“Lord Killarnon, you really did not have to concern yourself about me. I will be quite fine in the morning.”
“You are of great concern to me, my dear. I have watched your father’s neglect of you with sadness, but he is an unhappy man, and I did not interfere. But now I see you without your young husband, and cannot help but offer you my sympathy. So often these things do not work out, but you must learn to make the best of them.”
His hand stroked her hair, and he sat uncomfortably close, but Aubree found nothing wrong in this. Here was a friend who would listen to her plight and perhaps explain what best she ought to do. If only she knew where to begin.
“I am honored by your thoughts, sir, and I would be most grateful for your advice. Could you arrange some time when we might speak alone in the morning?” she inquired.
Killarnon chuckled. “You have so much to learn, young one. Let me teach you.”
His head bent to sample her lips, and his hand tightened its grip on her shoulders as he pressed her closer.
The shock of this embrace held Aubree momentarily frozen, but she recovered quickly. Jerking her head away, she shoved at his chest. “Sir! I am a married woman!” She struggled to elude his entrapping hands but Killarnon held her firmly.
He smiled and stroked her jaw. “I know, my dear, that makes you free to enjoy your pleasures where you find them. Don’t you see?”
His grip was relentless as he tasted of her lips again, holding her head so she could not escape him. Only moments before, Aubree had been longing for a man’s arms around her, but her stomach churned at this corruption of her dreams. She twisted her head away, but now his knowledgeable fingers encroached upon her breast.
She opened her mouth to scream, but he pushed her back among the comforters, smothering her with his kisses.
“Do not cry out, dear one. The scandal would only reach your husband’s ears and delight the gossips. Relax, and let me show you how good I can be to you.”
He groped at her bodice and the touch of his scaly fingers gave Aubree the strength to shove him away and roll out from beneath his clutches.
She flew toward the door, but her bare toes caught in the loose rug, and she started to tumble.
Strong arms caught her up, and she found herself pressed full length against Killarnon’s barely clothed body. As his hand pulled aside her bodice, she screamed.
Chapter 34
The bay stallion carried its weary rider to the grove of trees opening onto the great lawns of the mansion ahead. Both horse and rider had reached exhaustion after covering the frozen ground of the width of England in less time than either had ever attempted. The damp cold of the night air was scarcely noticeable through the heat of their sweating bodies.
Heath gazed in consternation at the brick walls rising from sculptured grounds. Killarnon’s country house was of recent vintage, with none of the charm of the older estates. Its raw walls sported no sturdy vines or protective shrubbery. Only one sturdy oak remained of the forest that had once existed here.
The blank rows of symmetrical windows presented a problem. Heath had no idea which one concealed his wife. He could not even throw pebbles to attract her attention. That left only one alternative.
Glancing down at his rumpled, sweat-stained clothes, he wondered what the butler would say when he pounded upon the doors demanding entrance. He would most likely send for the local constabulary, particularly since it seemed the household had retired for the night.
Given no other choice, Heath marched up the lawn, favoring his weaker leg. The thought of that decrepit old man holding Aubree in his arms gave him the strength to move mountains. He would dismantle the place brick by brick to reach her.
The scream that split the air caused his heart to lurch and sent him scrambling in the direction of the side of the house. He did not need to guess the source of the scream. In his state of mind, there could be only one. And it came from one of the rooms shaded by the old oak tree.
Holding her tight against his length, Killarnon forced Aubree’s head back and muffled her screams with the thrust of his tongue. His rapacious fingers found the soft peak of her breast and played it with skill. He displayed experience in taming skittish females.
Aubree fought not only Killarnon’s invading hands, but her own nausea, and she was losing both battles. The bodice of her gown slipped downward beneath nimble fingers. The heat of his breath moved from her mouth to her throat, and the remains of her dinner surged upward in a river of burning bile.
Heath chose that moment to kick his boot through the paned window. He had watched Aubree’s struggles with fury as he climbed to the end of the tree branch. He was fully prepared to murder her molester with his bare hands. The sight that greeted him as he entered the room presented a different predicament.
Killarnon stepped away from his victim in disgust, giving Aubree the opportunity to run to the chamber pot. The sound of her retching provided the background music to Heath’s entrance, and Killarnon scarcely lifted an eyebrow in surprise. He merely glanced down at his ruined robe and back to the furious earl.
“It seems the lady bears your brat.” He spoke with repugnance, eyeing Heath coldly. “I ought to make you pay for that damned window.”
Weary to the bone, wrung dry of emotion, Heath contemplated his antagonist with icy cynicism. “I ought to make you pay for my damned wife.”
Killarnon shrugged, his gaze taking in Heath’s more muscled shoulders and knotted fists. He knew better than to argue. He nodded toward the anxious voices in the corridor. “Call me out and your wife’s name will be on the tongue of every gossip-monger in the city.”
The sound of retching had ceased, and out of the corner of his eye, Heath could see his wife rising to the washbasin. Curtly, he ordered, “Leave us.”
Killarnon departed. From the bedchamber, the occupants could hear him reassuring his guests that the lady had been taken ill, and the murmur of voices drifted away.
Unable to assimilate all his thoughts, Heath turned his attention to Aubree. She had stripped off her nightclothes and now scrubbed at satin flesh with lilac-scented lather. Remembering Killarnon’s comment, Heath traced his gaze along her lovely contours for an indication of motherhood, but none came to his eye. In the flickering candlelight, her breasts seemed fuller, heavier perhaps, as she leaned over the basin, but it had been two months since he had seen her like this. His memory and his wishful thinking could easily lead him astray. The hollow between her hipbones seemed rounder, and even in his weariness, his loins responded hungrily to the image, but that was no proof. A child. He had not even given the possibility a thought.
Heath rummaged through dresser drawers until he found a fresh gown. He lay it on the bed beside her, removed the chamber pot to the corridor, and stuffed the broken window with spare blankets. Then he began to doff his soiled clothing.
Aubree buttoned her shift and said nothing as he approached the washbowl. Shivering, she climbed beneath the covers while Heath soaped at his skin. Bronzed flesh gleamed with moisture in the candlelight, and the ripple of muscle beneath his skin took her breath away. She watched with fascination as a soapy rivulet ran through the dark curls of his chest while he dried his back, but he caught it with the linen towel before it trickled below his belt.
He blew out the candle, finished undressing, and climbed into bed beside her. All the wrongs he had ever committed came to mind, and Aubree darted from beneath the covers on the other side of the bed.
“Aubree, don’t be a fool. Come back to bed,” he ordered wearily.
“Not while you’re in it,” she said, retreating to the settee beside the fire.
“I have been on horseback for nigh on to two days, and I’m not about to sleep on the floor. I’ll be a hell of a lot safer bed companion than Killarnon.”
Aubree dragged a blanket and pillow to the settee and arranged them around her, stubbornly refusing to reply.
“You cannot continue to behave like a spoiled brat if yo
u’re carrying a child, Aubree. Get up from there before I must drag you back.” He had his eyes closed and one arm thrown over them, but she set her expression mutinously.
“Child! What child? Do you think in your enormous conceit that you have fathered a child after those few nights together?” Aubree scoffed. “You may forget your hopes of an heir, milord. I’ll not give you the opportunity to try again.”
Amazed by his silence after her challenge, Aubree waited for some reaction. After many anxious minutes, her worries dissolved at a light snore from the bed. She punched the uncomfortable pillow and curled up on the cushions and slept.
Heath woke in the middle of the night, his muscles cramped and aching, and tried to orient himself. Memory returned at the sound of light breathing across the room. The fire had gone out and the room had grown cold with the chill from the broken window. He stalked naked across the room.
Without disturbing Aubree’s sleep, he lifted her from the settee and carried her to bed. He’d be damned if he’d let the stubborn chit take pneumonia rather than sleep in his bed. His hand brushed her cropped curls, and he fell promptly to sleep cradling her in the curve of his body.
Aubree woke in the morning to the pangs of hunger and the heat of a man’s body at her back. She knew Heath’s hold too well, and fury and tears mixed in her heart. Rolling free from his grasp, she snatched the pillow from under his head and beat him roundly with it until he raised a hand in sleepy self-defense.
“You beast! You great, unnatural beast! How dare you! Get out of my bed! Get out of my life! Begone with you!”
Bemused, Heath unfolded himself slowly. He lifted the pillow beside him and wielded it sleepily for a shield as he rolled from the mattress. “You want me to leave you with Killarnon?” He yawned.
A hail of pillows and clothing greeted this inanity. “What makes you think you can send me away and then climb in my window and start all over again? Who do you think you are?” Aubree vented weeks of pent-up wrath. Still holding the pillow, she pummeled his head and shoulders as he approached.
He countered her blows with his own feathered shield. “Aubree, if you would only calm down, I could explain everything.”
“Explain? I worry myself half into the grave over your worthless carcass, and you turn me away like a servant girl you’ve tired of! Don’t explain, cloth-head! Depart!”
Heath swiped harder at the bag of feathers nipping at his shoulders like a buzzing gnat. A corner of his pillow burst as it hit the bed, and feathers sprayed into the air.
“I’m your husband, Aubree Elizabeth, and I’ll damned well depart when I’ve a mind to! You’re the pea-goose who got tangled up with that rake Killarnon in the first place. If you haven’t any more sense than that, I’ll be damned if I’ll let you out of my sight again,” he roared.
Both pillows had come loose at the seams and the air was filling with a snowstorm of white goose down. They found no purchase on Heath’s bare flesh but clung to his tousled dark hair and settled in drifts upon Aubree’s golden curls and lawn gown.
“If you hadn’t sent me to London in the first place, I would never have met the cad. Don’t preach to me, Austin Atwood! Get out of my room before I scream the house down.”
Since that was exactly what she was doing, and looking extremely ridiculous while she did it, this statement struck Heath as immensely funny. He nearly doubled up with laughter until she hit him broadside with her pillow, sending him crashing to the floor. Still chuckling, he rose and grabbed another pillow. With glee, he boxed her ears soundly with his feathered weapons, disturbing settled drifts into a blizzard. Aubree screeched in outrage and renewed her attack.
A crowd began to gather in the corridor outside. The shrieks and curses muffled only by a paneled door would have attracted attention in any proper household, but the fact that they came from the room of the Countess of Heathmont doubled their curiosity.
Door after door along the corridor opened as the noise disturbed the other sleeping occupants. The small crowd whispered among themselves, the women in shocked, delighted tones, the men with concerned cowardice. Someone ought to interfere; it sounded as if they were coming to blows.
One of the other maids warned Matilda, and she hurried down the back stairs from the attic. Recognizing Heath’s voice, she clasped and unclasped her hands. She had been taught never to disturb her master and mistress when they were together, and rightly so, but never before had they railed at each other like this.
“Damned if that don’t sound like Heathmont,” one gentleman murmured after one loud male outburst. “We ought to come to the lady’s rescue if he’s up to his old tricks.”
A general agreement murmured through the crowd. Mattie hid her irritation and eased into a position at the front of the crowd. She could scarcely be blamed if the gentry intruded, but she could certainly block their views with her broad frame.
One brave gentleman grasped the latch and swung open the door, revealing the Earl of Heathmont, clad only in his birthday suit, swinging his deflated pillow ineffectively against the irate blows of his slender countess. Even as they watched, Aubree’s pillow split to send a snowstorm whirling about her husband’s head.
A drift of feathers blew across the floor in the draft from the open door, and Heath turned to give his audience a lazy lift of his eyebrow. He greeted the maid nonchalantly.
“Good morning, Mattie. Tell the others we’ll be down directly, and close the door behind you, there’s a good girl.”
Aubree dropped her pillow at Mattie’s entrance. Now she watched the closing door with consternation, until laughter rose in her throat. She gave her husband’s long, lanky, and very naked frame a glance, and giggles erupted like effervescent champagne.
The sound was balm to his soul and Heath bathed in its beauty. His gaze rested warily on his wife’s golden-cropped head. “Does this mean we can kiss and make up?”
Aubree held her mouth to contain her laughter, but she freed it long enough to reply, “Certainly not,” before erupting again.
“Right,” he agreed. Snatching up a sheet, he wrapped it around himself and hollered at the closed door. “Mattie, if you’re still there, you can come in now.”
Hesitantly, the stout maid peered around the door’s edge. The room seemed to have been hit by an early snow, but at least the earl had garbed himself, and Lady Aubree seemed her normal, cheerful self. Matilda entered cautiously and awaited her orders, leaving the crowd to dissipate in disappointment.
“Has John arrived yet, Mattie?” Heath roamed about the room, snatching up his strewn clothing.
“Just this past hour, milord,” Mattie acknowledged.
“Ask him to purloin some clean linen for me, then he can sleep it off and meet up with us later. And if you would, Mattie, see if anything can be done with these. I didn’t come attired for a formal visit.” He handed her his travel-stained garments.
“Yes, milord.” Mattie bobbed a curtsy and hastened to do as commanded.
Aubree stared after her traitorous maid with astonishment. “Anyone would think she was in your employ instead of mine.”
“Isn’t she?” he asked cryptically, searching the washstand for anything that might resemble shaving accoutrements.
“With my money!” Aubree replied indignantly.
Heath lifted an eyebrow. “Is that where your protest lies?”
“You know that is only part of it.” Huffily, she threw open the wardrobe to inspect the gowns Mattie had so carefully pressed the day before.
“You had best choose a traveling gown,” he warned. “We are leaving for Southridge as soon as we break our fast.”
Aubree defiantly contemplated a dainty confection of primrose silk and lace, but common sense overruled. She had no desire to stay in this abominable place. Heath would most likely make her travel in whatever she wore, and she would freeze to death. She might desire to murder him, but she held no such death wish for herself. She chose a sensible merino of rich gold with which she co
uld wear the perky bonnet with the dashing feather. He would look like a country squire next to such extravagance.
Mattie reappeared in time to help her dress. She carried laundered linen for Austin and a newly pressed coat and breeches. Respectably clad at last, Heath swept his gaze approvingly over his wife’s attire. The soft wool bodice molded to high, firm curves, but the high neckline prevented any glimpse of the temptation beneath. If he could not touch, no one else could even look, he thought with satisfaction. The golden tresses curling about her face and throat accentuated her innocent features, but there was nothing innocent in the way she glared at him.
Chuckling, he touched a hand to her curls. “I like your hair that way. I can see your face better, and it makes your eyes bigger.”
Bewildered, Aubree stood rooted to the spot as he opened the door to escort her out. She had wanted to make him angry, to hurt him as he had her, but he accepted all her slings and arrows with patience and even admiration. She didn’t know whether to be furious or suspicious.
He offered his arm, and warily, Aubree accepted it. They had an audience to play for and it would be easier to play it this way. With her husband at her side, she could move through the whispers and stares with self-assurance and composure. His strong arm beneath her fingers gave her all the strength she needed.
Below, as Aubree had feared, many of the guests had gathered in anticipation. Heath greeted each by name, a mocking smile on his lips for the prepared quips on the morning’s joust.
“Yes, I recommend it highly,” he drawled in reply to one such jest. “Always beat your wife with a pillow. Entertaining, educational, and decidedly beneficial. Isn’t that so, my dear?” He cocked his head in Aubree’s direction.
Indigo Moon Page 33