Page 52 of The Marriage Wager

Constance squeezed herself more tightly against him, as though she could force some of his pain out of him. Dominic turned, wrapping his arms around her, and they stood that way for a long time. Constance could hear the steady thud of his heart beneath her ear; his warmth enveloped her. Her body was alive to him, as it always was, but she pushed such wayward feelings out of her mind. She wanted to comfort him; she wished she could somehow leach his sorrow from his body.

Dominic curved his head down over hers. She felt the brush of his cheek against her hair. He squeezed her gently, and his lips pressed into her hair for an instant.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

“I only wish I could make it better,” she answered, rubbing her hand against his back in a soothing circular motion.

“You do. Believe me, you do.” He hesitated, tensing slightly, and Constance went still in response, waiting.

Then a fat raindrop plopped upon her shoulder, followed by another on her back.

“What the devil?” Dominic released her and moved back, looking up at the sky.

They had been so wrapped up in their conversation that they had paid no attention to their surroundings. The pillowy white clouds that had made the day cooler had massed into a gray, lowering cover.

“We had better get back.” Dominic grasped her arm, and they started back down the hill, raindrops splattering on them with greater frequency.

The rain made the stony ground slicker, and they slipped again and again as they retraced their steps, slowing their speed. When they reached the trees, the branches provided more cover, but the wind and rain increased at such a rate that it scarcely mattered. Constance let out a little shriek and clutched at her head as the wind tore at her hat. She was too late, and the hat went sailing off through the trees.

She slipped and would have fallen but for Dominic’s hand on her arm. His fingers tightened painfully and they stayed upright, but in two more steps, the smooth sole of his riding boot went sliding on the wet leaves. He slipped, and they staggered. He grabbed for a tree branch, and then they were on the ground, flat on their backs, sliding along until they were stopped by a knobby tree root.

Dominic sat up and looked down at her. Constance let out a giggle and reached up to pluck the twig that had caught in his hair. He grinned, then laughed, too. The rain, coming faster now, sluiced down his head and face. He shoved his hair back with his hands and got to his feet, reaching down to pull Constance up. They scurried down the hillside to where their horses were tied. The rain was pounding down harder now. The horses jittered at the sound of thunder.

Dominic pointed toward the little cottage. “Go inside. We’ll wait it out. It’s getting worse. I’ll put the horses in that shed.”

Constance nodded, not eager to lead their horses down the rest of the hill and then ride for the summer house with the rain still pelting them. As Dominic untied the horses and led them to the shed, she ran for the cottage, keeping her skirts up as best she could. She didn’t know why she bothered, she thought. Her velvet riding habit was already sodden with rain, and not only splattered with mud about the hem but also liberally striped with it down her side and back from their fall. And that wasn’t even to mention leaves and twigs that had adhered to it as she slid along the ground.

She turned the latch and pushed, and for an instant the door stuck, but then it gave way with a creak, and she stepped into the room. She left the door open despite the rain; for there was little light inside the tiny one-room house. It was cool, too, in her wet clothes, and a shiver shook her. Constance wrapped her arms around herself and advanced farther into the room, looking around.

There was not much to see—it was a plain and sparsely furnished place. The entire house was but a single room. Two small windows, one almost completely overgrown with ivy outside, provided what light there was. A bed was pushed up against one wall, and there was a small table in the center of the room. A stool sat beside the table, and closer to the small fireplace, there was a wooden rocking chair. A braided rug lay on the floor beside the bed. Over everything, there was a layer of dust. She wondered how long it had been since the cottage had been inhabited. Years and years, it appeared.

Dominic entered the cottage on the run and stopped, taking in the place in a glance. “Not much here, I fear.” He looked at Constance. “You’re shivering.”

“Just a little. It’s the damp.”

“Damp?” He raised an amused eyebrow. “You are soaked through.”

Constance thought of how she must look, and she blushed, her hands going to her hair. Strands of it had come loose during their dash down the hill, almost a third of it on one side, and the locks straggled wetly around her face and down her back. Leaves and twigs had caught in it, as well, when they went sliding across the ground. Her riding habit was thoroughly wet and clinging to her, as well as being bedaubed with mud and stray leaves and twigs. She must look, she thought, a complete fright.

Dominic went over to the fireplace and dropped down to one knee in front of it. “Hope this still works,” he commented as he felt for the flue handle.

He began to build a fire with the small stack of logs beside the hearth. Constance busied herself with removing all the twigs and leaves she could find from her hair, while Dominic roamed the cottage and outside, collecting enough small dry twigs and bits of wood to use for kindling. It took some time, but eventually he got a small fire started in the fireplace, and, miraculously, it drew well enough to keep the smoke from flooding back into the room.

She took the remaining pins from her hair and set them on the table, then squeezed the water from her locks. Combing her fingers through her hair as best she could, she watched Dominic coax the little flames into a steady fire.

He turned toward her. “Here, come sit by the fire.”

Constance went closer, stopping beside him. He smiled down at her and reached out to take an errant leaf from her hair.

“I must look a mess,” she murmured.

“You look like a wood nymph,” he replied, and his smile widened. “A very wet wood nymph.”

“I am very wet,” Constance admitted, and another shiver shook her.

“You should get out of your clothes,” he told her. Their gazes locked. His words seemed to hang in the air.

Constance felt suddenly breathless. “I…um…”