by The Bargain
And, of course, going topside was exactly what she had in mind. Brett was up there, and it was time she took the proverbial bull by the horns!
She found him at the wheel, the brisk breeze that was causing the sails to flutter and snap ruffling his hair as he stood with his back to her. It was a stance that accentuated the breadth of his shoulders under his seaman's coat, the strength of the muscular thighs of his long legs that were slightly spread and braced to maintain an easy balance.
A young crewman appeared as she made her way toward the bridge. He smiled shyly and doffed his cap, then glanced at the bridge and back at her with a question in his eyes.
Ashleigh smiled and raised a finger to her lips, indicating she would surprise her husband. After another quick glance at his captain, the seaman gave her a tentative smile, bowed and disappeared from sight.
The sea was fairly calm, nevertheless Ashleigh had a bit of trouble resurrecting her "sea legs," as Patrick had called them when they sailed from England, and it took some doing to keep her balance as she made her way to the bridge, but at last she reached it.
Brett caught a movement in the semidarkness—for there was a half-moon and myriad stars to augment the light from the lantern that swung nearby.
"Mr. Carter, I thought I told you to— Ashleigh! How—"
"Oh, please, Brett! Do not be angry. I just had to get out of that cabin tonight! I was beginning to feel I'd become permanently attached to the bed."
"But your health! The doctor said—"
"Oh, piffle!" she exclaimed with a small gesture of annoyance. "I feel fine. And the air up here is so lovely, I'm sure it can do me no harm." She finished with a wide smile and blue eyes focused directly on his.
Brett met her look and couldn't help smiling back. She looked so incredibly beautiful with the wind ruffling her long curls about her face and shoulders, her huge eyes bright and shining as she faced him with a look of expectancy.
"Very well," he said as his eyes swept over her diminutive form. "You have escaped from the beastly confinement I've been well aware you were beginning to abhor, and you don't appear any the worse for it. But it would be foolish to overdo it, Ashleigh. You'll stay for a few minutes, and then I'll take you back. Agreed?"
"But, Brett—"
"I won't have you endangering your health, Ashleigh." Brett's expression grew somber. "My God; when I think that we nearly lost you twice in—"
Moved by the concern in his eyes, Ashleigh reached out to touch his arm. "I understand," she told him, "and a few minutes it will be." And I'd better use them profitably, she added to herself.
He smiled his gratitude for her show of good sense, then asked, "Ever handle a ship's wheel?"
Her eyes widened, then smiled their delight. "Oh, Brett, may I?"
"Of course." He grinned, then motioned for her to slip in front of him.
She stepped into place, then felt his arms come around her from behind as he positioned her hands at the wheel. It was the closest bodily contact they'd had since before the baby's birth, and she suddenly found herself overwhelmed by his nearness. Sensory memories flooded her brain—memories of other times when they had touched, when she'd breathed in the clean male scent of him as she was now, when—
"Hold her steady," he murmured from somewhere above her right ear. "That's it, steady now."
As he spoke, Brett had to force himself to concentrate on the dark sea ahead of them, for he, too, was well aware of their closeness. As she'd moved into position before him, he caught the faint scent of violets from the perfume she wore, and his senses danced with the memories it evoked. Several silken strands of her long hair, whipped by the wind, passed across his chin and mouth, and it suddenly became all he could do not to press his lips against her temple and savor her more fully. He perceived her body's return to its former slenderness as the wind molded her clothes to her, and he was a man in frustrated agony.
What in hell was he to do? He stood grinding his teeth as he reminded himself it was out of the realm of possibility to take a woman this soon after childbirth, and this wasn't just some woman—this was Ashleigh, his wife!
He loved her, and was presently bent on a course to make her care for him if he could. He realized she had every reason to hate him, after the way he'd behaved in the past. But his mother had given him good advice that day: to be gentle with her and court her, much as if they were not yet even wed. And since he'd taken that advice and begun to see it bear fruit, he'd made up his mind to do more than court her to win him her good opinion; he began to hope he could make her love him, if not as much as he loved her, then at least a little, and perhaps, in time, even more than a little.
But now, as he clamped his jaws rigidly together, he was beginning to see that the process would not be as easy as he'd imagined. Going slowly, biding his time... Merciful God, how was he to do it when the slightest closeness, the merest touch, as now, set him afire?
Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to release slowly the breath he'd been holding and stepped back, away from her slightly, at the same time wondering what was taking Carter so long to return to the bridge following the errand he'd sent him on.
Ashleigh felt the loss of his body heat as he moved away and with it, a return of her spinning senses. She breathed deeply to hasten this sense of release, then glanced upward.
The star-studded brilliance of the sky was quite unexpected, for her thoughts had been turned inward. It was the heavens such as she had never seen them before, and their beauty nearly stole her breath away. In a canopy of midnight-blue velvet, the stars seemed to hang so low, she felt if she reached up, she could almost touch them. And yet, at the same time, she felt the vastness of it all and felt herself, Brett, and even the sturdy ship they were sailing on, to be nothing more than tiny ripples in the ageless, eternal beyond that surrounded them.
"Oh, Brett," she breathed, "isn't it just... perfect? Isn't it a miracle?"
Taking the wheel with one hand, Brett turned her to him and found himself gazing down into her wondering, upturned face. "Yes, love," he whispered hoarsely, "a miracle."
Ashleigh's lips parted expectantly, for suddenly she wanted nothing more than the touch of his mouth on hers. Oh, she loved him so much! And she suddenly found herself screaming inwardly with the longing to tell him so.
But, as his eyes held hers, she caught the look of restraint in them, little guessing at what an effort it took for him to maintain that restraint. Forcing her emotional inclinations aside, she made herself focus on her initial reason for coming out here.
"Brett," she heard herself say in a quivery voice, "I—I want to talk to you about my reasons for running off, for leaving you in—in England." There! It was out. Now all she had to do was follow it through carefully.
"But you've already told me," he said easily.
"I...I have?"
He smiled. "Back at the villa, remember? You told me how Lady Margaret insinuated that she was in London to—"
"Oh, that! Oh, yes, I recall our clearing up that misunderstanding, but it was the—the other I was referring to. The morning after our wedding when—"
"When Elizabeth came to do her dirty work. Yes," he added, "you told me about that, too. Apparently she quite convinced you that you had just wed the greatest cad that a woman could ever take as husband."
Wide-eyed and somber, Ashleigh nodded.
"I imagine Elizabeth could have been quite convincing on that score. You see, in a way, she was right."
Seeing the dismay on Ashleigh's face, he leaned down and kissed her lightly on the lips. "If it had been she I'd wed, silly goose, but not you! Never," he added softly as he bent to brush her lips with his again, "never you."
Ashleigh felt her lips tingle with his kiss and a tremor ripple through her body. "I—I don't understand," she managed to say.
Brett smiled down at her. "I'm afraid what Elizabeth suspected of me at one time was true. I was prepared to marry merely to provide myself with heirs while at the sa
me time pleasing myself with mistresses and whatever other, ah, pursuits I chose to indulge in, on the side. Indeed, if it had been she whom I'd wed, I would have done exactly that."
"But—"
He reached to place a pair of fingers gently against her lips. "But I did not wed Elizabeth. I wed you, and suddenly found myself with a wife so different from anything I'd imagined, I'd have had to be mad to be taking my... inclinations elsewhere."
Ashleigh's mouth gaped in astonishment. "You mean—?"
"I mean, my very perfect, womanly little idiot, that you were all I, or any man, I'm sure, could ever wish for in bed! Does that answer your question?"
As she glanced downward, he saw her deepening blush even in the moonlight that silvered her features. Gently, he curled his fingers under her chin and raised it until she met his gaze again. "But it goes beyond that," he told her. "For I must admit I've had mistresses in the past who were... pleasing in bed, and yet I was never faithful to any of them."
"Oh." The look of dismay again. "I see."
"No, little one, you don't see." Not yet, he added to himself. "I told you, with you, it goes beyond anything that went before. Ashleigh..." He paused, searching for the right words. Finally he decided a direct approach was best until such time as he might chance confronting her with his deeper feelings. "Ashleigh, I want to tell you, here and now, that I never had any intention of being unfaithful to you, and I have no such intentions now. I shall always remain faithful, I swear it."
He saw several expressions cross her face as she took this in. Astonishment, pleasure, doubt—each left its mark.
"You're not certain you believe me," he said.
"Oh, Brett!" she exclaimed. "I simply don't know!" Her eyes grew remote and subtly filled with pain. "Those nights in London... after—after we quarreled, you came to bed smelling of—of perfume that was not mine. You... cannot tell me there weren't other... females then."
He sighed, then ran his hand impatiently through his hair. "You're right, of course. But that was when I was under the impression that you were different. That was when I was cut to the quick by the knowledge that you had left me, just as I was beginning to think—"
The wind shifted and the wheel pulled from the loose hold he had on it as the ship veered sharply to starboard. Catching Ashleigh firmly with one arm, he grabbed hold of the wheel with his free hand and worked to steady it.
From below them a voice called out, "I'll be there in a moment, Your Grace! I'm sorry I took so long!"
Ashleigh looked to see the young seaman she'd run into when coming topside.
"Looks like the wind's changed, Your Grace. Had I better summon Mr. Scott and—"
"I'll take care of it, Mr. Carter," said Brett as he handed the wheel over to his newly promoted second mate. He gazed up at the sky. "It doesn't look too serious yet, but if it continues, we're liable to have a bad time of it crossing the Channel. Hold her steady, Mr. Carter. I'll rouse the hands."
He turned to Ashleigh. "Let's get you below before some weather hits."
"Did you say, 'The Channel'?" she asked as he escorted her from the bridge.
"I did." He grinned. "By this time tomorrow, we should be home."
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Ashleigh paced the length of the beautiful Aubusson carpet in the drawing room of the house on King Street, waving a sheet of paper in her hand.
"I simply cannot believe it!" she exclaimed as she cast a look of outrage at Maria who was standing near the marble fireplace. "Arrested! How dare they arrest them!"
"Ashleigh, cara, calm yourself, please!" Maria told her. "You'll sour your milk if you go on this way. Think of the bambina! Why, if Megan weren't crooning her that Irish lullaby right now, she'd be as fussy as she was for hours after the first shock you received at the dock."
"But how can I be calm when my husband and my brother have been arrested for spying!" She whirled as she reached the end of the carpet and began to pace again.
"Now, the letter doesn't say that!" Maria admonished. "You read it yourself, in Brett's own words. It says, 'under suspicion of spying,' and there is quite a difference."
"Yes, but when those men met us at the dock they merely said Brett and Patrick were being 'detained for questioning'! Now it seems detaining is not sufficient! Now, they are under arrest!"
"Merely a terrible formality, darling, I'm sure of it. Why, what do they have for evidence? Of anything?"
"They have evidence of Brett's ship passing suspiciously near the escaped enemy's landing site after an unexplained visit to a land crawling with his sympathizers, and in the company of an American flying a false British flag on his ship! Oh, it is all too dreadful!"
"Yes—" Maria sighed "—it is." She tried to force a smile. "But I still wish you wouldn't work yourself up over it so. Try to trust Brett's judgment that it is all just a tempest in a teapot, my dear. After all, he does have connections in the Foreign Office and at the Admiralty—not to mention at Carlton House. Just you wait. They'll have him and Patrick cleared of these ridiculous charges in no time. Before we know it, the two of them will be standing right here, sharing a laugh with us over it, and these past two days will seem like a bad joke, no more."
But Maria was mistaken about the ease with which their men would be released. As Brett explained in the letters he was allowed to write to his wife, the problem was twofold. First, Bonaparte's escape from Elba had resulted in his attracting thousands to his cause, enabling him to march on Paris and force Louis XVIII to flee. As a result, the entire nation was in a state of panic, and men in high places who would normally have listened to Brett's story with reason and good judgment, were now behaving as if they were afraid of their own shadows and trusting no one. Secondly, although the Treaty of Ghent had been signed in December, thus officially ending the War of 1812, Patrick's position was by no means secure. One of the oddities of the conflict with the Americans was that the Battle of New Orleans was fought—and won by the Americans—a full two weeks after the treaty was signed, because of poor communications. How were the British officials to know that Patrick's illegal behavior wasn't another piece of post-treaty hostility? The fact that Patrick was now also a peer of the realm and had thereby attempted to justify his flying of the Union Jack on his ship held little weight; letters would have to be sent to Washington and ambassadors contacted, and until satisfactory answers arrived, His Grace and Sir Patrick would remain as unwilling guests of His Majesty's government—with official apologies to Her Grace, the duchess, of course.
After the first week passed with no resolution to these difficulties, Ashleigh grimly determined to settle down and await their outcome, for she realized Maria was right; it would do her and her daughter little good to sit around and weep over the situation. She therefore joined Maria and Megan in setting up as normal a household as they could in the large King Street house, doing everything possible to maintain an aura of outward calm for the sake of the children. Menus were planned and meals served, lessons were given in one of the upstairs chambers hastily converted into a schoolroom, and clothes were ordered from Madame Gautier, who was delighted to see Ashleigh again and totally charmed by the contessa, her beautiful mother-in-law. Brett had immediately sent word to his solicitors that his wife was to have any necessary funds at her disposal so that she might run their household effectively until this sorry mess could be straightened out.
One of the side effects of the visits to Madame Gautier was that news of their situation quickly found its way into the ton's grapevine, and Ashleigh and Maria began to have callers. At first there were just the curious—the gossips who came to see if all they'd heard were true, and whether they might learn something new to embellish their own telling of tales as they sallied forth from one afternoon tea to another.
But then a curious thing happened: as word got out as to who Maria was—or Mary, as she now called herself in an attempt at being supportive of Brett's patriotism—a steady stream of well-wishers appeared at their doorste
p. There were, it seemed, a number of people who remembered Mary Westmont from before the time of her so-called disgrace—remembered her and liked her well enough to call her a friend. These were members of the upper crust who, they confided, had always thought she'd been unfairly treated by the Westmonts, and now that they'd learned she was reconciled with that family, went out of their way to welcome her back into their society.
Soon invitations to tea, dinner parties and balls began to arrive for both Mary and Ashleigh—for Mary let it be known that she would socialize with no one who did not accept the present duchess as well, no matter what the state of the duke's situation. At first Ashleigh was disinclined to accept any of these, but at Mary's urging—that she must, to present a bold and confident picture of support for her husband—she began to venture out.
Before long the young duchess and her mother-in-law began to be seen about the city. Most of these forays into society took place during the day, for Ashleigh had no wish to attend, unescorted, balls and soirees where the majority of those attending were couples; but luncheons and afternoon teas often saw the two women in attendance. And the rains of March gave way to a warm and surprisingly sunny April, allowing them to join the throngs of riders and carriages in Hyde Park.
On one particularly balmy, blue-skied day, they were joined by Megan and Marileigh—with Miss Simms, her nurse—as they rode in their open carriage along the thoroughfare.
"It's really amazing, Maria—uh, Mary," said Ashleigh as she saw the older woman smile and nod to greeters in a passing carriage, "how many people have come to accept you since our return. Why, wasn't that the haughty Lady Castlereagh herself who waved to you a moment ago?"
"It was." Mary smiled. "I ran into her at Lady Bessborough's luncheon the other day—the one you were too tired to attend because Marileigh had been fussing with the colic all night." She peered at the blanketed bundle currently being held by Megan. "By the way, how is our little viscountess doing, Megan?"