The Baron's Wife

by Maggi Andersen

  She had dreamed of being in some way completed by a man, but she had never imagined such pleasure as this existed. Leaning back against the pillows, he cradled her buttocks and rocked her against him. On her knees, Laura let all her defenses go. She rose and fell and directed her own pleasure, watching as raw need darkened his gray eyes. Their rhythm increased as she raised her hips to meet each thrust. She was growing close to that exquisite ending she sought when he withdrew. He moved her to the edge of the bed. Her legs cradled against his hips, he drove into her. She was barely aware of her mews of pleasure as he led her to the brink and she toppled over with a cry. Soon, he followed with a groan.

  Nathaniel lay close to her, breathing hard. She rested her head on his chest, her quick breaths filled with the smell of his skin, his maleness mingling with his bergamot cologne, and listened to his slowing heartbeat.

  “I rather like you in a rage.” He propped his head on his hand. “Now tell me what’s made you so unhappy.”

  Her anger had fled as a deep, expansive warmth spread through her. Comfortable in his arms, she’d begun to wonder if she’d been unfair when he’d come home so exhausted. She sleepily talked of inconsequential things, leaving those more important matters for a better time. She could not destroy their closeness with intrusive questions now.

  Her eyelids drooped. Fighting sleep, she tangled her fingers in the tufts of dark hair on his chest. Time might solve many of her concerns, although some did demand answers. Even though she sounded like an unreasonable, jealous woman to utter them. Did he visit Amanda’s room at night? Why did he keep Amanda’s bedchamber just as it had been when she was alive? Had he loved Amanda so desperately that he could never love Laura in the same way? Why did some of the villagers think him a murderer? She bit her lip and hated herself for being a coward, but she dreaded that this newly found closeness would evaporate, perhaps forever, if she learned the truth. Could he have been involved in some way with Amanda’s death? For him to fob her off and attempt to hide the truth from her would be the end. He’d said that one must trust the person they married. And despite everything, she did.

  “None of this would be enough to upset you,” he said.

  She took a deep breath and licked her tender bottom lip, swollen with his kisses. “I want to know the reason behind that urgent letter.”

  “The letter? Is that what this is all about?” He seemed relieved as he rolled off the bed and slipped on his gown. “I’ve been looking for a man who used to work here. He has questions to answer about some stolen property. That’s all.”

  “Who is he?”

  “He was once my head gardener. Theo Mallory.”

  Laura sat up. “But Mr. Mallory is here in Wolfram.”

  Nathaniel looked up from tying the belt of his gown, his eyes wide. “You’ve met him?”

  “He came to see you on the day I telephoned. He’s putting up at The Sail and Anchor.”

  “I could do with a drink. Like one?”

  “No, thank you.”

  Nathaniel disappeared into his room. He came back cradling the crystal tumbler of brandy in his long fingers. “Did you speak to him?”

  “Briefly. I didn’t like him.”

  He scowled. “Was he disrespectful?”

  “I thought he lacked manners.”

  Nathaniel nodded. “That’s Mallory all right. I’ll seek him out tomorrow.”

  “What has been stolen?”

  He took a sip from his glass. “Nothing stolen from here, but goods were hidden in one of the estate cottages.”

  “Why hide them there?”

  “They were smuggled in by sea from across the Channel. I’ve had trouble before.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I didn’t expect it to occur again.”

  “Mallory is behind it?”

  “I suspected he was part of the earlier smuggling attempt several years ago, but the police couldn’t get anything on him. And then he disappeared.”

  Laura’s sleepiness fled. She reached for her gown. “The constabulary will deal with him, won’t they?”

  He threw back the last of the brandy and rose. “They will. It’s late. Go to sleep, sweetheart. I must catch up on some paperwork. I’ll go down to my study.”

  “Do you often work there during the night?”

  “Sometimes. I’m a restless sleeper.”

  Laura wanted to ask him where he’d been on the night she discovered his bedroom empty and a light under Amanda’s door. She hesitated. The evening had begun so badly, but she refused to end it that way. “I hope you sleep tonight, darling. Good night.”

  He feathered a kiss on her lips. “Sleep well.”

  The door closed. Perhaps in time, as they grew to understand each other, any differences and misunderstandings might cease to matter. If he loved her. It would be too painful for her to stay in a loveless marriage, even though her mother would be outraged and would never understand should Laura leave it.

  Laura washed and dried herself by the fire, then donned her nightgown and climbed into bed, pulling the blankets up over her shoulders. She breathed in a blend of Nathaniel’s sharp cologne, her flowery perfume and the heady odor of their lovemaking. Wrapping her arms around the pillow, she admitted she was as able as he to escape her troubled thoughts in lovemaking. Blowing out the candle, she lay in the dark recalling their conversation. Nathaniel would deal with this Mallory, of that she was sure. She yawned. She’d learned very little of what really concerned her but was now too tired to care. Tomorrow, she thought, drifting off to sleep.

  ***

  After breakfast, Nathaniel left with Mr. Pitney to see to estate matters.

  Laura walked with him to the stables and watched as the pair rode away to the home farm, the dogs at their heels. Was Nathaniel going to see Mallory? He hadn’t mentioned the man again.

  Returning to the house, she went downstairs to the kitchen to consult the cook about the weekly menu. It hadn’t appeared on her writing desk in the morning room, which was a cozy chamber she’d appropriated for her correspondence since the weather had turned breezy and cool.

  As she entered the kitchen, everyone came to attention. Laura was pleased to note that it looked orderly and clean. A tasty aroma rose from the oven. She was suddenly aware of the fuss she caused. The scullery maid dropped a pot she was scrubbing into the sink and wiped her face with a soapy hand, her eyes like saucers. A kitchen maid leapt up from destalking a colander full of berries and fell into a stumbling curtsey. The cook, Mrs. Madge, paused with flour up to her elbows and a rolling pin in her hand.

  “Milady.” Mrs. Madge grabbed a towel and hurriedly wiped her hands.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Madge,” Laura said. “I’d like to discuss the menus. It’s his lordship’s birthday in three weeks. We plan a celebration.”

  Having thought it through during the night, she had discussed this with Nathaniel at breakfast. She suggested inviting the vicar and his wife, the two spinster ladies from Thrompton, Misses Parthena and Orpha Fairfax, Cilla, and another couple who lived some miles from the village who were friends of Nathaniel’s she had yet to meet.

  “I don’t know about Cilla,” Nathaniel had said, after approving of her other suggestions.

  “But why not Cilla?” She could not believe it was a matter of class. While Nathaniel’s rank lent him a certain air and consequence, he was never arrogant or snobbish.

  “She may not be comfortable in such company,” he said. “But ask her if you must.”

  “She can always decline.” Laura wanted a friend there, someone she knew.

  “I’ll come right up and bring my receipts,” Mrs. Madge said. She put a hand to her white mobcap, her face lined with more than advancing years, perhaps some unknown sorrow. However, she was an excellent cook and confidently knew it.

  “First, I’d like to inspect the wine cellars,” Laura said.

  Mrs. Madge’s eyes widened. “Oh! As you wish, milady.”

  Laura resisted a smile. Rudge generally pres
ided over the choice of wine, but this was her first dinner party. It was going to be special. Her father had taught her a good deal about wine as she was growing up.

  She followed Mrs. Madge’s black bombazine back along a stone passage and down a short flight of steps. The ceiling lowered and the granite walls seemed to close in. Laura held her skirts up above the damp floor, breathing in the musty air. Beyond the wine cellar, the steps continued down into a black well.

  “Where do they lead to?” Laura asked.

  “The cellars. There’s a door at the very bottom, opens out onto the water’s edge, milady, but it’s a long, damp walk and is seldom used.”

  They entered a cobweb-strewn cavern filled with shelf upon shelf of dusty bottles of wine.

  The young kitchen maid who had been preparing the berries appeared. She clutched her apron. “Mrs. Mallory, what should we do next with the pie?”

  “Leave it, girl,” Mrs. Madge said crossly. “I’ll return in a moment.”

  Laura widened her eyes. “You’re Mrs. Mallory?”

  Mrs. Madge nodded. “I’m not called by that name here. The lass is new from the village.”

  “Are you a relative of Theo Mallory?”

  Mrs. Madge wiped her palms on her apron. “He’s my son.”

  “I met him recently.”

  The cook put her hand to her cap. “He’s a man you can trust, milady. He won’t cause any trouble here.” Her face creased into lines of distress. “He never did.”

  Laura turned away to examine the bottles. “This for the meat courses, this for the fish, and this will be perfect for the dessert wine.” Remembering her father’s elaborate dinner parties, she chose Chambertin Latour champagne. She trailed along the rows and chose another, a sauterne, while dying to question the woman further about her son.

  “I’ll make a note of these, milady. And tell Rudge.” She sounded as though it was the last thing she wanted to do.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Madge.”

  Mrs. Madge shifted her feet and clutched her apron in her hands. “If that’s it, milady, I’d best return to my pie.”

  Laura stood aside for the woman to pass through the doorway. “You must be pleased to see your son again.”

  Mrs. Madge halted, one foot on a step. “He should never have lost his position here. The gossips brought it about, of that I’m fair sure. Vicious they were, saying he was mixed up in that business.”

  “My husband would never act upon gossip, Mrs. Madge.” What business was the cook referring to? Did it concern just the smuggling, or had Nathaniel been jealous of how closely Mallory and Amanda had worked together?

  “Not normally, no. He’s a good man, milady, but…”

  Laura paused at the door. “What is it, Mrs. Madge?”

  “I understand that his lordship was overcome by grief, milady. I fear it affected his judgment. He thought the worst of poor Theo, even though there was no evidence. And my son had to go off to find work elsewhere. A very talented gardener he is too, milady.”

  Mrs. Madge put a hand to her scarlet cheek, apparently realizing the inappropriateness of her comment. “If I don’t get back, that green girl will do something silly, and there’ll be no dessert for luncheon. If you’re finished here, milady?”

  “I am, thank you.”

  “I’ll have that menu up to you in a trice, milady.” Back in her kitchen, Mrs. Madge regained her confidence with a brisk shrug of her shoulders. “I’ll consult Mrs. Beaton’s receipts for suitable dishes for your dinner. But I have some lovely ideas of my own.”

  “I’m sure you do. Thank you, Mrs. Madge.”

  Laura returned to the ground floor thinking there were two different Theo Mallorys: the one Laura had disliked on sight and the one Mrs. Madge thought she knew. But mothers always loved their sons no matter what they did. Laura knew she would be the same. She prayed every night for a baby. Her mother had commented on the lack of news in her last letter. She’d expected a healthy girl like Laura to fall pregnant quickly. Laura sighed. A child would help banish the sadness of Nathaniel’s past. It would be like a new beginning.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Nathaniel rode with Hugh into the village. In The Sail and Anchor tavern, Mallory lay on his bed in his rented room, dressed in a richly patterned dressing gown decorated with yellow dragons. There was a paucity of furniture, just a wooden table and chair on bare boards. The rank smells of unwashed bodies, stale ale and smoke from the tavern below fouled the air. Mallory’s coat and a spare shirt hung neatly on the chair back. A basin, clothes brush, hairbrush and razor were lined up over the table along with an empty tankard.

  A red mist passed over Nathaniel’s eyes at the sight of him, and his hands formed fists at his sides. He steadied himself. His aim was to get this man behind bars and see him hang.

  Mallory rolled off the bed and stood. Running his hands through his hair, his bloodshot eyes flickered to Hugh’s face then back to Nathaniel’s. “Good of you to return my call, Lord Lanyon. I trust you’ve brought my money.”

  “For what?”

  His fingers wrestled with the top button on his shirt. “I was called away before I was paid my wages.”

  The man had gall, he’d give him that. He also had grandiose ideas above his station. But would he have taken a chance and come back if he’d murdered Amanda? It was hard for Nathaniel to dispel his long-held belief that the man had pushed Amanda over the cliff. What else might have caused him to run? Had he been scared off by Amanda’s murderer, suspecting he was next? Or was it fear that one of the gang would give him up to the police? Mallory was certainly scared now. It was in his stiff shoulders and the way he refused to meet Nathaniel’s eyes. He’d gotten the gardening job because of Mrs. Madge, but Nathaniel had never liked the man. Thought the world owed him a living. And he no doubt saw Amanda as a means to better himself.

  It might be two years ago, but recalling the chain of events leading up to Amanda’s death brought it back fresh and stark. After Nathaniel had returned from a trip to London, he suspected Amanda’s relationship with Mallory had progressed to an affair, although she’d denied it. The trauma he suffered as a child because of his parents’ breakup and his mother’s subsequent death, and then his taciturn father who’d ignored his existence, came rushing back. It almost brought him to his knees and left him hopelessly sad, hollow and empty.

  Having wrestled his emotions into some semblance of order, he eyed Mallory coldly. Nathaniel was damned if he knew what Amanda had seen in him. Was it his blond looks? Surely not his oily charm. It surprised him that although he wished to serve bloody justice on this man, he did so without a twinge of jealousy.

  Nathaniel rested his booted foot on the chair and leaned his arms on his knee to distract himself from grabbing Mallory by the scruff of the neck. “Glad to see that you had the good sense to return to Wolfram. You can clear your name of the recent spate of smuggling, if, as you say, you are innocent.”

  “You think that’s why I’m here?” Mallory smoothed back his hair. “I’ve never been involved in smuggling. Not back then and not now. My nose is clean.”

  A man like Mallory would never pass up the opportunity to make money, through good means or bad. “Yet you ran off with your tail between your legs. The sign of a guilty man, wouldn’t you say?”

  Mallory attempted a leer, but it failed to match his watchful eyes. “I didn’t run. I went after a lady I fancied. And now I need money to marry her. Money that you owe me, milord.” He spat it out with another unpleasant smile. “I doubt you’ll want me to spread it about that you don’t pay your staff. Not to those who already think ill of you.”

  “Why you returned is of no interest to me. There are questions you must answer,” Nathaniel said.

  “You will tell the constable all you know or rot in jail until you do,” Hugh said in a rough voice, stepping closer as if about to thump the truth out of him.

  Nathaniel cast Hugh a warning glance. The villagers were ignorant of Mallory’s sordi
d past. Any action they took against him themselves would only make matters worse. “I find it interesting that you’ve turned up at this particular time, however.”

  Mallory shrugged into his coat. “And if I choose to tell the constable to go to the devil?”

  “Then he will find a reason to lock you up until you agree,” Hugh interjected. “We’re close to rounding up the gang. And guilty or not, you’ll be tarred with the same brush. If you don’t come clean with what you know, it could go very badly for you.”

  Mallory swallowed. “I didn’t have anything to do with it, I tell you. I’ve been miles away! But I keep my ear to the ground. If I tell you who’s behind it, will you give me my pay and let me go?”

  “I can’t make any promises. If you’re cleared of any wrongdoing, then yes.” Nathaniel jerked his head toward the door. “We’ll escort you to the police station.”

  Several hours later, he and Hugh left Mallory with the constable. Having spilled all he said he knew, Mallory demanded to be allowed to go about his business.

  “Not a bad day’s work,” Hugh said.

  “Good that we now have the name of the scoundrel running it from London,” Nathaniel said. “Let’s hope next time the local lads will think twice before they get caught up in it.”

  “Once their mates hang.” Hugh glanced at Nathaniel. “Mallory lies with ease; he’s in this up to his neck.”

  “Then it won’t go so well for him, will it?” It was good to hear Hugh thought the same. That Nathaniel’s low opinion of Mallory did not color his judgement.

  “He’s acted to save his own skin. And it’s not the first time.”

  It chilled Nathaniel to admit it, but if Mallory had stayed around after Amanda died, he would have taken matters into his own hands and beaten him within an inch of his life. But then Mallory was gone and it was too late. Time had the advantage of him dealing with this with a cooler head.

  “Want to tell me about it, Your Lordship?” Hugh asked with a sideways glance.

  “I don’t think so, Hugh,” Nathaniel replied, aware he’d fallen into a grim silence. “But I’ll buy you an ale.”