by Julia Donner
Asterly lifted her chin with a bent finger. “You haven’t forgiven me.”
She inhaled a deep breath. “Please, don’t apologize for something we both quite obviously enjoyed.”
He kissed the tip of her nose and said as he fastened buttons and rearranged his clothing. “That’s my girl. Now, I have two letters for you. They’re not coded. Have a message sent to Harry to come down and pick them up. He can deliver them. I rather like the idea of you staying here where it’s safe. Now, I must fly.”
He halted at the door when she asked, “Why didn’t you just send them via the bank?”
He came back from the door and slipped an arm around her waist. After kissing her with renewed hunger, he said against her mouth, “For this. Had to have you and couldn’t wait another day. Brought them across myself so I could make good on my promise to give you babies.” He grinned. “Blast it, but I adore it when you blush. Farewell, my Eliza. Stay here for a while until you’re sure I’m out of the house.”
With her entire body still quivering in the aftermath and legs too weak to bear her weight, she stayed in the dusty room and relived the last minutes. If not for the ebbing clamor of her body, she’d have thought the encounter imagined out of desperation of her longing and loneliness for him. She almost crumpled when she tried to take a step and laughed for the first time in weeks.
A slow smile lifted her kiss-chafed lips. She impressed into her memory how he looked when he paused at the door before leaving. His eyes spoke volumes: regret, gratitude, and she dared to think she saw love.
The sharp edges of the folded messages bit into her palm. She glanced down at her first act as a conduit for intrigue. In the shaft of sunlight, she saw that one letter was addressed to Harry and the other to Cranston, Asterly’s manservant, she had yet to meet.
Chapter 32
Mrs. Wright tapped on the library door. Elizabeth looked up, her quill poised to dip into the inkwell, when the housekeeper came through. “Yes, Wrightie?”
“Master Harry is here, my lady.”
Elizabeth dropped the quill, leaped up, and couldn’t stop herself from squealing like a schoolgirl. “Harry!”
He strode through the door, handed off his cape to Mrs. Wright with a peck on her cheek that made her blush, and opened his arms. “Come here, Lizzie.”
She flung herself into his embrace. “Scoundrel! Where have you been? It’s been two weeks!”
After swinging her around and setting her down, he said over her head, “Wrightie, something to nosh on, if you please. Mr. Bates will be here any moment.” He waggled his eyebrows at Elizabeth. “The fool thought he could beat my blacks.”
She laughed. “And your special-made curricle?”
“Come and tell me what has been happening. Why are you in the dower house?” She opened her mouth to answer, but he spoke before she could reply. “Stupid question. Let’s sit. Who would want to stay in that moldering pile in the first place? Even Mother moved down here to get away from it, and there must be a battalion of workers up there. They’re making a dreadful racket.”
“I’m not sure what to say, since you’ve answered yourself. You said Mr. Bates came with you?”
“A few minutes behind me. Cass sends her love and asks when you’ll be back in town.”
She gestured to the sofa. “As soon as I hear again from your brother.”
“What? How can he stay away from you so long? I don’t believe it.”
She felt her face burn and ducked her head. “Ah, he has returned a few times. Brief visits to see if I am well.”
“Has he left anything for me to deliver since the last time?”
“He’s been sending dispatches across with the bank pouches. Nothing that requires any degree of secrecy. But it’s been some time since he’s been back.” She was too embarrassed to say that he came and went in the night. Stayed a few hours to ravish her and then rode off. She considered it romantic at first. Now, she just wanted him to stay and never go back.
Harry sat beside her, crossed a leg over his knee and swung a shiny Hessian. He draped an arm on the sofa’s back and watched the boot’s bouncing tassel. “I’m still concerned that you are down here all alone.”
She poked his side with a forefinger. “You just said the place is overrun.” When he trained serious dark blue eyes on her, she admitted, “Very well, I miss your brother.”
“And me?”
She made a mocked, shocked face. “Doesn’t that go without saying?”
He grinned and tapped her nose like Asterly often did. “You are the best of sisters.”
“Considering that I am your only sister, that’s not much in the way of a compliment.”
She loved the way he laughed, throwing his head back, like his brother. They were so alike, it soothed the edge of her loneliness.
“Harry.” She waited until he absorbed her change of mood. “We must be sensible. I must be. You’ve lived for a long time with Peregrine’s absences. I have not. We kept in each other’s pockets before he had to leave. Your visits are so very comforting, but we both know that this time around, the danger is greater. His enemies know him well over there. And here. With that in mind, some of the workers up at Marshfield are actually guards. They keep track of the grounds, who comes and goes, and pay especial attention to strangers.”
“I see.” He took her hand and cupped it in the warmth of his own. “You are such a clever thing. I often forget that about you. I expect it’s why Asterly and his cohorts have so much confidence in you as a co-conspirator.”
She turned her hand in his and rubbed her knuckles against his palm. “I miss him, Harry. Dreadfully. I know this was supposed to be a convenient sort of arrangement…our marriage…but I can’t help myself. Even now, all I can think about is how much your hands are like his. You even laugh alike.”
When her voice trailed off, he said with teasing dread, “You aren’t going to go all watery on me, are you, Sis?”
Pinching her lips, she gave him a mean stare. “Obnoxious man! I’m baring my soul and you tease. I shall have to think of a way to punish you.”
He patted back a yawn. “An idle threat to be sure. You love me, poor old thing.”
She couldn’t help it and had to laugh. He rewarded her with an adoring smile. “And there’s my Lizzie’s dimples. Buck up, love. He’ll come back to us. Always has. The fellow’s monstrous clever when it comes to what he does, I’ve been told.’
Mrs. Wright called from the other side of the door. “Open for me, Master Harry. There’s no footman.”
He jumped up and swept wide the door for Mrs. Wright, who ordered him around like the nurse she’d been. “Drag that table closer to the fire and stir the coals. I’ve brought a treat.”
Harry dashed to do as he’d been told and took the tray, sliding it across the tabletop. A plate held think slices of bread and beside it, a bowl of butter and a pot of raspberry jam.
Mrs. Wright went to the door. “The toasting forks are in the same place.”
Harry awarded her with another kiss before she got out the door. He rubbed his hands together as he approached the tray. “You are in for a treat. Wrightie makes the best bread and jam.”
He opened a long, tin box on the mantle. Taking out three, long forks, he handed her one, kept one and set one aside for Mr. Bates.
Elizabeth knelt on the pillow he tossed on the floor by the hearth. “Shouldn’t we wait for Mr. Bates?”
“Whatever for?”
In a very un-Harry like way, he peeled out of his jacket, tossed it over a chair and sat on the floor beside her. “Do your own, Sis. We are at home.”
“You’ll have to show me how. I’ve never done this before.”
They sat in companionable silence, watching the bread brown and savoring the fragrance. Harry smeared his buttered toast with jam and took an enthusiastic bite. He made a moaning sound that sounded so much like his brother that Elizabeth’s cheeks burned. Fortunately, he didn’t notice, too preoccupied with
his toast.
Mr. Bates blasted into the room without introduction. He scolded them for not waiting, but the way he bowed over her hand and begged her pardon for his tardiness made up for his rebuke. They made room for him by the hearth, while Elizabeth wondered what Asterly would think of her being alone with two men, on the floor, so unladylike. Would he be jealous?
Harry must have intuited her thoughts. He nudged her with his shoulder. “It’s his own demmed fault for not being here and missing out on the fun.”
“Stupid, if you ask me,” Bates said, carefully turning his fork to evenly toast his bread. “He’s killed enough frogs for one man and should be home with his lady. Hand me a plate, Harry. This is perfectly done.”
Elizabeth accepted a plate from Harry, pausing before handing it across to Mr. Bates. “Would you like me to prepare it, sir?”
Frederick Bates had blue eyes very different from Harry’s, whose gaze was almost always brimming with mischief and laughter. Passion blazed from Freddy Bates’ crystalline blue, a look that seared, but when looking at her, his shocking stare mellowed.
With a smirk, he asked, “Why is he ‘Harry’ and I am addressed with formality?”
She watched him slide the toast onto the plate she held. “Why, Mr. Bates, he is my brother.”
Bates tipped his head slightly to one side to survey the blush she couldn’t hide. He had a wide mouth with narrow lips that he usually kept twisted up in a sneer. This time, his mouth curved into a smile of extraordinary sweetness. “But Lady Asterly, I, also, am your brother, and I’d love it if you’d do me the honor of preparing my toast.”
Harry poked his shoulder with the handle of his toasting fork. “Stop roasting her, Freddy, or I’ll have your liver.”
Bates laughed, a low and dangerous sound. His eyes sparkled. “You think so, fop?”
Elizabeth nervously cleared her throat. Although their squabble sounded childish, she sensed the taunting they exchanged could turn into a more dangerous game.
The knife scraping across the toast made her flesh itch. She extended the plate of toast she’d smeared with butter and jam. “Boys,” she murmured, “our toast is cooling and so should you. Here you are, Freddy, and no more squabbling.”
Harry squinted a warning when Freddy smirked, took a huge bite, and said with a mouthful, “See? She likes me best.” After he swallowed, Freddy startled her with a whine. “Please let me shoot him, Lizzie?”
Elizabeth almost dropped her plate. “Wh-what? Whatever for?”
“He’s too pretty. I’d use a blade to make some nicks in his girlish complexion, but he’s better than I with a sword. Best use the barkers. I’ve got them out in the curricle. Take the tip off his nose. That’ll do.”
Elizabeth stared. Bates did not have a pretty complexion. Pitting from a time when he’d endured adolescent spots had healed to create a roughness that wasn’t unattractive. Harry had once hinted that a disappointment in Freddy’s past had left his friend with unresolved feelings that were often displayed with a short temper and recklessness with his life. The Honorable Mr. Bates was known for his accurate aim but that didn’t mean the man he dueled with knew how to handle firearms. No one feared facing Arm-winger Freddy, since he only creased his opponents. No such assurance could be relied upon from anyone Freddy faced on a field at dawn.
Sympathy twisted her heart. She wasn’t foolish enough to think Bates wasn’t a dangerous man when provoked, but now, he merely played at being mean.
She touched his wrist. “Freddy, please don’t shoot Harry.”
“Since you ask it, I won’t,” he muttered in a sulk, “but only since you ask.”
Elizabeth beamed at him. “Thank you, Freddy. He’s needed, you see. Part of Asterly’s plans. And since I am expected to make a splash in London, you must be ready to shoot bad men when I tell you.”
Freddy choked on toast and stared at her. “Lud, I believe you mean that!”
She smiled and asked, “More toast?”
Chapter 33
Peregrine leaned forward in the saddle. Ramona flicked her ears in reply and moved smoothly from a canter into a gallop. He didn’t like pushing her, but it seemed like forever since he’d seen Elizabeth.
The dispatch from Wellington, snug against his chest, blocked the damp spring air. He could have sent it with someone on the duke’s staff but insisted on carrying it across himself.
He pressed his right calf into Ramona’s side. She veered as directed, heading for a broken style, which she sailed over. He gave the mare her head. From this point on, she knew the way to Marshfield.
His mind drifted to the night before, the long wait in hiding at the docks. Anxious and nervy, he almost ran when it came time to board for the crossing over the channel to England. After disembarking, came the long walk to the cottage where he’d left Ramona.
Since marrying, he had the blunt to stable her in style, but she was known in the district. He contacted a family in need of income. They treated Ramona with care that bordered on cherishing. They happily told everyone the lie she’d been passed into retirement in their small pasture. Other than the village children who visited to give her stolen carrots and apples, Ramona roamed the enclosure, grazing in peace, rarely noticed. They also cared for his tack, left in a shed near the gate.
Marshfield’s chimneys came into view above the treetops. His heart began to thud, but this time not with the heaviness of despair from the sight of his house falling to pieces. For the first time in years, he felt eager to return. Elizabeth waited. He couldn’t wait to get her alone. So little time and so much to say but he never seemed able to articulate the way he wanted.
Ramona flew over a four-rail fence and landed on the hard road. She never missed a beat on a sharp turn to lope up the hill road. Peregrine eased up, leaning forward in the irons to check her gait. It didn’t appear that she’d pulled anything on the rugged landing. Her withers were starting to dampen but everything else felt fine. Smooth and even. The problem with Ramona was that she rarely showed an injury and would run until she dropped if he asked. Care had to be taken not to underestimate her devotion. The unpleasant memory of her leaping over a stack of wounded soldiers and heading straight into cannon fire filled his vision for a moment. Sensing his distress, she slowed, ears flicking back and forth.
Peregrine reached forward and brushed a gloved hand over her ear. “All is well, darling girl. Take us home.”
He saw Elizabeth then, standing at the edge of the garden, talking with two men. A scarlet, fringed shawl draped from her elbows, flashing bright as a beacon against Spring’s greenery. She turned and lifted a hand to shade her brow. A moment later, she flung off the shawl, grabbed her skirts, and ran to meet him. The sight of her excitement and delighted surprise filled his chest with a sudden pressure. He released it with a laugh and a wave. Ramona snorted and lunged forward.
Elizabeth’s heart seized and she skidded to a halt when Asterly’s horse charged. All she could see was a huge horse barreling directly at her. She choked on an outcry of welcome and alarm as the mare slid to a stop. When Asterly leaped off, she flung herself into his arms without thinking.
Realizing the revealing behavior, she began a mental chastisement for comporting herself so wildly, but had no chance. Air whooshed out of her lungs when strong arms grabbed her in a crushing embrace. His laughter rang against her ear. He smelled wonderfully of man, leather and briny sea. He didn’t kiss her, just held her so closely she thought she might sink inside his body. She felt the indentation of each of his fingers pressing into her back. The horse that terrified her a moment earlier now nibbled grass with a lazily swishing tail.
Easing back from the tight embrace, Asterly said over her head, “Mockley! And Peter. How good it is to see you again. I’m so glad Lady Asterly searched you out.”
Slender and stooped, Mockley pulled the cap from his balding head. “We found her, m’lord. Came up to the house when we heard you was doin’ work on the place. We come along, nigh a w
eek since. Hired us both, she did.”
Elizabeth stood bewildered, not knowing what to do. It seemed so unreal to have him back, here at Marshfield, chatting with the staff, while she felt his tension, sensed his impatience through the gloved hand that encircled her wrist.
Asterly handed the reins to Peter. “Cool her down, will you, lad? Take care of her for me.”
Peter’s father tugged on his cap. “If you’ll excuse me, my lady. I’d like to start on them new bricks what was just delivered.”
She thought she said something to Mockley before he left but wasn’t sure what. Only minutes ago, they’d been talking about restoring the walkways. Then she heard the rhythmic thumping of an approaching rider. Long ago, she considered it strange that a soldier would use a mare for combat. Now that she’d seen the big bay thundering up the road, she understood why Asterly took her to war with him. Ramona had no fear.
“Elizabeth?”
Jerked from her chaotic thoughts, she looked up. Asterly handed her the fallen shawl and gestured with his chin in the direction of the house. “Would you show me what you’ve been doing while I’ve been gone?”
His direct stare told her something else—what he truly wanted—and not improvements on the house. He wanted her. Somewhere alone. Immediately.
The sunny day faded, leaving only his stern face at odds with the passion in his eyes. He wanted her with a wildness that matched the need rippling up and down her limbs, writhing inside to burst free. The tangible force of his wanting her overwhelmed the hope that he felt something more than merely lust. Right now, she didn’t care about love.
A truth burst through her mind, a shocking epiphany. The love she’d had for Devon had been maternal. This driving crave for her present husband she’d only heard and read about. Now, she recognized it as a part of herself, and even more astonishing, the yearning was reciprocated. Asterly desired her as much as she wanted him. Their convenient arrangement had a chance of becoming a true marriage. Passion for each other might one day be more than carnal. She’d been blessed with an unexpected gift, a husband and a lover. But how long would it be this way before he went to another woman?