Veil of Honor

by Cooper-Posey, Tracy

  When she tried to speak to him, after love, or before it, Will halted the conversation by not responding.

  It was not what Bridget had envisaged married life to be like. She moved through her days, isolated in the house because she did not know many local people. Will refused to meet with them, which prevented Bridget from offering invitations of her own.

  February was nearly over and most of the snow had melted, which gave Will even more reason to linger outside when Lilly and Jasper arrived from Northallerton. “A flying visit,” Lilly told Bridget, hugging her.

  “We didn’t dare write to ask if we could come, for fear that the farmers and the plowing would upset our plans,” Jasper added. “Two days is all we can spare, I’m afraid.”

  “I don’t care. Two days is two days,” Bridget told them. “It is so good to see you!”

  Their visit coincided with the arrival of the first of her dresses from Madame Therion.

  Brooks spread the dress upon the bed for Bridget to examine.

  “It’s different, my Lady,” Brooks said at last, after long moments of studying the deep purple and russet. “Not like anything you’ve worn before.”

  “That was the point,” Bridget assured her.

  The arrive of both Lilly and the dress coaxed Bridget into forcing Will’s hand. Without consulting him, she arranged a small dinner party with the local magistrate, Baines, Baines’ wife and Baron Sutcliffe, whose estate laid to the north of Kirkaldy.

  When everyone invited responded in the affirmative, Bridget caught Will as he was heading out that morning. “We are having guests for dinner, Will,” she told him as he shoved his stockinged feet into the high boots he used to tramp over the land.

  He looked up, his eyes narrowing. “Why on earth are we having guests?”

  “Because that is what the lord of the manor does,” she said, struggling to keep her tone patient and pleasant.

  Will scowled, got to his feet and slid his arms into the great coat that Bakersfield held out for him. Then he fussed with setting the scarf and putting on his gloves. Only when he was on the verge of stepping out the door did he look at her. “As you’ve already arranged it, I suppose I must attend.”

  “Thank you.”

  He left without responding.

  Bridget considered it a victory. She set herself to entertaining Lilly and Jasper for the day before heading upstairs to dress for dinner. As she bathed and Brooks worked on her hair in the new style that Bridget had explained to her, Bridget could hear Will in the dressing room next to her bedroom. He banged about the room, sounding impatient. However, he was there and he was getting ready.

  Bridget was not ready before him, for she took pains with the selection of her jewelry and the final settling of the dress.

  Brooks stood back to look at the full effect and raised her brow. “I may have been wrong, my Lady. It does seem to suit you in ways I’m not even sure I can describe.”

  Her response pleased Bridget. Still nervous, she went downstairs to the drawing room where the guests were assembled.

  Everyone turned to look when she entered and Bridget came to a halt just inside the door, startled by the mass examination. She realized she was drawing her lip between her teeth and stopped herself. Instead she smiled at everyone.

  Will was standing by the sideboard, a glass in hand, scowling. He wore full formal evening attire and on his broad shoulders, it looked good. His silk cravat was white, which suited his tanned face. Bridget flashed him her warmest smile and the scowl smoothed out. Heated fire appeared in his eyes and she drew in a trembling breath. He liked her appearance.

  Jasper came over to her, a small smile on his face. Lilly stayed seated upon the sofa. She was smiling, too.

  “You look splendid,” Jasper murmured. “I would say I didn’t recognize you, although it is plainly you I see.” He caught Bakersfield’s eye. The butler waved a footman over to Jasper, who took one of the punch glasses off the tray and offered it to her.

  Bridget thanked him, then turned to greet each guest one by one and spend a little time with them before dinner was called. She tried not to resent that it was Jasper who had complimented her and not Will.

  Baron Sutcliffe was younger than Bridget expected. He appeared to be around the same age as Will, with a long nose and black, curly hair and a smile that seemed to speak volumes.

  “Lady Bridget, it was a delight to receive your invitation,” Sutcliffe told her, bowing over her hand. “It is an even greater delight to behold you in person.” His gaze moved over her, measuring her. His eyes danced. “You are a most unexpected beauty to find in the far corner of the Highlands.”

  Bridget nearly laughed at the idea that she was a beauty but held it in. Warmth touched her middle. “You are so kind to say so, Baron.”

  “Oh, I’m sure I am not the first. No wonder Rothmere keeps himself locked up here, with you to keep him company.”

  Over Sutcliffe’s shoulder, Bridget could see Will was scowling again. His gaze was on Sutcliffe’s back.

  Bakersfield cleared his throat, by the door. “Dinner is served, ladies and gentlemen.”

  Sutcliffe looked pleased. “Excellent timing,” he said. “I would be honored to escort you to the table, Lady Rothmere.”

  “Thank you, Sutcliffe.” She rested her hand on the back of his and they moved into the dining room. The big table, which had legs that looked like aged tree trunks, was spread with a sea of white linen, crystal and silverware, with three great candelabras between them.

  Sutcliffe took her to the end of the table opposite Will’s big chair. Bridget thanked him and the footman who pushed the chair beneath her. Sutcliffe bowed and went in search of his place card. When he found it on Bridget’s right, his smile was incandescent. “Indeed, I am the most fortunate man here tonight!”

  Bridget managed a strained smile, for Will’s expression was thunderous.

  Chapter Eight

  It was a relief when the last guest left and Lilly and Jasper retired to their guest bedroom. It gave Bridget the chance to escape to her own room where Brooks waited for her.

  She stripped the purple dress from her in hurried movements. Why had she not anticipated that other men besides Will would appreciate her effort to not disguise herself the way Will had asked?

  Sutcliffe’s behavior had become embarrassing as the dinner progressed. He made multiple toasts to Bridget and her beauty, which forced the other guests and Will to drink, too. He conversed only with Bridget. He pawed at her hand as she ate, forcing her to swap her fork to her left hand to eat and keep her right in her lap, out of his reach.

  Will had eaten little—a mouthful, to allow the other guests to begin, then he had dropped his utensil and reached for the brandy glass sitting beside his untouched champagne. He spoke rarely and only when someone addressed him directly. Lilly was at that end of the table. She chatted charmingly with the magistrate and his wife, covering up Will’s silence, which had continued to the end of the meal.

  Brooks brushed out Bridget’s hair and offered the lace wrapper. Bridget took it and dismissed Brooks and let out a great sigh when the door closed behind her maid.

  If Will followed his usual habit, he would stay in the library drinking until the house was dark and still. Maybe even later, given that he would be off to a late start because of the dinner.

  Barely three minutes after Brooks left, the door shoved open and Will strode in.

  Bridget finished tying the ribbon at her waist, trying to appear calm, even though her heart had shot up to her throat and was lodged there.

  Will’s expression was black and stormy. All the lightness of his features that his blue eyes and blond hair usually imparted had been dispersed by the fury that gripped him.

  “How dare you appear like that in public!” he ground out.

  “Like what?” she asked, keeping her tone cool, even though her trembling threatened to make her voice shake, too.

  “Like…like that! You know exactly what I
mean. That smile you gave me when you came into the dining room. You taunted me with it, then you turn about and fawn all over that dandy with the curly hair…” He stopped, his chest heaving. He tore the cravat from his throat and threw it aside. He ripped his cuffs and collars from the shirt, without regard to the pins that held them in place. The shirt shredded with a soft tearing sound.

  Then he removed the jacket.

  Bridget recognized what he was doing. Will was dispensing with the trappings of society, returning to the comfortable state in which he preferred to spend his days.

  “You are accusing me of flirting with Sutcliffe?” she asked.

  “You know damn well that is what I am saying!” He shoved his hair back with a hand that was unsteady.

  “I said nothing that could be construed as anything but lady-like,” Bridget said. “As for taunting you with a simple dress…you are the one who said I should give up my staid maiden’s dresses.”

  His lips parted. She had surprised him.

  Then the scowl came rushing back. “I didn’t mean that you should…should parade around in front of other men wearing that dress!” He spotted the purple fabric on the chair where Brooks had left it and the scowl deepened.

  “There is nothing wrong with the dress, Will,” Bridget said. “The neck is higher than Lilly wore.”

  Will made a sharp cutting motion with his hand. “You know exactly what I mean! That smile you gave me tells me you have learned what you did not understand before I married you. You waved it in front of me tonight! In front of me and every man there. You drew Jasper across the room like a fish on a line.”

  “You said I should dress this way!” Bridget cried, anger curling through her.

  “Not like this!” he roared.

  “How could I guess that is not what you meant? You never talk to me! You barely ever see me! It is as if we are strangers living in this house, who happen to share a dinner table occasionally!”

  “I married you, damn it! What else do you want from me?”

  Bridget could find nothing to say to that. She trembled. This had taken a sudden and unexpected turn and she didn’t like where it was heading. “Get out,” she said, keeping her voice low so Will could not hear it shaking. “Leave me alone,” she added.

  “You just said you don’t like being alone!” Will growled. “Make up your damn mind!”

  “Better alone, than your company!”

  He leapt at her, startling her so that a little shriek escaped her lips. Will grabbed her head and kissed her, his mouth hard and his tongue driving into her. The kiss held no mercy and no gentleness. It was driven, like him. It spared her not at all.

  Her fury turned and became a molten hot wanting. Heat enveloped her, tearing through her limbs and shredding her nerves. She kissed Will back with equal fervor, gripping his shirt sleeves with her fists, trying to bring him even closer. The stitching tore. She barely heard it. She could only hear her racing heart and Will’s fast breath.

  He shredded the lace at her throat and ripped the wrapper from her. As soon as it was removed, he grasped her breasts, groaning as he slid his hands over them.

  His touch drained her strength. Bridget held on to him, every limb useless.

  Will spun her around and pushed her toward the bed. His hand against her back bent her over it.

  Her heart hurting with the speed of its beating, Bridget barely got her hands to the cover to prop herself up when Will gripped her hips with trembling hands and rammed into her from behind.

  The taking was frightening in its fierceness, yet she groaned with the good, hot savagery of it. It was exactly what she wanted. His cock was hotter than her, filling her and using her, draining her of strength and giving her the sensual pleasure she had grown to love.

  Her pleasure leapt and climbed as he thrust deeply, his hips slapping into her, shoving her forward with each thrust. With a catch of her breath she realized she was going to climax, purely from Will being inside her. She had never done that before. It had always taken Will’s hand or mouth on her, or her own, for her to experience that sweet pinnacle.

  Her climax gripped her and she could feel her channel clamp down around Will, as the pleasure singed her nerves and flared in her mind, stealing her vision for a moment. Her breath was seared from her lungs.

  Will groaned heavily, his fingers digging in as he came, too. It was a purely mutual pleasure, Bridget realized. One stolen from anger.

  He did not withdraw. Instead, he gripped her shoulder and raised her, so her back pressed against his brocade waistcoat and her bottom ground against the fine gaberdine of his suit, while he remained inside her.

  “Will…”

  “Shh,” he told her, his voice heavy. His hand cupped her breasts, toying with the nipples. He plucked them and drew them out and teased them.

  Bridget closed her eyes and gave in to the little silvery spears of pleasure that arrowed down to her clitoris from his touch. When his hand drifted over her belly, down to her cleft and slipped in, she moaned.

  He teased and played with her and his cock shifted and throbbed inside her as her body responded by squeezing him, stroking him with ripples of pleasure. She came again with a strained cry, shuddering around him.

  His lips seared the nape of her neck. “Mine,” he muttered against her flesh.

  Then he put her on the bed and stripped the last of his clothing with impatient movements.

  He climbed onto the bed and settled on his knees, with his cock jutting proudly. He picked her up again, bringing her legs around his waist and lowering her down onto his shaft. His eyes glittered in the low light, as he watched her face and ground himself into her.

  Bridget wrapped her arms around him and held on. She could do nothing more than that, for the pleasure was too overwhelming.

  Why, oh why, was this the only way they could talk to each other?

  The lament faded, as her excitement built.

  * * * * *

  Will only let her rest when she was already falling asleep against his shoulder and could only rouse to a sluggish flare of passion.

  He lifted the covers over them and pulled her up against him. He was hot and solid against her back. She sighed and slept.

  She woke only a little while later. The lamps were still lit and the moon was low in the sky. It was very late, or very early.

  The other side of the bed was empty.

  Will had gone.

  * * * * *

  Will came home two days later, long after Lilly and Jasper had returned to Yorkshire. Jasper had waved aside Bridget’s pathetic explanation for Will’s absence and patted her cheek. “You’ll work it out. I have no doubt of that at all.”

  Bridget’s eyes burned with unshed tears. “I’m glad you think so.”

  “I know so.” He picked up Lilly’s hand. Lilly smiled softly. “I saw the way he looked at you.”

  “Lust isn’t love,” Bridget said, her voice husky, too upset to be embarrassed about speaking of such an intimate matter.

  “Not by a long mile,” Jasper agreed, his tone breezy. He wasn’t embarrassed, either.

  Lilly hugged her goodbye and they hurried to catch the train at Inverness, leaving Bridget alone.

  Bridget moved through the following two days, drained and bewildered. She didn’t know where she might start looking for Will, or even if she dared to try. Before she could summon the courage to ask Bakersfield where the nearest club or saloon would be, Will came home.

  He walked in the door without a hat, his coat hanging open and his shirt rumpled. He wore no cravat, no collar and no waistcoat. Nor did he appear to be wearing a jacket under his coat.

  Will stalked into the morning room, bringing with him the smell of clean, fresh snow, pine…and brandy.

  Bridget put her embroidery hoop aside.

  Will barely met her eyes. He rubbed the back of his neck, staring at the fire. Then he sank onto the end of the sofa with a sudden movement, as if he was forcing himself to it. He gripped
his hands together. His gaze lifted to her face. “We must talk, you and I. This…we…cannot go on like this.”

  Bridget nodded. “We must talk, yes, but not just about us, Will.”

  His eyes narrowed.

  Bridget forced herself to speak the secret that had been locked in her chest for days. “I am with child, Will.”

  He grew still. His hands stopped moving. Even his breath seemed to halt. His gaze fixed upon the rug beneath him.

  Then he threw himself to his feet with a deep gusty exhalation and moved to the window. He kept his back to her as he watched through the lace curtains. It was snowing again, the white flakes spitting and tapping the glass with little wet slaps, barely heard over the crackle of the fire.

  Bridget leaned back against the cushions, relaxing. She had spoken the dreadful truth. Relief touched her.

  Will’s shoulders worked under the coat, twisting as if they strained under an invisible load. “His bastard…” he breathed.

  Alarmed, Bridget sat up, her heart thudding. She stared at Will, trying to discern what that muttered comment meant. “Will, you knew this might happen. That is why you married me…and see, you were right all along.” She got to her feet. “You have saved me from complete ruin, for which you will have my gratitude, always.”

  His laugh was strained. “Your gratitude!” Still he did not turn to look at her.

  Bridget realized she was biting her lip once more and pressed her lips together to halt herself. She paused to reach for a calm that would not come.

  Always, this chasm separated them that she could not cross because she did not know what hid within it. The silence, the misunderstanding… “I thought we were friends,” she said.

  Will whirled to confront her. “What on earth does that mean?”

  “You will not talk to me, Will. You keep everything held inside you so I cannot tell what you are thinking or how to…to help you.”

  “I don’t want your help.”

  “That is why you married me! To help you!”

  “To help me get an heir,” he said bitterly. His gaze fell to her waist. “Instead, I get his.”

  “You knew that might happen! You said that was why we must marry, because it might and now it has!”