My Enemy, My Heart (The Ashford Chronicles)

by Laurie Alice Eakes

  Deirdre continued to stare throughout Lady Tyne’s brief explanation. When her ladyship fell silent, Deirdre shook her head, wincing at the unfamiliar curls brushing against her face. “I can’t use a title. I’m an American.”

  “My dear.” Phoebe looked grave. “You are English now. You have to use the title. We can’t toss them away or give them away at will.”

  “It seems like treachery.”

  Lady Tyne looked Deirdre in the eye and all the softness left her face. “For you not to use the title could be construed as treachery, and the last thing any of us needs is another scandal.” An edge to her voice added to the illusion of her face hardening to stone. “My family has been hurt enough this past year. I will not allow anyone to be hurt again. Do you understand, Lady Ripon?”

  Deirdre understood. Lady Phoebe Tyne might be as fragile-looking as sea foam, but her core was razor-edged steel. If harm threatened her family, she would fight to the death.

  Deirdre understood the sentiment. She felt the same way about her family, the crew. Yet now the Ashfords were her family as well.

  “I understand,” she said.

  Lady Tyne smiled, and the gentleness returned. “Then we will get along just fine. Shall we go?”

  Lady Tyne led the way down two corridors and a half flight of steps to a smaller, warmer room in reds and gold. The two gentlemen rose at their entrance, and Kieran strode forward, devouring Deirdre with his eyes, his look assuring her she wouldn’t be alone in that big bed. But she just might strangle him afterward.

  Kieran curled his fingers around hers. “Let me properly present you to my father this time. Lord Tyne, allow me to make you known to my wife, Deirdre Ripon.”

  “Allow me to welcome you properly, Deirdre.” He glanced at Kieran. “Now that I know you are part of the family.”

  “Thank you . . . sir . . . my lord . . .”

  “Tyne will do.” He smiled, and she realized that all of Kieran’s charm hadn’t come from his mother.

  “Thank you.”

  “Do come sit down.” Tyne led her to a chair nearest the fire. “I’ll get you some refreshment before the girls descend upon you.”

  “I will get her some refreshment.” Kieran’s tone was possessive. “Madeira? Tea?”

  “Tea, please.”

  “And don’t give her ladylike portions on her plate,” Lady Tyne said. “I have no doubt that she’s starved, even if I’d scold the girls for admitting such a thing.”

  Kieran smiled. “Oh, I know Deirdre’s appetite.” He brought her a cup of tea and a plate filled with tiny sandwiches, a scone oozing cream and jam, and a slice of seed cake. “That will do for starters. Eat up. We keep town hours for meals, so dinner isn’t for another three hours. And here come the girls.”

  Chatter beyond the door heralded their imminent arrival. Although she wanted to reach for that slice of seed cake and cram it into her mouth, she forced herself to sit still with her hands folded in her lap.

  “You did come down.” Juliet, her hair bouncing in glossy ringlets down her back, darted to Deirdre’s side. “Kieran, she is lovely. I wish my hair were that color, and my eyes are just plain old blue.”

  Nothing about Juliet Ashford’s eyes were plain. They were the same lapis blue as her father’s, sparkling with gold lights and fringed in impossibly long lashes. She was tall, too, with a prettily rounded figure, though not quite as full on the top as her sister.

  “You’re so kind.” Deirdre thought that was the right response.

  “No, we are not,” Chloe said. “We will ask you all sorts of annoying questions and be frightfully intrusive.”

  “We never thought Kieran would marry after—”

  “Juliet,” Kieran interjected, “do get yourself something to stuff in your mouth.” He moved up behind Deirdre’s chair and laid his hand on her shoulder. “Let her enjoy her tea and cake.”

  “Perhaps she will enjoy it more,” Juliet pressed on, eyes dancing, “if she learns how she has tamed a rogue like you.”

  “I expect she already knows,” Chloe said.

  “Some.” Deirdre liked the idea of Kieran’s sisters talking about his past rather than asking about hers. “But I expect he’s left out a great deal.”

  Juliet slid to the edge of her chair. “Did he tell you about—”

  “This is not appropriate conversation.” Lady Tyne’s soft voice still managed to override Juliet’s excitement.

  “But, Mama,” she protested, “Deirdre is bound to meet Amelia and—”

  “Take the wheels off your tongue and get some tea.” Chloe steered her younger sister toward the tea and sandwiches.

  “But I do not understand why we are not to discuss—”

  “Juliet,” Lady Tyne’s tone sharpened. “Remember your manners.”

  Deirdre decided to remember her manners and not go against her ladyship’s wishes by asking about Amelia—and others, apparently, besides the scandalous Joanna and her homicidal brother.

  Her sister pushing her along, Juliet slipped over to the table where trays of food lay in casual elegance.

  Kieran rounded Deirdre’s chair to perch on the arm.

  He felt warm and solid and familiar beside her. She barely stopped herself from leaning her head against his sleeve.

  And what a fine sleeve! Of blue superfine, it fit him without a crease as did his buff pantaloons. His Hessian boots glowed in the firelight, and his hair was so smooth she wanted to mess it up with her fingers—

  Before she yanked it out by the roots.

  His smell reached her nostrils, and the urge to draw his head down and kiss him left her shaken and ready for a dozen tiny sandwiches.

  She ate three, noticed that the Ashford ladies held no more than two apiece on their plates, and shoved the plate at Kieran without taking the desired seed cake.

  “If you’re done eating,” Juliet said, “and since I am not allowed to talk about my brother, will you tell us all about yourself? I mean, to grow up on a ship and sail around the world must have been so exciting.”

  “She is not finished eating.” Kieran broke off a piece of seed cake and popped it between Deirdre’s lips, preventing her from answering Juliet. “I saw you eying that like a cat at a mouse.”

  “Kieran, do not be so vulgar,” Chloe said. “Papa, can you not make these two behave themselves? Deirdre will think we’re all common.”

  Deirdre thought the sisters charming.

  Tyne strolled over and joined Chloe on a settee. “I believe the less said about Deirdre’s background the better.”

  Deirdre choked on poppy seeds, and her skin began to heat.

  Kieran shot to his feet and glared at his father. “Are you ashamed of my wife’s background . . . my lord?”

  “No.” Chloe emitted a groan. “Do not start fighting again. Kieran, you know he meant nothing of the sort.”

  “No, Chloe, I do not.”

  Deirdre closed her eyes and wished she had remained beneath the bedclothes after all. She didn’t want to give these people a broadside, but a female only had so much self-control.

  “Garrett and Kieran,” Lady Tyne said, “do try to maintain the peace for at least another quarter hour.”

  Deirdre stood. “Will you please excuse me? I need some air.”

  “Sit down,” Tyne commanded.

  Deirdre recognized that tone. She’d heard it from her father often enough to know it meant the one in authority would not tolerate disobedience. The last time she had disobeyed such a command, her father had died, and that had landed her crew in Dartmoor and her there, the wife of an English nobleman. She should be a good daughter-in-law and sit.

  She spun on her heel and bolted from the chamber. Broad steps lay before her. She raced down them, slipping on her leather-soled shoes. She jumped the last three steps despite her dress and landed in the cavernous entryway, a chamber cold enough to clear her head, cool the hottest temper. Best of all, the air smelled of the sea.

  A footman appeared f
rom nowhere. “My lady, may I assist you?”

  “Air.” She headed for the front door.

  Looking alarmed, he sprang after her and yanked the portal open, held it for her, bowing, until she reached the bottom of the fan-shaped steps. She didn’t know where to go from there. Someone would catch up with her soon. She heard raised voices, then a bang before the footman closed the front door. She had maybe two minutes’ head start, enough time to move away from the house. She was running away when she needed something to run toward.

  Darkness had fallen early at that season and that far north, but torchieres blazed on either side of the front door and around the court for carriages. Beyond them lay the drive. It drew her. It led to the road and the sea. She could smell the salt tang on the wind. Though she shivered in her silk gown and filmy shawl, she welcomed the flowing air and moved herself. Forward, along the carriageway. Gravel dug into her thin slippers. She didn’t care. Years of mostly going barefoot for the ease of climbing the rigging had toughened her feet enough to withstand a little rock.

  “Deirdre.” Kieran’s voice rang out behind her. “Wait.”

  She kept going. He would catch her. He had a longer stride and wasn’t hampered by a skirt.

  A skirt!

  She might be thousands of miles away, but she may as well be back in Virginia with the headmistress of the school waving her hands as though she could erase Deirdre from the world as one erased chalk marks from a slate.

  “Deirdre.” Kieran’s boot heels crunched on the drive.

  Without intending to do so, she slowed.

  He caught up with her in a minute and tucked his arm through the crook of her elbow, drawing her to his side.

  “What are you doing?” He was trembling, and he sounded furious. “It is blacker than pitch out here, and you are walking along like . . . like . . .” He gave her arm a little shake.

  She pulled her arm free and increased her pace. “Smelling the sea. Breathing real air. Getting away from all those rules about whom we can and cannot discuss. Not you. Not me. What will be next? The state of the weather?”

  “Do not be ridiculous.” Kieran breathed as though he’d been running. “It is simply that our histories are not fit for my sisters’ ears. They are young ladies—”

  “And I’m not a lady—young or otherwise.” Her throat closed a little more with each word. She felt strangled on the last words. “Kieran, I can’t go through with this. I’m never going to be a lady. I hate female things.”

  Kieran drew her to a halt and faced her, though even the bare branches blocked out what starlight lit the night, and she couldn’t read his expression.

  “You do not like my mother and sisters?” He sounded uncertain, bewildered. “I can understand not liking my father, but Mama and the girls are—”

  “Perfect,” Deirdre said. “Your mother and sisters are utterly perfect. They’re beautiful and warm and friendly and dainty. They ate two sandwiches, and I saw embroidery. I don’t know how to sit still long enough to embroider. I hate skirts and stays and having my hair pinned up. I hate the idea of eating just two sandwiches when I’m hungry. And they’re such ladies. Your mother, with three children, still blushed when she told me about . . . this.” She pressed her hands to her belly.

  “Another female thing you hate.” Kieran’s voice had gone flat, quiet.

  “No, no, not that. I’m not that unnatural of a female. But I’m going to be confined to stitching tiny garments and eating tinier cakes when my crew is suffering. I can do nothing to help them.”

  “You will be safe from any harebrained schemes.” He laid his hand against her cheek. “Which is why I did what I could and prayed for nature to take its course.”

  The warm, caressing hand against her face may as well have been a slap. Deirdre swayed. Flailed at the air for something to hold onto besides her husband.

  “You just wanted to stop me from helping my crew.”

  “I wanted—I want—to keep you safe from your own misguided loyalties.”

  “They are not misguided.”

  “They are if they go in any direction but toward this family.”

  “I can’t—” She stopped, fearing she would begin to weep.

  “Deirdre, I am sorry, but I cannot have my wife haring around the countryside consorting with the enemy.” He cupped her chin in his hands and stroked her cheekbones with his fingertips, stirring longing deep inside her, distracting her with his touch.

  She backed away from him. “Then you shouldn’t have married me.”

  “I had to. We were alone on the Maid for days, and the scandal would have harmed my family further. And you.” He touched her elbow, trying to steer her toward the house. “You suffered enough losing your father and everything you knew. I could not abandon you to strangers.”

  His voice held such tenderness she wanted to throw herself into his arms and beg him to love her.

  She planted her feet. “You said marrying me would also improve matters with your father. Was that a lie?”

  “No. I thought if I did the right thing by you and came home respectable, the rift would heal. A baby, a grandchild on the way, would cement a new bond.” He sighed and looked away.

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “It hasn’t worked.”

  “I’m afraid it’s made things worse. I do not know why, but there is something in their past I do not know that has Tyne overset. In truth, Deirdre—” He dug the toe of his Hessian into the gravel. “Seems like my marrying you was a mistake.”

  Chapter 15

  Deirdre stared at Kieran, the word “mistake” reverberating through her head like a ship’s bell clanging through a fog. Marrying her was a mistake to him. Considering the condition she was probably in, marrying him was a mistake for her, too.

  “C-can your father have the marriage set aside?” She had begun to shiver and wanted to huddle next to one of the fires wafting smoke from the chimneys. Yet she did not wish to go back to the home where she was unwelcome. “Will he have the marriage set aside?”

  “Not without a great deal of trouble and even more scandal. A vicar married us, so it has to go through the ecclesiastical courts and Parliament. And if you are carrying the heir, nothing would even be considered until after we know if the child is a boy or girl.” He spoke as though he had memorized the explanation.

  Deirdre began to walk toward the house. “Then no sense standing outside here freezing. I expect your family will accept me as your wife whether they like it or not, just as you must.”

  “Deirdre, no.” He caught up with her and tucked his hand through the crook of her elbow. “Don’t think we don’t want you here.”

  “I will do without facing them all at dinner.”

  “Coward.” The word held enough affection some of Deirdre’s chill dissipated.

  She took a deep breath as they reached the front steps. “All right, if you think it’s all right, I’ll stay for dinner.”

  “Of course it’s all right. We won’t be eating en famille. We usually do not.”

  “You have guests?”

  Deirdre nearly accepted defeat at that idea and reconsidered the tray.

  “Not guests. My father’s secretary Burnham and his steward Leith, and Miss Pruitt, who was the girls’ governess. She is mostly a companion or chaperone now.” He stroked his fingers down the inside of Deirdre’s forearm before hurrying ahead of her to open the door.

  Warmth and light greeted them along with the delicious aroma of roasting beef. Deirdre’s stomach growled. “How long until dinner?”

  “Two hours. Would you like me to show you around the house?”

  “Yes, please. I’ll get lost if you don’t, but can you sneak me a half-dozen more sandwiches?”

  “I will be happy to do so, m’lady.” The one-armed footman hastened forward and bowed.

  Deirdre wanted to sink through the floor. She had forgotten that servants lurked everywhere.

  “Have them sent to the music room, Rochester.�
�� Kieran offered Deirdre his arm. “We will start with the ground floor. Here we have all the public rooms—dining room, drawing rooms, Father’s study, and the estate office for the steward and secretary.” His voice was low, gentle, friendly, but not warm.

  Most of the rooms weren’t warm either. Dark and closed, some with furniture shrouded in cloth covers, the chambers ranged from one or two anterooms not much bigger than her father’s cabin to rooms the length of a naval frigate.

  “The ballroom.” Kieran introduced this last one.

  The music room was next door. Someone had lighted a fire and several candles. Before the hearth stood a low table with a tray bearing far more than a few sandwiches.

  “Whoever Rochester is, I adore him.” Deirdre nearly fell upon the bread and butter and little cakes dotted with tinier black seeds.

  Kieran poured them each a cup of the steaming tea. “He has apparently taken a liking to you. Probably because he was once a sailor himself.”

  “Did he sail with your father?” Deirdre sank her teeth into a thick slice of brown bread liberally smeared with butter. Fresh, rich butter.

  She nearly swooned from the pleasure.

  Kieran just stared at her, not answering.

  She set the bread down. “Is something wrong? I thought it all right if I eat like this when we are alone.”

  “Just not enough alone.” Kieran rose and lifted the lid on a pianoforte. “Nearly every servant on the estate, especially the ones with some kind of infirmity, either served with my father or someone who did. They get tossed on the beach once they aren’t fit enough to serve, and most die shortly if they have no families to take care of them. So Tyne does his best to find them work.”

  Deirdre’s opinion of the earl rose. Surely a man who cared so much about the plight of injured sailors carried a heart inside that breastbone of his. The contrast between that and his treatment of his son did not connect in Deirdre’s head.

  “Your father has a great deal of kindness.”

  Kieran shrugged, then ran his fingers along the keys. “Ah, the girls have been practicing. This is in tune.”