"Either my money, or me," muttered Alaric, following Charles from the room.
Chapter 14
Rowena lay in her bed, staring up blankly at the delicate lace canopy that floated far over her head. The rooms Alaric had prepared for her were exquisite, decorated in shades of blue and violet that perfectly complemented her coloring, strewn with Chinese porcelain vases so fine that light could be seen through them, the finest silver accessories ornamenting her dressing table. But she took little pleasure in them. She had not seen Alaric since he had dismissed her from the library earlier in the day, and now it was well past midnight.
After she had inspected her rooms she had felt a twinge of guilt over her treatment of Alaric. He had obviously lavished much thought on her suite's decor, and she had asked the butler to tell her where she might find him so as to thank him. Ferguson had responded, with an embarrassed air, that his lordship had left the house and not mentioned when he might return. Rowena, reluctant to appear surprised in front of a servant, had retired to the library to await him. Surely when he returned they could have a sensible conversation. Perhaps she could convince him that her plan was the best way to go about their marriage.
But Alaric did not return for dinner, and Rowena ate in humiliating solitude. Although the servants were far too well-trained to betray their feelings, she knew that they were surprised and curious at her husband's absence. And her maid, usually so talkative, had prepared her for bed without a single word or comment, solicitously turning back the billowing lacy coverlet, before fleeing with unseemly haste.
Rowena's initial regret of her hasty actions earlier in the evening was slowly replaced by fury. How dare he, she thought. How dare he leave her alone on her wedding night without even an excuse as to why he had disappeared? The servants all knew that he had not been home for hours, and word was sure to spread. She would be a laughingstock in her own house, and quite possibly among the members of London Society as well. Everyone knew servants talked, and this tale of her humiliation on her wedding night would be sure to delight the ton.
Alaric was probably with Lily, she thought bitterly. Like any man, he was utterly unable to suppress his animal needs. She turned restlessly onto her side. If he could not wait even a month in order to get to know her before he made love to her, then it was best that he be serviced by his mistress. Rowena had no intention of being merely a vessel for his lustful needs.
But even as she made this fierce declaration to herself her treacherous thoughts turned to Alaric's sensuous kisses, and the mind-drugging feeling of his hands trailing down her back. She felt a sudden flash of heat shoot through her and her heart began to pound harder. It was her wedding night and she was alone in a strange bedroom. Tears began to well up in her eyes.
Rowena caught her breath when she heard heavy footsteps in the hallway followed by the sound of the door to the adjoining room opening. Then there was the husky rumble of Alaric's voice as he dismissed his valet. The door shut again behind the servant, and she could hear Alaric's footsteps as he moved about his room. He was surely undressing now, she thought, wondering despite herself what Alaric would look like beneath his immaculately tailored clothes. He was very tall, his shoulders broad, and when he had clasped her to him she had felt the tremendous power of the muscles in his thighs and arms.
She felt a tiny tremor of anticipation. Surely he would come to her, she thought. The idea sent her into a sudden panic. What would she do? She had demanded of him only hours before that he not touch her for a month. If she gave into him now he would think that she would yield to him in everything. And she was still angry with him, she insisted to herself. He had lied to her that he believed Malcolm was innocent, and then he had abandoned her for an entire day, making her look a fool.
When he came in, she decided, she would be very dignified. She would speak to him calmly and coolly, not letting him see how he had upset her. It was necessary that Alaric understand that she was an equal part of this marriage, that he did not have the whip hand. After their discussion she would perhaps allow him to make love to her. She thought she had made her point earlier in the day. Alaric would surely understand that he needed to treat her with consideration and respect in the future.
Having come to this decision, Rowena sat up hastily in the bed, arranging her pillows behind her so as to frame her face and shoulders more attractively. She smoothed the lace on her sheer linen nightgown, and ran her fingers through her fair hair. It would not do for Alaric to think that she had been restless. She waited quietly, her eyes fixed on the door that connected her bedroom to Alaric's.
Alaric continued to move around his room. Rowena could hear the sound of his footsteps and she watched the flickering light from his candle shining under the door with bated breath. Once the steps approached the door and she drew in her breath, but they continued past, eventually trailing off. For a few minutes she heard no more sounds and then the light went out abruptly. She concentrated on the door, waiting for it to open. Minutes passed. Finally, she realized that Alaric must have gone to bed. He had no intention of visiting his wife tonight.
A great mass of contradictory emotions rose in Rowena's breast. She felt a tiny quivering of relief that she would not have to face Alaric tonight. His lovemaking was enticing, but she was not entirely sure of how she would handle him. She also felt a touch of remorse for the way she had spoken to him earlier. This was all her own fault for forbidding her own husband to touch her.
But most of all she felt a white-hot fury. How dare he simply go to bed as though she did not exist? She was his wife. Did their kisses and caresses mean so little to him? Did he find her unattractive? Had his words and acts of desire been a ruse intended to lure her into marriage so that he might add her to his collection? Was there the possibility that he did not want her at all, but was merely using her?
Rowena surged up out of her bed, her concerns forgotten in the fire of her anger. She would have an answer from him tonight in regard to what he meant by his actions. She was an Arlingby, from a family as old and noble as his own, and he had no right to behave disrespectfully toward her. She snatched up her dressing gown from a chair, throwing it over her nightgown and marched to the adjoining door. She seized the handle and flung the door open.
She hesitated a moment in the doorway, trying to get her bearings. Alaric's rooms, in contrast to her own, were decorated in deep jewel-like colors, and in the dark it resembled nothing so much as a lion's den. She could dimly see the dark wood furniture, beautifully carved and covered with thick cushions of velvet. The curtains were made of the same dark material and shut out all light, so she could just barely see the bed on the far side of the room. Cowed, but unwilling to turn back, she began to walk gingerly across the room, feeling her way with one arm extended out in front of her.
Her bare foot came into sharp contact with something heavy, and she gave a small exclamation of pain. Groping with her hands she could feel that it was a footstool and she sidestepped it, her anger growing. Surely Alaric could hear her approaching. Why did he not light a candle or at least say something?
She reached the bed and walked up to it silently, her heart in her mouth. Alaric must be aware of her by now. But when she looked down at him she saw that he was spread negligently across the bed, his limbs sprawled out boyishly, his dark hair contrasting with the white sheets, his eyes closed and his breathing steady. He was asleep.
Rowena gazed down at him with mingled vexation and desire. She could not believe that he had fallen asleep so quickly and had not wondered for even a second what she was doing. But this annoyance was swamped by a sudden wave of passion. The sheets of the bed were pushed down to reveal his bare chest. She stared at it, watching the gentle rise and fall as he breathed, the muscles rippling gently under the skin.
Unable to resist, she reached out tentatively with one hand and touched him gently. His skin was warm and firm to her touch and the feeling of excitement increased. Her knees felt strangely weak and her brea
thing became faster. Surely the noise her pounding heart made would wake him up, she thought.
Suddenly, with one quick motion, Alaric sat up, his hand moving like lightning and seizing her wrist. Rowena gasped and she pulled her attention away from his body to meet his glittering green eyes.
"What are you doing here?" Alaric asked. His voice was husky.
"I wondered where you were, and why you didn't tell me you'd be gone," whispered Rowena. Now that she had been discovered, she didn't know quite how to deal with the situation.
Alaric released her wrist. "I was out." His eyes raked over her, but it seemed almost as though he didn't see her. "Go away."
"What?" Rowena was taken completely unaware by his response.
"I need to sleep," said Alaric briefly. "You shouldn't have woken me up."
"How dare you?" demanded Rowena, her nervousness forgotten. "How dare you order me out of the room? I am your wife."
Alaric smiled sleepily. "That may be. But I need my rest now. I'll take care of you tomorrow."
"You'll take care of me tomorrow?" sputtered Rowena. He was speaking to her as though she were a servant. "I want to talk to you now, Alaric."
He shook his head. "Not now. Tomorrow."
In front of Rowena's amazed eyes he slid back down into the bed and pulled the covers up over his chest. With a sigh he rolled over on his side, his back turned to her. In a moment his breathing became even again and she knew he was asleep.
Rowena stood irresolutely by the side of his bed for a moment. Alaric's arrogance was breathtaking. She had thought he would at least register surprise and perhaps pleasure or annoyance at seeing her, but he had seemed absolutely unconcerned. And uninterested. Her cheeks burned when she thought of how she had spoken to him and how casually he had turned her away. Furious with herself and her husband, she groped her way back towards her own bedroom. She gave a little cry of pain and annoyance when she tripped over the footstool again, and then she was in her own room, trembling slightly with anger. If Alaric was determined to be indifferent, then she could be too. He would see that he was not the only one who could play this game.
Chapter 15
Rowena rolled over and groaned when her maid entered her room the next morning bearing a cup of chocolate. She had not slept until nearly dawn, and then she had tossed and turned, finding little rest. She opened her eyes and peered about her. It was clearly late morning, and she sat up hastily, nearly upsetting the chocolate Lawson was holding out to her.
"Is his lordship in the house?" she asked quickly.
Lawson flushed and dropped her eyes. "Yes, my lady," she said. "He is still in his room."
"Good," said Rowena. "Please leave word that I wish to see him as soon as he arises."
Lawson's eyes widened and she appeared about to say something, but she simply dropped a curtsey. "Yes, my lady," she murmured.
Rowena waved away the chocolate and got out of bed. "I need to get dressed quickly. It's obviously very late. I don't wish to lie about in bed."
"No, my lady," answered Lawson, trailing behind Rowena and scooping up her nightgown as she shed it. "What do you wish to wear today?"
Rowena considered the question. She intended to take the bull firmly by the horns when she saw her husband. It would be important that she looked her very best.
"The violet muslin," she said. "And hurry, Lawson. I don't have all day."
Rowena entered the dining room half an hour later, a look of mixed eagerness and trepidation on her face. She was dressed very becomingly in the violet muslin, its color reflecting her eyes and setting off her fair hair to great advantage. The room was lovely, with beautiful furniture and an exquisite Aubusson carpet, and a splendid repast was spread out on the sideboard. There was, however, no sign of Alaric.
With a sigh, Rowena helped herself to toast and fruit and sat down at the table, disgruntled. It was absolutely impossible to discuss the situation with Alaric if he was going to avoid her night and day.
A door opened and she spun about, but it was only Ferguson, carrying a steaming tray. Rowena sighed.
"Eggs, my lady?" he asked her, but she shook her head.
"No, thank you." There was a pause. "Ferguson, do you know when my husband will be coming down?"
Ferguson hesitated. "His lordship is a trifle under the weather this morning, my lady. I believe that he intends to remain in bed."
Rowena looked startled. Alaric had not appeared unwell earlier. He had spoken to her quite clearly.
"What is wrong with him?" she asked, her alarm in her voice.
"Do not be concerned, my lady. His valet is attending to him."
"His valet? Shouldn't we summon a doctor?"
Ferguson looked nervous. "It is nothing serious, my lady. His lordship begs that you will forgive him. He will see you later in the day."
"But his valet? This makes no sense at all. I have some healing powders in my room. Perhaps they will help him." Rowena began to rise from her seat, her breakfast forgotten.
"His lordship has no need of powders, my lady. Jameson will know what to do for him. He has been in his lordship's service for many years." Ferguson attempted to make his voice reassuring.
"Is this a recurring illness?" demanded Rowena, alarmed. "I had no idea his lordship was given to bouts of sickness."
"No, my lady. His lordship is in excellent health. Please do not concern yourself with the matter."
Rowena's brows came together in a frown. "This makes no sense at all. If you will not tell me what is the matter, then I will go to see for myself."
She headed towards the door, and Ferguson made one last brave attempt to halt her.
"My lady, visitors will be arriving. You will want to receive them."
"Tell them I am not available," said Rowena crossly. "I mean to get to the bottom of this."
Ferguson watched helplessly as she swept out of the room and up the stairs. He closed his eyes for a moment. It seemed the new Countess of Brayleigh was a force to be reckoned with. He wondered how the master was going to handle her.
Rowena went to her bedroom and dug about in her belongings until she located the package of powders she had brought with her from Yorkshire. Holding them before her like a shield, she went to the door that joined her room to Alaric's. She took a deep breath, opened it and stepped into her husband's bedroom.
By daylight, the room was somewhat less fearsome than it had been the night before. The ominous dark furniture was revealed as beautifully carved mahogany, and the burgundy velvet cushions and curtains looked luxuriously soft. Her eye landed on the treacherous footstool for a moment, and she gave a slight smile. Then she directed her gaze to where Jameson hovered next to the bed, offering a glass with some evil looking concoction in it to her husband.
"Take it away, Jameson. I cannot stomach it," she heard Alaric say.
"But sir, you must drink it. You will feel much better when you do."
Rowena took a step towards the bed. Both men suddenly became aware of her presence and turned startled eyes on her. She flushed slightly, but continued towards them. It was ridiculous to let them frighten her.
"What are you doing here, Rowena?" asked Alaric. Despite the headache that pounded through his skull, the sight of her stirred his blood. She looked very enticing in the violet muslin, though it occurred to him suddenly that the neckline was cut a bit too low. The gentle curve of her breasts swelled up at him alluringly. He would have to keep a closer eye on the clothing she ordered, he noted groggily.
Rowena realized that he looked exceedingly attractive, with his tousled hair curling wildly about his forehead. He was perhaps a bit paler than usual, but he was still very handsome, and his naked skin looked very touchable. She stared at his chest fixedly, her heart beginning to beat faster.
"Rowena, I asked you a question."
She pulled herself away from contemplation of her husband's body. "I heard you were ill. I thought perhaps I could be of some help. I have some powders I brought
from home that are most efficacious."
Alaric scowled. "I told the servants not to tell you."
"They tried their very best not to," she soothed. "But eventually they had to be honest with me. They could only prevaricate so long, after all. I am remarkably persistent."
A small smile alighted on Alaric's lips. That was an understatement if ever he had heard one. "I appreciate your concern. But Jameson is perfectly capable of caring for me."
"What is wrong with you?" she asked, stepping closer. "Is this something I should be concerned about?"
Alaric's eyes closed for a moment and his hand went to his head. "Please, keep your voice down," he said. "I have a headache."
"A headache!" Rowena sorted through her packages, producing one with a triumphant air. "This will be perfect. It always helps when my head throbs. Fetch his lordship a glass of water, Jameson."
"My lady, I believe this mixture will benefit him the most," said Jameson, indicating the glass he still held. "It is a well-known cure."
Rowena looked at it doubtfully. The potion looked unfamiliar to her. "What is it? I don't believe I know that particular medicine."
Jameson rolled an anguished eye at his master, and Alaric sighed. He took the glass from his valet.
"Leave us, Jameson. I promise I will drink this."
With a bow and a skeptical glance, the valet left the room. It was going to be difficult having a mistress if she intended to interfere with the managing of his lordship, he thought. And his lordship seemed inclined to indulge her. None of the other ladies in his lordship's life had ever attempted to nurse him.
When they were alone, Rowena felt a sudden shyness come over her. Alaric looked very large and imposing in the great bed, his splendid dark hair contrasting with the white linens. She dropped her eyes.
Alaric sighed. "What do you want, Rowena?"
"I thought I could perhaps be of some help," she said tartly, her spirit returning. "I am not unfamiliar with certain remedies. The nature of your illness seemed so mysterious that I felt I must see you to know what was wrong. And now that I have, I still have no idea."
That Infamous Pearl Page 13