Sometime in the night Alexandra woke to the sounds of a terrible ruckus. Servants were racing through the hallway shouting. She could hear her mother screeching. Her father's dogs woke and began to howl.
"God's teeth," she mumbled, climbing out of bed. What was going on? In the hallway she heard her grandmother's tall case clock strike four in the morning. All the ball guests should have gone home by now, or at least they should have been bedded down in the guest rooms. What was going on?
As she went to her door and peered out, she realized she was dressed in nothing but her shift. "What is it?" she called to a manservant racing down the hall in a nightshirt, carrying a candlestand.
"A madman!" he called to her. "Better you get inside your room, my lady. Your father's sent for the sheriff."
"A madman? Where?" She rubbed at her sleepy eyes. "Who?"
"Help! Help us!" The countess moaned, coming down the hallway in the opposite direction of the manservant. She was wearing a yellow taffeta dressing gown, her sparse hair tied in rags. "Mary Alexandra! Get inside your chamber! Lock your door! There's a bedlamite about!"
"Where?"
"In the house! Your father's gone for his musket!"
"Where is this madman?" Alexandra asked suspiciously.
"Downstairs! God help us, Daughter! Noah says he rode straight up the front steps and into the front hallway, practically running the poor soul into the marble!"
"Oh, no . . ." Alexandra spun around and headed down the hall toward the grand staircase that led to the first floor.
"Mary Alexandra! Where are you going? Blessed Holy Jesus! You're in nothing but a shift! I can see your possibles!"
Alexandra ignored her mother. There were others in the long hallway now. The old Viscount of Cushion and his wife, both in nightcaps and gowns stood outside their bedchamber. Several frightened maids ran down the hallway headed for the servants' quarters. Alexandra ran past them. A spooked tabby cat passed her.
"Hunter!" she shouted. "Hunter, is that you!"
"Someone stop her!" her mother cried after her. "My daughter's taken leave of her senses. Someone please stop her!"
Alexandra turned the corner and reached the top of the circular staircase. She leaned over the railing, peering down to the first story below.
In the front hallway on her mother's Italian marble floor was a mounted horseman in a black cape.
"Hunter!" Alexandra shouted. "Is that you? Because if it is, you'd better identify yourself before my father shoots you!" It had to be him, of course. What other man would dare ride a horse into the Earl of Monthrop's home?
The man looked up. His face was concealed by a black frowning mask, his hair covered with the hood of his cloak. The man's eyes, peering out from slits in the wooden mask, were so dark and alarming that for a moment she thought she was mistaken. Perhaps this was a madman escaped from bedlam and not her husband.
"Alex?" He yanked off the mask and let it fall to the floor. "Jon said you wanted me. He said you wanted me to take you home to Dunnon. Well, it's for Dunnon I'm bound."
His baritone voice echoed in the hallway, sounding almost ghostly.
She came away from the railing and down the curve of the steps to the first landing. Now he was in full view of her. "What are you doing?" The truth was, she was glad he was here, even if it was on horseback in her mother's hall.
"Told you. Come to fetch my wife if she's willing to go with me." The spirited grey horse pawed restlessly.
It was a dare. She knew it was. He wanted her to turn him away. He wanted an excuse to walk away from her yet again. She could hear hushed voices behind her. A crowd of guests and servants were gathering in the hallway above. Faces peered over the railing.
"Now?" she asked her husband calmly.
"Dawn will be here shortly. I thought to get an early start. I've bookkeeping to attend to at Dunnon."
Her gaze met his. "I'm not dressed for travel," she stalled.
"You mean you won't go?"
She rested both hands on her hips, knowing that from here he could see every inch of her naked flesh beneath the thin shift she wore. "Is it cold out?"
He lifted a black gloved hand and pushed back his hood to reveal his thick mane of red hair that spilled down his back. "The rain's stopped. I've my cloak if you grow chilled."
His voice was haughty. He taunted her.
She shrugged. "All right."
The crowd of people above her gasped in unison.
He raised a dark eyebrow. "You go with me now, my lady?"
"Yes." She went to take a step, but he held up his hand. "No wait there, sweeting, and I'll come for you."
Before she could speak again, he sank his heels into the grey gelding's sides and rode straight up the marble staircase. Alexandra heard her mother shriek and then the thud of a falling body. Someone shouted for smelling salts. But Alexandra was oblivious to all but the red-haired horseman who rode up the steps to fetch her.
The gelding threw back its head prancing up the steps, but Hunter held a steady rein. He reached the landing and turned the steed around. "Your coach, my lady." He offered her his hand.
She placed her palm in his. "I can't believe you've done this," she whispered under her breath.
"I can't believe you're doing this," he retorted, his gaze boring down on her. He pulled one foot from his stirrup. "Up you go, my lady."
In the loose flowing shift it was easy enough for Alexandra to raise her foot high enough to slip it into the stirrup. With a tug of Hunter's hand she lifted up and he pulled her into the saddle in front of him.
"Alexandra," Alexandra heard her mother cry out.
Hunter lifted the reins and urged his mount forward. "Open the door!" he bellowed.
The frightened manservant standing in the center hallway raced for the front door.
Alexandra held tightly to the horse's mane as it barreled down the staircase at a precarious angle.
"I'll not let you fall," Hunter murmured in her ear, one hand wrapped tightly around her waist.
He rode the horse down the grand staircase, through the hall, outside, and down a small flight of steps into the drive.
"I'll be all right," Alexandra called over her shoulder to her mother and father and the guests who were running down the stairs after them.
Hunter urged the grey gelding into a full gallop down the center of the deserted London street. He lifted his cloak and pulled her inside it so that only her bare ankles were exposed.
"I'm not good at apologies," Hunter said softly. The thunder of the horse's hooves reverberated off the stone and frame buildings as they cut across the Strand onto Bow Street.
She leaned against him, savoring the warmth of his body. She could still smell the wine on his breath, but he was obviously sober. "It doesn't matter, none of this matters," she said, looking over her shoulder up at him. "All that matters is you and me. You do love me still, don't you, Hunter?"
He brushed his lips against the fringe of dark hair that fell across her forehead. "I love you, sweeting."
She turned back around, snuggling inside his wool cloak. "Then the rest we can deal with."
"I hope so," he whispered. "I sure as hell hope you're right."
Hunter scratched out a figure and went to replace it with another, but the quill was dry again and it marred the paper. Frustrated, he pushed the quill into the inkwell and tried again. "Ad's blood! Will I never get this right?" he mumbled to himself.
It was late, well after midnight. Everyone in Dunnon Castle had turned in, but the candles in the earl's private library still burned. Hunter was trying to make sense of his father's bookkeeping. Piles of ledgers were stacked on the heavy oak desk he sat at, and on the floor around his chair.
He scratched out another number, refigured it and then refigured it again.
The Earl of Dunnon was barely breathing when Hunter had left him after supper. Coughing spasms had racked his body until finally he'd slipped into the relative peace of unconsciousness. Ma
b said she doubted he'd live through another night. As Hunter sat at his father's desk, he kept half expecting to see Mab at the doorway announcing that his father had passed away.
"Still working?"
Hunter looked up to see Alexandra in the doorway dressed in a filmy, pale green dressing gown tied with satin green bows. She was a picture of loveliness standing there in the doorway, her dark chestnut hair falling loose down her back, her face sleepy, her bare feet peeking from beneath the lace of her robe.
He looked back at the rows of figures on the paper in front of him. "Yes. I've got to start getting through these, Alex. I keep putting it off."
She lifted her hair off her shoulder and pushed it back. "Must you start at one in the morning?"
"I can't sleep." He sprinkled a little sand across the wet ink on the page. "Mab fears Father won't live through the night."
Alexandra came behind him and placed her hands on his shoulders. She kneaded his tired muscles. "Come to bed," she beckoned. "I'll help you sleep."
He dumped the sand off the page and reached for the quill again. She was trying so hard to make him happy. She said all the right things; she did all the right things. She truly loved him. So why wasn't he happy? Why wasn't her love enough for him? And why was he making her so unhappy?
Alexandra had forgiven him completely for his behavior at her father's home. Even Roland had forgiven him. He'd been to supper earlier in the week and he and Hunter had played cards well into the night. But Hunter couldn't forgive himself. He was making Alexandra miserable. He could see it in her eyes. These days he was beginning to think that maybe she'd be better off without him.
She rubbed his neck. "Won't you come to bed with me?" she repeated.
"Soon."
She lifted her hands and let them fall to her sides. She started to speak, but then didn't. "All right," she conceded. "But come soon, promise me?"
He began to add up the next column of figures. "Soon," he answered.
He heard her walk across the room. There was a pause. He knew she was looking at him, but he didn't look up. "Good night," she murmured.
As her footsteps died away Hunter rose and with one swift movement of his hand, he swept the desk clean, knocking ledgers, inkwell, and quill to the floor. The ink bottle shattered as it hit the hardwood planking. The ledger he had been working on fell face down, bending pages.
Cursing beneath his breath, Hunter went to the sideboard near the door and poured himself a healthy portion of brandy wine. As he lifted it to his lips, Jon came strolling in.
Jon took the glass from his hand before the warm brandy touched Hunter's lips. "A drink? Excellent. Just what I need before I turn in." Jon perched himself on the edge of the desk. He sipped Hunter's brandy as he surveyed the ledgers and loose papers that littered the floor.
"Strong winds pass through the library?"
Hunter ran his hand through his hair in frustration. "I go over and over the numbers. Nothing makes sense. It's so damned tedious!"
"You're trying too hard." Jon leaned back on the Earl of Dunnon's carved oak desk that had been in the library for more than a hundred years. It was the desk Hunter and Jon had played under as boys. "Not just with this." He balanced the glass of brandy on his chest making a game of it. "With everything. You're trying to take over your father's duties that he's been long remiss in. You're trying to balance books that haven't been balanced in five years. You're trying to straighten out the household and the servants. You're trying to be the perfect host to every noddy who knocks on your door. And I'm telling you, it can't be done."
Hunter leaned against a bookcase that ran floor to ceiling and was crammed with precious leather-bound books. "And what am I supposed to do, He-Who-Is-All-Knowing?"
"Say to hell with it! Hell with it all! You've got the rest of your life to do the damned books."
Hunter frowned but said nothing.
"But you don't have the rest of your life to make things right with Alex . . ." Jon said gently. "She's slipping away from you, friend."
Hunter turned so that Jon couldn't see his face. "I made a mistake. I shouldn't have come home. This isn't where I belong."
"Don't say that."
"I shouldn't have married her."
Jon sat up. "Don't say it!"
"You should have married her. She'd have married you if you'd asked."
Jon drained the glass of brandy and set it down on the desk. "No. She wouldn't have. She fell in love with you the moment you nearly shot the balls off Two Crows at the trading post."
Hunter laughed, remembering the incident. He'd played it so calm, but he remembered how frightened he had been for the woman, for Alex. "I can't be what she wants me to be, Jon. I guess that's why I left England in the first place. I'm a man for adventure. There's no adventure here. There's nothing here for me."
Jon dropped his arm around Hunter's shoulder. "Listen to yourself. You're not making any sense, man. When was the last time you slept?"
Hunter rubbed at his eyes. It was true. He was tired, deathly tired. "I need to clean up here. I've got another hour's work at least. Besides, Mab thinks Father won't make it through the night. I should sit up and wait."
"That's what she said last night. Leave it." Jon went back to the desk and began to pick up the ledgers and papers strewn on the floor. "Let me have a look at the books. I always had a head for numbers."
Hunter stood in the doorway. All he wanted was to climb into bed with Alexandra and hold her in his arms. Only when she was in his arms did he feel like he was keeping the world at bay. "You certain you don't mind?"
Jon was stacking the ledgers back on the desk. "Go, sleep with your wife. Better yet, make love to her. If Father gets worse, I'll wake you."
Hunter nodded with a grim smile and left the library. Jon was a good friend. There was no better.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Two days later, in the middle of the night, a knock came at Hunter's and Alexandra's bedchamber. "Yes?" Hunter called sleepily.
Alexandra sat up in the bed. "What is it?"
The door swung open. "Master Geoffry." Mab held up a candlestand, the yellow light forming a halo around her grey head. She was dressed from head to toe in a flannel nightgown with a cap perched on the back of her head. "Come quickly, Master Geoffry."
Hunter leaped out of bed and grabbed his breeches off the floor. "I'm coming, Mab."
"I'm coming too." Alexandra slid her feet over the side of the bed and reached for her dressing gown.
"You stay," Hunter said. "Go back to sleep. You've not been getting enough rest."
She covered her naked body with the gown and slipped her feet into a pair of silk mules. "I'll go. I want to. I want to be there."
Hunter started across the bedchamber, barefoot, pulling a crumpled linen shirt over his head. "He's not dead yet?" he asked Mab, following Mab out of the chamber and down the hall. Alexandra trailed behind.
"Not yet, but he's on his last breath," Mab answered grimly, lighting their way down the dark hall. "I thought you'd want to be there."
Reaching his father's bedchamber, Hunter pushed open the door. "I do. Thank you, Mab. You'll be well rewarded for the care you've given my father."
"Want no reward." Mab stood back to let Alexandra pass. "His love was all I wanted, Master Geoffry, and he gave me that tor thirty years."
Alexandra followed Hunter to his father's bedside. Candles lit the room in an eerie yellow light. He lay in the center of the soft tester bed, a light sheet pulled over his tiny shriveled body.
"Father?"
Hunter sat carefully on the edge of the bed and reached for the Earl of Dunnon's gnarled hand. "Father, it's Geoffry."
"Geoffry?" The old man squeezed Hunter's hand as he slowly turned his head toward him. "You're here, Son."
"Yes, Father."
"So glad you returned. Missed you. Wanted you to have what is yours."
Hunter rubbed his father's hand in a caress. His skin was so thin it was nearly
translucent. "I'm here," he soothed. "Don't talk. There's no need."
"Wanted to tell you how proud I was of you." He took a long, ragged breath. ". . . Wanted to tell you I was secretly envious. . . . Wanted to be in Maryland with you. . . . Wanted to see the forests one last time."
Tears filled Alexandra's eyes. She sat on the edge of the bed beside Hunter.
"I wanted you to be there with me, Father. I did."
The Earl of Dunnon closed his eyes, smiling, remembering the past, no doubt. After a moment, he spoke again. "You . . . you must care for my Mab for me, my sweet Mab."
Alexandra heard Mab stifle a sob. She hung in the doorway, wiping at her eyes with a handkerchief.
". . . Jon. You must care for him always."
"Of course Father. You know I'd never see him go without whatever he fancies."
". . . Spoiled the boy, I know I did," Dunnon went on. "But . . . but loved him like I loved you."
Hunter pressed his lips to his father's hand. "Don't worry about Jon. He'll always have a home here with Alexandra and me, I swear it."
"Jon . . ." Dunnon sighed. He opened his eyes, confused. "Where is he? Jon?"
Alexandra stood. "I'll get him."
"You stay," Mab said from the doorway. "You two stay with him. We said our good-byes. I'll fetch Master Jon."
Five minutes later Jon walked into the bedchamber. He wore nothing but a pair of wrinkled red breeches. His hair, usually pulled neatly into a queue, fell down his back like a sheet of ebony rain.
Hunter rose to let Jon have his seat on the bed. Alexandra rose with him, slipping her hand into his.
The Earl of Dunnon lay with his eyes closed. His chest still rose and fell, but irregularly. It was obvious he was struggling with each breath.
Jon looked to Hunter. Hunter nodded.
Jon covered the earl's hand with his. "You sent for me, sir?"
"Jon?"
"Yes. It's me."
The old man nodded. Then his eyes flickered open. "Wanted to see you one last time."
"I never beat you at loo," Jon said softly.
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