How to Tame a Willful Wife

by Christy English

  “Bring her,” the Prince Regent said, echoing his thoughts. “I would look on her and see if she is as great a beauty as is rumored in the scandal sheets.”

  “I will, my lord.”

  “Is she as beautiful as they say?”

  Anthony’s smile widened in spite of his efforts to quell it. “More so.”

  “Bring her to my Christmas ball. Let all of London look on her. You cannot keep her all to yourself.”

  Anthony bowed, a smile still playing on his lips as he thought of Caroline and her long golden hair. “I will, Your Highness.”

  Once the Prince Regent had given him tea and sent him on his way, Anthony returned to his town house on Grosvenor Square, where a jeweler waited.

  “My lord, I brought the merchandise you asked for.”

  Anthony looked down at the velvet palate, where pearls were laid out in a hundred different sizes and a dozen different colors. He selected one large black pearl from the distant Indian Ocean and ordered it strung through with a chain of fine silver. Next, he selected a second pearl the size of a robin’s egg, one of lustrous cream to be strung on a chain of gold.

  He held that one pearl between his fingers for a long time, lingering over the feel of it, letting his touch warm it. His mind turned to Caroline and the sight of her skin in the candlelight, her head thrown back as she lay sated on his bed.

  The jeweler, Levi, a man of the same family who had served the earls of Ravensbrook for generations, discreetly cleared his throat. Anthony knew Levi had more business to transact before sundown, when he must return home, for it was the eve of his people’s Sabbath.

  “I am drawn by the beauty of what you offer me. It leads me down the path of memory.”

  “Pleasant memory, I hope, my lord.”

  “The best.”

  Anthony waved his steward over. Barnabas paid the jeweler in gold and made arrangements for the pearls to be drilled and for chains to be woven through them.

  “This one is for Angelique Beauchamp, the Countess of Devonshire,” Levi said, holding the black pearl. He tried for an air of discretion, but his fair skin colored beneath his beard as he mentioned Anthony’s long-acknowledged mistress. He was young and had just taken over the business from his father the year before.

  “Yes.”

  “And this one?”

  Levi raised the creamy pearl so that it caught the light from the high windows. Anthony found himself transfixed by it and knew that soon he must go home to Shropshire.

  “That one is for my wife.”

  His voice was harsh in his own ears, filled with barely suppressed longing. Levi blushed again, turning an even deeper shade of crimson. “So you will take it with you when you leave London?”

  “Yes, Levi. I will deliver both pearls myself.”

  The necklaces arrived Monday next just after dawn and were waiting for Anthony when he came in from his morning ride. He was shaved and barbered, and after settling the last items with his steward, he called for his barouche to be brought around to take him to the home of his mistress.

  He enjoyed coming upon Angelique unawares. Though they had an exclusive understanding, he was always vigilant, making certain she had no other lovers but him. Angelique was a wealthy widow and a countess in her own right. Though she was always gratified to receive remembrances from him, there was never any mention of money between them.

  Her servants greeted him as a matter of course, as they would have greeted the master of the house had he still been alive. They took his greatcoat, for the mornings had grown chill. They brought him not into her breakfast room but to her bedroom on the floor above.

  He arrived unannounced and found Angelique as beautiful as she always was. As he stood looking at her in the early morning light, he wondered idly if she was a witch. Or if perhaps she paid a servant in his household to warn of her such unannounced visits. Anthony stood, thinking these thoughts, looking at her as he would a painting.

  Her dressing gown was of the finest silk, a deep blue to match the blue of her eyes. Her curling dark hair fell around her shoulders, an invitation to mystery, a cloud of midnight that had more than once drawn him in.

  Angelique greeted him with a smile but did not approach. Instead, she held out one hand and let him come to her. She made it clear without saying so that she had heard of his marriage.

  “You honor us, my lord.”

  Without being told, her servants set breakfast on a table inlaid with mother-of-pearl. They brought fresh bread baked that morning, jam from the country, honey from her estate in Shropshire, eggs, and a rasher of bacon. Anthony bowed over her hand and took in the fragrance of orchids that she always wore whenever he was with her.

  Angelique allowed him to kiss her hand, but when he moved to kiss her mouth, she turned away so his lips grazed her cheek. He almost smiled at the silent set down but knew that to do so would escalate hostilities. He had come to make peace.

  Anthony sat in the chair her footman drew out for him and allowed himself to be served all his favorite dishes in the order he enjoyed them most. As always, he was impressed by her ability to run her household. He wondered idly if she might work with Caroline, who most certainly knew nothing of such matters, but he banished the thought almost as soon as he had it.

  He looked into his mistress’s eyes and saw that, while she was silent, her mind was working even as she watched him.

  “I understand I am to congratulate you, my lord, on your upcoming nuptials.”

  Anthony finished chewing his bit of bread, then reached for a mug of fragrant coffee. “I am married already. As you know, Angelique.”

  Her elegant brow arched in mock surprise, but she showed no other sign of emotion. She raised one hand, and footmen sprang forward to offer two more dishes, one of eggs and another of roasted pears. Anthony nodded, and they served him some of both before stepping away.

  “I wanted to tell you myself,” he began, when Angelique pierced him with a look, a smile lighting her lovely face.

  “Except you were too busy signing the papers and bedding your new bride to send a message,” she said.

  Her voice was calm, her tone even, but Anthony began to wonder if the king’s ransom he had brought would be enough to purchase her goodwill. They had never had a scene, and he did not expect to have one now. Angelique was a woman who ruled herself and her emotions, only one of the reasons she had been his mistress for almost a decade. Though she would never raise her voice to him, she might have him turned out of her house and order her doors barred to him for the rest of his life.

  But then he remembered the way she cried out under him when he rode her. If she had not thrown him out yet, she was not going to.

  “An oversight for which I apologize,” he said.

  They finished their breakfast in silence. Or he finished his while she watched, her food untouched before her.

  They stood, her footmen drawing their chairs out behind them so they might step away unencumbered. Anthony wondered how to broach the subject of the present he had brought her.

  “So you have something for me, I take it.”

  He blinked, wondering if she did indeed have a spy in his household.

  “When I saw it, it made me think of you.”

  He brought out the drawstring bag from his coat pocket and placed the velvet in her hand. She opened the sack, and the pearl and silver chain fell out into her palm. He was not certain, but he thought he saw the beginning of tears in her eyes before she blinked them away. When she met his gaze, her eyes were the calm, cool blue they had always been. For the first time since he had known her, he saw her strength. It was so obvious he did not know how he had never seen it before.

  “It is beautiful. I thank you.”

  He thought she would call her lady’s maid to hang it about her neck. Instead, she turned, stepping toward him so he could take in the scent of orchids on her skin. She tossed the drawstring bag down onto the breakfast table with one contemptuous flick of her wrist. Sh
e raised the long, trailing mass of her hair, the darkness he had lost himself in more times than he could count.

  Anthony stood close behind her, breathing in the scent of her, suppressing the desire to kiss the curve of her throat. He took up the necklace from where she had dropped it and hung it around her neck, fastening the clasp himself.

  The scent of her beckoned him as ripe pomegranate on a silver tray. Angelique turned and fastened her eyes on him, letting her hair fall so it swirled past her shoulders in one long curtain of darkness.

  “Will you not stay, my lord?” Angelique asked. She did not incline her head toward her bed, for she did not have to. They both knew what she meant.

  They waited together in silence for his answer. Anthony was not sure which of them was more surprised.

  “No,” he said. “I must go. There is business that needs tending, and I am already late.”

  “You are going back to her,” Angelique said. “To your little Yorkshire girl, with her long blond hair, soft young body, and eyes like pools to drown in.”

  Anthony did not flinch from her anger. He knew he deserved it.

  “Yes.”

  Angelique smiled then, a smile that reflected her name. All evidence of her ire melted away like snow in sunlight. “Of course you will go to her,” she said. “But no matter how long it takes you to get your heir and to have your fill of her, you will always come back to me.”

  Anthony gestured for his greatcoat to be brought. Her footman opened the door for him, and her butler waited to show him out. He meant to leave without speaking but found he could not. He was an honest man. He had always been honest with her.

  At the door, Anthony turned back and met her eyes.

  “No doubt you are right.”

  Chapter 18

  Ravensbrook, Shropshire

  October 1816

  Caroline waited for her husband’s return as she had once waited for her father to come home from war. She looked out every evening over the road that led to their house, hoping to see his horse in the distance somewhere along the rolling hills. She did not question her motives for her hope that Anthony might soon return. Her feelings for her husband were a dark morass she did not wish to bring into the light.

  After a week, she took a firm grip on herself and on her own affairs. Her husband’s house already ran like a clock, but she took it in hand, using her time alone to learn the workings of the staff: who was married to whom, who had children and how many, who was good at their job and who was not. She found his country steward was a good man, and the kitchen was well in order under the discerning eye of the cook. By the end of her second week of marriage, her husband’s household had taken to Caroline as a bear to honey. They loved her lilting accent and her easy way with them. They brought fresh flowers to her rooms every day without prompting, just as they had for Anthony’s mother years before.

  The house ran well, and the staff grew happier under her watchful eye. Tabby ran about as always, selecting the best gowns for each occasion and dressing Caroline’s hair. The young maid took in the new household with wide eyes, listening to all Mrs. Brown’s instructions.

  As Caroline began her second week without her husband, she rode out over his lands, seeing to the people who lived there. The tenants were all well fed and well cared for, the village curate honest. When her husband was not home for Michaelmas, Caroline arranged a small festival for the tenants on the Ravensbrook estate so they all might meet her and take a day off from their labors.

  So on the third week, Caroline was able to ride out for the sheer pleasure of it, taking in the golden beauty of that country as the harvest was brought in.

  One evening as she turned toward home, the sun had begun to slant to the west, and she rode over the fields on her way back to Ravensbrook. She heard a rustling in the barley less than a mile from her husband’s house. She stopped her mount, a delicate mare Anthony had given her for a wedding present in an effort to encourage her to ride like a lady.

  Hercules was being reshod, so for the first time, Caroline had ridden out on Bonnie. The horse was gentle and sweet but too skittish for Caroline’s taste. It was Bonnie shying at the movement in the high grass that made Caroline stop and look again, only to see a blond woman rise from the barley, gasping for air. Caroline heard the woman shriek, then saw a man come up from the grasses behind her.

  At first, she thought she had caught a girl and her man at love play. But then the woman thrashed violently, trying to escape. She could not scream again, for the man’s hand was on her throat.

  Caroline wheeled Bonnie around and leaped down from her back without a thought for a mounting block, without a thought for caution. The ground under her boots jolted her hard as she landed, but she caught herself and stood firm. Bonnie needed no more motivation to flee. She ran as if a lion were at her heels, leaving Caroline alone in the barley, facing a man almost twice as large as she was.

  “Let her go!”

  Caroline watched as the girl surfaced from the high grass. The girl was crying, but she could breathe. The man had let go of her throat and had turned to see who approached him. As soon as his grip loosened, the girl ran away.

  He was much larger than Anthony. Wide across the shoulders and broad across his paunch, he was one of the men who had come to work the land during the harvest. Such drifters came and went at harvest time, and no one remembered them once they were gone.

  The lessons of her childhood whispered to her as if her father’s trainer still stood beside her. She cursed the long skirt of her riding habit, hitching it up to keep it out of her way. She wore old breeches beneath her gown, as she always had at home.

  She watched as the anger in the man’s eyes turned to a gleam of lust.

  She reached into her sleeve where her dagger lay sheathed. She had never drawn it before in combat but had used it only in practice with her father’s men at home.

  The blade shone in the fading light as she raised it, testing its weight in her palm.

  She faced the man who would have raped one of her tenants and anger shook her to her core, the anger her father’s men had taught her to cherish, the fury that made every warrior strong. It was a cold, clean rage that rose from her feet and into her arms, meeting the dagger still clutched in her palm. Her throwing dagger still rested in her boot, but she did not reach for it.

  The man’s eyes gleamed as he came to her. They met halfway into the barley, which grew high enough to block Caroline’s path. She knew she had been a fool to step forward. She should have fought the man on the clear roadside, where her husband’s ripe crop would not hinder her.

  Caroline had no more time to think then, for he was on her.

  She felt the man’s heavy breath on her cheek as she raised her dagger to strike at his throat. She was quick and did not let him keep his grip on her. Once she had drawn blood from along his jaw and left cheek, she dodged back again, trampling the barley well underfoot so she would have clear ground to work in when he made his next move.

  He was toying with her, she knew, for a man his size should already have taken her under him. She had expected this and waited for it so she could drive her dagger up and into him from behind. That killing blow was one her father’s men had drilled into her over and over on the practice field. It was a blow she knew she could deliver, even in her sleep.

  Elation rose to balance her anger as she drew back, watching her enemy’s blood slide down his cheek and into the collar of his shirt. His eyes were hot with fury, the fury of a fool, the anger of a man who would soon make a mistake.

  He reached for her, and she sliced at his arm, cutting into the tendon all the way to the bone. He went into a killing rage and grabbed her hair, dragging her down onto the barley she had already trampled. Caroline saw his surprise as she smiled at him and embraced him.

  She lifted her legs around him, as she would have around Anthony in their bed. She used his body as purchase, even as he held her down. She raised her dagger, waiting, but h
e did not lean down far enough for her to wield her knife still clutched behind him. In that moment, she saw his fury turn to fear. She raised her knife once more, this time to cut his throat, since she could not reach the proper spot on his back to force her blade beneath his ribs, that it might pierce his heart.

  He did not scramble to take her knife from her as he had every pass before. He got to his knees and then ran from her, faster than she would have thought possible for a man of his bulk.

  Caroline was on her feet in the next moment, intent on her prey, when she was lifted off the ground from behind, her knife wrenched out of her hand.

  Caroline could not see who her attacker was. She went immediately limp in his arms. Just as she had hoped, her attacker loosened his hold long enough for her to kick her leg up, drawing her throwing dagger from her boot. In the next moment, her hand moved in a flash to her second attacker’s throat, but he caught and held her hand in his. She stopped moving then, for she saw his face.

  “Let me go,” she said.

  Anthony dropped her at once, as though she were a sack of meal. She saw that the girl stood behind him, holding the reins of his horse as well as her mare’s. She must have kept her head long enough to run and fetch him. Caroline had no notion Anthony was even due to return that day, for he had not bothered to send word.

  She moved toward the girl to see if she was all right. Caroline stopped when her husband’s hand came down hard on her shoulder.

  “Did he harm you?” Caroline asked.

  “No, my lady.”

  “We will see you home then.”

  “No, we will not,” Anthony said. “Get home quickly, Betty. Your father will wonder where you are.”

  The girl dropped a frightened curtsy, then ran without looking back.