Indigo Moon

by Patricia Rice

  The day improved as they relaxed and sharpened their wits upon each other and the world in general. By the time they returned home from a rather poor performance at the recently rebuilt theater at Covent Garden, Aubree was riding high on a cloud of euphoria produced solely by her companion.

  As the duo came in, laughing and chattering, Aubree’s father stepped from the study. “I take it the performance was a success?” the duke asked when they finally deigned to notice him.

  “On the contrary, Mr. Sheridan tried to disguise a pig as Ophelia and a—”

  Heath hastily interrupted the epithet he had attached to Hamlet. “Suffice it to say we found comedy disguised in a tragedy. Did you wish to see me, sir?”

  The duke’s tired frown relaxed. “Yes, if you don’t mind, Heathmont. I know it’s late, but I have to leave for Norfolk in the morning. There are one or two pieces of business to be settled before I go.”

  Taking Aubree’s hand, Heath bowed over it, blue eyes searching her face as he did so. “You will excuse me, my dear, if I do not follow you immediately?”

  Aubree wanted to giggle at such formality, but understanding how much this might mean to Austin, she curtsied and returned his request with gravity. “I will be waiting for you impatiently, my lord.”

  He smiled at that and watched her up the staircase before turning to his father-in-law. Bowing politely, he murmured, “At your service, sir.”

  Not even attempting to follow this absurd performance, the duke gestured him toward his study.

  Aubree gazed restlessly out her bedroom window, watching the fading moonlight on the garden below. She could not curb the disquieting energy flowing in her veins, making her want more than she could see, more than was there.

  Heath had been the perfect gentleman these past days, not complaining when she moved her bed to the chaise longue or attempting to force his attentions on her in any way. If anything, he had held himself as aloof as she, except in the presence of others, of course.

  It was those disturbing moments when he presented her to the world as a new husband should a wife that kept her pacing restlessly now. Or so she thought. He made an attentive husband, always there to offer her an arm, catch her shawl, or just smile at her conspiratorially at some private jest. Most men barely acknowledged their wives, and she thought he would infinitely prefer the company of men his own age rather than her immature chatter, but he showed no sign of impatience as would many another man. The incongruity of his behavior worried her.

  Aubree clutched her arms beneath her breasts and tried to shut out the memories of those times Heath had held her in his arms and treated her as a man does a woman. He was a man, with a man’s needs, and she was available. She felt certain, given the opportunity, he would take her without thought to his promise or the consequences. That did not mean he thought of her as a wife or woman, or even thought of her at all. He would simply ease his needs and face the consequences on the morrow.

  So it was up to her to see that their agreement was kept or they would end up married, in truth. Unless, of course, she decided this loveless marriage more suitable than loneliness. If she were only old enough, more experienced, she might even make him love her a little, but she had no idea where to begin. After all, she knew very little about him.

  Unable to sleep, she slipped barefoot down the gallery to the stairs, aiming for the library below. A good book might take her mind off nonsensical notions.

  Outside the study, Heath’s raised voice halted her. She caught her name and could not help but linger. Heath seldom raised his voice, but she could hear him plainly now.

  “That is not fair to Aubree, sir,” he exclaimed. “She needs to be given this chance to make her way in society. She is too young to be isolated in a strange place with none of the comforts to which she is accustomed. At the very least, allow her to stay with her aunt until I can make the abbey livable. I cannot take her with me, surely you must see that.”

  Aubree’s heart stopped cold. She retraced her steps without hearing her father’s reply. He meant to be rid of her, already! She had thought they were learning to be friends, that he might even take her as a wife if she encouraged him, but no! He would dump her on friends and relatives and return to his home alone as her father had done. How dare he! He had promised to give her protection until she came into her inheritance, and now he wanted to abandon her to the mockery of all!

  Hurt, humiliated, and enraged at the discovery that Austin wished to be quit of her, Aubree stormed into her room and threw the bolt. Let him find his own chambers this night. Perhaps her father would let him sleep with him, they were such good friends.

  She heard the slam of the door as Heath stormed out into the night, obviously infuriated by her father’s refusal to allow her to remain in London. Tears of anger and self-pity wet her pillow at this knowledge that she was not wanted by either man in her life. And only moments before she had been so confident of her new position as wife!

  Later that evening, Heathmont swayed while contemplating the polished dark wood of the locked door confronting him. In his muddled state, he could remember no reason for this disbarment. He had begun to think of Aubree as his one ally in a hostile world, and now she, too, had turned her back on him.

  Disgruntled by this new turn of events and determined not to lose this battle of wills with both father and daughter, he went in search of a footman.

  With as much dignity as he could muster under the circumstances, he rewarded the silent footman some time later as the bedroom door listed open, pried from its hinges. The footman nodded his thanks and disappeared into the darkness as Heath found his unsteady way through the opening and shoved the door back in place. The humiliation he had suffered at the hands of this domineering family demanded vengeance, but his head was not clear enough to seek a sensible solution.

  Remembering the woman’s arms from which he had just come, he seriously considered returning to them. His former mistress had accepted his purse and his excuses without complaint. He did not think she would be averse to sharing her bed one more time.

  But remembering his reason for severing that relationship, Heath straightened his shoulders. He had been given this one last chance to do things properly. He would begin by teaching his errant wife her duties. He would suffer no further humiliation at a woman’s hands, particularly not those of a spoiled, willful brat.

  Staggering, he lifted his candle to locate Aubree’s sleeping figure on the chaise. He would begin there.

  Successfully negotiating the distance between door and Aubree, Austin blundered against her low-lying bed, knocking his shin and nearly dropping his candle. Swearing, he collapsed on the cushion, his bracing hand coming in contact with something soft and malleable that began to wriggle and scream in surprise.

  At the precarious tilt in which he held it, the candle flame drowned in molten wax and doused the room in darkness. Still cursing, Heath set it aside and hastened to halt the commotion below him. The scent of lilacs guided his movements.

  Aubree squealed and tried to escape his heavy weight, but he trapped her beneath the covers. “You’re drunk!” she screamed.

  Her shouts would bring the whole household running. Fearing he had nothing to lose, Austin quieted them in the only manner that occurred to his sodden brain.

  Aubree raged against him, twisting and turning and beating him with her powerless fists. At the same time, he felt her melting as he pressed hungrily for her response. When at last her hands clung to him rather than repulsing him, Heath felt safe in allowing his kisses to travel farther, to whisper along the line of her jaw and trail over her earlobe to her temple. Painfully aware of the yielding body below him, Austin sought for some easing of his needs, some understanding for his actions. His hand drifted to the tempting swell of her breast, and he gasped as he encountered more flesh than expected. The hideous lawn shift should never have given him this much access.

  When Heath sat up to stare at her incredulously, she freed her trapped
hand and slapped it soundly against his jaw, before fleeing his confinement.

  Shock and fury rocked him. She had run in the wrong direction to escape by the door. He towered between her and any possibility of escape. As he began advancing on her, Aubree snatched a hairbrush from the dresser to wield as weapon.

  “Get out of here, you monster,” she whispered, clutching a sheet around her and threateningly extending her miserable sword.

  “Not until you learn your lesson, brat.” The alcohol had not entirely dissipated from his brain, but his pride could never have reacted in any other way. They had made an agreement, and he would see that she abided by it, willing or no.

  “I’ll scream,” Aubree said as he snatched the brush from her grasp and flung it across the floor.

  “And I’ll silence you the same way I did before.”

  She had backed up against the window seat and could go no farther. Heath stood before her, all his anger and pain shouting for expression as she cowered from him. He reached for the sheet that concealed her, ripping it from her fingers and flinging it aside while his gaze absorbed the lovely form revealed.

  In the moonlight, her skin glimmered like silver above the froth of green silk. She wore the gown he had given her—which she must have donned for his benefit—and Heath felt a fool. He had spoiled everything, again. The last of the alcohol fled, leaving a throbbing ache behind his eyes.

  “You barred the door,” he accused her.

  “You reek of cheap perfume,” she returned curtly.

  Stunned by this observation, having forgotten that brief encounter aeons earlier, Heath hesitated. Golden hair fell in thick waves across her shoulders and down her back, and he longed to wrap his fingers in it, but now was not the time. Never might be the time.

  “Actually, I believe it was very expensive perfume. I certainly paid enough for it.” He walked away, leaving her standing there. Sitting down upon the edge of the bed, he began to remove his shoes.

  “You bastard!” Without bothering to grab for the sheet, she strode toward the door.

  “Touch that door and I’ll come after you so fast you won’t know what hit you, Aubree Elizabeth,” he warned.

  She halted and he threw his coat over a chair and reached for his cravat.

  “You wouldn’t dare!”

  “Wouldn’t dare what, my dear?” he inquired, dropping his cravat atop his coat. “Risk a scene chasing you through the house in our nightclothes? Yes, I’d dare that.”

  Aubree glared at him. “Do you expect me to stay here after you attacked me like that? And while still stinking of another woman’s perfume? You’ve broken your word!”

  Dropping his shirt on the pile of discarded clothing, Heath deliberately advanced in her direction. “We will be fortunate if the whole household does not know you locked me from our chambers this night,” he admonished, halting just before her quivering figure. “Did you expect me to seek a bed in the attics?”

  “I certainly didn’t expect you to seek your mistress’s bed!”

  If his head hadn’t hurt so badly, if he hadn’t been so confused and angry over the night’s events, he might have laughed at this spark of jealousy. Instead, he grabbed her by the waist and hauled her close to him where his hand could travel over silken curves.

  “Are you offering to exchange your favors for hers?”

  His hand located the tempting tilt of her breast and rubbed against the tautening peak.

  Aubree caught her breath at his knowing caress. She leaned against him as his hand taught her the impossibility of resistance.

  “Austin, you promised,” she whispered.

  He drew his hand down between them, touching briefly at her flat stomach and rounded hip before resting near the place where her passions centered. He rubbed at the silk and heard her cry of surprise with satisfaction. She would learn, with time.

  “I owed her some explanation of my desertion, halfling. I broke no promises. Now come to bed before I regret keeping this one.”

  He lifted her easily and carried her to the bed. Aubree glared at him as he joined her between the covers, but he did no more than lie on his back with his hands beneath his head and stare at the canopy. She jumped nervously when he spoke.

  “I gave you my word as a gentleman that I would not touch you, Aubree, but there are times when I forswear any claims to the status of gentleman. Beware that you do not drive me to that, my love.”

  When Aubree woke in the morning, her husband had already departed. Mattie and several of the maids were frantically packing what must have been every trunk in the attic. Aubree peered at them from behind the bed curtains, trying to calm her quaking nerves.

  Just as she gained the courage to step from her bed, Heath stormed the portals like a wayward wind, scattering maids in every direction. His mop of chestnut curls had evidently been trimmed and arranged in some attempt at order, but they still looked modishly disheveled. His tan features contrasted well with his white cravat, but the rough, brown kerseymere coat and fawn-colored riding breeches indicated a lack of elegance more suited to the country. Aubree daringly emerged from behind the curtains.

  Ignoring her dishabille, Heath snapped orders to the maids. Then turning to Mattie, he demanded, “See she is ready within the half-hour. Anything that is left behind you can carry with you on the wagon.”

  Finally acknowledging her presence, he turned an aloof gaze on her. “It is time to go home, my dear. The coach will be waiting at half-past the hour. I would like to make this journey in as short a time as possible. Please be ready when I come for you.”

  With that, he turned on his heel and departed as swiftly as he had come, leaving Aubree staring after him in astonishment. Home? His home? After last night, the thought terrified her.

  She was not given time to think. Mattie whisked her out of her nightclothes and into a traveling dress of dusty blue, embellished with a fall of lace at her throat. The matching pelisse and hat were sent to the door to await her departure while Mattie smoothed her unruly hair into a simple chignon. A few rebellious curls still escaped, but satisfied with the result, Mattie sent her down for a hasty breakfast.

  Before Aubree knew what was happening, her father had kissed her good-bye and Heath was handing her into a new landau emblazoned with his coat of arms and pulled by four matching chestnuts. She did have time to throw him a quizzical glance at this extravagance, and he shrugged.

  “The journey is a long one, and I had no intention of chasing you halfway across the country on horseback. They can easily be resold later.” He fastened the door after her and strode away.

  Maids tumbled out of the house with last-minute packages and instructions. The horses pawed at the dirty cobblestones, while Heath’s stallion reared and protested after his long idleness. Mattie’s capped curls bobbed as she ran up and down the mansion steps, directing the placement of food baskets and comforters and clean sheets should they stop at inns along the way.

  The duke, in his beaver hat and carrying his knobbed walking stick, appeared on the doorstep, but a crowd of clamoring street urchins drove him to his own coach.

  With a cry to the magnificent chestnuts, the landau rolled into the street. Heath’s groom handled the reins and one of the duke’s footmen clung to the back. The wagon carrying luggage, pets, and servants lingered behind. Alongside the carriage, Heath held tight rein on his prancing stallion. Her fingers pressed against the glass, Aubree waved to the servants upon the steps.

  They waved back, aprons clutched to their faces to wipe away tears, even the men dabbing at watery eyelids, long after the carriage disappeared from view.

  BOOK TWO

  * * *

  Things base and vile, holding no quantity,

  Love can transpose to form and dignity.

  Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind,

  And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.

  —Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream

  Chapter 13

  Aubre
e lifted the moth-eaten drapery from the window of Atwood Abbey’s main salon to reveal the desolate expanse of yard and drive leading down to the main highway. Not a single neighbor had ventured up that path since she had arrived a week ago. She watched for some sign of Heath’s arrival from the shipyards in Exeter, but that hope was futile this early in the day.

  She turned away and lifted the disintegrating cover from another piece of rotting furniture. She understood now why her husband had fought to keep her from his home. The once-grand Gothic structure of Atwood Abbey had deteriorated to little more than a ruin after decades of neglect. All the good pieces of furniture, the paintings that once must have adorned the walls, the tapestries, and the candelabra had all been sold to cover mounting debts. The pieces that remained were barely in a state to be used, except for those too large to be moved, such as the massive Jacobean bed in Austin’s chambers. Or his former chambers.

  Aubree stuck her finger in the mouse-gnawed hole of the once-lovely Queen Anne wing chair. Her new mother-in-law had been quite upset when she discovered her son’s intentions of keeping a separate bedchamber for his wife.

  Aubree smiled in remembrance of her first meeting with the incorrigible dowager. Aware of her new position as countess, she had attempted to dress herself with dignity, donning a yellow muslin the dressmaker had assured her was the latest mode. Then she had gone in search of breakfast.

  She found it without too much difficulty by following her nose. The aroma of scorched rashers left a distinctive trail. The sideboard displayed a selection of runny eggs, blackened slivers of meat, and a bowl of something congealed. When Aubree glanced up, Lady Heathmont had stood in the doorway, laughing silently at the expression of distaste on her daughter-in-law’s face.

  “I trust, my girl, that you are well-versed in the manner of running a household. My son is woefully negligent in that department, not entirely of his own fault, I will admit. I recommend the tea and think you may have more luck if you ring for toast. Only Austin could make a meal of that other slop.”