Page 21 of Her Baseborn Bridegroom

He felt himself stiffen. “Save your concern for your own wife when you take one, Oswald. I have said I will find some trustworthy retainers, and then, yes, I will leave her like a shot from a bow.”

Oswald’s mouth tightened with disapproval. “You have many qualities I admire, Mason. But I wish to the gods you had not taken such a woman to wife. You are ill suited, I fear.”

Mason’s hands fisted at his sides, but he reined his temper in with effort. “Your concern is duly noted, Brother.” It was the first time he had addressed him as such. Oswald flushed. “Now let this be the end of it, for the deed is done and there is no use regretting it now.”

Mason knocked briskly on the studded oak door before pushing it open. Linnet was in their room rather than in the solar. She sat in the window seat, a needle and thread in hand and a pile of cushions at her feet. As he approached he could see she was embroidering gold letters. With a flicker of surprise, he realized they were his initials. He paused a moment as she snapped the thread with her teeth and discarded the cushion she had been working on. Was this what she had been doing with her evenings? He had been leaving her to her own devices now for days, joining her in their rooms only when it was very late and his wife fast asleep.

“Have you finished?” she asked softly.

“For today. Tomorrow I shall start on the stables and outbuildings. Then next week I will start riding out to look at the lands and tenants.”

She nodded.

“That will take at least a week, if not two.” And by the time he was finished they would have been married a month already.

“But we have finished the castle contents, more or less,” he continued smoothly. “I shall leave totting up the pantry, buttery, and livestock to Robards.”

She nodded again, as he dropped down onto the window seat beside her, stretching out his long legs before them.

“Linnet, I want you to know I do appreciate how . . . practical you have been about this. Our bargain, arrangements . . . ” he trailed off with a shrug.

She turned impulsively towards him. “And I too,” she said with feeling. “I am ever so grateful for what you have taken on and I mean never to let you down again.”

He blinked a moment at her vehemence. “What I have taken on?” he murmured slowly.

“My vassals, and um . . . ” she swallowed nervously. “My inexperience and lack of housekeeping skills.” She swallowed. “You gave me the keys to the castle but I don’t deserve them. Have I made you a very bad marriage bargain?” Her eyes were shining with unshed tears, and she looked so worried that he felt a twinge of the same guilt Oswald had been unable to inspire in him only half an hour earlier.

“Not at all, nothing like that.”

She gulped. “Really?” It was little more than a whisper.

He found himself leaning forward and tugging the cushion from her grasp before flinging it on the floor. Suddenly he felt glad that Oswald had spouted all that crap to him about being an inconsiderate bastard. At the time, it had been infuriating, but perhaps he had needed to hear it. Linnet’s lips had stopped trembling, although her eyes had spilled over and her cheeks were now wet with tears. He tugged her over from the opposite seat into his lap and let his own lips travel over her soft skin, sipping at them. Her cheeks felt perfectly smooth, and he could not feel the thousands of freckles in any way by mere touch alone. He murmured when he felt her hand reach out and stroke his face in a soft caress he had not expected. She fanned her fingers out and rubbed against his stubble. He almost laughed. “Is it rough?” he asked throatily.

“A little. But not unpleasantly so,” she admitted breathlessly.

“You’re silky smooth. Like satin, only warmer,” he told her huskily. Where the hell had that come from? Sweet words, Oswald had said. He hadn’t known he was capable of them.

She smiled at that, looking unspeakably flattered. “You’re so kind,” she breathed, coloring up adorably.

Adorably? He blinked at his thoughts. What the hell was going on with him? Kind? Hardly. His chest tightened inexplicably. The Jevons had done worse than defraud her estate. They had failed to protect their innocent little niece from a marauding bastard like himself.

Mason watched her carefully over the next week. Oswald was right, he was going to have to try and have a care with her, he realized with foreboding. She had absolutely no guile, no defense, and no insight into the harsh realities of life. Her sheltered upbringing had not prepared her for a husband such as himself. That was why she had thrown herself at his feet and offered him her hand, her wealth, and a child of her womb. She was a total innocent. He had taken her up on it and now he was going to have to live with that. It wasn’t all bad, he supposed. Because of her, he now had lands and wealth far outstripping that of his own father and legitimate brothers. Oswald was a saint. There could be no other reason his brother was not gnashing his teeth with envy. Of course, Linnet was plain. She would never inspire jealousy in any man’s breast. But that was his cross to bear, and truth be told he was sure that having a beauty for a wife brought its own problems for a man. She would never be demanding or coquettish, expecting him to trail after her like a trained lapdog. She would never flirt with other men or drive him to distraction. He doubted she knew how. And despite her reputation, she was not some chronic invalid. He had hopes that if he was gentle with her and patient, she would give him a son and heir. A son that would bear the title of Duke of Cadwallader. It was a week later when Mason had finished his inventory of the armory, stables, and outbuildings. They were eating a private supper in their rooms as he looked over his list of findings. Linnet made valiant small talk throughout the meal, but at the end, when he produced her ledger, her gaze studiously avoided falling on it. He cleared his throat. “Can I explain this to you Linnet?” he asked in a low voice. He had a much clearer view now of how things had been running at the castle. Most of the Jevonses tricks had been laid clear to his piercing gaze. She swallowed and after the smallest of pauses nodded, coming out of her seat and around the table to sit directly next to him. She placed one hand on his sleeve for a moment and gave a small reassuring squeeze before tucking her hair behind her ears and leaning forward to look at the open page. He saw her flinch at all the crossings out of her angelic round handwriting. Robards’s scrawl was not half so neat. But it was accurate. Her head hung slightly, and Mason reached one hand to the back of her neck where he ran his thumb up and down her slender neck in a gesture meant to comfort her.

“You see where Robards has crossed out name after name on your list of servants?”

She nodded bravely.

“’Tis because they never existed, Linnet.”

Her head turned to look at him. Her gaze was uncomprehending. “But . . . I never dreamt them Mason. I was told . . . ”

“Aye. That you were. Your aunt, I expect, told you the alewife in the buttery had a team of four women working with her?”

“Yes,” she nodded.

“’Twas a lie Linnet. The alewife has only ever had one assistant, never four. This pattern, this method, is repeated for every servant grouping you have listed.”

Linnet looked down the page at all the crossed-out names. She paused a moment and then looked him straight in the eye. “So they could draw more money each month for wages,” she said hoarsely.