“So then I’ll be riding in the dark,” Corisande said firmly as she shrugged into her cloak, although she eyed Oliver Trelawny with fond suspicion. “If you’re acting like this because I’m a married woman now, well, it’s silly! It’s not as if I haven’t ridden across the heath at night a thousand times before. And on Biscuit, too, while this evening I’ve a young strong gelding to carry me.”
“Maybe so, but it should have been a carriage, especially in this foul weather. But you’ve always been a stubborn one, an’ I’m sure that new husband of yours can vouch for that. I still can’t believe Lord Donovan didn’t insist ‘ee let his coachman take ‘ee about—”
“The coachman was more than glad for the day off,” Corisande fibbed with a twinge of guilt. She turned before Oliver could read anything in her eyes and headed for the heavy oak door leading out of the inn’s back room. They always met here to discuss their business, a quiet private place well away from the tobacco-smoking, ale-drinking, story-telling customers. At the door she turned, her expression grown serious. “Godspeed, Oliver, and fair winds. The weather seems to have turned against our favor but—”
“Ais, Corie, when has a gale kept me from Brittany? I love it all the better, an’ it keeps the king’s excisemen at home in front of their fires where they can cause no trouble! We’ll see you in a few days’ time with a shipload of niceties for the good gentry, yes?”
She nodded silently, smiling, then lifted her hood over her hair and stepped outside. At once the door was almost flung from her hand by a strong, salty gust of wind, which only made Oliver curse behind her.
“See? A carriage would have kept ‘ee nice an’ dry an’ well out of this mess!”
She waved and left him standing shaking his head after her, his burly bulk filling the doorway and limned in lamplight, while she went to retrieve her mount from the small stable next door. Oliver was gone back inside when she rode out a few moments later, ducking her head against the stiff wind whipping off the harbor.
Lord, she supposed a carriage would have been nice but she shoved away the thought as she nudged the big brown gelding into a trot. In no time she’d left behind the snug, well-lit houses lining the quay and moved farther into the village. Soon even those familiar houses—including the parsonage, which made her wish she was going there instead—receded into the distance and swiftly gathering darkness as she rode out across the heath at a full gallop.
She would probably be late for supper, but there was no help for it. She’d had so much to do. Taking time out for the wedding yesterday had put her so far behind.
First she’d stopped at the parsonage to check on her father, Corisande finding him in his study poring over his books. He’d said virtually nothing to her, no, not even wishing her Godspeed when she left his room, which she’d found strange. Frances assured her that everything seemed back to normal although Linette, who already missed Lindsay so much, had apparently cried herself to sleep.
So Corisande had gone straightaway to the church schoolhouse to see her sisters, excusing them for a few moments from their studies to give hugs all around. Her heart ached at how usually matter-of-fact Linette clung to her after Marguerite and Estelle left to return to their desks, her sister’s pretty brown eyes swimming with tears.
“Oh, Corie, can’t you come back to be with us? I miss you so much. It isn’t the same! Nothing’s the same!”
Her throat tight, Corisande had wanted so badly to assure her that, yes, she would be home very soon to stay. She had long sensed that perhaps Linette had suffered the most when their mother had died, being only four and too young to understand that Adele Easton would never return. And now with Lindsay having left and Corisande, too, Linette looking so miserable…ah, but she couldn’t tell her the truth. At least not yet.
“Linette, I’m married now, sweet. I have to stay with my husband. That’s the way of things, and someday you’ll have your own home and family. But I’ll still be here if you need me. I’m not very far away, after all.”
Thankfully Linette had seemed to understand, smudging away her tears with the palms of her hands although her small chin had still trembled. Corisande had almost been relieved to leave her. With a host of other things to do—visiting the poorhouse to see that Eliza Treweake had everything she needed for her charges, tending for a few hours to the church accounts, and then meeting with Oliver to make some last arrangements for their next shipment of contraband—she’d had very little time to worry further—
“What…oh, Lord! Easy, boy!”
A gust of such violent force had suddenly hit them broadside that the gelding had ground to a halt and started to rear. Corisande gripped the reins with all her might and fought to maintain control of the frightened animal and keep her seat.
“Easy! Easy now, boy!”
They wheeled in place, the horse snorting and blowing and tossing its head. Finally the poor creature grew calmer as Corisande continued cajoling and soothing him.
“It’s all right, boy. Just a sou’westerly, and a healthy one too. Didn’t that Henry Gilbert ever take you out on a ride before in such lively weather? If he had, you wouldn’t have been so surprised.”
The gelding nickered, shaking his thick mane, which made Corisande feel as if they could start out again. She rubbed his neck first a few times and then veered him around, catching her bearings and…and…who in blazes was that?
Corisande squinted against the cold drizzle hitting her face and peered through the near pitch-black darkness at the undeniable shape of a horse and rider some distance away. They weren’t moving either, just standing there beside a stunted tree, which was odd. The weather really was quite miserable. Who would be outside if he didn’t have to be?
“Hello!”
The whistling wind sucked up her cry, but surely the rider must have heard her. Yet he still wasn’t moving—oh, Lord. It couldn’t be. Had Donovan ridden out to meet her?
Here she’d hoped he might even still be at the mine, and then he wouldn’t have known at all that she had chosen to ignore his ridiculous command. Now he probably planned to play the outraged husband and lecture her all the way to the house about the correct behavior for the wife of a lord, but oh, no, she was going to have none of it!
“On with you, boy! Go!” Corisande kicked the gelding into a gallop, but the big horse surprised her, probably so eager to be home and well out of the approaching storm that he lengthened his strides to a breakneck run.
Which was perfectly fine with her. Donovan would have no hope of catching them now, no, not even riding his fine steel-gray stallion. They’d had too great of a head start. Just to make sure, she glanced over her shoulder and saw that, indeed, they were being followed; but Donovan was still so far back that he almost blended into the darkness.
Facing front, Corisande smiled giddily as she hunched down over the gelding’s lunging neck and held on tightly, her hood flying off her hair, her cloak billowing and snapping in the wind. She may have decided that she was going to behave as if she and Donovan had the happiest marriage in Britain no matter what had happened—although she’d been encouraged that no hint of Fanny’s gossip had yet reached Porthleven—but right now, it was just she and Donovan out here in the windswept dark where no one could see them.
Why not frustrate him entirely by refusing to wait up for him? Why not show him that she needed no silly carriage to take her here and there, her riding skills quite capable, thank you very much! She began to laugh with sheer exhilaration, the lighted windows of the house appearing through the thickening trees as they thundered into the wide valley that nature had cut through the heath.
Just she and Donovan, and she was still well ahead of him, a quick glance telling her that he had nonetheless gained some ground no matter that she could barely see him. She could hear him, his stallion’s hooves pounding the ground while her heart began to beat faster and faster.
With a whoop of triumph she burst through a line of elms and onto the drive and pulled
up tight on the reins, mud and stones spraying behind them as she brought the heaving gelding to a halt.
Right in front of the entrance door.
Donovan stood waiting for her in the lamplight, his swarthy face truly ominous to behold.
Wholly stunned, Corisande glanced behind her but there was no rider in sight.
None.
She gulped.
Oh, Lord.
Chapter Eighteen
“Looking for someone?”
Breathless, Corisande spun to face Donovan, not really sure what to say. “Yes…well, I mean, no, no, I’m not. Of course not. There’s no one there.” She glanced behind her again, staring into the darkness, hearing nothing, no pounding hooves—for heaven’s sake, she hadn’t imagined it!—and looked back at Donovan. He couldn’t have beat her to the house, that was bloody impossible, so who…? “Is…is Henry Gilbert here?”
“He went home five minutes ago.” Donovan nodded brusquely in the opposite direction. “He lives that way.”
“Yes, yes, of course. I knew that.” So much for Henry following her, she thought, growing more confused than ever and a mite alarmed. Should she tell Donovan what had happened? He didn’t look very happy; in fact, she hadn’t seen him look or sound anything but surly since last night when she’d come out from behind that screen. She doubted he was in any mood at all to hear her incredible story—
“Are you planning to just sit atop that horse or come in for supper?”
“Of course I don’t intend to sit out here all night!” she snapped, only to catch herself when she spied Ogden walking stiffly to the door. The happiest marriage in Britain, remember?
It was more for her family than anything else. If Linette was so distressed just to have her gone from the parsonage, she could imagine how her sister might feel if she believed Corisande was unhappy. Marguerite too. It would crush her. She truly thought Corisande was in love. So for now she would play the part, however difficult—and the way this night was going, she was clearly in for a chore.
“Oh, hello, Ogden,” she began breezily, very much aware that Donovan had stiffened. “My husband says that supper is ready.”
“Yes, my lady, so it is. I’ve come to tell you that Grace is ready for me to serve.”
“How wonderful! I’m simply famished.” She glanced back at Donovan to find him scowling at her but, unperturbed, she gifted him with the most contrite smile she could muster. “I’ll be in shortly, my love, as soon as I return my horse to the stable. I know you can’t be happy that I didn’t use the carriage today, but I so enjoy riding. And this gelding is so much faster than Biscuit. Surely you can forgive me.”
He said nothing, which didn’t surprise her. The visible tension in his body was enough to tell her that he wasn’t amused at all by her remorseful performance, although she didn’t care what the man thought! Actually she was quite beginning to enjoy herself. Suddenly the tables had been turned, and now she had become the bold charmer. It was no more than he deserved for all the false smiles he’d given her and, to that end, she gave him another grin of her own.
“You’re much too serious, Donovan,” she playfully chided him. “It’s really no large matter. I know you’ll be a dear and understand. I’ll be right back—”
“I’ll take the horse.”
Donovan had come down the steps and reached up to lift her from her mount almost before she could blink, but Corisande wasn’t going to let this golden opportunity escape as her feet touched the ground. She flung her arms around his neck before he could blink, saying innocently, “There, you see? I knew you’d forgive me. Oh, Donovan, I’ve missed you so much! Did you and Henry have a good day at the mine?”
Donovan was so startled, he found himself leaning toward her, his eyes upon her smiling lips, his arms going around her, but he stopped himself just in time. The wily chit! What new game was she playing now?
“We had a fine day,” he muttered, disengaging himself but not too abruptly. Ogden was standing there watching them like a somber-eyed hound, after all. Even if the servants thought he’d married for monetary reasons, he couldn’t just shove her away like an indifferent cad. Good God, he wasn’t his bloody father! “You’d best go inside,” he added gruffly, not liking at all the tempting pressure of Corisande’s hands upon his chest. “It’s starting to rain.”
“Ah, so it is. You’re such a dear to think of me. Don’t be gone too long, darling.”
Gone too long, darling? Clenching his teeth as Corisande ran up the steps and hurried inside, Donovan vowed in that moment to hire extra help before tomorrow was done. If there were only footmen around the place, he could follow her right now and take her aside and demand what she was up to, but first he had to go to the damned stable. That is, unless…
“Ogden, you take the horse to the stable.”
The butler’s eyes nearly bugged from his head, and he backed up inside the door. “Me—me, my lord? But I don’t know anything at all about horse—”
“It’s simple, man! You hold these reins and lead the way. He’ll follow you, nothing more to it than that. When you get to the stable, just call for Will the coachman. He’ll handle things from there.”
“Oh, oh, but I—”
“Go to it, man.” Donovan cut him off, having sprinted up the steps. “Don’t worry about supper being served late. We’ll await you in the dining room.”
At least that’s where he believed he might find Corisande, Donovan thought darkly, leaving Ogden shaking his head as the man disappeared outside. Donovan strode across the entry hall past the drawing room, but he stopped suddenly and retraced his steps, intuition striking him.
Good God, if Corisande was emptying the sherry decanter again…
Donovan was nearly tempted to kick in the door to catch her red-handed, but somehow he restrained himself and entered the room quietly, deciding that might be just as effective as he soundlessly closed the door behind him. Yes, Corisande was there, standing with her back to him in front of the fire, and she looked as if she were lifting something to her mouth, her head tilting as she made to drink—
“Dammit, stop right there!”
Corisande spun, so startled she nearly dropped the small bottle of perfume she had just pulled from her cloak pocket. Her heart hammering, she stared at Donovan, who was staring right back at her, although he looked somewhat confused as he glanced from her to the sideboard and then back again.
“What…what is that you’re holding?”
Corisande felt a wave of irritation as she realized what he must have been thinking, but she made herself answer sweetly as she held up the bottle in one hand and the cork stopper in the other. “This?”
“Of course, that. What else could I have meant?”
“Oh, a glass of sherry, perhaps? Maybe the whole decanter?”
He stiffened, scowling, while Corisande merely smiled, her aggravation all but forgotten as she felt immense enjoyment in teasing him. “It’s perfume, my love. Something I found today in Porthleven. I’ve never really worn any before, but now that I’m Lady Donovan, well, it seemed the thing to do.” She took a quick moment to dab some at her throat, which was exactly what she’d been about to do before Donovan had startled her, then held out the bottle. “Would you like to smell for yourself…?”
When Donovan shook his head, obstinately holding his ground, Corisande shrugged. “As you wish. It’s a lovely scent, I assure you, though probably not as fine as perfume you’d find in London. But it was the best I could afford.” She closed the bottle and slipped it into her pocket, then turned back to the fire and swept off her cloak, shaking it free of moisture before folding the garment over a chair. “It didn’t take you very long at the stable. I thought I’d wait for you in here. The fire looked so inviting, and that dining room is so huge and drafty—”
“I didn’t go to the stable, Corie.”
Corisande whirled around, Donovan having come up so close behind her that she nearly fell into him, his big hands lockin
g around her upper arms to catch her. He didn’t let her go, instead jerking her against him.
“I had Ogden take your horse to the stable so I could come and find you. What game are you playing now, woman? I thought we’d dispensed with the happy bride.”
Donovan’s harsh grip was hurting her, but she refused to show her pain. She also refused to give in to the anger threatening to overflow, instead remembering her sisters as she said evenly, “You may be done with your charade, my lord—and it seems from your recent churlish behavior that you are, but I’m not comfortable playing the martyr. I don’t want to appear the wronged bride, the miserable bride, the spiteful bride. Besides, I heard no whiff of any gossip about us today in Porthleven, so there’s simply no sense in acting as if something is wrong. I’d prefer to go on just as we were before, if you don’t mind—”
“Dammit, I do mind!”
His outburst was so vehement that Corisande could only stare, but in the next instant Donovan looked almost angry with himself as he abruptly released her and went to sink into a wing chair.
“Ah, do what you will.”
“That’s what you told me earlier, and I fully intend to.”
“Like wearing that damned lavender perfume?”
Corisande almost smiled, for he sounded so much like a sulky young boy. He didn’t look like a boy, oh, no, her spending a full day away from him making her all the more aware of just how masculine he was, the room fairly crackling with his presence. Shoving away the disquieting thought, she murmured, “I didn’t think you’d noticed.”
“Noticed? Ha! You can smell the stuff halfway across the room.”
“Yes, I thought you’d like it.”
That comment brought another scowl, Donovan’s tone accusing as he glared at her. “You’re enjoying yourself, aren’t you?”
“Actually, I am,” she admitted, probably the first time she had said anything to him with such honesty. “I don’t know why it should make you so furious, either, but I suppose since you’ve gotten what you wanted—at least as far as finding someone to marry you—there’s no more reason for you to act anything but a callous, ill-tempered boor—”
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