She swallowed hard. "Are you sure?"
He turned to her and raised a brow. "Are you sure?"
A long silence stretched between them before Kendra sighed. "No," she said, unsure of anything at the moment. "I don't want to live in that little cottage. Well, actually, it's a big cottage, but you know what I mean."
She dropped to sit on the bed. "I'm accustomed to directing a large household, and I'll do you proud. It's only...when I think of all the money it takes to run a place like this—all the servants and goods—for just the two of us...can't we close up some of it? Close up most of it? Most of Cainewood is closed up. We could take the money and put it to good use, maybe help some orphans or something."
Trick sat beside her, smelling of sandalwood soap. He must have come here and bathed, the wretch, while she'd yawned her way through the day, reading poetry.
He took her hand. "If we close up most of the house, think of the people who will lose their jobs. My father hired them, not I, but I cannot find it in my heart to put them them out on the streets."
"Oh...I hadn't thought of that."
His smile, crooked but genuine, did much to thaw her icy anger. "And I've something to show you tomorrow. Something I think will please you."
"What?" She leaned closer to his enticing scent.
But then she caught herself and pulled her hand from his grasp. He'd still lied to her, tricked her, and that was hard to forgive. Especially now, with all the years that loomed ahead...years and years.
"What do you want to show me?" she asked.
"Patience, lass. Let's get you settled first. Tomorrow will be soon enough." His smile faded when she yawned. "Sleepy, are you?"
"Thanks to you." She glared at him, then fell back to the pillows. "I know it's early still, but I'd like to just call it a night."
"Excellent idea. Yesterday was a long and difficult day." Trick rose, shrugged out of his surcoat, and started unlacing his shirt. "I believe I'll join you."
She leapt from the bed. "Oh! I thought this was my chamber."
"It is." The shirt came off over his head, and her palms itched as she remembered how he'd felt against her hands last night. All warm and firm.
She swallowed hard. "Then where is your chamber?"
"It's mine, too." He sat to pull off his boots. "We're married. We're allowed to sleep together. I've a piece of paper to prove it."
"But..." She glanced around wildly. "This is a suite, isn't it? What's on the other side of that door?"
"A dressing chamber. Feel free to use it. Your clothes are inside." At her look of astonishment, he added, "Jane has been here all day, arranging your things. I gave her the evening off."
"I thought you said she hadn't unpacked yet. And she's my maid."
"I believe she's in my employ, now." His second boot hit the floor with a thud, and he began unlacing his breeches.
"You're a duke, for God's sake. Don't you have a valet?"
"Cavanaugh. But I prefer to undress myself, much to the poor man's constant chagrin." He looked up. "Actually, I'd prefer to have you undress me, but..." A wry grin revealed that rakish chipped tooth, and the twinkle in his eye was unsettling. "No, I thought not. But I can play your maid again tonight, if you wish."
"No, thank you." She stalked over to the dressing room and shut the door behind her, then had to duck back into the bedchamber for a candle. Gritting her teeth against his laugh, she closeted herself again and began hunting for a night rail.
Every bit as fancy as the bedchamber, the dressing room had a delicate wood table and two upholstered, fringed stools in the center. One wall was covered with an enormous gilt-framed mirror, another wall was lined with wardrobe cabinets, and there were two walls of those newfangled chests of drawers.
The first drawer she opened was filled with Trick's folded things, and she slammed it shut. She found her own clothes in the third chest she tried. Quickly she stripped out of the wedding dress, diving into the thickest, most voluminous night rail she owned. Her fingers fumbled with the clasp of the amber bracelet, but she finally managed to remove it and set it on the little inlaid table.
The bracelet sat there, taunting her. Amber. The Duchess of Amberley...
Dear God, however had she ended up in this predicament? Exactly where she'd sworn she'd never be.
When she reopened the door, Trick was in the bed, and—from all she could tell—stark naked. She paced beside the carved gilt monstrosity, hoping he was already asleep.
His hand shot out to grab hers, stopping her in her tracks. "I won't ever take you against your will. You needn't worry."
She bit her lip, eyeing his bare arm and shoulders. "Is that so?"
"Aye. You're safe, I assure you."
"Can...can I not have another room?"
"Is something wrong with this one?"
"It's...too masculine."
"Too masculine?"
"Yes." She accompanied the word with a brazen stare, since nothing could be farther from the truth. The red chamber was satin and velvet, feathers and lace—altogether too fussy for her tastes. It looked like a brothel. Or what she imagined a brothel might look like, in any case. "This was your father's chamber, wasn't it? I believe I'd be more comfortable in your mother's chamber. Where is it?"
"In Scotland," he said shortly, patting the mattress beside him. "Come, Kendra, enough of this. I'm sleepy, and you look ready to drop."
With a sigh, she walked around the bed and gingerly lay on top of the covers.
Sounding exasperated, his voice drifted over his shoulder. "Get under the blanket. It's drafty in this gargantuan house."
Giving in, she scooted beneath the coverlet. The feather bed was soft and comfortable. Lying flat on her back, she could feel the rise and fall of Trick's breathing next to her, the warmth of his body even across the space that divided them.
When he rolled close and laid an arm loosely across her middle, she flinched.
"Shh, leannan. Rest." He raised himself to kiss the tip of her nose, his lips soft and temptingly damp. His amber eyes burned into hers, making her stomach flutter. Against her will, her arms ached to wrap around his neck and pull his mouth to meet hers.
But she knew what that would lead to.
"Aye, you're right." His whisper was husky with meaning.
Had he read her mind?
His mouth brushed hers; his tongue came out to trace her bottom lip. Despite her reservations, her body melted beneath his.
He chuckled low. "Aye, you'll be begging soon enough," he said, then turned away to blow out the candle.
Shaking, from vexation or unwelcome lust—for the life of her, she wasn't sure which—Kendra stared into the darkness and wondered if she'd ever get any sleep while she was married to Trick Caldwell.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
"Wake up, milady. I mean, your grace."
Kendra forced open her eyes to see Jane standing over her.
"I've brought you some breakfast, or should I say dinner?" The maid set a tray on the bed. "It's late, and his grace is waiting to take you somewhere. A surprise, he said."
"A surprise?" Struggling into a sitting position, Kendra reached for a cup of chocolate. "He said he had something to show me today, but—"
"A surprise, yes." Jane's tall, thin figure disappeared into the dressing room. "He suggested you wear your simplest gown."
The sound of wardrobes opening and closing came through the open door. "Why would that be?" Kendra asked.
"Well, if you're not knowing, then how could I?" The maid came in with a peach-velvet gown. Other than a narrow edging of lace around the neckline and some wider matching lace that spilled from the wrists, the dress was plain. No overskirt, no jewels or embroidery on the stomacher. "Do you suppose this will do?"
"I'm sure it's fine."
Kendra slapped a slab of cheese on a slice of bread while Jane ducked into the dressing room again. Her sweet voice drifted back out. "Brown shoes rather than gold, I'm thinking."
; Kendra chewed and swallowed, not thinking at all. Her brain was now fuzzy from too much sleep.
"And a chemise, and...lud, would you look at this lovely bracelet? Where'd this come from, milady? I mean, your grace?"
"Milady will more than do," Kendra grumbled. "And leave the bracelet there."
Jane appeared in the open doorway, her plain face marred by a puzzled frown. Winking in the noon sun that streamed through the window, the amber bracelet dangled from her fingers. "Was this a gift from your husband?"
"A wedding gift, yes."
"Then for certain he'd want you to wear it."
Setting down the bread, Kendra caught a glimpse of the gold ringing her finger. Enough of a reminder that she was married to a lying duke. "I don't care for it, Jane."
Her maid's mouth hung open. "But it's so beautiful. And his grace is so handsome and kind—do you not want to please him?"
Of course Jane would think Trick was kind—he'd given her half a day off. And he hadn't lied to her, either. "I really don't care for it," Kendra repeated. "Put it away for me, will you? I expect his grace will forget all about it—you know how men are."
"Very well." A doubtful look in her gray eyes, Jane disappeared back into the dressing room. She came out carrying the shoes and chemise and set them on the foot of the bed. "Are you happy here, milady?"
"Of course I'm happy." Gesturing at the rich, garish chamber, Kendra forced a smile. "How could one not be happy here?"
"Mr. Caldwell!" A dozen children bounded down the steps of the sprawling Tudor manor house and clustered around Trick. Laughing, he reached to squeeze shoulders and pat heads, leaving no child untouched.
Kendra stared in utter disbelief. "Mr. Caldwell?"
"Part of your surprise." He shot her a sheepish grin before turning back to the young ones. They'd focused their attention on Kendra, gaping at her with frank curiosity. Trick waved a hand in her direction. "This is my new wife. Er...Mrs. Caldwell."
"Please, just call me Kendra," she rushed to say, smoothing the skirt of the peach gown. Goodness, a new name was a hard thing to get used to. It felt downright strange.
As a duchess, she had no proper surname anymore—she'd be signing letters with her husband's title, as Kendra Amberley. She didn't feel like a duchess, but neither did she feel like Mrs. Caldwell.
"I'm glad of your acquaintance, Mrs. Kendra." A tall, skinny lad held his hand out to her, looking toward Trick for approval. At her husband's nod, the boy reached to grasp Kendra's hand and kissed the back of it fervently.
"Ahem. Andrew." When the boy looked chagrined, Trick ruffled his dark, stick-straight hair. "Not to worry. A man cannot help but admire a pretty lady, aye?"
"Oh, yes," Andrew said reverently, and Kendra watched Trick bite his lip to keep from laughing.
"Mrs. Jackson, there you are." He waded through the sea of children, making his way toward a matronly woman with gray curls and a pleasant if nondescript face. He fished a black pouch from his surcoat pocket and handed it over. "Here you go. I apologize for being late. I've been...busy."
"I can see that." The woman smiled at Kendra.
"Mrs. Jackson, may I present my wife—"
"Mrs. Kendra," Andrew supplied in a worshipful tone.
Kendra didn't have the heart to correct him. "I'm glad of your acquaintance, Mrs. Jackson." She executed a tiny bow, for all the world as though they were at Whitehall Palace.
Mrs. Jackson's plump cheeks flushed with pleasure. "Likewise, your gr—Mrs. Kendra." Kendra heard the metallic clink of coins as the woman sifted through the pouch. "So generous, Mr. Caldwell! The children are grateful."
"The orphans of Sussex won't starve so long as it's within my power to help them."
"Starve?" Mrs. Jackson's belly jiggled beneath her apron as her laughter rang through the heavy summer air. "They're better fed than half the parish. Why, I daresay some villagers pray nightly to be orphaned and find themselves at Caldwell Manor."
Caldwell Manor? Did Trick finance this entire operation, then? Kendra looked toward her husband, his golden hair glinting in the late afternoon sun, and her heart melted a little.
He laughed. "Let's hope not. A hearty meal is a sad substitute for devoted parents. How is little Susanna?"
"Much better. Her fever is down and she's sitting and taking milk. I trust she'll be up and about in a day or two."
"I'm pleased to hear it. Maybe I should pay her a visit."
"By all means. She'll be cheered to see you."
"Kendra? If you'll excuse me?"
Without waiting for her agreement, Trick climbed the six front steps in three strides and disappeared into the house. Wearing only breeches and a shirt, no cravat and no coat, he looked decidedly unduke-ish. Through that battered oak door passed a man who had accomplished Kendra's own dream, opening an orphanage.
Stunned, she stared after him while the children scattered through the garden, picking up balls and hoops.
Two girls tugged shyly on her skirts. "Will you play with us, Mrs. Kendra?"
She smiled down at them. "What would you care to play?"
They settled on blindman's buff, and the game went on for a while, other children joining in the fun. When an impish lad named Thomas stole the blindfold and ran away laughing, the others raced after him. Kendra tried to follow but got halfway around the house and stopped. Thanks to her high Louis heels, the merry chase had far outstripped her ability to keep up.
Trick had been right to suggest a plain gown—next time she'd wear flat shoes, too. Wondering what was taking him so long, she made her way over to where Mrs. Jackson was hanging laundry.
"Have you an idea where my h-husband"—her tongue tripped over the word—"might have gotten himself off to?"
"Of course," the older woman said, tossing a nightshirt back into the basket. "I'll show you the way to the sickroom."
She led her around the corner of the house and up the front steps. "I bless your husband nightly for saving these children."
"Bless you for caring for them," Kendra returned, glancing around the entry. Though the house and its furnishings had clearly seen better days, it was clean and cheerful. "Are the children receiving an education?"
"Mercy, yes. His grace has seen to it that tutors attend to that. All but the youngest can figure and read and write—"
"Girls, too?"
"Yes, indeed. Your husband has some odd ideas."
They skirted a few wooden toys on the floor as Mrs. Jackson led her down a corridor. "Are they instructed in the classics? Latin and—"
"Nay, not as yet. I cannot imagine what children like this would be needing with Latin. But with the duke directing things, you never know what will happen next at Caldwell Manor." The woman's ample bosom quivered with a good-natured if slightly befuddled chuckle. "Here we are."
In the room Mrs. Jackson indicated, a young girl, perhaps five or so, sat propped among pillows in a four-poster bed that looked as though it had rested on the same spot for a century or more. Kendra paused in the doorway.
"They're busy," Mrs. Jackson whispered.
Trick sat in a straight-backed chair by the bed, an open book in his lap. The girl leaned forward, apparently engrossed in whatever he was reading. Feeling like an eavesdropper, Kendra listened as well.
"'Then have I gained a right good man this day,' quoth jolly Robin," came Trick's throaty voice. "'What name goest thou by, good fellow?'"
"And what did he say?" the child asked.
"The stranger answered, 'Men call me John Little whence I came.'"
The girl's blond curls bounced as she shook her head. "No, it's Little John!" she corrected, her brown eyes wide with delight.
Trick glanced up from the leather-bound book. "Aye, but that was Will Stutely's doing. He loved a good jest and said"—he looked back down at the book—"'Nay, fair little stranger. I like not thy name and fain would I have it otherwise. Little art thou, indeed, and small of bone and sinew; therefore shalt thou be christened Little John,
and I will be thy godfather.' Then Robin Hood and all his band laughed aloud until the stranger began to grow angry..."
Kendra could only gape. She felt like the one of the Graiae, three sisters who had but one eye between them. What was she seeing? A highwayman, telling a story to an ill orphan? Or a duke? Right now, he looked like neither.
She backed away from the doorway. She didn't know this man, not in the least.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
"Robin Hood," Kendra said on their way home, in that forthright way of hers that never failed to make Trick smile. "It's fitting, I'll credit you that."
"Oh?" The caleche's wheels crunched on the dusty road as he wound the horses through the gentle hills toward Amberley House. "Whatever makes you think so?"
"Don't jest with me. It's obvious!"
"Aye?" He looked over at her, but she was gazing straight ahead, her bright hair glistening in the slanting late-afternoon sunshine.
"I do believe I'm beginning to understand you."
"Pray, enlighten me," he said dryly. "I've been struggling to understand myself for years."
She snorted. "You are playing Robin Hood," she said with that same cocksure confidence that had drawn him to her the first time they'd spoken.
Sweet Mary, was that but three days ago?
"Only instead of stealing from the rich," she continued, "you're robbing the Roundheads, who are no doubt responsible for making most of those children orphans anyway." She sighed. "I do believe I could love you for this."
It was his turn to snort. "The man you think you see, sweetheart, isn't me at all. I wish I could be that man," he added under his breath.
"Balderdash. It's well done of you, Trick."
"Nonsense. My father wanted to build himself a bloody monument, so he spent every shilling he'd ever made on the mansion and abandoned that perfectly good manor house. I wanted to see it put to use. Filled with children, as it might have been had he ever made something of his marriage."
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