For a moment, Beauworth looked as if he might press Alistair further, but he must have thought better of it. He stood up. ‘It will be my very great pleasure, Duke.’
* * *
‘Lord and Lady Beauworth are a lovely couple,’ Julia said, as they passed the last of Boxted’s cottages on the Sackfield side of the village. A woman working in her patch of garden straightened to watch them pass. She hesitated, not sure how he would react to what she had to say. Dash it, she was not a mouse to shiver in a corner waiting for the cat to pounce. ‘Lady Beauworth invited me to join a committee raising funds for a new church bell. It meets once a week.’
‘Is that something you would like to do?’ Alistair sounded non-committal.
‘I would. It will help me to get to know our neighbours.’ She waited, breath held. Her first husband had rarely let her go out of the house.
‘There are great many who would like to get to know you.’
Again he gave her no clue as to whether he deemed this a good or bad thing. She decided to take his lack of opinion as approval.
‘We should invite the Beauworths to dine with us before the end of the summer,’ she said. ‘His lordship gave me a great many ideas with regard to the gardens and I would like to show him the results.’
‘Good idea.’
‘Their children are delightful.’ She smiled brightly.
‘I will take your word for it.’
She wanted to shake him. He responded politely, but he did not converse. He had withdrawn again. It was most annoying. And worrisome.
A sigh escaped her when she had sworn she would not let him see how much his reserve troubled her. It was his nature. She could not expect him to change to make her happy. It was she who had to suit him. That was the way things were.
A little beyond the village, Alistair gazed around him. ‘I suggest we take a shortcut across that field,’ he said. ‘Thor needs to run.’
The meadow to their right did indeed look inviting, nearly as inviting as the apple-tree house. Alistair opened the gate, when she knew he and his horse could easily have jumped it. And would have, had he been alone. Jumping in a lady’s saddle was always a risk, so she could appreciate his gentlemanly consideration, even if she did not appreciate his cool nature.
The field rose in a gentle incline and the horses, once given their heads, did indeed show their eagerness to be stretching their legs in a full-out gallop to the top of the hill and over a log in the break in the wall that Thor hopped with ease. Beneath her, Bella gathered for the jump. Julia relaxed and the little mare took it easily. When she lifted her gaze to see which way Alistair had gone, she was shocked to see him crumpled on his side on the grass. Thor stood a little way off, trembling, his saddle slipped around beneath his belly.
Julia kicked free of her stirrup and slid carefully down. ‘Alistair?’
She ran and knelt at his side, touching her fingertips to his neck to find his pulse a strong, steady beat. With some effort, she pushed him onto his back. He remained pale and unconscious with a trickle of blood running down his forehead.
Gently, she ran her fingers over his scalp, sifted through the thick silk of his golden hair and found a lump sticky with blood just above his hairline. She parted his hair to see a still-swelling bump already turning blue. His head must have hit a rock when he’d landed. ‘Alistair.’ She shook his shoulder and wildly looked around for help. Not a soul in sight.
Now what was she to do? She could not carry him, nor could she leave him here alone. She sat down beside him cross-legged and eased his head into her lap, gently stroking her fingers across his forehead, praying he would wake up, praying someone would pass by and see them.
He groaned. Brought a hand to his head.
Relieved he was coming to his senses, she captured his hand in her own. ‘Careful, you might make it worse.’
His eyes fluttered and opened. ‘Gads, that hurts.’
He blinked several times, then squeezed his eyes shut. ‘Everything is blurry.’
She glanced over at Thor. ‘You came off your horse. Bumped your head.’
He frowned. ‘Where?’
‘We were taking a shortcut.’
He pressed his fingers to his temple. ‘We were going to Beauworth, last I recall.’ His voice trailed off. ‘No, we were there.’ He squeezed his eyes shut. ‘What happened?’
‘You showed me a clean pair of heels and jumped a log. By the time I reached the other side you were down. Your saddle slipped.’
‘My saddle?’ He made as if to sit up, groaned and lay back down in her lap. ‘Devil take it, I feel dizzy.’
‘You hit your head. Lay still for a moment or two.’
‘Thor?’ He tried to turn his head, but closed his eyes immediately.
‘I told you, lay still.’
‘Bossy little thing, aren’t you.’
Only a man as large as Alistair would call her little. ‘It is for your own good.’
He gazed up into her face, the grey eyes not cold any more, but the frown creasing his brow speaking of pain. ‘Do that thing with your fingers in my hair. It felt nice.’
‘Close your eyes, then.’
He did as she bid and she combed her fingers slowly through his hair, careful not to touch his scalp near the bump. His sigh was long and soft through parted lips that looked softer and fuller than usual. Her heart gave a little clench. Why couldn’t he always be this open? He was so handsome. And protective. But so aloof.
He was not aloof now. He was permitting her to care for him. A feeling of great tenderness filled her chest. She closed her eyes briefly, not wishing to admit how much she also wished he could care for her.
‘Better?’ she asked.
‘Much.’ Eyes squinting, he peered around. ‘Thor?’
‘He is all right. A bit twitchy about the saddle being almost below his belly, but calm enough.’
He frowned as if trying to make sense of her words. With a groan he came up on one elbow. He shook his head. ‘Hades, if only the ground would stop heaving.’ He rolled on to his knees and pushed up. ‘I must see to Thor.’
Even in pain, he worried about a creature unable to care for itself.
‘I will see to him. Lay back.’
He collapsed on his side with a soft moan. ‘I feel as if I have drunk a gallon of brandy.’
Sick and dizzy and his words were slurred. Worry gnawed at her stomach. How on earth was she to get him back to the house? ‘Wait here. I will not be long.’
He rolled over on his back and flung his forearm over his eyes, huffing out a breath through his nose. ‘Not going anywhere.’
Fortunately, Thor was a gentleman and after only a bit of a struggle she got his saddle off. The horse eyed her in puzzlement as she removed his bridle. There was only one way she could think of getting help that did not involve leaving Alistair. She whacked Thor on the rump and he took off at a gallop.
Hopefully heading back to his stable. With a bit of luck someone would realise there was something wrong and come looking for them, though it might take a while.
Bella, who had tossed her head when Thor took off, fortunately didn’t attempt to follow her equine friend. Julia made her comfortable, too. If only there was a stream nearby, she could give her and Alistair a drink of water.
She went back to where Alistair was stretched out on the grass to tell him she was going looking for water.
He didn’t move at her approach or open his eyes. ‘Alistair?’
No answer. He was lying so very still. And so very white.
Her heart missed a beat. ‘Alistair?’
* * *
Alistair’s head was pounding fit to burst. He risked cracking an eyelid and squeezed it shut at the glare. What the devil had he done? Drunk a barrel full of brandy?
And if so, why?
Or was it something worse? An old haunting nightmare of his past?
Something cool and damp glided across his forehead.
‘You are awake.’
His wife’s voice. Full of relief.
The acid of dread eating at his gut faded. ‘Close the curtains. Please,’ he added in afterthought. No need to get her back up when he couldn’t raise a hand in his own defence.
There was the sound of dragging fabric. The light on the other side of his eyelids dimmed.
Again the cool damp cloth caressed his face.
He licked his lips. Found them parched.
‘Would you like some water?’
‘Thank you,’ he croaked. He swallowed against the dryness. He peeked from beneath his lashes, glad to discover opening his eyes was not nearly as painful as the last time.
A luscious pair of breasts appeared inches from his face and a hand curled around his nape, propping him up, while pillows were pushed behind his head and shoulders. Despite the delicious view, he closed his eyes against the odd way the room distorted.
The glass pressed to his lips was cool, the water cooler and sweet to his gravelly throat. He leaned back against the pillows and once more braved fully opening his eyes. This time the room remained steady, if a little blurry.
‘What happened?’ Damn, he sounded like a whiny child.
Julia’s face came into focus, smiling uncertainly. Worried, then. He waited for her explanation.
‘You fell from your horse.’
That sounded unlikely. He frowned, trying to recollect the event. He remembered a field and his head resting in her lap and something about his horse. ‘Thor?’
She tutted. ‘What is it about you and that horse? He is fine. Indeed, we can thank him for our rescue.’
‘How so?’
‘Well, I am not sure I believe it, but I scared him off, hoping he’d run for his nice comfortable stall, and Jaimie swears he led them back to where you had fallen and he, being a very smart stable lad, brought a wagon along.’
‘Did I misjudge a jump?’ It would be the first time he had been thrown since the age of eight, when Isobel had put him up on a half-broken colt.
She smoothed the pillows each side of his head, bringing those deliciously plump breasts close enough to kiss. Beneath the sheets his body hardened. Well, even if his head was unusable, one part of him was in perfect working order. Unfortunately, that was the part he would rather went to sleep.
She straightened, her face serious. ‘Your girth gave way.’
He stared at her blankly. He would never ride out with a loose girth. ‘Gave way?’
She gave a little grimace. ‘One broke and the other slipped. You were lucky it did not happen during the jump.’
The jump would have likely been the cause of the break, yet his equipment had been in perfect condition. He’d checked it himself before they rode out. His and hers. ‘I see.’
‘More water?’
‘Thank you, but I must get up—’
A hand flattened on his chest, a light touch but commanding. He froze, hauling back on the reins of a surge of anger.
‘The doctor said you are to remain in bed until the dizziness passes.’ she said. ‘It might be a day or so.’
‘The doctor came? When?’
‘Yesterday afternoon.’
He glanced toward the now covered window. ‘What time is it?’
‘My, what a great many questions. It is late afternoon. Almost dinner time. Are you hungry?’
He grinned. ‘I’m not the only one with questions.’ Much as it went against the grain, and he certainly was not going to admit it, he was enjoying her fussing. He had no memory of anyone fussing over him in quite this way. Ever.
Reality came rushing in. Recollections. ‘How are you?’
‘I am well. No sign of any illness.’ The relief in her voice was odd. Too intense. ‘I took afternoon tea with Miss Digby, by the way. She was worried about you.’
‘I hope you set her mind at rest.’ He did not like to worry Digger.
‘As much as I was able.’
A scratch at the door and Grindle entered, his face anxious. His lips twitched in what might be described as his version of a smile when his gaze rested upon Alistair. ‘You are awake, Your Grace.’
‘It would seem so,’ Alistair replied.
‘McPherson begs a word, if you feel so inclined.’
‘I expect he wants to apologise about the broken girth,’ Alistair said. ‘Show him up.’
Julia rose to her feet. ‘While you lecture Jaimie, I am going to see about some broth since you haven’t eaten since yesterday.’
Lecturing was also a wife’s privilege. ‘I would prefer bread and a few slices of roast beef.’
‘Broth first. Doctor’s orders. You do not want to be ill again.’
He vaguely remembered casting up his accounts. ‘I apologise if—’
‘No apology required. After all, you were exceedingly kind to me when I was ill. But we do not know if your stomach can handle anything more than broth, especially if you continue to feel dizzy.’
When he made as if to argue she raised a brow. ‘Now you wouldn’t want to set me a bad example, would you?’
He let go a sigh. ‘Broth it is. Show Jaimie up, will you, Grindle?’
Julia slipped out and the butler closed the door behind them both. Alistair pushed up a little higher on the pillows and cursed as the room took a slow circle around his head.
A moment or two later, Jaimie entered the room with a collection of leather straps. ‘How are you feeling, Your Grace?’
‘As if I fell off a horse.’
Jaimie grinned. ‘Excellent. You’ll soon be up on your feet. Quite a blow to the noggin, the doctor said. It is a good thing you are a hard-headed man.’
Those were likely the most words he had ever heard Jaimie McPherson utter at one time in the year since he’d come to work for Alistair. He dropped his gaze to the tack. ‘What happened?’
The grin faded to grimness. ‘The girth was cut.’
Was this an excuse for bad management of his stable? Oiling a girth would result in stretching, which would result in it slipping. But Julia had said it broke. ‘Cut, you say?’
‘Cut.’ Jaimie lay the straps on the bed and showed Alistair a clean break on one girth and how the other was holding by little more than a fraction of leather. ‘If this one had torn through. I am thinking you would have landed far harder than you did. Someone intended you should be badly injured or worse.’
‘Someone did not place the rock right where my head landed.’
‘You might have broken your neck.’
Jaimie was right. The damage to the saddle was too clean to be normal wear and tear. A deliberate act that must have happened while the horses were at Beauworth. There was only one person who benefitted from his death and that person was now employed by the Marquess. Something about the thought stirred a memory. It slipped away again. ‘It might have caught on something right before being placed on Thor.’
The eye Jaimie gave him was none too complimentary. ‘You did bang your head, didn’t you? I am riding over to Beauworth—’
‘No.’
Jaimie’s eyes widened. ‘Surely—’
‘No.’ This required careful handling if it was deliberate. Perhaps Luke and Isobel had decided they’d waited long enough. Or had heard about Alistair’s attempt to have him removed from his position. Or something else entirely.
Julia entered with a tray which brought with it the scent of beef tea.
Alistair nodded at Jaimie, who instantly understood their discussion was over and gathered up the tack.
‘I’ll be out to take a look at Thor as soon as I am able,�
� Alistair said.
‘Dinna worry. The lad is feasting on oats and feeling very much the hero.’ He neatly bowed to Julia and her tray and left the room. There was more to Jaimie than a stable master. Occasionally, he forgot his lowland brogue and sounded more like a landed gentleman. And his manners were far too nice. He bore watching. After all, who had more contacts among stable hands at the other estates than he?
And then there was the matter of his wife. She was looking as pale as a sheet, when she’d seemed perfectly calm before she left.
‘Is something the matter?’
She bit her lip, her gaze dropping to the contents of the tray. ‘No, nothing.’
Once more he had the feeling she wasn’t telling him the truth. He thought of asking her to trust him with whatever was causing her worry. How could he, when he honestly didn’t trust her?
Or he shouldn’t.
* * *
‘Now,’ Julia said, hoping the rapid beating of her heart caused by yet another pot of laudanum-doctored tea was not obvious, ‘drink this broth and we will see how you do.’ She had intended to tell him about the laudanum the moment they returned, but now she was not sure she should bother him at a time when he should be resting.
He made a face, but took the tray on his lap and sipped cautiously at the soup. She watched for any signs that his stomach might be rebelling. All seemed to go well.
She rubbed at her aching back. She had sat all night in the chair by the window and it had left her sore.
‘May I pour you some tea?’ she asked, hoping he would not take a pet and throw it at her head in the way of a wilful child. Men were like that when they were ill. Her last husband had been anyway. ‘It is a tisane recommended by the doctor to settle your stomach.’
He eyed the teapot suspiciously.
‘It will do you good. I made it myself.’
Alistair frowned.
Secrets of the Marriage Bed Page 16