His Lordship's Filly by Nina Coombs Pykare

prison.”
    “And he wanted me to be safe.”
    Andrew nodded. “Safe with me.”
    She gave him an unfathomable look. “And I am. I’m safe.”
    Bridget wiped again at her eyes with that bit of lacy linen ladies called a handkerchief.It was stupid to act like a waterworks, dripping tears all over Andrew like some kind of baby. But why, oh why, had Papa done such a terrible thing?
    Wagering was bad enough, but a thousand pounds! He could lose the stables—the whole stables. And all the horses that were her friends.
    She swallowed hastily. But not Waterloo. Papa had seen to it that the stallion was safe. Just as he’d made sure she was safe. At least he’d done that much.
    If only they’d known in time. Andrew was looking at her so strangely. Probably he was thinking the same thing she was. That this marriage of theirs was a mistake. They could have prevented it. Could he— Would he have it annulled?
    He was frowning now, his handsome face screwed up in a grimace. “Don’t worry, Bridget,” he said. “Please don’t worry. Your father will be all right. You have my word on it.”
    “Thank you,” she said, taking comfort from his words, “and tomorrow we can go see Papa!”
    Andrew hesitated. “We must wait till the debt is paid. Give me a day for that.”
    She wanted to see Papa, to know that he was safe, but she knew Andrew was right. They had better wait. “All right.”
    Andrew got to his feet and helped her up. “Come, Bridget, it’s late. It’s time we went up to bed.”
    She swallowed hastily.He meant to do it, then, to go on with the marriage. She felt something oddly like relief, but that couldn’t be right. After all, she hadn’t really wanted this marriage. She’d only done it to please Papa.
    Andrew tucked her arm through his and led her toward the stairs. “We’ll both be the better for a good night’s rest,” he said as they ascended.
    She hardly heard what he was saying for thinking that in her room, spread across the yellow satin bedcover, and looking completely out of place there, lay her faded flannel nightdress. Soon she would put on that nightdress and Andrew would—
    He opened the door and motioned her into the room. From the bed the nightdress seemed to call out to her, to shine like a bright beacon, a beacon she’d like to put out.
    Andrew looked around the room. “I think you have everything you’ll need. If not, add it to our list for tomorrow.”
    He drew her to him, and her heart jumped up in her throat, beating there frantically. He put his arms around her, in a hug much like Papa might have given her, only this hug made her feel quite different, excited and comforted at the same time—a very strange sensation, but pleasant enough.
    Then he held her off a little, put a kiss on her forehead, and said, “Sleep well, now. I’ll see you in the morning.”
    And he went out, through the connecting door to his own chamber. She stood staring after him, unable to believe what she was feeling.
    Andrew didn’t want her. Maybe he even meant to get an annulment that would free her to go home to Papa.
    She turned away, hastily unfastening her gown. But wait, he said he would pay Papa’s debts, keep him from prison, so . . . So nothing, she told herself crossly, yanking her nightdress down over her head. So that didn’t mean one thing or another about their marriage.
    It was the most irritating thing imaginable. She didn’t want to be married to Andrew. She wanted to be at home with Papa. But the prospect of being sent back to him left her feeling strangely disappointed.
    Well, Andrew was right about one thing. It had been a long day. And she needed some sleep.
    * * * *
    In the adjoining chamber Andrew prepared for bed. What a day this had been! He climbed between the cold sheets and lay, staring up into the darkness. He supposed he’d been right to tell Bridget about her father’s debts. And right, too, he thought, in withholding the name of the man who held those notes. No