She relaxed. Somehow she couldn’t see Rhys sharing a bed with an Amazon like that. “Tell me about your time in America. I’ve only read about the colonies, and I’ve always wondered if the truth is as intriguing as the stories.”
He shrugged. “All right. What do you want to know?”
The next hour passed in a pleasant haze. From Rhys’s description of the colonials, she gathered that they were quite a mix—the English-speaking Dutch of the Hudson Valley, the Scots in North Carolina, the warring tribes of Indians, and the English themselves, who were divided in their loyalties. He’d traveled up and down the coast privateering, and had seen more unusual things in his three years than she’d seen in a lifetime.
Courses came and went—lampreys in galantine, roast goose, boiled leeks with bacon, and preserved apricots—but she scarcely tasted a bite. She hung breathlessly on Rhys’s every word about men who painted their bodies and went half-naked into battle, about wooden stockades and dense forests, and something called moose roaming free.
“It sounds so wild,” she said as he finished his second serving of Welsh rabbit, the toasted cheese on bread that his countrymen were so fond of. “How do people raise families and have peaceful lives with Indians whooping down about their heads?”
He chuckled. “I’m afraid I’ve given you as distorted a look of America as the books. You were such a good audience that I was driven to exaggerate. ’Tis only wild in the untamed forests inland. Life in the coastal cities is quite civilized. People go to the theater and to church, and children attend school every day. It’s not as different from Wales—or England—as you might expect.”
Just then, the servant brought in an elaborate puff pastry that Juliana knew Cook had been working on ever since their arrival. Rhys gestured to it with a laugh. “I must say, I’ve not seen a pastry as ornate as that in America. Obviously, Cook is still outdoing herself.”
As the servant began to cut servings, Rhys settled back in his chair and drank deeply of his wine, looking very lordly as his gaze lingered on her. He was different tonight. Though he wore the arrogant expression of a man sure of what he owned, there was also invitation and promise in his look.
He set his wineglass down. “Cook wasn’t the only one who outdid herself. This was truly a feast. If I’d asked for every dish myself, I couldn’t have chosen a better meal. You must have been preparing for this ever since we arrived.”
“Believe it or not, I’ve been planning this meal ever since you left Wales. I thought surely that if . . . when you returned, you would wish to have the dishes you’d been deprived of while you were . . . abroad.” She couldn’t bring herself to mention the navy.
“Thank you for caring that much. It isn’t what I . . . Actually, I didn’t know what to expect.”
He was being so truthful, she couldn’t help saying, “After last night I did consider serving you gruel, but Cook would have none of it. She wanted to amaze you with her talents.”
His eyes grew thoughtful. “And did you want to amaze me with your talents, too?”
She toyed with the pastry on her plate. “Perhaps.”
“I’m suitably impressed. With the house, the furnishings, the staff . . . You’ve done well by me, even if it wasn’t for me you were doing it.”
She started to retort that everything had been for him—but had it? Or had she done it to prove her worth in a world where a woman was often only measured by her docility as a wife?
Even before she’d been told he was dead, her pride in Llynwydd had ceased to be linked to him. As her hopes of seeing him again had faded, her thirst to improve Llynwydd had increased. She’d found joy in making it special for both her staff and her tenants. None of that had anything to do with him.
Rhys made a sweeping gesture that took in their surroundings. “I like what you’ve done to this room. ’Twas always far too dark; with the lighter hangings and the paint, it’s much cheerier. And there’s more furniture, isn’t there?”
“Only that cwpwrdd tridarn.” She pointed to her pride and joy—a Welsh court cupboard made of mahogany, with intricately carved doors. “I commissioned it from a joiner in Carmarthen.”
“I suppose you paid for it out of Llynwydd’s profits.”
She shook her head. “I bought it before Llynwydd was doing well, so I used my allowance on it.”
He looked at her oddly. “Your father approved that?”
“He didn’t know.”
“How much of your annual portion went to sustaining the estate?”
“Sometimes half. One year, two-thirds.”
He frowned. “That was good of you, but it shall end now. You don’t need to support Llynwydd anymore; I have ample money for that. And we should probably discuss pin money and the like, so you can buy gowns, jewelry—”
“I’d rather spend my money on Llynwydd.” She rose. “There’s still so much to be done.”
“And I shall do it. If you want a piece of furniture, tell me, and I’ll take care of it. Otherwise—”
“You’ll do everything yourself? Why must you do it alone? I’ve proven I can take good care of this estate, so surely you can allow me to do my part now. I won’t sit in the drawing room and embroider all day, when I could help you run Llynwydd.”
His gaze darkened.
“I know you think to punish me by reducing me to a guest in my own home, but can’t you see how foolish that would be? Together, we can do more good for our estate than you can do alone. And if we’re to live as husband and wife—”
“Ah, but therein lies the problem,” he said tersely. “You’re my wife only when it suits you—in the study, in the kitchen. But not in the bedroom, eh?” His expression chilled. “You directed the footmen to move your belongings out of our bedchamber and into the Blue Room, after I’d expressly forbidden it.”
She thrust her trembling hands behind her back. She’d done that while he was touring the stables, and she’d instructed the footmen not to mention it to him. “How did you know?”
He walked up to where she stood. “Remember, I told the servants to come to me when they had a question. They’re not fools; they know who’s master. So they are moving your belongings right back as we speak.”
He pulled her so close, she could feel his breath. “If you want the privileges of running a household, you must also take on the duties of a wife.” When he slid his arm about her waist and pressed a kiss to her hair, he made it clear what those duties entailed. “Will you share my bed? Willingly?”
She ached to say yes. His breath against her cheek was warm and inviting, and his hand at her waist skimmed up along her ribs, tempting her to make the small shift of her body that would put her in his arms.
But she couldn’t. If she let him buy her like this she’d regret it, for he only wanted her body—to treat her as a faithless betrayer even while making love to her. He’d never see her worth. “I won’t share your bed until it means more than a conquest to you.”
With a growl, he whirled away from her. “Fine. Sleep wherever you like. But prepare yourself for long days of embroidering and thumb-twiddling. Because you won’t be mistress in this house until you’re mistress to me.”
And with that, he left.
14
All the old loves I followed once
Are now unfaithful found;
But a sweet sickness holds me yet
Of love that has no bound!
—WILLIAM WILLIAMS PANTYCELYN, “I GAZE ACROSS THE DISTANT HILLS”
Darcy strode up to Lettice’s cottage, not knowing what to expect. She’d never sent him a note asking him to come before. She’d always waited until his obsession got the better of him and he came to her. It was her most maddening quality—that she never needed him as badly as he did her.
He could think of only a few reasons she might want to see him, none of them good. Either Vaughan had spoken to her or brought her a message from Pennant—or worst of all, Morgan Pennant was here in the flesh.
The p
lace was ominously silent as he approached. Of course, Edgar would be in bed by now. With his heart hammering in his chest, he walked up to the door and opened it, not bothering to knock.
And there was Lettice wrapped in the arms of another man.
With a curse, he slammed the door behind him. Instantly, Lettice jerked away from the damned scoundrel, her eyes wide with guilt. Pennant, damn him. He’d come straight to Lettice, and she’d welcomed him with open arms.
“Get out of my house! ” he growled at Pennant. “You have no right.”
Pennant blocked Lettice from his sight. “I have more right than you. ’Tis my woman and my son you’ve kept here with your lies.”
Darcy was stunned. Edgar was Pennant’s son? No, it wasn’t true.
Lettice thrust Pennant aside. “Hush, I’ll handle this in my own way.”
“As you handled it before?” Pennant snapped. “Believing his lies and letting him take advantage of you? No. This won’t go on any longer. There will be truth between us all now.”
He fixed Darcy with a fierce gaze. “Tell her the truth. She knows you had me impressed. Now tell her what you said about her six years ago. Tell her how you tried to destroy my love for her.”
Darcy cast about in his mind for some plausible tale, something that would keep her from hating him.
“Careful now,” Pennant hissed. “If you lie, I’ll bring Vaughan into it. He was there. He heard everything you said, too.”
“Lettice, you mustn’t listen to him. He and Vaughan have been spreading this mad tale that I—”
“Please, Darcy.” Tears shone in Lettice’s eyes. “Don’t lie to me.”
“You’d believe him over me? He wants you, damn him! He’s always wanted you, and he doesn’t care what he says if it’ll bring you back to him.”
“Are you any different? You’re lying to keep me, too.”
He felt the room closing in on him. “Am I the only one who lied?” A painful pressure built in his chest. “You told me Edgar is mine. Pennant says the child is his. Which is the truth?”
She paled, and Pennant put his arm about her shoulder. But she shook him off to stand apart from both men.
“Is Edgar mine or not?” Darcy persisted. “I want the truth, and I swear it won’t make a difference to me either way. I’ll love the boy and care for him, no matter whose he is. But I want to know if he’s mine.” When pity showed in her face, he winced, feeling as if someone had cleaved him in two. “He’s not, is he?”
She shook her head. “I know I shouldn’t have deceived you, but—”
“But you thought I was some stupid, lovesick fool who’d believe whatever you said.” Anger made him want to hurt her. “You pretended to love me, hoping all the while that one day your lover would return. Well, I pretended to help you, when it was me—yes, me—who sent your lover away.”
He stepped closer, unable to contain his rage. “Do you think I didn’t see you pining for him when you thought I wasn’t watching? Every time you asked if any mail had come for you at the house, I ached inside. I happily sent back the one letter that arrived from him. God, I hated him for having your heart.”
“And so you told me that she’d betrayed me,” Pennant bit out. “You lied to me.”
“With great pleasure, seeing the love die a little in your eyes.”
When Lettice moaned, her face full of misery, he caught himself. He’d wanted to wound her, not destroy her. Even though she’d used him, he still loved her.
He turned a pleading gaze on her. “Please understand, I wanted you so badly, and I knew he’d do anything to return unless he believed you unfaithful.” His voice grew choked. “I know I’d have done anything.”
“And did,” she said accusingly. “You told him horrible lies about me.”
“Because I loved you! Because I wanted you for my own.”
“And were those the only lies you told?” Pennant cut in. “You said terrible things about your sister to separate her from Vaughan, too—that she’d gotten cold feet and backed out of the marriage, then urged you to have him taken by the press.”
Devil take him! Must Pennant tell Lettice about that?
“Did you truly speak such lies?” Lettice asked.
He dared not admit to that, for Pennant would go straight to Vaughan, and Vaughan wouldn’t rest until he’d ruined the entire St. Albans family. “It was the truth.”
Lettice’s eyes widened. “Your sister would never have done such a thing.”
“This isn’t your concern, Lettice. Juliana summoned me to the inn that night to rid herself of Vaughan, and I did so. That’s what happened.”
She turned to Pennant. “My mistress was so upset when she heard he’d been taken. Don’t believe these lies—she would never do such an awful thing! ”
Pennant stared tenderly at her. “If you say it, I believe you.”
A painful knot tightened in Darcy’s stomach. “Why? She lied to me about Edgar. She might be lying to you about this. It’s not as if she’s a complete innocent herself.”
Lettice rounded on him. “And what do you mean by that?”
“I haven’t been taking care of you and Edgar without any reward. Pennant has come here, thinking to start again where the two of you left off, but he can’t.” Darcy turned to Pennant. “She has shared my bed through six years of nights. Through six years of days, she has looked to me for help, and I’ve cared for her. You won’t erase that by whispering sweet promises in her ears.”
Pennant’s eyes blazed. “And what of your wife during that time? You only shared crumbs with Lettice. I, on the other hand, want to marry her.”
“You can’t have her. She’s mine.”
“She may have given you a great deal,” Pennant said, “but she never gave you her heart.”
“You don’t know that! ”
Lettice placed her hand on Pennant’s arm. “I can’t bear this. You must leave and let me speak to Darcy alone. I need time to set things right.”
Pennant frowned. “You said you’d be ready with your answer tonight.”
“You’ve been here before?” Darcy roared, but the two of them ignored him.
“I’ll be ready in the morning, I promise,” she told Pennant. “Please, Morgan. Do as I ask.”
The Welshman hesitated, then he stalked for the door, stopping in front of Darcy. “If you harm her, Northcliffe—”
“I wouldn’t hurt her if my life depended on it.”
“Ah, but you did once—by lying about her to me. But if you try to turn her against me again, I’ll choke the breath from you. Do you hear?”
“Get out,” Darcy hissed. “Get out of my house! ”
Pennant glanced at Lettice. “I’ll be back for you and the boy tomorrow.”
“You can’t have her! ” Darcy cried as Pennant left, slamming the door behind him. He whirled on Lettice. “You’re not taking up with him again, are you? Surely these years between us have meant something.”
Her face was pale in the firelight. “You know they meant a great deal.”
“I don’t know what to believe. I thought Edgar was my son, and he isn’t.” He stared at her. “But I meant it when I said it doesn’t matter. No matter how you’ve lied to me, I want you and Edgar. Don’t let Pennant destroy what it took us years to build.”
“You speak as if we’re married, but Morgan’s right. You have a wife.”
“My wife detests me, as you well know.” When she turned away, he caught her by the arm. “She hasn’t once come to my bed unless I begged it of her for the sake of my heir.” His throat tightened. “I will leave Edgar everything that isn’t entailed, if you’ll only stay with me.”
He tried to draw her close, but she resisted. “Christ, I need you. You can’t abandon me! ” Desperation wasn’t the way to keep her, but he couldn’t bear the thought of losing Lettice. “I know I haven’t been mistaken these past years. You felt real affection for me. I know you did.”
“I did.” Her eyes d
eepened with pity. “And I truly thought of you as Edgar’s father, for you’ve always been kind to him. But it doesn’t excuse your lies about me and my lady.”
“Juliana has naught to do with it,” he snapped.
“But the lies you told about her do.” She pulled free of his hold. “I thought you were a generous and kind man. Instead I find you’re a stranger, a deceiver—”
“You deceived me, too.”
“To protect my child from starvation. You lied to gain something that didn’t belong to you.” She moved away from him, and he could feel her emotionally withdrawing.
“Let me make it up to you.”
“It’s no use. It could never be the same between us.” She dragged in a heavy breath. “When Morgan comes tomorrow, Edgar and I are going with him.”
“And if I marry you?”
She gaped at him. “What in heaven’s name are you talking about? You’re already married.”
“I’ll divorce her.” He strode toward her, his purpose firming as he got closer. “I’ll divorce Elizabeth and marry you.”
“You’re mad! An earl divorce his lady wife and marry a servant? Even if you could manage it, you’d lose every social advantage you’ve gained. You’d never risk that. You shouldn’t risk it.”
What she said was true, but he didn’t know how else to keep her. “I’d risk anything to keep you with me.”
“I couldn’t accept such a sacrifice from you, Darcy.” She straightened her shoulders. “Not when I love Morgan.”
Those words exploded in his brain. He seized her in an unyielding hold, refusing to let go when she pushed against his chest. “You don’t love him. I can prove it.” He tried to kiss her, but she twisted her head away. “Let me make love to you, and I’ll show you what still lies between us.”
“Don’t.” She fought him in earnest now.
Her fear only enraged him. He grabbed her chin, forcing her head still so he could kiss her on the mouth. But when he tried to force his tongue between her teeth, she bit him.
He jerked back, then slapped her. Hard.
Then horror consumed him. “Oh God, Lettice . . . I’m sorry—”
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