He urged his mount down a side lane and toward the pond. The day was hotter than Hades. They both needed to cool off, and he knew just the place to do it. Memories of last night’s bath danced in his mind as one of the best moments of his appalling life.
“We must keep having this argument until you listen,” she cried in anguish. “It does not matter how it happened—I am the catalyst! My chart is littered with danger. I simply cannot do this to your family. I cannot!”
“Because you’ve grown fond of them?” he asked skeptically. “That’s not possible. They’re an ornery lot of useless thugs, including me.” Reaching the pond, he swung off and lifted her down.
“Do you mean to dunk me to see if I’m a witch?” she asked in confusion, taking in the pastoral setting of willows and sun-flecked water.
“Excellent thought.” Theo removed her scarf and flung it over a laurel, then swung her around to start on her confounded hooks. “But if you drown, I drown with you. We’re in this together.”
She grabbed at her bodice and attempted to struggle out of his hold. “We are not! What are you doing? I can’t swim!”
“Of course you can’t. I’ll teach you if you like. But it’s shallow on this end. We’re going to cool off and let the madness die down before we go back to the Hall. And then you’ll plan our wedding. I am not listening to any more daft warnings.” After loosening her hooks, he yanked off his coat with the precious piece of paper inside, deliberately folding the coat and hiding it under the laurel.
A scientist learned to think through a problem and come up with a detailed solution. He could do this, one step at a time. Seduce the lady seemed the next logical step.
“My warnings are not daft! Hugh could have been blinded!” she shouted, as if he were deaf and not just stubborn and selfish.
“Duncan could have married Margaret,” Theo countered senselessly.
He slid Aster’s sleeves off her shoulders when she did not undress as requested. She had beautiful shoulders, all soft and creamy. And then there was her splendid bosom, rounded like full moons above her chemise. He could just look at her and be a happy man. Well, for a while. Looking and not touching would quickly make a starving wolf of him.
“Duncan marrying Margaret would not necessarily be a disaster.” She translated his senseless remark while trying to return her bodice where it belonged. “I need time to think!”
The pins had loosened from her hair, and copper curls sprang every which way. She brushed one from her eyes, and Theo took the opportunity to yank a sleeve entirely off her arm.
He appreciated the fact that she understood him well enough to follow his inadequate communication. “You don’t need time to realize that you leaving us would be a disaster,” he countered. “Life is messy. Things happen. Learn to take them as they come. Tomorrow, the moon might fall into the sun. You cannot live in constant fear.”
“Yes, I can,” she whispered as he pulled her closer to push off her other sleeve. She leaned into him, and her tears dampened his linen. “My baby sister was recovering from fever. I just wanted to make her feel better when she grew restless, so I picked her up to soothe her. And she died, right there in my arms. I wanted so much to make her well, and I killed her!
“And then, after the funeral, I climbed into a carriage with my little brother and sisters to keep them entertained. And the horses spooked and ran for a cliff! Our driver saved us, but the children were all bruised and shaken. My father’s only heir broke his arm! It could have been so much worse. You have to understand,” she pleaded. “Even Uranus cannot change my disastrous chart in the family sector.”
Theo gathered her up and sat down on the stile with his goddess in his lap. “My mother died when I was five. We had an older sister who died of influenza when she was a baby. My father lost fingers in a yachting accident. Duncan is blind—and it’s not because you told him so. You are not to blame. The stars and the planets aren’t to blame. And if you try to tell me this faradiddle one more time, I shall fling you in the pond and refuse to listen ever again. Do you understand?”
“You’re not listening now,” she muttered against his chest.
“I know,” he said in satisfaction. “I’m doing now. I’ll listen later.”
With that, he finally kissed her.
Twenty-three
All families suffer tragedy. Aster attempted to grasp what Theo was telling her while he was kissing her—not the best time to try to organize her confused thoughts. The accidents didn’t have to be her fault?
He nibbled her lips, and her heart raced faster.
Her baby sister had died—just as his has.
His tongue played a seductive game until she parted her lips and allowed him entrance. She inhaled the ale he’d been drinking and the musky scent of sweaty male, and her insides tightened in expectation.
Desperately, she tried to recover her train of thought.
Did she dare believe that maybe the chart meant someone she loved was in danger—but she wasn’t necessarily that danger?
Theo caressed her breast, and she nearly expired of lust. Despite her throbbing jaw reminding her of the jeopardy she placed them all in, Theo’s caresses made taking life’s risks seem so sensible, so possible . . . She couldn’t think while he was kissing her like this.
She slammed her hands against his broad shoulders, shoving him off balance just enough to escape from his lap. “If it’s not me,” she said curtly, “and I am free to marry anyone I choose, then I should find a man who treats me with respect.” She yanked her gown up and reached behind her to pull together what hooks she could reach.
Lord Theophilus Ives, scientist extraordinaire, sat there, stunned. And speechless, but that was not unusual for him.
Stupidly, she almost wept at his loss . . . and hers. They really were perfect for each other in so many ways. But not in the ones that truly counted. Her family was right.
They didn’t love each other. He clearly did not respect who she was. He didn’t even seem to respect himself most days. They would drift apart the instant the lust wore off.
Trying not to see the desperate man beneath Theo’s towering rage, she dug in her hair for any remaining pins and began pulling it tight. “I want to go home. I want my cats. They at least accept me as I am.”
It was almost like hitting a man when he was down—if he was not so much bigger than she and so very certain of himself.
Stiffly, eyeing her as if she might shift into a dragon at any moment, Theo yanked on his coat. “I accept you as you are,” he said with an unusual degree of caution.
“If you did, you would be introducing me to the Astronomical Society and pointing out to them that through the positions of the planets, I have predicted everything from the weather to our disastrous family connections. You would accept that I know things that you do not. Just because I cannot always predict my own chart perfectly does not mean I am not good at what I do.”
“They will not listen,” he argued. “I am saving you from humiliation.”
“Say you,” she said with scorn. “Isn’t that something I should be allowed to decide? Do you mean to haul me around for the rest of our lives whenever you don’t agree with me? Or do I have permission to think for myself upon occasion?”
She had no idea where these words came from. She terrified herself by saying them. She felt as if she were ripping her heart out and handing it to him.
Not that his lordship understood that. He looked thunderous. He visibly struggled—probably to prevent heaving her over his shoulder again. Finally, he gave a curt nod. “Fine. I shall escort you back to London. I will speak with Herschel about having you present at the next meeting. And I will send a note to the bloody damned vicar that he need not officiate our wedding in the morning.”
He sounded as if he’d just agreed to stand before a firing squad.
***
Women were a calamitous, illogical, impossible solution to anything, Theo concluded—without objectivity. His mind
was a stew of confusion and fury and . . . He wasn’t certain what that other scream in his head meant except maybe anguish at losing something precious that he really wanted.
What she wanted was a man who would accept her as she was. What the devil did that mean? He accepted her! She was the witchy general who would command his unruly troops, then warm his bed at night. Wasn’t that what they’d agreed?
They had, until he’d told her that she wasn’t to blame for harming family. Where had that gone wrong? He ought to be like Erran and quit talking. Life was simpler that way. He didn’t know what he was saying half the time anyway.
“Herschel and the other old men in the Society will shatter your zodiac with mathematics,” he argued aloud. “Then you’ll hate me for doing what you asked me to do!” He’d known better than to deal with hysterical females.
“That’s my problem, not yours,” she argued. “Let me down from this animal!”
Even though Theo knew Aster deserved a man who didn’t have all his problems, he still couldn’t let her go. He couldn’t explain his irrational decision to carry on with the wedding. It wasn’t because he was so honorable that he thought they should marry because he’d ruined her reputation. He was simply smart enough to know that if he let this miraculous woman go, he’d never find a better one.
“We have to return to the house for a gig and the horse is faster than walking,” he muttered. “Maybe I should kidnap you like some medieval villain. A tower would be helpful. We have one in Wystan.”
Her protest over the horse and his irascible musings ended the moment they rode up to the house to discover an unusual number of horses and a carriage in front. “I think we should leave for Gretna Green,” he warned.
***
Now that she’d quit dithering and taken a stand, Aster didn’t want to be tossed back into the turmoil of deciding right from wrong, up from down. She didn’t want to think at all.
Seeing the carriages, she found Theo’s suggestion of Gretna Greene to almost be appealing—except she wasn’t going anywhere with him. She was still angry, although she hadn’t quite clarified why. “You should have let me go to London,” she corrected. Eyeing the unfamiliar carriages, she added considerately, “And you should have come with us.”
“Is it too late?” he asked, even as the front door swung open and dogs poured into the fading sunlight.
“Father is threatening to cut off heads again!” Hartley shouted from the porch. “Hurry!”
The marquess had come downstairs?
Under those extraordinary circumstances, Aster didn’t protest as Theo swung her to the ground. Picking up her skirts, she raced after him to the open door.
Inside, a small crowd greeted their disheveled arrival. Confronted with a lady in an elegant carriage gown, a gentleman in tailored coat, and Mr. Browne, the steward, as well as Erran, Jacques, and Hartley plus a scattering of footmen and maids, Aster considered turning around and running back out again. They all stared at her unfastened attire and bedraggled hair and struggled not to look shocked.
“What the devil is this about?” Theo thundered, uncaring of appearances, as usual. Aster pinched his elbow to remind him of introductions. He performed a cursory bow for the guests and offered his version of etiquette. “Margaret, Sir George, Lady Aster.”
Oh, dear, these were Theo’s neighbors—hers, should she be so irrational as to wed an Ives.
Besides being beautiful, Ashford’s ex-fiancée appeared calm, collected, and haughty. Sir George looked like a portly, grumpy squire, snapping his riding crop against his tall boots. They did not look very friendly.
Aster dipped a hurried curtsy, painfully aware of her rumpled, dusty travel gown. She needed to change before she dealt with whatever problem had arisen now.
If the son of a marquess could dismiss common courtesy, then so could she. “You’ll forgive me if I run upstairs to right myself. I shall be right back down.”
With ingrained hospitality, she gestured at one of her new maids. “Bring tea to the parlor for our guests, please.”
Then, without waiting for explanations, she dashed up the stairs, feeling her face turning red enough to conceal any bruising.
She was not married yet. She had just cast aside any claim to a position in the household. With her chaperone gone, she was in a very precarious position—and the marquess stood scowling in the intersection blocking access to her room.
Ashford or his valet had tugged on his coat but not his neckcloth. He wore slippers and not boots. But his ferocious expression would blind all onlookers if he went downstairs now.
“Who’s there?” he barked.
“Just me, my lord. If you would shift a little to your left, I’ll be out of your way. I’m not dressed to meet your guests. Don’t cut off any heads, please, until Theo can find out what’s wrong.”
She thought a smile tugged at his grim lips, but she wasn’t in any humor for Ives eccentricity.
“Good, Theo can cut off their heads. I’ll not have them accusing my steward of any wrongdoing if it’s that witch Maeve who is causing trouble. I should have flung her off the property long since. Hugh is asking after you. Go reassure him.”
He stalked back to his chamber with his hand against the wall. Aster winced and bit her lip as he whacked a statue of Pan in a niche. He merely halted, felt around a bit, then deliberately knocked off the riding cap adorning the imp and continued on.
The twins! How could she have forgotten them? She hurried to their chamber and peered in. “I have to save your uncle from beheading,” she informed the boy in the bed. “Do I need to send Hartley up?”
“Lady Aster!” Hugh cried in relief. “I thought you’d run away. May I get up now? It’s very boring lying about in bed.”
Unable to tell him that she meant to flee, she studied the raw redness of the abrasion and swelling bruise on his poor face. She truly wanted to believe this would have happened whether she’d been around or not, but she was pretty certain that ordering the pail of water had been the trigger to the rock throwing.
But maybe . . . maybe that was just human error? And not the fault of fate or the planets or anything else? How did she sort one from the other?
“Boring is good,” she said, entering the chamber to dip a cloth in the basin of cold water beside the bed while she fretted over what was best for herself as well as this family. She applied the compress to the swelling and made him hold it. “Boring is safe. Be boring for just a little while longer. Give me time to clean up, and I’ll send Hartley to entertain you with tall tales of mighty mice.”
“Mighty mice?” he called after her, but Aster was already hurrying off.
She came from a very long line of women who went their own way. She could return to London and confront the Society and live down the gossip about her reputation. It would be awkward but not impossible. The question became—what did she want most?
And what she wanted most—she swallowed a large lump—was Theo. She wanted a family and babies and a man who believed in her. It was that last part that remained uncertain. He wanted her. He needed her. Those things, she understood. How could she make him accept that she had an unusual gift when he wouldn’t even listen?
She had to make Theo and his family and his daunting neighbors downstairs understand and appreciate her family’s wayward tendencies. If she really, actually, meant to marry and live here . . .
That probably meant she was insane. But she must start as she meant to go on. Looking around her bare chamber in horror, she thought she might be meant to go on as a ragged hoyden. Her sister had taken her clothes back to London.
She ran from room to room, scavenging sufficient pins to shove in her hair, even if it curled in wisps every which way for lack of a brush. She adjusted her scarf to cover her wrinkled bodice. Sartorial disaster was not the sort of thing she looked for in her charts.
By the time she sailed down the stairs again, the grand rotunda was empty, and she slowed to listen for gunshots or screami
ng. Loud male voices roared from the rear office. Surely the very proper-looking Miss Caldwell would not join the men. Aster glanced at her confused footman, who indicated the drawing room door.
“Very good,” she assured him as he opened the door for her. She still had servants to train. She must remember her goals and weigh them against potential disasters. Wouldn’t the poor people in the workhouse suffer disaster if she didn’t train them?
Donning the casual authority of the earl’s daughter that she was, Aster swept into the drawing room as if she owned it. Her petticoats were too limp to rustle. Her traveling gown was too stiff for elegance. All she had was attitude, and though she seldom wielded it, as an earl’s eldest daughter, she knew how.
“Miss Caldwell, we have not been properly introduced.”
Aster held out her hand and waited for the baronet’s daughter to stand and acknowledge her. She could tell it grated on her guest—who had probably been lording it over country society for years—but Aster wasn’t feeling friendly to a woman who would abandon her betrothed when he most needed her—
As she meant to abandon Theo. She tried not to wince at that realization.
Jacques stopped pacing the hearth at Aster’s entrance and bowed. “Lady Azenor, our neighbor, Miss Margaret Caldwell. Maggie, this is Theo’s betrothed. Or I think they’re still betrothed. I don’t keep score well.”
Aster sighed. “One of these days, I will teach the lot of you proper manners. Until then, would you fetch Hartley and send him up to Hugh, please? And I think the marquess has been diverted from beheading, but you might want to go up and see what he has to say about the widow who struck the boy. I doubt that Theo knows her.”
“Maeve claims she was only defending herself,” Miss Caldwell declared. “You and Mr. Browne have no right to throw her out of her home. We’ve settled her into a cottage on our place and have come for her cow.”
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