The Bride Sale by Candice Hern Page A

woman’s thickly accented words, her thoughts distracted by the disturbing encounter with the steward.
    This was the only time she’d been truly frightened since that nightmarish first night. Since then, Agnes had been merely unpleasant, and Lord Harkness had kept his distance. Though Verity remained wary of both of them, neither had done anything to physically threaten or frighten her.
    Oh, how she wished she was an ordinary guest in an ordinary household filled with ordinary people. Then there would be nothing to stop her from complaining to her host about the steward’s impertinent behavior.
    But there was nothing remotely ordinary about her situation.
    How could she complain about the steward’s insolent manner to a man whose very presence made her more uncomfortable still?
    She fought back the disagreeable feeling of vulnerability. She would not give in to helplessness again.She had come astonishingly far in overcoming her normally submissive nature. She would not give in now.
    Verity finished organizing the plants, a routine that acted as a soothing balm to her taut nerves, then stood chatting with Mrs. Chenhalls about Davey’s progress. The boy was still weak and a hacking cough lingered, but he was much better now that the fever had passed. Verity reminded the cook to keep the boy warm, promised to stop by to visit with him after supper.
    â€œHe’ll be that pleased, he will,” the cook said. “Think ’ee do be his very own ministerin’ angel, re Dhew . He do be awful keen to get out o’ bed, bless him.”
    â€œOh, but it is too soon,” Verity said.
    â€œAye, but he do be too young to know he in’t quite well yet. If ’ee tells him to stay put, though, he’ll listen. The boy’ll listen to ’ee, if not his own Ma.”
    Verity smiled. “I’ll do my best.”
    She left the kitchen thinking how fond she’d grown of the little red-haired boy who always grinned up at her impishly despite his illness. The small accomplishment of Davey’s recovery banished all thoughts of the wretched steward, and a glimmering of pride brought a smile to her lips as she passed through the Great Hall on her way to the main stairway.
    The smile faded and her breath caught when she saw Lord Harkness enter the hall from the outside. Verity did not know why he still unnerved her so, when he had not given her any real cause to fear him. She did not, in fact, fear him. What frightened herwas her own foolish reaction to him each time she saw him.
    He took off his hat and gloves and placed them on the small table near the door before he turned and saw her. For a long moment, their gazes locked and neither spoke.
    â€œCousin,” he said at last, and she let out the breath she’d unconsciously held. He seemed uncertain what else to say; she could have sworn he was as uncomfortable as she was. It puzzled her to think why.
    â€œHow is your patient?” he asked.
    â€œImproving. The fever has passed and now he must simply regain his strength, poor thing. But he is a fighter, I think.”
    â€œYes, the lad’s a true Cornishman. We’re a tough race.” Some unreadable emotion flickered in his eyes for an instant, then disappeared. “Most of us,” he said. “Thank you again for being such a help to him.”
    â€œIt was my pleasure,” she said.
    â€œWas it?” His eyes narrowed and regarded her intently. “I wonder.”
    Verity tried, she really tried, to hold his gaze, to demonstrate some of the new backbone that had lately made her so proud. She did not want him to know how much he rattled her. But she was no match for those cold blue eyes and had to look away.
    â€œIf you will excuse me,” he said, “I have work to do.” He walked past her toward his library. She heard the door close behind him.
    She wished she knew what he was thinking, what he wanted of her. Anything was better than this