“You are looking rather better this morning, my lady, if I may make so bold,” he ventured, casting a quick appraising look at her face. “You have a good deal more color in your cheeks and a sparkle in your eyes.”
“Probably the fresh air,” Mathilde responded.
Pieces were falling into place in her mind, and she realized now that he must be the brother of Guy’s first love. Why had she not properly registered that before, she wondered? Perhaps because she had flinched from all thoughts that had pained her.
“How is your sister?” she asked dryly. “Is she recovered yet from her shock?”
Tristan gave a startled laugh. “She is fancying herself in the role of the much-wronged, maligned woman,” he responded, falling in step beside her. “Alas for Julia, that no one else regards her as such. It vexes her greatly.”
Mathilde shot a curious look at him. “You are not close to your sister,” she said in a puzzled voice. “And yet…”
“And yet I live off the fat of her spoils,” he said matter-of-factly. “Oh yes. Lord Allworthy has kindly provided me with an allowance for years. Perhaps you have not heard my own tragic tale?”
He sighed heavily and cast her a sly look beneath his lashes. Against her better judgement, Mathilde was diverted. Mind you, any distraction from her current situation was welcome presently.
“I was the younger brother of the honorable Miles Kerslake,” he explained. “Miles was your esteemed husband’s bosom companion and greatest friend,” he continued. “He was killed in battle, defending our family honor.”
“During the war?”
“Quite. Typical of Miles to die in a blaze of glory, the Blechmarsh colors clutched in his dying fingers. I never lived up to him in any way,” he said ruefully, yet with a hint of scorn. “Of course, by rights I ought to have succeeded him to the baronetcy and the lands but alas…” He heaved another sigh. “King Wymer’s forces levelled Kerslake castle to a pile of rubble for its defiance, and rescinded our titles and lands as traitors to the crown. We were unfortunate that he sent his famous hound of war to deal with us. Sir Mason Vawdrey, perhaps you have heard of him?”
Mathilde gave a start. “Oh yes,” she agreed. The Vawdreys were a powerful family and well known figures at court.”
“Though he is known as Duke of Cadwallader now, for services rendered to the crown.”
“I thought that was by dint of his marriage,” Mathilde murmured, but Tristan was not listening.
“It was his brother that you accuse me of knowing,” he continued smoothly.
Mathilde looked at him in surprise. “Accuse?” she repeated. They had come to the end of the row, and Mathilde turned deliberately back, not wishing to let Temur and Lettys out of her sight. Obligingly, Tristan kept in step with her.
“It is hardly likely that I should be acquainted with the brother of my enemy, now is it?” he pointed out gently.
Mathilde gave him a thoughtful look. Now why, she wondered, is he so determined to refute all knowledge of Lord Oswald Vawdrey? In silence, she turned over what she knew of her friend Fenella’s husband. He was perhaps the most powerful man at court. The king’s chief advisor and also, it was whispered, his spymaster. He must have seen the moment this remembrance flickered through her thoughts, for he gazed at her keenly. She watched the quick play of emotions cross his handsome face. Annoyance, she recognized briefly and strangely, regret. But why was he regretful?
“Ah, I see that I have merely made things worse,” he said with a sigh. “Unfortunate, and rather stupid of me. But you have a far livelier mind that I heretofore suspected.” Mathilde frowned. Did her vague suspicions really amount to much? “I am curious about one thing, though,” he said slowly. “Why on earth does everyone think you such a timorous creature? Are you aware that your misnomer at court is ‘Mouse’ Martindale?”
Mathilde flushed. “Is it?” she asked, before she could stop herself.
He nodded. “Not here though,” he conceded. “Here you are the ‘southern lioness.’” He made an elaborate twirling gesture with his fingers. “Ballads will be sung in your honor. I may even,” he added thoughtfully, “sing them myself.”
Mathilde shot him a look of disbelief. “I hardly think—”
“You do realize,” he said wryly, “that the servants hear and repeat every word exchanged between you and Martindale outside of the bedchamber.” Mathilde flushed. Guy had not come once to her bedchamber in at least three nights. Of course, she was glad about that. Ecstatic. “Everyone in the county now knows you have the heretofore woman-hating Marquis on his knees, begging your forgiveness of his previous spousal cruelty.”
“Cruelty?” she repeated, startled. “Negligence would be a more appropriate word.”
Tristan laughed. “Poor Guy,” he muttered. “Almost, I feel sorry for him.”
“Almost?” Mathilde glanced around, but Temur had slipped an arm about Lettys’s waist and was whispering in her ear. After all, thought Mathilde bleakly. They were still newlyweds.
“Empathy has never been one of my strongest points,” Tristan admitted. “Let me put it this way, what significance do you think anyone would attach to your claims of seeing me at the southern court?”
“None,” Mathilde answered truthfully, but he paid no attention to her.
“Let me put it this way,” he continued glibly. “It could cause me some embarrassment round these parts, if it were known that I sometimes join the southern king’s household. But I could explain it away, at a push.” He shot a measuring look at Mathilde, as if to see how she took this.
“I’m sure you could,” she said politely. “It is really none of my business.”
“If only I could trust in a woman’s wayward tongue,” he said wistfully.
There seemed no response to this, so Mathilde made none and they stood in a companionable silence a moment. “Do they really call me Mouse?” she asked at last.
He gave a short laugh. “They do. But they are quite wrong.” He paused to consider a moment. “You are more like… a mink. Tiny and exquisite, with sharp little teeth.”
XXXIV
It was not until that afternoon that Mathilde finally received a visit from Robin. She was back at her loom, but when he entered the room, she was up and out of her seat in an instant.
“Where have you been? I can scarcely believe you have not come to me before this!”
Lettys discreetly excused herself to go and fetch some refreshments.
“I did come,” Robin answered with an insouciance that quite took her breath away. “Only you were indisposed, so I spoke with Lord Martindale instead.”
“Indisposed?”
“Sulking beneath your bedcovers,” Robin elaborated, flinging himself down into a chair.
“I assure you,” said Mathilde drawing herself up to her full height. “I was doing no such thing!”
“In any event,” Robin said waving this aside. “I could not leave Mabel alone and I had to ensure the hens were tended to. Didacus Eaves sent over that goat I wanted from Little Acton on Wednesday.”
“I wonder you have managed to spare me the time now,” Mathilde interrupted him sarcastically.
“You needn’t think to have me dancing to your tune, like everyone else!”
“Rob!”
“It’s the talk of Acton Dymock,” he retorted. “Even Prudie’s climbed down off her high horse now she knows you’re making him crawl over hot coals.”
“I don’t know what you mean!”
“Oh, don’t you, my girl!” Rob snorted.
“In any case,” said Mathilde sinking into the chair opposite. “What news of Prudie and Waldon? It seems I have not seen them in an age.”
“They’re well. Prudie’s family all came over to visit her en masse. Probably to hear all the gossip,” Rob added darkly. “They were fairly astonished to find she and Waldon are handfasted.”
“Oh, of course,” Mathilde said. “I hope she extended all the hospitality of the lodge, an
d baked them a cake.”
Rob nodded. “Her stepsisters wanted to stay the night in the spare attic room, but Prudie refused them, saying they could not remain overnight without your say so.”
“I should not have refused!”
“I told her as much,” Rob said. “But you know what a stickler she is.” He delved into the neck of his tunic. “I’ve had a letter from court.”
“Court?” Mathilde sat up. “From who?”
“Willard,” Rob answered, unfolding the paper. “He says your disappearance caused quite a stir.” Mathilde winced. “Apparently, he, Gordon and Piers are celebrities now and have been invited to tell their side of the story to the queen herself.”
“Really?” Mathilde asked faintly. “Celebrities?” She gulped.
“So, the cat’s clearly out of the bag about your escape. There’s a passage here about Sir Edgar Hill and Lady Elizabeth Coton that I do not quite follow…” He frowned, rubbing his nose. “Apparently they are putting it about that you acted as a cupid to their romance.”
Mathilde’s eyes widened. Their names did seem familiar though. “Wait a moment,” she said. “Sir Edgar Hill… Was that not the gentleman who asked us to deliver that message to his lady love?”
Rob tilted his head to one side, considering this. “The one I told you were a de Courcey bastard?” he asked after a moment.
“Yes, him.”
“But you didn’t deliver the message,” he pointed out critically.
“Well no, but I did ask Gordon to in my stead. I suppose it’s the story that matters,” she shrugged.
“You mean, he decided to steal some of the limelight with this tale?”
“It doesn’t really matter, after all.”
Lettys tapped the door lightly, then entered with a tray of fruit juices and honey cakes which she set down before them before withdrawing to the window seat to give them some privacy.
“Thank you Lettys. I don’t suppose,” she said, turning back to Rob and clasping and unclasping her hands, “that your letter mentioned aught of my mother or Nurse?”
“Only that Lady Doverdale was mad as fire and sending riders in every direction of the compass in search of you.”
“Oh dear!”
“But none have shown up here at any rate,” said Rob.
“That’s true enough,” Mathilde acknowledged. Thank heavens for small mercies.
“I suspect her initial enquiry agents weren’t searching for two boys.”
“Very likely not.”
“It’s funny isn’t it,” mused Rob, “to think of our being figures of great fame at court?”
The thought made Mathilde’s stomach lurch with anxiety. She gave him a weak smile. “Yes.” She hesitated. “What do you suppose your mother and Sir Avery will think of it all?”
Rob shrugged, not looking overly concerned. “I’m not overly anxious to return,” he said, and did not seem to even consider that she might feel differently.
Did she feel differently? For some reason she remembered Guy’s question at dinner the previous night, and her breath caught in her throat. “How long are you going to punish me?” he had asked. “I make no complaint, you understand. I just need to know my suffering will be finite.” The thought he might be suffering had not really occurred to her. She had been too caught up in her own pain.
“Why do you think I’m making Guy dance to my tune?” she asked abruptly.
He cast her a shrewd look. “Because he is. Poor fellow is walking on eggshells around you. He doesn’t know up from down.”
“You don’t think he did anything wrong?”
Robin shook his head. “Stands to reason. He never looks at any females except for you.”
“How do you know?” she persisted. “That he did not do more than look at this Lady Julia, who was his first love?”
“Because I asked him,” said Robin simply.
His answer startled her. She crumbled her honey cake. “And what did he say?”
“Denied it of course,” said Rob scornfully. “Think about it. He was known as a woman-hater before you showed up.”
“But why would Old Helga lie to me?”
Rob tutted. “Who knows with witches. They have their reasons, and it’s never straight-forward. Even the best of them speak with a forked tongue.”
Mathilde lapsed into a brooding silence. She didn’t know what to say. She needed to think. She pushed the plate of cakes toward Rob and turned the subject back to his new goat.
Rob remained for supper and conversation at the table benefited greatly from his presence. He, Lettys and Temur kept up a steady flow of conversation, which Guy joined in sporadically and Mathilde barely at all. The same thoughts whirled around in her brain. Could Robin be right when he claimed Guy only had eyes for her? And that Old Helga had for reasons known only to her, misled her? She went to bed with her mind in a whirl.
XXXV
That night Mathilde slept fitfully, waking groggily in the early hours to the sound of voices in the corridor outside. She lay awake for a while, craning her ears, but could hear nothing intelligible. After a while, the door opened and Guy entered with a candle. He came straight to her side of the bed.
“Mathilde?”
“I’m awake,” she replied quickly. “What has happened?” He had not entered this bedroom after dark since she had arrived at Acton March.
“Messengers have come bearing bad news. They rode through the night.” Immediately Mathilde’s thoughts leapt to her mother, to her old nurse in Aphrany. She sat up. Oh gods. “Lord Allworthy has died,” he said flatly.
“Lord Allworthy?” Oh.
“Julia’s husband,” he explained tersely. Mathilde kept her eyes steadily on him as he spoke. “She needs to return back home.
“Naturally she does,” Mathilde agreed coolly. “One might wonder at her leaving home in the first place.”
She saw a spark of irritation in Guy’s eye. “I need to escort her back to her husband’s estates,” he said grimly.
“Why? What of her brother?” Mathilde asked in a brittle voice.
Guy’s expression darkened. “He’s disappeared, typical of Tristan. He can never be relied on and Julia refuses to tarry.”
“Oh, does she?” Mathilde said bitterly. “Well, if the Lady Julia won’t wait, then obviously you must jump to her bidding.”
“Her husband has just died,” Guy gritted out. “Can you not find it in your heart to find some sympathy for her plight?”
“If she had any regard for her husband, she would not have left him when he was so close to his end!” she snapped, almost shocking herself.
Guy swallowed and seemed to have no answer for this. “What’s the point in going over this?” he asked rawly. “It’s not for us to fight over. I’m simply doing my duty as a neighbor and host.”
Mathilde glared at him. She did not speak the words that came to her lips, though the cynicism probably showed in her eyes. You have not been her neighbor in years! Kerslake castle is naught but a few scattered stones!
“I don’t have time to stand and debate this with you,” Guy said tightly. “The sooner I go, the sooner I can return.”
“If you go…” she started direly.
“Yes?” he said setting the candle down with a thud and sitting down on the bed. “Let’s hear it,” he said. As if unable to stop himself, he grabbed her upper arms, yanking her forward so she was practically in his lap. “If I go? What will you do?”
“Don’t bother looking for me on your return, that’s all,” said Mathilde. “For I won’t be here.”
“You’d leave me? You’d dare to…” he broke off his words as she nodded at him mutinously. He stared at her a moment. “Would you indeed?“ he said grimly, and suddenly his mouth was on hers in a punishing kiss, that gave no quarter.
Mathilde drew back her hand to push him away, but at that instance, he slid one hand into her hair and groaned roughly against her mouth. She melted. Gods, she had missed this so much. T
he physical connection with him. Guy shoved her back onto the pillows, dragging her blankets down and bunching up the shift she had taken to wearing to bed. Mathilde gazed up at him, her lips parted, her breathing shallow and fast.
“Tell me now, if this isn’t what you want,” he bit out, but his eyes were focused not on her face, but between her legs. She held her breath a moment. What did she want? Slowly, Mathilde lowered her knees. His gaze snapped to hers, and he went very still. “Mathilde,” he whispered, and suddenly he was there, pushing her thighs further apart, his mouth between them, hot and ravenous.
Mathilde whimpered, arching her back, grabbing handfuls of his hair as he pleasured her with consuming strokes of his tongue.
“Oh gods!”
He was relentless, using his knowledge of her body to bring her to a shatteringly fast orgasm, and then lapping and sucking her right the way through it, wringing every last drop of pleasure from her. When he sat up, his eyes were glittering. He dragged the back of one sleeve across his mouth.
“Well, that should keep me going while I’m gone,” he said shakily. Mathilde lay boneless and limp, surveying from under her drooping eyelids. His eyes, she noticed, despite his words, were roving over her like a starving man. “When I get back—” he started, but Mathilde cut him off.
“I can’t wait till then.” She held out her arms for him.
He froze. “What are you—?”
“Please Guy. I need you now!”
“What the hells are you trying to do to me woman?” he demanded, his whole body tense. “You know full well, I’m leaving shortly. Even now they’re waiting for me in the courtyard below!”
“Then she can wait,” Mathilde flung at him, lifting her chin.
Her words seemed to rob him of speech for a moment. “So, that’s why you tell me now,” he said harshly. “The words I’ve wanted to hear from you this past week!”
He curled his lip, his tone hard and angry, but Mathilde wasn’t fooled. He hadn’t moved from the bed, and she could see his gaze was hot as molten lava. She shrugged, lowering her arms, and went to turn from him. Immediately, he pounced.
Wed By Proxy (Brides of Karadok Book 1) Page 28