Deceived & Honoured--The Baron's Vexing Wife (#7 Love's Second Chance Series)

by Bree Wolf

  And yet, her eyes glowed with joy, and a sense of peace and accomplishment hung on her smiling features. In short: she looked radiant! More beautiful than he had ever seen her.

  “How do you feel?” he asked as he led her to the trough by the front door of the stable.

  Meeting his eyes, she sighed, a soft smile still playing on her features. “Tired,” she whispered, allowing him to scrub her hands and arms clean. “Happy. Delirious somehow.”

  Derek chuckled, “You’re euphoric. That’s normal.”

  A frown came to her face, and Derek immediately regretted his words. “Are you saying it will pass? That it is not real?”

  “Of course, it’s real,” he assured her. “It’s a powerful emotion. It’s the reward for your bravery.” Tears began to glisten in her eyes as she smiled at him. “Have you never felt it before?”

  Swallowing, Madeline inhaled a trembling breath, a touch of regret in her dark green eyes. Then she shook her head as though to chase away the dark thoughts he had seen in her eyes, and the earlier smile reappeared on her face. “What will you name the filly?”

  “She is not mine to name,” Derek replied, gently brushing his thumb over her bruised hand. “You saved her life. You find a good name for her.”

  As she stared at him, her jaw dropped open a little, and Derek read not only gratitude but also pride in her soft gaze as it drifted back to the box where the mare and her filly had settled down for the night. “Are you sure?” she asked, looking back at him. “Maybe Collin would like to−”

  “She’s yours to name,” Derek insisted, hoping that in the future the filly’s name would always serve as a reminder of what she had done that night, of how she had faced her fear and met it head-on, of how she had succeeded, won, triumphed. Looking at her, Derek knew it was exactly what she needed.

  “Let’s return to the house,” Derek said, taking her other arm and leading her out of the stable. “We need to change out of these clothes.” As the cold night air hit them, Derek wrapped his arm around her shoulders, holding her tight against his body as he guided her to the back entrance of the kitchen.

  Closing the door against the cold, he helped his wife pull off her boots, which they left by the door. Then they headed upstairs. With each step, she seemed to lean more heavily on his arm, and her eyelids occasionally fluttered closed. “You’re exhausted,” Derek observed as he opened the door to her bedchamber.

  “I’m sore,” Madeline gasped as she clenched and unclenched the hand that had pulled the little filly to safety. “My arm feels as though it’s been beaten all night.”

  Derek grinned. “I do believe that’s a fair comparison,” he chuckled, compassion in his eyes as he looked at her. “Wash up and change. I’ll do the same.” He swallowed. “If you want, I have a salve from my days in the field. It should help soothe the ache.”

  Lifting her eyes, she met his gaze. “Thank you.”

  Derek nodded, then stepped back and out of the room. Suddenly, the easy companionship of the night had vanished replaced by a strange shyness as though they were once more strangers.

  Returning to his chamber, Derek changed into dry, clean clothes before retrieving the promised salve from a trunk in the corner. Then he walked up to the door that separated their two chambers and knocked, waiting for her to invite him in.

  Instead, she opened the door herself, stepping back to allow him entry. All the while, her gaze fluttered around the room, rarely meeting his. Derek, too, felt oddly nervous, wondering what tonight had changed.

  “Here.” Holding out the small cream pot to her, Derek inhaled a deep breath, willing his voice not to betray the emotions that warmed his blood. Watching her, he took note of the delicate nightgown concealing her body, her bare feet on the cold floor boards as well as her raven-black hair neatly brushed back, the scent of lavender soap drifting to his nose. Her face shone red as though she had scrubbed it thoroughly…or as though her own emotions boiled as hot as his own.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, her eyes cast down as she took the offered salve. However, as her fingers closed around it, her muscles twitched, and the cream pot would have fallen from her hands had Derek not caught it.

  Shaking her head, Madeline stepped back, staring at her hand as though she did not recognise it as her own. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong.”

  “Don’t worry,” Derek tried to calm her, urging her to sit down on the side of the bed. “Relaxing your muscles after putting such strain on them always shows such a result. It’ll pass.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked, looking up at him with doubtful eyes, her arm resting rather uselessly in her lap.

  “I’m sure,” he confirmed, his gaze darting to the salve in his hands. “If you don’t object,” he began before his voice trailed off as her eyes rose to meet his. For a long while, they simply looked at one another, and Derek could not say what passed between them. However, in that moment, his suggestion−at its core helpful and innocent−seemed more intimate than if he had asked for a kiss.

  As her chest rose and fell with each slightly elevated breath, Madeline remained silent, her gaze everywhere but on him. Could she, too, feel the charge that rested on the air around them? Or was he simply imagining it?

  Whatever the reason for her hesitation, Derek knew that she needed his help. “I never thought you were one to walk away from a challenge,” he smirked, keeping his voice light, teasing.

  In answer, her head rose, and she met his eyes, an amused twinkle in them. “This hardly qualifies as a challenge,” she retorted, a touch of gratitude in her tone for his efforts to lighten the mood and return the ease that had existed between them before.

  “A challenge has many faces,” Derek objected. “However, it is always something that is not easy, that requires courage and the willingness to try.” Holding her gaze, Derek dared her to accept, knowing that she would see it as a weakness to back down.

  “All right,” she finally said, her chin slightly raised before her gaze flickered over her arm where the hint of purple bruises began to show. “I suppose it would be foolish to refuse help no matter who offered it.”

  Opening the lid, Derek grinned, meeting her eyes, noting the touch of mischief in them. “No matter who offered? Is this meant as an insult?”

  “Not at all,” she said smiling.

  “Then what?” he asked, pulling up a chair to sit in front of her.

  Madeline shrugged. “I haven’t made up my mind yet.”

  With a smile on his face, Derek shook his head at her, noting the way her shoulders seemed to relax and feeling his own do the same in answer. However, when his fingers touched her skin, she almost flinched.

  Looking up, Derek met her eyes, dark with meaning. “Did that hurt?” he asked, grasping for something to say.

  “No.” Shaking her head, she kept her gaze firmly on her arm. “It was only cold. That’s all.”

  Setting down the small cream pot, Derek gently held Madeline’s bruised arm in his left hand as he rubbed the salve into her skin with the other, careful not to apply too much pressure. He could feel the warmth of her skin against his own.

  Glancing up at her, he noted that her eyes were almost closed as she inhaled slow breaths, her lower lip caught between her teeth. “Does this hurt?” Derek asked, wondering about the expression on her face. If he had to guess, he would put his money not on pain, but…temptation. “Do you want me to stop?”

  His own breath caught in his throat.

  “No.” Madeline’s eyes flew open, met his and then quickly returned to her bruised arm. “I mean, no, it does not hurt.” She swallowed, then forced her gaze back up, meeting his. “Will it be better in the morning?”

  An apologetic smile on his face, Derek shook his head. “I’m afraid it will be tender for a while. The salve merely soothes the ache, but it cannot take the bruises away.” Standing up, he released her arm, his gaze travelling to the bed. “You should rest. It’s been a long night.”


  Rising to her feet, his wife nodded. “You’re right. I do feel as though I cannot keep my eyes open any longer.” As she turned to lift the covers, a shiver shook her frame, and Derek almost reached out to warm her.

  Instead, he took a step back, watching her pull the blanket tightly around herself as her teeth began to chatter with exhaustion.

  Hesitating for only a moment, Derek turned to the corner where a basket filled with firewood had been placed for the coming winter nights. Although they would need to ration it, he felt that tonight his wife deserved to sleep in a warm room, the dancing flames lulling her to sleep.

  “What are you doing?” her sleepy voice asked from the covers as Derek set to work, stacking the wood and kindling.

  “I thought that was obvious,” he chuckled, once again trying to return to the lighter mood that had existed between them before.

  A soft smile came to her lips as her eyelids closed for a moment. “But I thought you said−”

  “I know,” Derek interrupted, lighting the fire. Standing back, he watched the flames come to life before stepping back up to the bed. “Your muscles need warmth,” he whispered as he looked down at his wife.

  Snuggled into the blanket, she yawned, her eyes closed once more, a deeply satisfied smile still playing on her features. “It feels wonderful,” she mumbled, her voice heavy with sleep. A moment later, she was lost to the world, her breathing even as she sighed into the pillow.

  For a long while, Derek stood next to her bed, wondering about the woman he had married. He had been wrong about so many things, and yet, so had she. Maybe it had been nothing but their own prejudices that had kept them from realising that…

  That what?

  That they were−could be? −a good match, after all?

  Derek did not know, and yet, he hoped.

  From the first moment, he had laid eyes on her, something about her had bewitched him. Had his heart seen something lurking out from underneath her mask that his eyes had failed to recognise?

  Now, he knew that he had misjudged her.

  He could only hope that she thought the same about him.

  Would they have a chance?

  Derek hoped so with all his heart.

  Chapter Twenty-Three − An Invitation Offered and Accepted

  By the time, Madeline’s mind decided to return to the land of the living, morning had already come and gone.

  Pushing herself up, her gaze drifted from the now burnt-out fire in the hearth to the small rays of sunshine drifting in through the gaps in the curtains. From downstairs, faint sounds could be heard, and Madeline knew that everyone was already up, tending to their work.

  Everyone but her.

  Determined to do her share, Madeline jumped out of bed and rushed to the wardrobe in the corner. As she reached out to pull open the door, pain shot through her arm, and she sucked in a sharp breath.

  Slowly, she pulled up her sleeve and gasped at the bluish-purple bruises running up and down her right arm.

  Taking a deep breath, Madeline decided that there was nothing she could do about that. Her husband had told her that it would last for a week or so and that there was nothing she could do to hasten the healing. However, her muscles were merely sore. Apart from that, there was nothing much wrong with her.

  Swallowing, Madeline used her left arm to reach inside her wardrobe and pull out another one of her fancy gowns. Then she turned to the bed and stopped.

  “I’m not that woman anymore,” Madeline whispered as a small smile came to her lips. She would have expected sadness at the loss of her old self. However, at the thought of embracing her new role here at Huntington House, Madeline felt nothing short of excitement.

  Returning the gown to the wardrobe, Madeline finally decided on her simplest riding habit. It would allow her to move and keep her warm in the late October air. Later then, she would ask Kara for help. Maybe her new sister-in-law could help her fashion more adequate clothing.

  With a new sense of purpose, Madeline hastened downstairs into the kitchen, wondering where her husband was. Vividly, she recalled the way his hands had touched her bruised arm, gently rubbing the salve into the skin. At the mere thought of him so close, her breath caught in her throat, and excitement coursed through her veins.

  Could they ever truly be man and wife? She wondered as she recalled the dark intensity in his eyes as he had looked at her last night. Where were they to begin?

  Although they were married−had been married for a few months now−they had fallen into a routine far from that of a married couple. They argued and fought. Still, they spoke openly to each other, and to Madeline’s utter surprise, she had revealed to her husband sides of herself that she had never shared with anyone. But what did that make him? A trusted friend?

  Possibly.

  But not a husband.

  Whenever they were around one another without a distraction−some purpose that set the course−they often seemed skittish, nervous about how to act, and Madeline remembered only too well the lightheadedness that seized her whenever he stood too close. Did he feel the same way about her?

  “Ye look happy, dear,” Bessy observed as Madeline strode into the kitchen. “Are ye planning on riding out?” With a quirked eyebrow, the old woman looked her up and down all the while continuing to knead the dough placed on the workbench in front of her.

  Madeline chuckled. Was it not strange how odd that thought appeared now when it had felt so normal before? In her old life? “No,” she said, brushing her hands over the skirt before pulling on an apron. “I merely chose this because it seems to be the most durable and practical dress I own.”

  Bessy chuckled.

  “Maddie!”

  Turning around at the sound of Collin’s little voice, Madeline smiled. “I’ve asked you to call me Madeline, have I not?” she chided before her gaze narrowed as she took in the paleness of Collin’s skin as well as the glow that seemed to be absent from his blue eyes. Turning her attention to Kara, who held the little rascal a bit oddly clutched in her arms as her belly seemed to be growing by the day, Madeline asked, “How is he?”

  Kara sighed, gently setting the boy down on the bench, then passed him the bowl of porridge Bessy handed to her. “I’m not sure. He seemed to be getting better, but now I don’t know. He still coughs and seems weak, easily fatigued.”

  Madeline stepped closer, feeling a touch of concern for the little boy. “And you?”

  “I’m fine,” Kara replied, her gaze shifting to her son as he absentmindedly poked around his porridge. “I only wish he were, too.”

  “How is Milly?” Collin demanded, craning his little neck to look at Madeline. “Mama said her foal was born last night, and that it’s a little filly.”

  “That’s right,” Madeline replied, a touch of pride in her voice as she spoke. “As far as I know they’re both fine. But they do need a little rest.”

  A delighted smile came to Collin’s face. “Can I see them?”

  “Not now,” Kara objected, sitting down beside him and wrapping her arm around his thin shoulders. “First, you need to get better. So, eat up.”

  Mumbling under his breath, Collin reluctantly plopped a spoonful of porridge in his mouth. “The filly needs a name,” he spoke around the food in his mouth. “I think we should name her Maddie. I like Maddie.” He grinned at them, and half his food fell out of his mouth and onto the floor.

  Madeline smiled, wondering why she was even surprised at such a suggestion. “I’ll think about it.” Maybe if she agreed, he would stop calling her that.

  After Kara ushered Collin back to bed, Madeline turned to Bessy, feeling suddenly self-conscious.

  “What’s on your mind, dear?” Bessy asked, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “Ye look as though you’re about to swallow your tongue.”

  Madeline laughed, “I…Well, I was wondering if you could show me…”

  “Yes?”

  “If you could show me how to…cook and bake…and such.” Feelin
g like the dumbest person in the world, Madeline’s cheeks blushed scarlet red. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why this feels so strange.”

  “Don’t worry,” Bessy laughed, clearly delighted with her daughter-in-law’s request. “I’ve been waitin’ for ye to ask that.” Grabbing Madeline’s chin, she looked at her imploringly. However, her voice sounded rather like that of a commanding officer. “And don’t ye fret about askin’ for help. There’s nothin’ wrong with learnin’ somethin’ new and expandin’ your horizon.”

  Despite being mildly startled, Madeline could not help but smile. “Thank you. I truly appreciate your help.”

  Bessy humphed, then released Madeline’s chin. “As long as we’re askin’ for help,” the old woman continued, a touch of excitement in her eyes, “may I ask somethin’, too?”

  Madeline’s eyes flew open. “Certainly,” she assured her mother-in-law eagerly, dying to know what Bessy felt she needed to learn when the woman herself seemed like competence personified.

  “Would ye mind teachin’ us the waltz?”

  Now, Madeline’s mouth did drop open as she stared at her mother-in-law in utter surprise. “The waltz?” she croaked, wondering if there was something amiss with her hearing.

  A grin on her face, Bessy shrugged. “I’ve only heard it talked of, but Kara tells me it looks as though people are floatin’ on air.”

  Madeline frowned. “Kara?” Where would her sister-in-law have seen someone dance the waltz? After all, Madeline was certain that Huntington House had not seen a ball since the new baron and his family had taken up residence here.

  “Did Derek not tell ye?” Bessy frowned, forming the dough into a loaf before putting it in the oven. “Kara used to work for a titled family in town as a maid. When she was young, she got it into her head to marry a rich, young man and become a duchess or such.” Bessy chuckled, and yet, there was a touch of regret in the way she looked at Madeline. “I guess she thought of herself as the little cinder girl, waiting for her prince charming, and when he didn’t show, she was determined to seek him out.” Bessy shrugged, a meaningful sigh leaving her lips. “Would ye teach us? I’m certain Kara would love it.”