My Enemy, My Heart (The Ashford Chronicles)

by Laurie Alice Eakes

  “Don’t act in haste, Kieran.” Mama embraced him. “You have a little time in which to make a decision.”

  “Remember we only want the best for you, son.” Father held out his hand.

  Kieran did not take it. “Excuse me.” He turned sideways to step between them, too angry to care how rude was his action.

  He looked at neither of them for the rest of the evening. He did not want their pity nor their understanding. He did not want to believe their suspicions were true. He wanted life to continue as it had been—no, better, the war over so his wife would not have to be a prisoner. He wanted harmony between them.

  Yet all his wanting did not stop him from bringing up the subject with Deirdre that night.

  Though calm, the weather was cold and Kieran and Deirdre lay spooned in the bed for warmth. With his arms around her, he caressed her gently, his hand coming to rest on her belly. “Too many seed cakes?”

  “I am getting fat, aren’t I?”

  “Only here.” He smoothed his fingers over the mound. “It is a bit rounder than we expected by now.”

  “We?” Deirdre propped herself on one elbow so she could twist around to glare at him by the light of a candle secure beneath a pierced canister. “Who is the ‘we’ you’ve been discussing my plumpness with?”

  “My parents.” He met her hostile glare without flinching and related the entire conversation.

  She did not interrupt. She did not move, but her body grew rigid, her face taut.

  “So we are staying here,” he concluded.

  “How magnanimous of you.” She slipped from bed then. Dragging on her dressing gown, she stalked to the hearth and stooped to build up the fire. She remained crouched before the flames, her hands clasping her upper arms. Not until her shoulders jerked up toward her ears did he realize she was crying.

  He joined her at the hearth and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Deirdre, I—”

  She shook off his arm. “Leave me. Lock me in if you must, or set a guard on the balcony so I don’t climb down that way, if you think I can, but get out of my sight.”

  “But I disagree with my parents. The Northumberland house is cold and damp and—”

  She shoved her palm against his chest. “Egad. I am sick of Ashfords and their kindness to my face while plotting against me behind my back.”

  “It is not plotting behind your back so much as concern about the succession of the title.”

  “Do you have concerns about the succession of the title?”

  “I am more certain than not of your innocence when we wed.”

  “More certain than not?” Her voice rose to a pitch sure to bring footmen running. “Will you be certain if I tell you I was untouched on our wedding night?”

  “I have already said—”

  “You can sit there with only a bit of doubt about me, in spite of what I say, yet you became a privateer because your parents didn’t believe you over Joanna.”

  She may as well have kicked him in the belly. He could scarcely breathe. He could barely think clearly, let alone speak.

  “Who is the traitor here?” Breath and words not failing Deirdre, she surged to her feet. “Me for wanting to see my crew go free, or your family for saying I am an Ashford now and deserving all that means, while plotting to hide me away like a madwoman and take away my baby?”

  Kieran started to point out that her helping her crew go free was treachery under the law, but he held his tongue. In Deirdre’s mind it was not. At the same time, she believed claiming she was part of the family while planning actions to separate her from it was a betrayal of the fragile trust they had all begun to build over the past few weeks, trust in her fidelity to their marriage bed, if not England.

  For the first time, Kieran faced the possibility of having to choose between his family and his wife. Five months ago—five weeks ago—that choice would have been easy. In that moment, with Deirdre magnificently outraged in all her radiant expectancy, he saw no joy in taking up either side.

  With a heavy heart, he paced to the dressing room door, but turned back for one last shot. “There is already a guard below the balcony.”

  Deirdre turned her back on Kieran and listened to the click of the door latch, the creak of the bed ropes in the adjoining chamber. She huddled on the chaise wrapped in the coverlet for fear she would fall asleep. The minutes ticked by, minutes filled with more tears she refused to shed for a man who had as good as called her a loose woman, a dishonest woman trying to fob off another man’s by-blow on him. Imprisoning her for the sake of his family and even his country she understood. Doubting her honesty, her physical innocence, she could not, especially after what his parents had put him through.

  When she thought enough time passed, she crept into his room. His even breathing proclaimed that he slept. He did not stir at the click of the door latch. After returning to her own chamber, she hid the vial of laudanum behind a row of books lined up on her desk. She didn’t need to use it that night, but it might come in useful at another time. She would not hesitate to drug her husband or anyone else so she could carry out her mission.

  She no longer felt a hint of torn loyalties.

  She removed a sealed letter from her escritoire, then slipped into an unused bedchamber across the hall. Shivering in the unheated room, she donned her male garb, then went to the window and pushed it open. This side boasted no balcony, but the ivy growing up the side of the house looked stronger than any rigging she had climbed. Careful not to bump her abdomen against the windowsill, she grasped hold of the ivy and swung her body out of the house twenty feet above the ground.

  Chapter 22

  By the time she returned up the ivy and slid through the window, Deirdre was panting as though the temperature were not cold enough to freeze the puddles. She didn’t feel cold; she felt warm and elated and concerned she would not be able to make this journey much longer. She needed to employ assistance, and Chloe was almost as closely guarded as Deirdre herself.

  That was something to concern her in the morning. For now, she could still climb like the sailor she was, and she had a message from Blaze.

  Heart racing, she slipped out of her breeches and shirt, drew on her nightgown and dressing gown, and tucked her disguise beneath the empty room’s mattress, where no one would ever look for something of hers, she hoped. In her own chamber, she noticed for the first time that her feet were freezing, and built up her fire. After a peek to ensure Kieran still slept, she opened Blaze’s message, covered her mouth to stifle a gurgle of laughter over the audacity of his plan, then burned the missive on the flames. Once the fire had consumed every fragment and her hands and feet resumed a normal temperature, she slid back into bed and lay awake until nearly dawn, her heart aching over the idea that she had almost allowed herself to believe she could be happy at Bishops Cove once her crew was free. Now her contentment would all be for show. The one good thing coming of the night’s discussion with Kieran was that she was going to feel blameless about betraying him and his family when she got her crew free. Her only guilt lay in the idea of taking his child away from him.

  She pressed her hands to her belly, feeling the life stirring within, and knew she could not leave this baby behind no matter what. It was hers, the only family of her blood she knew now that her father was gone.

  For the first time, she understood at least part of Phoebe’s claim that little in life was better than presenting one’s husband with a child. If she could not be happy about presenting her husband with a child, she was happy in that moment to be a woman and be able to create new life.

  With that bit of comfort and contentment, she was able to pretend all was well, lull them all into thinking she was settled and forgetting about her crew.

  She began with not bringing up their conversation of the night before. Neither did Kieran mention it, nor did anyone speak of the barrier now lying between Deirdre and the family. He remained attentive when she was alone with him, but when she was with his mother
and sisters, Deirdre couldn’t stop herself from thinking every glance was speculative, questioning. She wanted to feel resentful. Instead, a deep hurt carved its way to her heart. For a while, she had believed they cared about her, that they accepted her.

  Kieran began to spend more and more time in the study with his father.

  “At last Garrett is letting Kieran learn how to run the estates,” Phoebe said one day, her face aglow. “Garrett is talking about giving you Bishops Down in Hampshire for a wedding present. Kieran has wanted to run it for years, but Garrett thought him too irresponsible. And he was. I have never laid a hand on my children in anger, but I tell you, Deirdre, I could have taken a switch to him for going off as a privateer. But now look at things.” She gestured to Kieran and Tyne deep in conversation at the far end of the salon. “They don’t argue more than once a day now instead of once an hour. All because he had to bring you home.”

  “Is that why you accept me?” Deirdre asked. “I serve a purpose?”

  That stopped Juliet in the midst of her chatter with Chloe.

  “We never turn away strangers,” Juliet said. “And you are married to Kieran, and you are—well, um . . .” She glanced down, her cheeks pink behind her tumbled black hair. “I am having a party for my birthday next week. Will you be able to attend? Because if you cannot, I need to invite another female. I am so fortunate that Amelia’s mama sent her off to an aunt—”

  “Juliet,” Chloe cut in, “let Deirdre answer your question before you run on to something else.” She met and held Deirdre’s gaze. “We will be all but obligated to invite Liza Cantrell, now that she is back home, if you do not feel well enough to come down.”

  Deirdre felt well enough. She had never felt better than she had in the past week.

  Feeling the now familiar fluttering in her belly, Deirdre laid her hands there and smiled. “I don’t think any gown except for a pannier from thirty years ago will cover this.” She smiled, content, mind racing.

  “But Liza has become as awful as Amelia,” Chloe protested. “Surely with a fringed shawl . . .”

  “But Kieran adores Deirdre,” Juliet said. “He would never do anything wrong. And I, for one, think a nephew or niece coming is too exciting to hide, whatever polite society thinks. The tenants’ wives go about sticking out.”

  Phoebe sighed. “Where did I go wrong with raising you to be a lady?”

  “It was not you, Mama.” Juliet jumped up and kissed Phoebe’s cheek. “It is having a rakehell for a brother. Or perhaps you are too permissive. So, Deirdre, you will please come to my party.”

  Deirdre smiled. “I will see if I grow any more between now and then.”

  “Do not,” Juliet commanded, resuming her embroidery.

  “Please,” she thought Phoebe murmured.

  Annoyed, Deirdre stood. “I’m going for a walk in the gallery.”

  “I will join you.” Chloe dropped her needlework onto her chair and rose. “Juliet, Mama?”

  They both shivered. “That drafty old place.” Juliet hugged her arms. “It is cold enough by the fire with that wind blowing.”

  “Make sure you take a shawl, Deirdre,” Phoebe said.

  Deirdre took no shawl. She was never cold these days. Arm in arm, she and Chloe made a complete circuit and a half of the gallery before either of them said a word. Then Chloe stopped at the farthest end from the corridor leading back to the commonly used rooms of the house.

  “I have a letter from Ross,” Chloe announced.

  Deirdre stared at her. “You have a letter? How?”

  “Sally’s eldest brother. He works for Papa’s wine merchant. When he brought a delivery the other day, I gave him a half crown and a commission.”

  “Chloe, that was dangerous. I mean, for me to do something for my crew is one thing. It’s expected. But to endanger your family . . .” Deirdre shook her head. “You shouldn’t have risked it.”

  Chloe wrinkled her nose. “I do not for a minute think that I am endangering my family with a little correspondence with a man who does not even know my name.”

  Deirdre hoped she was right.

  “What did you say? Did he say?”

  “I gushed like Juliet.” Chloe grinned. “He is, you see, her hero out of a romance novel.”

  “Ross?” That made Deirdre laugh. “He’s a foul-mouthed sailor.”

  Chloe sobered. “That is not how I see him. He is angry, yes, and he has every reason to be. But he is polite in his language with me—mostly. He is . . . is . . .”

  Deirdre leaned against the stone wall, wanting to bang her head against the unyielding surface. “Don’t tell me, Chloe. I don’t want to know that you have a tendre for Ross.”

  Chloe blushed and turned away. “I do not know him. We have exchanged some correspondences is all.”

  Deirdre sighed. “So what did these messages contain?”

  “I told him about getting caught and being made prisoners.”

  “That should make him love Kieran more than he already does.”

  “He did say he was a—well, he did cross it out, but I could still read it. But what is important, Deirdre, is that they are starving in there. Wat’s cough never gets better, and Ross got put in a completely dark place for two weeks because he threw a paving stone at a guard who was punching a Frenchman for—well, he did not tell me what the Frenchman was doing.”

  Ross in the dark was unacceptable. He loved wind and light and open space as much as she did.

  Deirdre rubbed her eyes. “I got a message from Blaze.”

  Now Chloe was the one to be astounded. “How?”

  Deirdre recommenced her stroll. “I climbed down the ivy outside the room across from mine.”

  “What if you had fallen?”

  “I have never fallen in my life.”

  “You could have endangered yourself or the baby.”

  Deirdre shrugged. “Maybe everyone would be just as happy for that. Kieran could be rid of me and the baby no one thinks is his anyway.”

  “Did he tell you about that?” Chloe’s slippers slapped against the flagstone floor. “I thought something was wrong between you two. Now I am going to kill him. He is a dolt.”

  “I’d rather know the truth of what he thinks of me. It makes everything easier.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Blaze had a plan, but I now have a better one. And I will use my advancing condition to my advantage.”

  “What will you do now that Papa has patrols on every terrace?”

  With the explanation that their proximity to the coast gave him concern for the safety of his household now that England fought two wars, Tyne had set guards patrolling the terraces and guarded the gates at night. During the day, though Chloe and Deirdre could roam the garden and parkland, someone followed them, and should they give that person the slip, guards remained at the gates. Setting foot through one of those portals without an escort was impossible. But a stone wall was nothing for Deirdre to scale even with her expanded middle.

  “I will make my excuses and forgo the pleasures of Juliet’s party.”

  “What will you do while we are celebrating?” Chloe whispered.

  “Wait and see.”

  Kieran realized he never should have doubted her, not for an instant, not even with the ladies, including Mama, murmuring about how they had been able to go about in public with no one the wiser of their condition well into the fourth and even the fifth month. Deirdre had been starting to show at three months. Three months after their wedding, which seemed to be the difficulty. Her lack of warmth toward him now made him wish he had left well enough alone and believed her.

  She was right, he had treated her as badly as his parents treated him over Joanna. Perhaps part of his heart feared she was like Joanna, trying to foist another man’s brat off on him. But Deirdre’s spirit held more loyalty than had Joanna’s.

  A pity she had turned that loyalty from him.

  “Your fault,” he told his reflection in his shaving mi
rror.

  She had been warming to him, looking content and even happy. His parents wanted the best for the family, as always. The family came first, as always.

  Deirdre was used to coming first. Her crew had put her first so plainly they had sacrificed their freedom for her sake there on Bermuda. No wonder she cared more about them than the Ashfords.

  Kieran jabbed his cravat pin in so hard he pricked his skin. While ensuring no blood would mar the pristine whiteness of shirt and cravat, he heard Sally in Deirdre’s room. Presuming his wife was getting herself ready and would go down shortly, he made his own way to the drawing room.

  But she did not appear in a few minutes or several. Guests spoke to him, then glanced past him toward the door, well aware his mate was missing. With the hands of the clock pointed at ten minutes to eight of the clock, Addison was about to announce dinner.

  Mama glided up to him and touched his arm to draw his attention. “Kieran, go up and fetch Deirdre. I will tell Addison to have Cook hold dinner for another five minutes.”

  Kieran nodded and slipped from the drawing room of guests sipping orgeat and sherry. Once the door closed behind him, he took the steps two at a time, his evening pumps slipping on the stair runner.

  Surely she would not have gotten up to something in so short a time and with a house full of guests.

  He reached the Duchess Suite and shoved open the door without knocking. Deirdre sat at the dressing table. Her hair looked arranged for the evening, twisted and tucked into place with the pearl and silver combs he had given her, but she wore a dressing gown, and did not glance his way.

  “Deirdre?” He closed the door. “Are you unwell?”

  She shook her head. Tendrils of red hair caught the candlelight like strands of fire. “I am well. But I’m not going down.”

  “The table arrangements . . . Mama told me to fetch you.”

  Deirdre told him in no uncertain terms what she thought of the table arrangements. “I am sure you will enjoy yourself with Miss Jane and Liza.”