Jason lowered his head. "Yes, Your Grace, I am a liar, and I deserve to be punished," he said from rote.
Hunt smiled a wicked smile. "That's just what I like to hear." He reached out and pulled the young man onto his lap. Almost as a second thought, he looked up at Robards, who had retreated to the anteroom door. "Just see to the arrest warrant, Robards. The boy here can fetch my nourishment in just a moment."
Robards slipped out the door, closing it behind him. Hunt looked back at Jason, who now sat perched on his knee, the thread and needle still in his hand, still connected to the duke's cheek. "You're a good boy, aren't you, Jason?" He ran his finger over the bulge in the boy's breeches. "You always take care of my needs, don't you?"
"Yes, Your Grace," the young man conceded, lowering his cheek to his master's shoulder. "Always."
No matter how prepared Ellen thought she was to see Havering House again, it was all she could do to hang on to her horse's saddle as she, Gavin, and Richard rode up the long drive to the place she had called home for so many years.
Havering House, more than three hundred years old, was an immense L-shaped home renovated and rerenovated throughout the years as it passed from generation to generation of the Greenborough family. Built of brick and stone, it was three stories high across the front, with towers on each corner.
As Ellen glanced up at the right tower, she grew dizzy with memories of that night she had struggled for her life there . . . the night Waldron had died. When she closed her eyes she could still smell the smoke of the burning draperies . . . she could still see the flames shooting up to engulf the laboratory . . . she could still taste the cinders on her tongue. She could even hear Waldron's scream as he fell through the glass window and tumbled to his death below.
Ellen felt a tug at her elbow and she opened her eyes. Richard was riding beside her, they behind Gavin.
"You all right?" Richard mouthed the words.
She looked up at the tower, then looked back at him, nodding, forcing a smile. She knew now that Richard had not been entirely honest with her when he had said his wound was minor. Though he had been able to travel two days on horseback to make it to Havering House, it was his sheer will that had carried him. Richard's usual ruddy complexion was now pasty, his breathing erratic, his movements slow and strained.
She reached out to take his hand. "Now that we're here, we can find you a surgeon. Someone to look at the wound."
Richard shook his head emphatically. "No surgeons. A surgeon is called into Havering House, which is thought to be vacant, and the word will be out to Hunt in two days time. He'll put two and two together and figure out that it's us."
"Surely he wouldn't think I'd dare come back here, not after what happened."
"But you have. . . ."
Ellen looked at Richard again and then urged the horse Gavin had bought her forward, so that she rode beside him. He had refused to sell Hunt's prized steed, taking the silly notion that he was bringing it to the Colonies with him. "Gavin"—she averted her eyes from the house that loomed ahead—"Richard says he'll have no surgeon. You have to talk to him."
"You cannot force a man to do what he doesn't want to do." He reached out to stroke her cheek. "No more than you can force a woman."
She covered his hand with hers, touched by Gavin's gentleness. He did love her. He did want her as his wife. He truly didn't care about her past, she was almost certain of that. She lowered her voice. "The wound still seeps blood. His breathing is worse. I'm sure it's his lung, though he says not. He could well die, Gavin!"
"He could well die whether he sees a surgeon or not," he answered honestly.
She looked away as tears stung her eyes. Life without Richard was hard to imagine. "He's not going to die," she said firmly. "He's going to get better and he's going to Maryland with us."
Gavin took her gloved hand and pressed a kiss to the pulse at her wrist. "Only time and fate will tell, sweetheart. In the meantime, we'll do all we can for him. We should be safe enough from Hunt and his men here until Julius returns from France with the Maid Marion."
Ellen fell silent as they rode up to the front steps of Havering House. For the first time, she noticed candlelight burning from somewhere inside. Dear God, she thought. What if some of the servants are still here? What if someone recognizes me?
"There . . . there's someone living here?" she asked as Gavin helped her out of the saddle. She clutched her small bag containing all the possessions she now owned.
"A housekeeper I hired after I arrived in London. There was another man here, but he was a drunk. He was letting the place crumble." He offered Richard a hand, but Chambray pushed it away and dismounted on his own. "I wanted no looting while I waited to put the place up for sale," Gavin went on. "It was amazing that nothing had been taken already." He laughed. "The woman I hired said the villagers were afraid of ghosts up here." He laughed again. "Ridiculous, these superstitious countryfolk."
Ellen certainly wasn't afraid of ghosts, but she had no doubt they were here. How could a house with such a tragic past not have ghosts? "This housekeeper is someone who worked for your brother?" she whispered.
He led her up the winding stone steps. "No. Actually, it was curious, but I couldn't find a soul down in the village who had ever worked here. They were either dead or mysteriously gone."
A sense of relief flooded her as she flashed Richard a grin over her shoulder.
On the landing, Gavin lifted the boar's head knocker and rapped it several times. He paused, then rapped it again. Candlelight glowed through the glass-paned front windows as someone approached from inside. The door creaked open.
"Mrs. Spate?"
A rotund woman lifted a candlestand. "My lord, that you?"
"Yes, Mrs. Spate. Are you alone in the house or are there others?"
"Just me and my four young'uns, my lord. You said I could let the help go for laziness or drunken behavior. Once the place was cleaned proper, I just sent 'em all packin'. I got my boys to help me."
Gavin stepped into the front hall. Ellen followed, her gaze falling to the black and white Greek marble tiles Waldron had shipped in specifically for that area. In a flash, she remembered him once hitting her before they were married. She remembered the thump her head had made as it struck the tiled floor. She remembered sitting here on the cold floor half the night, scrubbing a white square until the blood stain disappeared.
Ellen swallowed against the bad memories. She had never thought much about her husband's physical abuse, always assuming that all men struck their women. After all, her father had certainly hit her mother on occasion, and the Viscount Greenborough had most certainly not spared his hand raising his daughter.
But as Ellen stood here in the hallway, only half listening to what Gavin said to the housekeeper, she looked at Richard and Gavin. Neither man, no matter how angry she had made them, had ever raised his hand to her. Striking a woman wasn't right; all men didn't do it. She knew that now.
"Ellen?"
She blinked, realizing Gavin had been speaking to her. "Gavin?"
"I've instructed Mrs. Spate to have a bedchamber opened for us and one next to it for Richard. Can you think of anything else?"
"No." She forced a smile. "That will be fine."
Gavin looked back at Mrs. Spate. "My wife will have a bath as soon as possible. We'll dine in our chambers after she's bathed."
His wife? Ellen glanced at Gavin. He must have told the housekeeper she was his wife. She must have missed it in her musing.
"The master chambers is in the back wing, my lord, but if you don't mind, I'll put you up on the second story here. The room isn't as nice but it's clean, bedlinens and all. I make my boys clean a room everyday to keep 'em outa trouble."
"I'm sure the chambers will be fine." Gavin started for the grand staircase, carrying a lit candle he'd taken off the wall. "And Mrs. Spate?"
She stopped in the dark hallway that led into the rear kitchens. "My lord?"
"I'll ask yo
u not to let anyone know I'm here . . . or my guest. When you go into the village to buy food tomorrow, you're to say nothing. We'll eat sparsely if necessary, but I want no one to suspect I've returned to Havering House. Do you understand?"
"Clear as springwater, my lord. What's you and your lady's business ain't none of mine. You paid me too good this winter past to flap my tongue."
"Thank you, Mrs. Spate. Now, if you'll see to my lady's bath, we'll find the rooms on our own."
"Down the hallway, second door, west side for you and your lady, third for the gentleman. I can send one of my boys up with you, if you like."
"That will be quite all right. Just send up the bath and something light to eat."
Halfway up the steps, Ellen caught Gavin's free hand as he led her and Richard up the dark staircase. "You told her I was your wife?"
"Yes."
"But I'm not."
"A minor detail, sweet." He looped his arm around her waist and gave her a squeeze. "A detail Soon lighted If I have my way." He looked over his shoulder at Richard, who was several steps behind but still following with the aid of the polished mahogany railing. "You still with us, Chambray?"
"What I want to know is why you didn't order me a bath, my lord," he mocked.
The two men chuckled and despite her surroundings, Ellen felt a warm sense of contentment come over her. Everything was going to be all right. They were going to be safe from Hunt here. She didn't care what Richard said. As long as she gave him no cause, Hunt would never suspect she'd gone back to Havering House! The Maid Marion would return from France, and she, Gavin, and Richard would sail to the Colonies. Ellen was going to be Gavin's wife. She was going to make him so happy that it wouldn't matter what had happened between her and his brother. That would be another lifetime, another woman. One Ellen need never exhume.
As Gavin led her up the wide winding staircase and she walked by the stiff portraits that lined the wall, Ellen tried to hold off any memories of the past. She was thankful Mrs. Spate had suggested they use the front bedchambers rather than those in the back apartments. These rooms held no ill memories for her. They had stood vacant all her adult life, and as a child they had been used only for guests during the holidays and for the infrequent parties her parents had hosted.
If Mrs. Spate had suggested they sleep in the apartments Ellen had shared with Waldron, she might not have been able to do it. Somehow the thought of sleeping in the same marriage bed with Gavin as she had slept in with Waldron seemed blasphemous. The fact that Waldron had never actually consummated the marriage seemed inconsequential. What mattered was the way Waldron had humiliated her in that bed . . . the way she had felt about herself when she lay in that bed.
Gavin led Ellen and Richard down the hallway, going first to the room meant for Richard. He swung open the door and went to the fireplace, where he began to light several candlestands.
While Gavin brought light to the room, Ellen went immediately to the bed and began to pull back the clean bedlinens. "I'll have food brought in for you, Richard, but I want you to get into bed." She glanced up at him standing in the doorway, slumped against the door frame. His usual neatly combed hair was tousled, falling boyishly over his forehead.
He waved a hand weakly. "I'm not terribly hungry, though a brandy would do me wonders." He began to cough and drew out his bloodstained handkerchief to cover his mouth.
Ellen looked at Gavin.
"I'm sure there are libations in the cellar," Gavin said, leaning to light a fire in the fireplace where dry wood waited to be tindered. "I'll send one of Mrs. Spate's boys down to the wine cellar to bring you a bottle."
"Make it two," Richard said, his coughing spasms subsiding. He meticulously folded his handkerchief before returning it to his shirtwaist. "I've a mind to get stinking drunk tonight."
In the bedchamber next door, Ellen heard movement and young male voices. By the time she and Gavin had Richard settled comfortably in bed with a good bottle of brandy and they had entered their room, a steaming copper tub of water had been set up behind a silk dressing screen. The clean bedlinens had been pulled back invitingly on the four-poster tester bed and the draperies had been drawn. A small table had been set up with two place settings, a tureen of soup, and a plate of bread and cheese.
"Be there anything else you might be needin', my lord?" A freckled-face boy hovered in the doorway, his two brothers hiding behind him.
Gavin smiled. A fire had been lit in the hearth to chase away the March evening chill and the bedchamber was quite cozy. "No, this is fine, boys, damned fine."
"If you need anything, my lord, just give us a holler." The freckled boy stared up at Gavin with rounded eyes of glorious envy. "Day or night, sir, I can get it."
Gavin went to the door and tousled his carrot-red hair. "I'm sure we'll be quite fine. Now tell me your name, boy, and then I'll have you be on your way."
"Rob, sir. My mam calls me Red Rob."
Gavin grinned. "Well, I'm partial to redheads, as you can tell." He indicated Ellen who, suddenly famished, was lifting the soup tureen lid to see what was inside. "So, you do a fair day's work for your mam while I'm here, and I'll see you rewarded."
The boy's ruddy face turned redder. "Yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord." He backed out of the room, pushing his brothers, still bobbing his head when Gavin shut the door and slid the bolt home.
"Nice boys," Gavin mused. "I'd like to have a son so well mannered."
"A son?" Ellen returned the soup lid to its original position. She couldn't resist the barest of a smile. They'd never spoken of children before. "You'd like a son?"
"Or a daughter." He came to her and wrapped his arms around her, bringing his lips only a hairsbreadth from hers. "A child of yours."
She looped her arms around his neck, the glow of the fire and her nearness to him warming her. "You never told me before that you wanted children."
"Never had a wife to want to have children with before."
Ellen laughed, brushing her lips against his in the stroke of a butterfly's wings. Here in this bedchamber with Gavin, she felt far from Havering House and Waldron. Here in Gavin's arms with Richard just down the hallway, she felt safe and loved. "But you don't have a wife," she teased.
"Now listen, woman," he said sternly. "Did you or did you not agree to marry me yesterday, there on the dock?"
She smiled up at him, enjoying the twinkle in his teasing green eyes. "I did."
He caught her hand in his and threaded their fingers together. "Then we're handfasted. In my eyes, you are my wife."
She laughed. "Many a man has told a lady such lies to wile her into his bed. No, sir, I'll have a man of the cloth speak the words just the same."
He kissed the soft hollow of her shoulder. "A man of the cloth it shall be, but in the meantime, why not a little wiling?"
Warm shivers of tingling delight were already enveloping her. It had been so long since they'd made love. So long since she'd felt his touch, his mouth on hers. Last night there had been a few stolen kisses, a little caressing in the darkness, but they had shared a bed of hay in a barn with Richard, so there had been no privacy to see them through their passions.
But now, now that they were alone, the flames of desire were burning high. Ellen needed a bath and she was hungry, so hungry that her stomach grumbled, but she was even hungrier for Gavin.
When their lips met, he kissed her hard, his tongue darting out to taste hers. "I've missed you, sweet Ellen. I've missed you so badly."
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I just didn't know what to do. I didn't mean to make you miserable. I didn't mean to make myself so miserable. It's just that—"
"Shhh," he soothed as he tugged at the rear buttons of her gown, his mouth already finding the soft, warm flesh of her breasts. "We move forward now. The past is unimportant. What matters is us now . . . tomorrow . . . all the tomorrows we're going to have together."
His words warmed her as much as his touch. As their lips met again, she pressed
her hips against him, wanting to feel the hard bulge of his loins against her. I'm a wanton woman, she thought as she reached down to stroke him through the tight cloth of his breeches. But I don't care! I wasted the first twenty-odd years of my life, so what's left of it I'll enjoy to the fullest.
Gavin groaned as her deft fingers found his hardening manhood and stroked it. "Ellen, Ellen," he whispered. He had pulled the shoulders of her gown down and unlaced her busk so that he could catch a pert nipple between his lips.
Ellen moaned, leaning back to enjoy the flick of his tongue. "I'm going to fall," she whispered, laughing. "Let's go to the bed."
Without a moment's urging, Gavin swung her into his arms and carried her to the waiting bed. Seated on the edge, he began to yank off his boots. She rose behind him and pulled his sailor's shirt over his head, so that she could press her breasts to his bare back, teasing him and herself at the same time.
"Witch," he accused as he peeled off his breeches and stockings.
Ellen only laughed, her tongue flicking out to tease his earlobe. She could feel her nipples hardening as she stroked his back with her bare breasts.
When Gavin was completely undressed, he whirled around and wrestled her onto her back on the bed. She struggled, laughing, and then lay back on the pillows, trying to pull him on top of her. Tonight she felt no need for foreplay. She wanted him and she wanted him now.
"No clothing tonight," he told her as he tossed her silk stockings over his head. "I want to see you when I touch you. I want to see you when I taste you."
She threaded her fingers through his dark hair and pulled him down to her, kissing him long and hard until they were both breathless. Freeing her from the remainder of her clothing, Gavin stretched his body over hers, pressing her into the bedcovers. Ellen parted her legs, lifting her hips in an erotic taunt.
"Not yet," he whispered in her ear, caressing the curve of her breast. "I want you to take your time. It's been so long that I want you to be sure and enjoy yourself."
"Next time we'll go slowly," she answered, her breathing ragged. She dragged her blunt nail lightly over his buttocks. "Right now I need to feel you inside me." She closed her eyes as she lifted against his hard shaft. "Please, Gavin?"
Sweet Deception (Hidden Identity) Page 24