“I never thought her gowns became you as well as your London ones, dear,” Lady St. Merryn said complacently, adding in a matter-of-fact way, “I collect that you are not going back to Seacourt Head tonight.”
“No, ma’am. I must wait to see what Antony means to do next, but in any case, we had planned to stay tonight, so Mrs. Medrose prepared my old room for me. I am going to put Letty to bed now, but then I will come to your sitting room, if you like.”
“Yes, do,” Lady St. Merryn said cordially. “Such an extraordinary business, and we still have much to talk about. You do mean to come, too, don’t you, Aunt Ophelia?”
“Certainly,” the old lady said, using her cane to steady herself on the stairs. “Nothing like a bout of tearing other people’s characters to shreds to provide one with an amusing evening.”
Charley left them at the landing, but by the time she got Letty settled and joined them in Lady St. Merryn’s sitting room, she found that her grandmother had changed her mind. A smiling Jago was setting up a card table, apparently for whist. Amazed, Charley glanced at Lady Ophelia.
The old lady shrugged. “I don’t mind. I daresay you won’t.”
“Of course, she won’t mind,” Lady St. Merryn said tartly. “Don’t put my salts bottle there on the table, Ethelinda. I shan’t need it, and it will only get in my way.”
They played one rubber, but then Lady Ophelia declared herself too old to stay up so late playing for mere chicken stakes, and announced her intention to retire.
Charley said, “I’d better go, too, I expect. Antony will be home soon.”
“Not if I know men,” Lady Ophelia said. “Even if they got there in an hour and the boat sailed at once, which I doubt, your Antony and that Rockland will have stopped at an inn for something to wet their whistles before returning.”
“Antony said they would come straight back,” Charley said, smiling.
“Well,” Lady Ophelia said, picking up her stick, “I’ve always said the only man a woman can trust is a dead one, but I’ll have to admit your Antony shows more promise than most. You may walk with me, my dear.”
Bidding the others good-night, they strolled slowly along the corridor toward Lady Ophelia’s bedchamber. Abruptly, the old woman said, “Rockland did you a greater service than he knew, did he not?”
“How much, exactly, do you know about what happened, ma’am?” Charley asked, not certain how else to reply to such a statement.
“Rockland told me, when he collected me, that he had played you a trick but that everything would come right in the end, and I know he meant to marry you properly once he’d taught you a lesson. Had to tell me that much, of course, but then you stayed married to Sir Antony.”
“It seemed the best thing to do at the time,” Charley said.
“Good gracious, child, I’ve known you all your life and been closer to you than most. I must suppose you knew what you were doing.”
“I agreed to stay married to him only because of his duty to Wellington and his need for a plausible reason to remain in Cornwall. And I only agreed under certain … certain conditions.” She avoided the old lady’s eye, reaching past her to open the door to the bedchamber for her.
Lady Ophelia paused on the threshold. “I won’t ask what those conditions were or if he met them,” she said mildly. “I don’t think those things matter now. He had his excuse to remain in Cornwall all along, did he not?”
“He means to get the marriage annulled now,” Charley said, barely able to get the words out. “I insisted upon it, you see. Now, even if I say I have changed my mind, he’s given me no cause to think he has changed his. In any case, he will think—” She broke off, unable to finish.
“He will think you want to stay married now because it is the only way you can remain Countess of St. Merryn. Is that it?”
Her throat aching, Charley nodded. Tears welled into her eyes.
“You’re a fool, child, and if he don’t see that, he’s a fool as well.” Lady Ophelia stepped into her room. “Go to bed,” she said. “I won’t tell you what to do. I shall leave that to your husband.”
Walking slowly to her bedchamber, Charley knew that she had told at least one untruth to the old lady. She did have some cause to believe Antony cared for her. She had known that much since the night before when he had shaken her. A man who rarely allowed others to touch his emotions did not react violently simply because he believed a woman had put herself in danger. Antony did care, but whether he knew that himself, or cared enough, was more than she could guess.
Kerra was waiting for her.
“Has Sir Antony returned?” Charley asked.
“No, my lady, but he told Hodson to make up a bed for him in that little chamber at the end of the corridor by the servants’ stair, so he won’t disturb you when he does.”
Tempted though she was to await his return, Charley knew that he and Rockland might well be several hours yet, so she went to bed. And although she expected to lie awake, plagued by thoughts and memories, she soon fell asleep.
When Antony and Rockland returned an hour later to find that but for a few servants the rest of the house had retired, Rockland suggested a drink in the library.
“Thanks all the same,” Antony said, “but I think I’ll go to bed.”
“Had a surfeit of my company, have you?”
“I’m glad you went with me,” Antony replied honestly. “I could not let Wellington go without discussing with him what I mean to do next, and it has been a long day. Without your company, I’m likely to have fallen asleep in the saddle. Yet again I owe you my gratitude, Rockland.”
“Again, eh? I take it that you have seen the light then, and wish you luck. You will need it.”
“I’m not certain we’re speaking of the same thing,” Antony said, “but I don’t deny that I can use some of that luck. Good night.”
Upstairs, he looked into Charley’s room and when the light from his candle fell across her face, he saw that she was asleep. He longed to climb into bed with her, but he dared not do so, for he had done much thinking, despite Rockland’s cheerful chatter, and had come to a difficult decision. He loved her too much to insist that she stay married to him. If it meant lying to the bishop, he would do it to set her free. He was glad she was asleep, but decided to settle the business first thing in the morning.
Since he neglected to tell Hodson to wake him at his usual time, he overslept, and by the time he scrambled into his clothes and got to Charley’s room, she was nearly dressed. His first view was her reflection in the looking glass, and he thought her eyes lighted up when she saw him, but when she turned around, she raised her eyebrows at the sight of his shirtsleeves and wool breeches.
“Forgive my appearance,” he said from the threshold. “I didn’t wait for Hodson but grabbed the first thing that came to hand, in order to catch you before you went downstairs. You may leave us, Kerra.”
“Just a moment, Kerra,” Charley said. “She has not finished doing my hair, sir.”
“Wear it down, or she can come back later. I want to talk to you.”
A flush tinged her cheeks, but she did not look angry. Turning back to her dressing table, and watching him in the mirror again, she said provocatively, “I don’t want to wear it down. Do it up the usual way, Kerra. Kerra!”
But the maid, (wisely, in Antony’s opinion) bobbed a curtsy and fled.
Glaring, Charley said, “I don’t like it when you give orders to my maid.”
“Do you think you can put your displeasure aside for just one moment and attend to me?”
“What is it?” She looked at him with sudden concern. “Did something else happen? Letty! Has she—”
“Letty is fine. Jeremiah is fine. As far as I know, everyone is fine.” A glance showed him that the door had not latched behind Kerra. He shut it, watching Charley. She had turned to face him, but the flush in her cheeks was gone. She seemed pale. He said gently, “In fact, angel, the time has come to conclude our bargain
.”
“So you really mean to have it annulled?”
Dared he think she was dismayed by the thought of parting? He hoped she was. He did not think he could bear it if she were not. He said bleakly, “I cannot ask you to remain married to a man whom all society shuns.”
“That’s just as well,” she said, glaring at him again, “because I would be most uncomfortable being married to such a man.”
“Any woman would,” he agreed, but the bleakness vanished.
“She would be a pitiable creature, but she would not be your wife, Antony.”
“I don’t think you understand how much my past—”
“Oh, piffle, Antony, as if I had not heard all that before. You needn’t look daggers at me, either. I know you hate being interrupted. Like that stupid Petruchio, you’d prefer a wife who would pledge such duty to you as a subject pledges to his prince, but I could never be such a wife, and I will not listen quietly to such fustian.”
“Fustian, is it?”
“It is.” She stood up, moving to face him, and he felt amazement again at how much presence she had. Although she had compared him to Petruchio, he had no wish to change a hair on her beautiful head. She was still glaring at him.
She said, “Antony, the world—even the polite world—has changed. In those days, when your father behaved so cruelly, Englishmen favored liberty over order, ignoring reality. One cannot enjoy freedom without order. It was simple masculine idiocy to think England’s greatest enemy would abide by our ancient notion of courtesy. When your opponent refuses to abide by rules of fair play, for you to stick to them buckle and thong simply gives him an absurd advantage.”
“Well, yes, but—”
“Don’t argue with me,” she snapped. “You will find that you are mistaken about the reception you will receive in London. In fact, Antony, I begin to believe the Fox Cub has turned coward.”
“Now, just a damned minute!” He stepped toward her, pausing only when he saw that her eyes were twinkling in anticipation. “So I’m a coward, am I?”
“Perhaps that’s a bit harsh, but you cannot have thought it out logically. Not all of your friends deserted you. There is Harry Livingston, for example.”
“He is a fool. It was he, apparently, who added a note to the letter he wrote for the Duke to my father, telling him the French had turned Le Renardeau into some sort of folk hero. We learned over the port that Alfred had read that note, found more tales of Le Renardeau on his own, and used his knowledge to start the rumors that have plagued me. He swears he meant no harm, but Harry believes he hoped the Fox Cub would be captured and put down by the authorities.”
“He cannot have wanted you killed,” Charley said, growing pale again.
“I choose to hope not, but although he put on a good show of remorse when Harry took him to task, in the course of it, he admitted that he was pretty certain of my identity when he heard me quoting the Bard. Said he had often heard of my habit of spouting the stuff, and it gave him a turn. As I recall, the rumors began only after I arrived here at Tuscombe. Still, it would not suit me to see my brother clapped into prison.”
“He certainly has much to answer for,” Charley said, “but you won’t divert me so easily. What of Wellington? Is he also a fool?”
Antony was silent but not for the reason she doubtless believed. After years of loneliness, to know now that the woman he loved was fiercely determined to fight his battles, even if she had to fight him, was a pleasure he did not want to interrupt.
She shook her head at him. “My dear sir, when your idiot father—yes, idiot, and I will not apologize for calling him one. When he gave you the cut direct at Brooks’s, Wellington was not in England. Now your father is dead, and the Duke is Prime Minister. You have money and vast estates—at least, I hope you intend to claim the estates. You cannot leave Alfred here.”
“No, I won’t,” Antony said with a smile. “I’ll settle one of the lesser Tarrant estates on him. Grandfather Foxearth’s, I think. That will do for him and Edythe.”
“Foxearth is your mother’s name?”
“Yes, I adopted it because it was not my father’s.”
“I see, but that brings us back to what I was saying.”
“I think I have heard enough,” Antony said, stepping nearer. “There is only one more thing I want you to tell me.”
“What do you want to know?” Her voice was soft, and he heard a catch in it.
“I want to know if you still hold men in such aversion that you could never bear to remain married to one.” He heard a catch in his own voice then, and it was all he could do to hold her gaze until she answered him.
She smiled and reached out a hand to him, saying, “I expect it was never the men I disliked so much as the way they made me feel about myself. They give off such an air of superiority, even the least of them, and try to control the women they meet. But I tried to control things, too. You were right about that, and so was Rockland, in everything he said when he tricked me into marrying you. I used feminine wiles to manipulate him, and other men like him. But he was like clay in my hands, so he brought out the worst in me. Since he seemed not to mind the way I treated him in return, I never knew he cared how I behaved toward him, or others, and he never did care enough to stop me when he disapproved.”
Antony grinned. “Do you think he could have stopped you, my little shrew?”
She laughed. “He said the same thing, and in truth, I doubt that he could have. He certainly would never have been as rough and ready as you were.”
“Perhaps not, but one can scarcely blame him for avoiding that temper of yours.”
“I know. I like myself much better since I married you.”
“And me? How do you feel about me, angel?”
Looking suddenly and uncharacteristically shy and unsure of herself, she bit her lip, then said, “You’ve changed, too, you know.”
“I know,” he said tenderly, “and I also like myself better. I have, ever since I was trapped into marriage with a naughty angel.”
“You were not trapped. You knew perfectly well what Rockland was up to. I was the one who was trapped.”
“Kate the curst,” he murmured, adding gently, “You can be free at once if that’s what you want, angel. As I said, I am a man of my word.”
“You said you would never lie to the bishop,” she reminded him, color flooding her cheeks again. “W-we have consummated our marriage.”
“I decided last night that if you want to be free, I will do what I must.”
“You will?”
“I will, unless—You aren’t pregnant, are you?”
His blunt question clearly caught her off guard, and he knew she had not considered that she might already be bearing his child. The thought warmed him. It warmed him more when she smiled mischievously and said, “I think maybe I am.”
Summoning up a heavy frown, he said warningly, “Kate the liar.”
She shrugged, looked away, then said innocently, “How can I be certain?”
“Easily. I won’t touch you again until you know.”
Charley moved toward him. “You lie now, my lord.” She placed one hand against his chest and looked up into his eyes.
“Can you swear that you won’t touch me? Not the littlest, tiniest touch of your smallest finger? What if I refuse to make a similar promise? What if I touch you here, or here, or—”
“Madam, enough!” He caught her hands and pulled her closer. Looking right into her eyes, he said, “I love you. Now, do you want the damned annulment or not?”
“Not,” she said, and with that one word filled him with a joy greater than any he had ever known. Then she bit her lip again, and said earnestly, “You don’t think I’m saying that just because I want to be Countess of St. Merryn, do you?”
“I do not.”
“Good.” She leaned against him, adding, “Because now that I’ve got a properly trained husband, I do think it would be foolish to turn him loose again.” Freeing o
ne hand, she slipped it between them, clearly intending to torment him further.
Stifling laughter, he said, “Angel, I’m warning you. Stop that.”
“What will you do if I don’t?”
“Put you over my knee.”
“I don’t think so. Your bed would be so cold and prickly tonight.”
“Cold I understand, but prickly?”
“Thistles.”
“I see.” Without more ado, he scooped her into his arms.
“Antony, put me down! Where are you taking me?”
“To a bed, angel of my consolation, that I know is neither cold nor prickly, to teach you how to submit properly to your husband.”
“Are you going to throw Cousin Charley in the pond again?” Letty asked from the doorway. Jeremiah sat on her shoulder, watching them inquisitively.
Antony chuckled. “What an excellent notion!”
“You dare,” Charley murmured.
“No annulment?”
“No annulment,” she agreed, “but the independence you promised me is quite another matter, sir.”
“Great-Aunt Ophelia says independence is important for a female,” Letty said, “because it teaches her to make decisions in matters that affect her life.”
“I was referring,” Charley said sweetly, “to a more tangible form of independence, to money, in fact. In my name, sir, at Drummond’s Bank.”
“Some men,” Antony said thoughtfully, “would call that extortion. Others would call me a fool for letting my wife control any money, since I should then be unable to control her.”
“That, sir, is precisely what Great-Aunt Ophelia means by independence.”
“Tell me you love me first.”
“Now that’s extortion.”
He laughed and bent his head toward hers, murmuring, “Kiss me, Kate.”
Her eyes danced. “Well, I will, but only because I have been wanting to do so these past twenty minutes. Oh, and I do love you, Antony, so much!” When she could speak again, she said with a wicked twinkle, “But may I have the money?”
Amanda Scott - [Dangerous 02] Page 40