Her determination to have her own way over the child, the way she had faced him in outrageous mutiny as she had reproached him and defended Charlotte, had thrown him off balance; he had not expected her to react so strongly to him having been married before and producing a child from that marriage. And to have to sit across from her at the dinner table when she looked so unbearably beautiful, so young and vulnerable despite the seductive allure of her gown, to smell the intoxicating scent of her so that he almost lost his resolve and dragged her into his arms, almost destroyed his sanity.
He didn’t know how long he could stand this living arrangement. Perhaps if they weren’t living under the same roof he could find some relief from his agony. His heart and mind understood the harsh reality that Belle would have nothing to do with him while ever he continued to have nothing to do with his daughter. But his body tormented him with the same insatiable desire for her he’d always felt.
Deciding to take up an invitation issued by a friend and close neighbour earlier to partake of a game of cards at his home with a group of others, he left the house. He would welcome the diversion, and by dawn he would manage to drink himself into near oblivion.
On the morning of the picnic the sun caressed the land in a warm glow. Thinking she would be going with Lance in the carriage, Belle had arranged to meet her grandmother there mid-morning. Hoping Lance would have changed his mind and would go after all, Belle was deeply disappointed when he failed to put in an appearance. Having second thoughts about going in the carriage, she donned her riding habit and took one of the horses from the stable.
Belle had been gone half an hour when Lance arrived back at the house, having spent the night at his friend’s house. The night had been a total disaster and he was not in the best of moods. No matter how much he’d drunk or how much he’d tried, he had been unable to concentrate on the game or the jovial masculine conversation of his friends. The annoying fact was that he’d been unable to dispel all thoughts of Belle from his mind.
He was beginning to think he had married a witch, a witch who had got under his skin like thorn with barbs. It was unbearable to have her there and it hurt like hell to pull her out. His mind kept wandering to the night before and how she had looked in that rose-coloured dress, with her charms displayed in fabulous wantonness. What the hell was she trying to do to him? His hands had ached to touch her, to feel her soft skin next to his, and his desire had been almost beyond bearing. Desire and lust. He told himself that that was what he felt for Belle—desire and lust—but deep down inside him he knew it was more than that, much more.
She had been disappointed when he’d told her he had no intention of taking her to the picnic, as if he were doing it to torture her—which made him ask why he had done it. Was it to hurt her, to spoil her pleasure? Hell, he had no rational reason for not going and it was inconsiderate on his part to ruin his mother’s and Belle’s grandmother’s plans to become acquainted at the picnic.
Without more ado he bathed and dressed and went in search of his wife, but failed to locate her. Being told by Masters that she had already left for the picnic, Lance absorbed this with stunned disbelief. Turning on his heel, his face glacial, he headed in the direction of the stables.
Belle arrived early at the Bucklows’ residence. Carriages, curricles and horses were scattered in the copse where the picnic was to be held, with men and women dressed in their finest clothes, the women parading about holding brightly coloured parasols. Some of the guests were on horseback, ready for the start of the ride across country before the picnic com menced.
Seeing her grandmother already ensconced beneath a large parasol, Belle left her horse tethered to a post and went to sit with her. Not having seen her since the wedding, she was relieved to find her sitting alone. There were things she had to tell her that would both upset and shock her, but she had to be told before Lance’s mother arrived.
Belle smiled and kissed her grandmother and they exchanged pleasantries and discussed the wedding, but the troubled look in her granddaughter’s eyes did not deceive the dowager countess. Something was wrong, very wrong, that was obvious.
‘You look troubled, Isabelle. Is something worrying you? You are happy at Ryhill, and your husband is treating you well, I hope?’
Belle sighed. ‘There is something you should know, Grandmother. Something has happened—something that Lance should have made known to me before I agreed to marry him.’
The smile on the dowager’s face faded when she saw the unhappiness in her granddaughter’s eyes. Her mouth went dry and her heart began to beat in heavy, terrifying dread as she prepared herself for the worst. ‘Tell me.’
It didn’t take Belle long to recount everything that had occurred since her marriage to Lance. She spoke calmly, telling her of how Lance had been a widower when they had married, how she had fetched Charlotte from Bilton House and that the child was now living at Ryhill, where she belonged.
The dowager was not at all pleased by this latest crisis. ‘I am shocked—deeply so. Your husband should not have kept a matter of such importance from you. You should have been told. Of course you are angry—justifiably so. But how has all this affected your relationship? Are you …?’
‘Estranged?’ Belle smiled and shook her head. ‘No. Things are strained between us, but I am confident that everything will be resolved. Lance is suffering very badly. He cannot bring himself to accept his child. It seems grossly unfair that he should blame Charlotte for her mother’s death, but he is battling with himself to accept her. I am sure of it. He no longer mentions her going back to his mother, so I am hopeful that it won’t be long.’
‘For your sake I sincerely hope you are right. The scandal that brought the two of you together will be as nothing compared to this. You have had an immense shock, a terrible disappointment, but you are an Ainsley and will bear it well. If you had known any of this before you agreed to be his wife, would it have made any difference to your decision?’
‘No, I don’t think it would. Lance is a good man, a fine man.’ She fell silent, unable to say the words she wanted to say. But her grandmother’s astute mind had already picked up on what she had been about to say.
‘And you love him.’
Belle nodded, meeting her gaze calmly. ‘Yes. I do. I love him very much, and I will do all I can to help him get through this.’
‘Then I can only hope he is deserving of your love.’
When her grandmother stood up to acknowledge an acquaintance, Belle’s attention became distracted when she saw the daunting figure of her husband astride his horse in conversation with a group of gentlemen across the copse. Jolts of shock and panic shot through her. His eyes were levelled on her like a pair of duelling pistols, impaling her on his gaze, leaving her in no doubt that he intended to seek her out at the first opportunity and berate her most severely for defying him again.
But, strangely, she was encouraged by his arrival, encouraged because on being informed that she had left for the picnic, he had cared enough to come and look for her. Belle slanted a long, considering look at him as he sat his strong, well-muscled hunter. Attired in a dark green coat, gleaming brown-leather riding boots and a pair of buckskin riding breeches that fit him to perfection, in her opinion he was by far the most attractive man present.
She watched him as he talked and joked with lazy good humour with those in his group. He looked completely relaxed as he dismounted some distance away from her. His horse shied slightly. As if wishing to restrain it, he ran his hand down the sleek neck, showing that the beast belonged to him and that he knew how to make it obey. Looking in her direction, he began to lead his horse to where she stood.
Unfortunately, he was too far away to reach her before there was a blast on a trumpet heralding the start of the ride. Beneath Lance’s glower, Sir John Buckley, who had eyes for no one but Belle, rushed forwards. He bent and clasped his hand to receive her dainty foot, then raised her up. After seating herself and placing a knee about the
pommel, taking the reins in a practised grip and completely avoiding looking in Lance’s direction, Belle laughed and urged her mount into an easy canter across the fields with the rest of the riding party.
To be so ignored, angered beyond bearing, leaping up astride his own horse, Lance sent the huge black stallion thundering after her, his huge hooves sending clods of earth flying. A race ensued and Belle, with light-hearted abandon, followed the others through the trees and along winding paths, her mare holding her own until they reached open fields and she could stretch her legs to their advantage. They galloped on, Belle urging her mount over any obstacle in her path with a fearless abandon that had Lance filled with admiration one minute and furious that she could be so reckless the next.
When the pace became less hectic and the exhilarated riders slowed their mounts to a sedate walk back to the copse. Lance rode towards Belle, but, to his fury, the overzealous John Buckley was there before him and chatting to her amiably.
Belle was happy to converse with the young man about the pleasant countryside, when a sudden awareness swept over her. One moment she was thoroughly occupied with learning about the different landmarks, the next she was oblivious to everything but her heart gathering speed and the certain, inexplicable realisation that Lance was close at hand.
The perception was quickly confirmed, when his cold voice said, ‘If you don’t mind, Buckley, I would like a word with my wife.’ His eyes raked them both, considering each of them, increasing Sir John’s discomfiture by no small degree.
Even though there had been no slightest hint of impropriety, Sir John stiffened apprehensively and stammered, ‘I—I beg your pardon, Bingham, b-but Lady Bingham expressed an interest in her surroundings. I was just.’
‘Then I shall be happy to familiarise her with them myself.’
Sir John fell back, and, after excusing himself, rode away.
One quick look at Lance’s face convinced Belle that he was absolutely furious with her. Not only were his eyes glinting like shards of ice, but the muscles in his cheeks were tensing to a degree that she had never seen before.
‘Your skill is exceeded only by your common sense, Belle,’ he reproached severely. ‘Did you have to take those jumps? You could have broken your neck.’
‘Really, Lance, there’s no need to get all hot and bothered about a few measly hedges and fences. I’ve ridden harder courses than that and jumped obstacles twice as high. And you should not have spoken to Sir John like that—making him think you were jealous …’
Lance squinted in the sun’s bright glare. ‘Damn it, Belle, I am jealous.’
His simple acknowledgement confused Belle so completely that for a moment she could find nothing to say. To feel jealousy one had to care. As usual, his tall, hard body radiated strength and vitality, but his dark blue eyes held a dangerous glitter. A winsome smile touched her lips. ‘Why, Lance, you really are quite terrifying when you’re angry—and jealous.’
‘I’m jealous of any man who claims even a moment of your time when that moment could be spent with me,’ he snapped unreasonably, his thigh brushing hers as their horses bumped together. The unexpected contact made him acutely conscious of the celibate life he had led since she had deserted his bed. He was hungry for her and could hardly restrain himself from reaching out and dragging her from her horse into his arms and finding the softest grass on which to lay her. ‘Was it too much for you to wait and ride with me? It was my intent. Or have you come to regret our marriage and want rid of me?’ The fact that she might, cut through his heart like a knife.
Belle gasped, astounded that he should even think such a thing, let alone voice it. ‘Be assured that despite everything that has happened lately, I have not. Nothing could be further from my mind. I was merely enjoying myself and couldn’t resist riding off. I couldn’t help myself.’
‘Just like you couldn’t help yourself when you defied me yet again and came here when I expressly told you the picnic was off. Your flagrant disobedience in coming here without me deserves retaliation.’
Belle looked at him with considerable amusement. ‘Retaliation? Goodness! How interesting. How will you do that? Will you beat me—lock me in my room and starve me? What?’
Unmoved by her humorous account of the punishments he might mete out, Lance scowled darkly. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t know what is going on in your mind, Belle, but I cannot imagine giving you up. Indeed, the very idea of you being pursued by another man rankles sorely.’
‘That is not what I want either, Lance,’ she answered softly, truthfully, in an attempt to placate his ire. What he said confused her, for it was in complete variance to his behaviour of late. Unhooking her leg from the pommel, she slipped off her mount with an easy grace.
‘Of late you have been avoiding me as if I carried some contagious disease,’ he growled, also dismounting, and cursing the lack of privacy they had. ‘Indeed, my dear wife, if I did not know differently I would say you protect your virtue more adroitly than any chastity belt ever could. I am both puzzled and concerned at the way you are behaving.’
‘How am I behaving?’
‘You are cool and unresponsive.’
He towered over her, his overpowering physical presence so close that Belle felt dizzy. An ache lodged in her chest. His accusations were true. But how else did he expect her to behave? Her grandmother had taught her to be a lady, to exhibit restraint and proper decorum, even in the most trying circumstances, and her upbringing made it impossible to be other than cool when she was upset. Bleakly she glanced up at him. She truly was deeply in love with him. Why else would she be experiencing this painful yearning? She was finding it harder and harder to retreat into cool reserve when she was near him.
‘Do you not agree that I have justifiable reason to be cool and unresponsive?’
‘Absolutely not.’
She could not bring herself to melt towards him, not when he had made no move to approach his daughter and only seemed to want her, his wife, for the physical pleasure her body could bring. Not when he would satisfy only her wanton need and not the ache in her heart. Yet she felt a strange, satisfying contentment that her nearness could affect him even in the company of so many.
‘If we are not together as much as you would like us to be and it upsets you, Lance, then I apologise. Perhaps if you were at home more—with your family’
‘Stop it, Belle. I know what you’re saying and nothing is changed.’
‘I’m sorry.’
Lance wasn’t willing to be denied. Taking her arm, he drew her into the shade of a large beech tree, out of sight of prying eyes.
‘I’m sorry if I’ve made you angry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to.’
‘You did, and it matters to me. A lot, in fact! I recall you saying that there was nothing you wanted more than to be married to me. You sure as hell have a funny way of showing it.’
Belle was overwhelmed by his sarcasm. ‘You are foolish if you imagine that because I have withheld myself from you, that I want no part of you. If you do, then you are both blind and witless,’ she said quietly.
He scowled at her darkly. ‘Am I?’
‘Yes.’
Placing a finger lightly under her chin, he tipped her face up to his, his anger of a moment earlier dissolving when he looked into the depths of her eyes and saw pain. ‘I’m sorry, Belle. We haven’t got off to a very good start, have we?’
‘We could start again with you telling me about Delphine, and why you married me when you were still mourning her loss.’
Pain clouded his eyes. ‘I could, but it won’t change anything.’
‘You mean it won’t change how you feel about your daughter.’
He nodded.
When Belle saw the taut line of his jaw and how his expression had hardened slightly, her mouth went dry and her heart began to beat in heavy, terrifying dread as she sensed that again he had withdrawn from her. ‘I know you are a very private person, but I am your wife. If you cannot
open up to me, even if it is just a little bit, then it bodes ill for the future.’
‘You are right. You should know about Delphine—and why I married you. When your grandmother suggested we should wed, I was repulsed by the very idea of having my life laid out and being forced to commit to something I had not thought of myself. Yet much as I wanted to rebel against it, I found myself wanting you.’ His eyes suddenly twinkled with amusement. ‘Besides, your grandmother was not above forcing an appropriate response in a wedding ceremony by surreptitiously holding a gun directed towards my head,’ he said, chuckling softly, forcing a smile to Belle’s lips at the vision of this tall, broad-shouldered man standing in wide-eyed alarm before her much smaller grandmother.
Belle’s heart soared and his confession brought a smile to her lips, but the grim expression that suddenly appeared on his face gave her a sense of unease and made her wary.
‘I also wanted you to be quite sure that marrying me was what you wanted. Marriage is a great step. I realised how fast things were happening, that you’d scarcely had time to draw breath since that night at Carlton House.’
‘It was my entire fault, despite my grandmother blaming you, for what happened. It was down to me. I stole into your house, into your bedchamber. It was unfortunate that you had half the ton dining with you that night and to witness my indiscretion.’
Lance looked at her and his expression softened as his conscience tore at him. ‘The blame was all mine. If I hadn’t taken that damn necklace in the first place you wouldn’t have been driven to do what you did. I had no reservations about making you my wife. There was nothing I desired more than that. But you might not have been so enthusiastic about having me for a husband if I had told you about Delphine—that I’d been married before and had a child.’
A Wayward Woman Page 22