“Son of a bitch.” Edward gripped the edges of the fireplace, staring down into the flames. “So, we should be expecting trouble?”
“Maybe,” Garret said as he tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair, his blue eyes darkening as he clenched and unclenched his jaw. “Mr. Charles doesn’t know who we are—yet. He’s mainly looking for ‘Roger,’ since he knows we were with him.”
“Well, that’s a bit of good luck on our side,” Edward said. “Bridgewater is far enough away that there is every reason to believe he’ll never find us. If he does? Well, he won’t find us to be easy prey. Men like Mr. Charles never last long. They always mess with the wrong person and ending up in a shallow grave in the wilderness.”
“I was thinking that as well.” Garret toyed with the gold chain attached to his pocket watch. “If, by some ill twist of fate, they do find us, well, I think they’ll be in for a sore surprise when they realize Bridgewater is mostly battle-hardened, retired military. I can’t think of a group of men I’d rather have at our backs than our brothers back home.”
“God’s truth to that,” Edward said as he pushed away from the mantle. “Do we tell Rowan?”
“No, I don’t think that would be wise. She’s been through enough and doesn’t need any more reasons to live in fear. I’ll send a telegram back to Henry asking him to let us know if anything changes.”
“Agreed.” Edward rubbed his jaw, the slightly bristle of his hair already growing back and tickling his palm.
Standing up, Garret placed his hand on Edward’s shoulder and gave it a hard squeeze. “And if anyone is foolish enough to try to collect a bounty on us, we’ll take care of them and Mr. Charles. He won’t be the first piece of human waste we’ve removed from this planet.”
Memories of their years in the service flashed through his mind, and Edward nodded. “I will do anything to protect our family.”
“Anything,” Garret replied as they both turned to look at the closed door separating their room from Rowan’s. “I’ll go into hell, both guns blazing, if it means keeping our bride safe.”
6
ROWAN
Slowly running her finger over the long, gilded handle of the fork, Rowan wondered if Mrs. Tibbs would be put out if Rowan stabbed the woman sitting across the room from her for openly flirting with Garret. The woman was French Canadian named Fleur, traveling with her uncle and cousin from Quebec to trade furs. She had gorgeous, thick brown hair that framed a very pretty oval face. And she had long, dark lashes that she used to maximum effect as she attempted to charm Garret.
The French Canadians had joined the Tibbs, minus Nancy, and Rowan and her men for some social time after dinner.
Edward, it had been decided by the men, would be Rowan’s public fiancé while Garret would pose as her cousin. They both had blonde hair and blue eyes and, even though his nose was narrow and aristocratic while hers was wide, they could pass as cousins. Very distant cousins, but close enough that people wouldn’t question their relationship.
But, as they sat there, having what should be a pleasant time talking with a charming Dr. and Mrs. Tibbs, Rowan couldn’t help but feel guilty as she watched Garret play a game of cards with Fleur and her family. To her surprise, Garret spoke fluent French, and it irritated her further that she didn’t know what they were saying. She could only read Fleur’s body language. Rowan grit her teeth as Fleur looked at Garret from beneath her lashes, blushing prettily as they all laughed at something Fleur’s uncle had said.
“And that’s when I became a monkey and decided to move to Russia,” Mrs. Tibbs said.
Startled, Rowan tore her jealous gaze from the card table and focused on Mrs. Tibbs again.
She found the older woman giving her a knowing look. “Green with jealousy is not a good color on you. Now put that fork down before we have to remove it from that poor simpleton’s eye. She is very pretty, but she is about as smart as my goat, Douglas—and he tries to eat dung.”
Edward coughed from the chair nearby where he was sitting with Dr. Tibbs as they both smoked their pipes near the fire.
Ignoring him, Rowan leaned forward as she set her dessert fork down next to the barely eaten, but delicious, chocolate cake. “I’m sorry. I know…” She tried to put her complicated feelings into words but was at a loss. “I’m not used to this.”
Mrs. Tibbs leaned closer so they were whispering together, their conversation low enough that it was almost inaudible over the sounds coming from the card game. “Forgive me if I am prying, but I would give you the same advice I gave my daughters when they were considering becoming Bridgewater Brides.”
Eager for some kind of guidance and feeling comforted by the older woman’s presence, Rowan nodded.
“This,” her gaze darted over to the card table, her mouth going tight, “is part of the price you pay for marrying a man from Bridgewater. The world is not a kind place, and there are those who would try to prosecute you for indecency and other foolish crimes. You have to ask yourself, can you really do this? Can you really spend a lifetime where you will never be able to publicly acknowledge your husbands without fear of ridicule and possible jail?”
Rowan stared at her, taking in the seriousness of Mrs. Tibbs expression. Oh, how she wanted to confess that the ring on her finger was just a prop, but in truth
