The Wedding Affair

by Leigh Michaels

  Water under the bridge, Kate reminded herself. “If you were not teaching the standard subjects, what sort of instruction did you provide Lord Winchester’s sons?”

  “He wanted the boys to be informed about the family business—including the pineapple plantation in Antigua, which I visited last spring because Lord Winchester did not care to leave his new bride.”

  “He’s your employer, then?”

  “Not precisely. He does not like to travel, and I do. He has considerable property he does not care to visit, and I am happy to take his place.”

  “How fortunate you are to have such a patron.”

  Andrew grinned. “Indeed. The only thing that would make my situation better is if I could convince him to invest in Brazil, so I would have an excuse to canoe up the Amazon… Shall we race to the bottom of the hill?”

  ***

  The abbey, built of native stone, had once loomed over the wide level plain adjoining the river. Now few of the walls stood more than head high, but the remains still formed a formidable maze. “I know why the stones look so familiar,” Olivia said as she and the duke rounded a bend in what must once have been a long and twisting hallway. The stone floor had been overtaken by moss and grass, and she had to watch her footing. “It’s because I see the same shapes and colors every day in my own cottage.”

  The duke nodded. “When the abbey was closed down and the abbots dispersed, scavengers hauled away enough stones to build Steadham village.”

  “It must have taken hundreds of cartloads.” She looked around. “I should be helping Kate to keep an eye on the bridesmaids.”

  “Even with their genius for troublemaking, they will take time to get into mischief.”

  “You’re only saying that because at the moment you feel safe from their schemes.”

  He smiled. “It’s true I can’t be cornered as long as I have you to protect me.” He drew her around a corner into what must have once been an abbot’s cell. Now it was open to the sky, but the walls in this section remained stronger and taller than the surrounding ones.

  Olivia shivered. “It’s chilly in the shadows.”

  “Come here and kiss me,” the duke said softly, “and you won’t be chilly any more.”

  She stood her ground. “I’m quite hopeless as a mistress, aren’t I? How is it, sir, that I did not anticipate your intentions?”

  “I told you I was discreet. If you won’t come to me, my lady…” He closed the distance between them, and before Olivia could move, he’d swept her into his arms. “And you are far from hopeless.” His mouth brushed hers softly before he turned his attention to her temple, her ear, and the hollow under her cheekbone.

  “If you think I’m going to make love with you here,” Olivia began, “with a dozen people just outside that wall—”

  The duke went still, his lips pressed against her eyelid. “I was going to say you require only practice to be the ideal mistress, but suddenly I’m inclined to think you’ve already learned it all. Do enlarge on this fantasy of yours, my dear, for I find it quite arousing to think of you seducing me in an abbot’s cell.”

  “Me, seducing you? I just said…” Olivia gasped as he nibbled from her chin to the hollow at the base of her throat and beyond. How had he released the buttons down the front of her bodice without her noticing? Cool air flowed over her breasts, but she barely had time to register the chill before he warmed them once more with his hands and his mouth. She tried again. “Do you always make love outdoors, Your Grace?”

  “Hardly ever. But since you seem to prefer it…”

  Olivia’s throat closed up as he traced a slow, erotic circle with his tongue around the eager tip of her breast. Shafts of heat shot through her and pooled between her legs, and suddenly it seemed quite a good idea to pull him down on the stone floor. “We can’t,” she moaned.

  “If I reached under your dress right now, Olivia, would I find you are as ready as I am?”

  I want you wet and hot and eager, he had told her before making love to her in her garden. Now she knew exactly what he meant, and if she hadn’t already been aroused, his question would have been sufficient to do so.

  He seemed to find her silence answer enough. He drew her closer and kissed her deeply, his tongue sampling her in gentle contrast to the hardness of his erection resting insistently against her belly. Then he said, “Regrettably, you are correct—we can’t. And it was never my intention to do so. I meant only to steal a kiss.”

  Olivia gave a little shriek and tried to stamp on his foot.

  He only held her more firmly. “As stolen kisses go, my dear, that was remarkable. For the rest of my life, whenever the abbey is mentioned, I shall remember your fantasy and picture you lying on this bed of moss as I make love to you. Unless you would care to return with me one day so I won’t have rely on imagination?”

  “Of course not, Your Grace.” Olivia’s voice felt raspy.

  He laughed and let her go. In the midst of her relief, there was a thread of regret that Olivia refused to think about right now.

  He leaned out of the cell to survey the twisting passageway outside. “No one is in sight. It’s safe enough for you to go and meet up with a few of those dozen people now—but I shall have to wait a while before I rejoin you.”

  Her gaze flicked down to the front of his breeches.

  “Looking at me like that won’t help. It is odd, I grant, but it seems you don’t even need to be touching me to make me more aroused. I wonder if the same works in reverse. If I simply look at you…”

  Olivia didn’t wait for him to experiment. She ducked through the door of the abbot’s cell and out into the passageway. Just around the first turn, she came face to face with Andrew Carlisle and a trio of bridesmaids.

  Olivia fell into step with them just as Kate spoke from the shadow of a half-fallen wall. “The footmen are setting up the picnic.”

  “Already?” When Olivia saw Kate’s sharp look, she would have given anything to take back the comment. How much time had passed while she and the duke lingered in that quiet little cell, anyway?

  The outdoor luncheon was the most elaborate Olivia had ever seen. Several small tables complete with starched linens had been set up in what must have once been the abbey’s dining hall, and the tidbits the footmen served were as dainty as anything to be found in the dining room of a fine estate.

  Olivia’s chair was directly across from the duke’s, and though she tried not to look at him, she was quite aware he was watching her. I wonder, he had said, if I simply look at you…

  She hoped he didn’t realize how very effective his technique was. She felt hot and cold at the same time, and she could barely taste anything, much less swallow. Still, when the meal was finally over, she complimented Daphne on her choices.

  “It was all well enough,” Daphne responded indifferently as she collected a couple of friends so they could go off to further explore the ruins.

  Much to Olivia’s relief, Andrew Carlisle drew the duke aside, leaving her free to turn to Kate. “You must be the one who really organized the picnic, Kate.”

  “Perhaps I should become a housekeeper,” Kate mused, “for my other options for employment don’t seem to be showing much promise. Walk with me so I can follow the bridesmaids at a discreet distance.”

  “I’m sorry. I should have been helping you earlier.” Instead of playing delightful games in the abbot’s cell…

  “I’m growing used to dealing with them on my own. Most of them are only heedless, not truly troublesome. And I’m not complaining, mind you—neither you nor Penny were foolish enough to agree to this job.”

  “Penny? Have I met her?”

  Kate looked around. “I wonder where she disappeared to… Penny is Lady Townsend, and if you haven’t been introduced, I expect you soon will—if the duke continues on this course. What is going on, Olivia? One minute you and His Grace are at dagger’s point, and the next it appears he’s—well—courting you.”

  Olivi
a tried to look innocent. “Strange, isn’t it?”

  “But he can’t mean it, Olivia. Simon and you… No, that’s just impossible.”

  For a moment Olivia was hurt that her friend was so certain—and she wondered if, despite Kate’s assertion that she had no personal interest in the Duke of Somervale, she was now discovering she was jealous. It worried Olivia to think that Kate might be hurt by something that wasn’t even real.

  “Olivia, do take a warning to heart. Simon is extraordinarily charming, and he’s far too used to having his own way. I cannot think he is serious in this.”

  “Of course he isn’t serious. Don’t trouble your head over it, Kate. I know exactly what I’m doing.”

  Kate looked at her for a long moment and then shook her head and led the way on through the ruins. At the moment, not a bridesmaid was within sight, but somewhere in front of them Olivia could hear a pair of girlish voices. She couldn’t quite distinguish the words, but something in the tone of voice warned her there might be mischief afoot.

  As they drew closer, she could make out the words. “Didn’t the duke come this way?” one of the bridesmaids asked.

  The other said, “Perhaps we missed the turning and ended up in the wrong corridor. I wonder…”

  “I meant to ask you, Horatia, what did the earl mean this morning about accidents?”

  The other laughed. “Don’t be simple, Emily. Of course he can’t allow anything to happen to Penny Wise. Not until she inherits from her father, at least.”

  “Penny Wise?” Olivia asked softly as they came up to a turn in the walkway. “Is that—”

  Before her eyes, the wall seemed to bend, creaking and groaning. Falling stones rattled down and dust billowed as the ancient structure collapsed. Kate’s eyes widened, and her fingers clenched tight on Olivia’s arm.

  They rounded a corner as one of the bridesmaids hurried toward them. “Emily’s hurt,” Horatia gasped. “Oh, do come quickly. She’s on the ground—and she’s lying awfully still!”

  ***

  The earl did not regale Penelope with memories of the days when Stoneyford had been a home, but he did at least answer when she asked a question. Sometimes the answer was very brief, and she learned as much from what he didn’t say, or even simply from the tone of his voice, as from what he told her. After a while, she began to keep a sort of mental tally. Old servants, rain on the roof, a particular pony, sledding down the long hill from the house to the river’s edge—those seemed to be his best memories from Stoneyford.

  After a while, however, he said, “You’ve gone quiet. You must be quite tired of the sound of my voice after five miles of hearing nothing else.”

  “Not at all,” she said honestly. “But I must own to being hungry, for I missed breakfast. How far are we from Halstead, my lord?”

  “Another five miles at least.”

  “Then we can’t possibly reach the abbey in time for Lady Daphne’s picnic, either.”

  “A village lies not far off our path, with an inn where we can bespeak a meal.”

  The coaching inn where they stopped was small but neatly kept, with pale pink flowers spilling from wooden boxes under each window. The earl lifted Penelope down from her sidesaddle, and she would have been relieved to be on firm ground again had she not been so stiff she could barely walk. She managed just two steps before she staggered and almost fell in the middle of the yard.

  The earl swept her up in his arms, and suddenly stiff muscles were the least of Penelope’s concerns. She’d had no difficulty with breathing until he picked her up, but suddenly her chest was tight and every inhalation took so much effort she simply wanted to lay her head on his shoulder.

  Before she could make up her mind to experiment, he’d carried her inside the inn. The landlord rushed to open the door of a private parlor, and the earl laid Penelope down on the sofa. “My apologies,” he said. “You are not accustomed to days spent entirely in the saddle.”

  I could become accustomed to it, Penelope thought, if this was the result!

  But the earl moved away to discuss their meal with the landlord, and Penelope forced herself to sit up and wiggle her feet. By the time the landlord had brought a bottle of Bordeaux, the stiffness had eased and she could walk across the room.

  The earl poured a glass and held it out. “This may be stronger than you’re accustomed to, but it will help to restore you.”

  Penelope accepted the goblet and sipped warily. The wine’s bouquet was rich and fruity, and the liquid warmed her as she swallowed. The parlor was quiet except for the crackle of a small, neat fire.

  “Perhaps you would like to take off your hat,” he suggested.

  Penelope shook her head, remembering the hasty way she had rolled her hair up that morning and shoved the loose ends under her bonnet. She swallowed another mouthful of the sweet wine and felt relaxation course through her veins.

  She closed her eyes and imagined herself on the hillside, looking across the long green valley to where Stoneyford stood, looking lonely and abandoned. It was wrong, she thought, for a house like that one—once a home—to be left to sink quietly into ruin.

  “You would like to see Stoneyford restored, my lord,” she said finally.

  “I have accepted the facts. Seeing the house again as it stands today, I know it is not to be.”

  “It’s damaged. But I don’t see why it couldn’t be saved.”

  The earl refilled his glass. “Beware of being overcome by romantic notions. Strange though it may sound, I assure you that today we saw the house at its best. If you had been introduced to it on a December day with a gale whipping down the valley, I hardly think you would be dreaming of rescuing it.”

  Penelope had no difficulty drawing the picture he had evoked. Icicles dangled threateningly from every eave and overhang. A sharp-edged wet wind swirled down the cold, bleak chimneys. Snow crystals piled on the window ledges and seeped in around ill-fitting panes to drift inside the rooms.

  Distressed, she blinked and the picture faded. Perhaps he was right, she thought reluctantly. Sometimes things were past saving.

  The landlord returned with a maid and a pair of loaded trays.

  The food smelled wonderful, though it was very simple—dark bread and sharp cheese, a plain roasted chicken, baked apples strong with cinnamon and wrapped in a flaky crust. But the fare reminded her of the simpler days of her childhood, before her father had made up his mind to marry her to a title. Or perhaps, she admitted honestly, she couldn’t really remember a time before Ivan Weiss’s dream had taken shape. She suspected he had begun to plan on the day she was born; he just hadn’t spoken of the idea to her until far later.

  Plain food for a plain woman… the two things were well suited. And, Penelope thought, Stoneyford fit into that pattern as well.

  Suddenly the picture in her mind reformed—but it had shifted. Snow and wind still rattled outside the house, but she was inside where the rooms were warm and bright, fragrant with wood smoke and warm wax and pine boughs. She could see the glint of candlelight against the shiny green of holly wreaths and the white berries of mistletoe, and she was surrounded by people. Laughing, happy people.

  Imagine the house in December, the earl had suggested, and she had done so. But she had pictured Christmas at Stoneyford.

  She tore more bread from the loaf and rolled it between her fingers just to keep her hands occupied. “How much money would be required?” Her voice felt a little husky.

  “Stoneyford?” He sounded wary. “Why are you lingering on the question?”

  Penelope shrugged. “Because I like the house.”

  “Your father has made his position clear. I will not go back to him to beg for funds.” He drained his wineglass and reached for the bottle. “Nor will you, for I will not allow it.”

  He wouldn’t allow her to ask her father for money? Penelope bristled for an instant. But she had no intention of asking Ivan Weiss for money or permission, so there was no point in getting upset with
the earl for telling her she couldn’t.

  “I’m not talking about my father’s fortune.” She held out her goblet to be refilled. “I have some money of my own.”

  He looked from the wine bottle to her face and filled her glass only halfway. “Your pin money, you mean? I hardly think—”

  “No, though I seldom spend all my allowance. But to be accurate, I should have said I have things of value. Remember the brooch my father brought me this week, the one with the big yellow diamond?”

  “I’ve found it difficult to forget that ornament.”

  “The setting is unfortunate, but the stone is good—and since it was a gift, I can do as I like with it. If I would rather have Stoneyford rebuilt than own a yellow diamond that I will never wear, then it’s my business, not my father’s.”

  She thought the silence in the parlor would go on forever, interrupted only by the snap of a log in the fireplace and the gurgle of wine as the earl refilled his goblet. He looked down into the glass as if it were a crystal ball and he was looking at the future.

  When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet. “What do you want in return?”

  Penelope realized she should have anticipated the question. Their entire marriage was a bargain, and she knew it had been so from the first time Ivan Weiss had approached the Earl of Townsend. Why should her husband view this discussion as anything else?

  In any case, she wasn’t truly upset by the idea of bartering; perhaps some of her father’s business instinct had passed on to her after all. What do you want, Penny Wise? she asked herself.

  If she demanded too much, he would walk away. If she asked for too little, he might laugh at her…

  I want you to talk to me every day the way you have talked to me today.

  She opened her mouth, but what came out was not what she had intended to say. “Just once, I want to know how it feels to be a wife.”

  The earl went as still as a frozen lake.

  Penelope could have cheerfully swallowed her tongue, but whatever had made her utter that incredible sentence was still in charge, for she couldn’t stop. “Only once,” she whispered.