the seat opposite, rocking the conveyance with his weight, appearing terribly pleased with himself for arranging all this. She turned her full attention on him and forced a smile. After all, wedding the Scot would probably turn out to be the best thing that could have happened to her, considering the options available.
And she had made this her choice, the first of many choices that would lead to her success. She planned to be the very first totally independent wife in Britain. She would set a fine example for others.
What better place to begin her work than in the outer provinces where she could more easily prove her theory on a small scale? Once those women in the Highlands realized their power to order their own lives, others would notice. Yes, it should progress as a word-of-mouth campaign. Much more effective than trying to convey her message to hundreds at once in some meeting hall.
She looked up at her new husband, the man who would provide her with the opportunity. Amazing how unmalleable he looked at the moment, but looks could be so deceiving. No doubt she was the very picture of wifely submission in his eyes.
He leaned forward and quickly brushed his lips across her brow before she had a chance to avoid it. “Thank you,” he said simply.
Susanna smiled in spite of herself. “You’re quite welcome,” she responded automatically. One did have to observe the amenities on these occasions and he had been rather sweet and agreeable about the whole affair.
She settled back to enjoy the brief ride back to the hotel, satisfied that she had acquitted herself quite well, neatly avoided disaster and secured a way to live life to the fullest as she saw fit. This gentle bear of a man and the ring he had put on her finger would provide the validity a single woman would never possess when encouraging women to struggle against universal male domination.
I wish you could have stood your ground, too, Mother. You were simply born too soon to be a part of this. Susanna sent the silent message heavenward where she imagined Anya Childers looking down on her with pride.
James watched the play of emotions on his wife’s face with interest. Her thoughts must be skittering hither and yon like a handful of birdshot dropped on the floor.
He wished he could get inside that head of hers. Just as well he couldn’t, he supposed. Some of those thoughts might not be so flattering to himself. He’d have to fix that in due time, but not tonight.
“We shall see you to the Royal Arms, Suz, then James and I must leave,” her father was saying as if he’d read James’s mind. “It is almost dark now and we should take to the road as scheduled.”
“Aye,” James agreed. Though he would like to stay and sup with Susanna, he had to fulfill his obligation to help Eastonby. The man was his father by marriage now and James’s responsibility as surely as were the wife beside him and the good folk of Galioch and Drevers.
Susanna’s soft, slender fingers grasped his arm, pulling the wool fabric of his sleeve taut. She looked from the earl to him and back again. “Why can’t you simply take a ship, or go by train?”
“Because I have business inland on the way home. And thwarting these fellows would only delay the inevitable.”
“Please, both of you, I want you to promise—”
“Be calm, lass.” James assured her, patting the small cold hand that wore the wedding ring. “We’ll be going armed to the teeth and I confess I’m a fair shot.”
“As am I,” Eastonby bragged, his chest expanding beneath his satin striped waistcoat.
The earl fished a fancy gold watch from one of the pockets, snapped open the front and glanced down at it. “Just now half past six, my dear. Your husband should be returning to you well before nine.”
James noted the instant of panic that flashed in her eyes. “When—when will you be back in Scotland?” she asked her father. Did she know how very like a brave, wee bairn she sounded? The poor lass feared abandonment to a stranger in a place strange to her.
“He’ll be returnin’ soon, aye, sir?” James asked.
“In a month or less, I expect,” the earl said with a smile. “But I shall wait until spring to visit you in the Highlands.”
Susanna’s face fell, but James noted with pride how rapidly she managed to recover and hide her disappointment and apprehension.
“Well, then. We shall be happy to welcome you whenever you find the time,” she said politely.
“Dinna worry, lass,” James told her gently, wishing he could alleviate her fears. “We’ll keep you so busy, there’ll be no time to greet for home.”
She blinked and stared up at him as if he were Auld Clootie in disguise.
James sighed. He’d have to convince her she hadn’t wound up with the devil himself and was headed for hell. Considering his eagerness to have her and the state of the properties where they’d be going to live, he might have a wee bit of a struggle with that.
Chapter Three
Susanna wished she could beg her father not to return to London this evening. They’d had their differences, of course. Well, that was an understatement of gigantic proportions, she admitted. They’d had confrontations that stopped just short of violence, if the truth were known. But she loved him and would feel like dying herself if anything tragic happened to him. Pride stood in the way of her cautioning him fervently, however. His pride as well as her own.
Nevertheless, she couldn’t quite allow him to go, knowing the danger involved, and say nothing. The carriage had stopped in front of their hotel and the Scot had climbed out to help her down. Before leaving her seat, she cleared her throat and spoke to her father. “You will take care on your journey, I trust.”
He smiled brightly. “Of course. And your husband will ensure nothing untoward happens, so you mustn’t worry.”
She searched his face in the light of the coach lamp, hoping for something besides the surface expression he wore. Some softening in his noble, imposing manner. Some sincere wish that she survive this marriage and some small indication that he would miss her. When she didn’t find that, she sighed impatiently and busied herself with arranging her skirts for a decorous exit.
The Scot—Garrow or James, she must remember to call him one or the other—stood waiting, his large hand offered to assist her. She took it, placed her foot upon the steps he’d let down and alighted.
“Suz, darling, we are in rather a rush to be off,” her father called, having slid over to the nearest side of the coach, his head out the window. “Won’t you be taking sweet leave of your husband before we go?”
Sweet leave? She shot him a glare over her shoulder. He wanted sweet leave did he? She experienced the wicked urge to shock her father to the marrow of his
