Man of My Dreams Boxed Set

by Minger, Miriam

  Ellen at once looked relieved that their conversation had taken a swift turn although her clear gray eyes held a touch of what Corisande could swear, to her dismay, was pity.

  “In the library, my lady. But I believe he plans to leave shortly with Mr. Gilbert. His Lordship said he wouldn’t be home for luncheon—he mentioned something about business at the mine, but surely by supper—”

  “Oh, dear, I have to wait to see him until supper?” Corisande broke in with mock alarm, hoping to show the housekeeper, too, that her wifely devotion to Donovan had not been shaken. “You must go to him, Ellen, right this minute, and tell him I’ll be downstairs as soon as I can to say good-bye.” She set her teacup with a clatter onto the tray. “Did you say I’ve a bath ready?”

  “Yes, my lady, in your bedchamber. I’ve also hung up your clothes in the wardrobe, but your wedding dress…” The housekeeper cleared her throat delicately. “I fear your wedding dress is beyond repair.”

  Her face suddenly burning, Corisande chose to skip over that subject altogether. She threw aside the covers and rose somewhat shakily, not surprised when Ellen caught her arm to steady her. But she didn’t want the woman’s help, however well-meaning, this business of having servants constantly hovering around her quite unsettling. And now she had to contend with them feeling sorry for her too; Lady Donovan, the poor little country simpleton, so naïve, so trusting, so blind. Oh, she couldn’t wait to have her normal life back again!

  “I’ll be fine, Ellen. Really. You don’t have to stay to wait upon me. And I’d be so disappointed if I miss my husband…”

  “Oh, yes, of course. I’ll see to it right away.” Having swallowed the cue, Ellen hustled away only to pause at the door. “If you need anything, my lady, there’s a bell pull in your chamber. Someone will come straightaway, well, at least we’ll do our best. We’re rather shorthanded now. If you know any local girls who might wish for employment here at the house, I’d welcome your recommendation.”

  Corisande sighed to herself as the housekeeper disappeared, thinking that there were many women in the parish who would leap for joy to have steady work to help their families. But to give someone a job that would last only a few weeks? Maybe days, if she got her wish and that inheritance came soon from Dorset. It would be cruel to build such hopes. Ah, but she couldn’t think of it now. She had to hurry if she was going to catch Donovan. She had a few things to say to him, and they didn’t include a pleasant good-bye.

  Corisande felt her cheeks growing hot again as she hastened from his bedchamber and into her own without a backward glance, grateful to be gone from the place. Grateful, too, in a way that she had become ill. Oh, she hoped she’d retched and retched. That must have repulsed him and kept him far, far away from her! Maybe she should drink a good strong dose of sherry every night.

  A sharp queasiness in her stomach made Corisande quickly abandon the idea, the high-backed metal tub placed before a freshly stoked fire looking quite inviting as her knees suddenly felt a bit wobbly too. Within a moment, she had stripped out of her nightgown and settled with a long sigh into the steaming bathwater that smelled heavily of lavender oil.

  Which she supposed made sense, considering that the fragrant herb was well-known as a restorative for hysterical women. Ellen Biddle must have poured a whole bottleful into this tub, probably believing that Corisande hadn’t been stricken with nerves as much as a frenzied fit after discovering she’d become an overnight bride simply to serve as brood mare for the heir to the dukedom of Arundale.

  Nerves! Had Donovan told the woman that? It was a perfect excuse to explain why she’d been ill, though. Lord, if the housekeeper, and Donovan for that matter, only knew the truth—

  “Miss Biddle said you wanted to see me, wife?”

  Chapter 16

  Corisande shrieked and covered her breasts with her hands, water splashing onto the floor as she sank as low as she could into the tub. It was only then that she realized Donovan had spoken from behind her, and she craned her neck to glare at him.

  “How—how dare you! Get out! Get out, I tell you—”

  “Enough, Corie.” He gave her no indication that he intended to go anywhere as he continued to lean against the doorjamb to the sitting room, his arms crossed casually over his chest although he looked taut with tension. “There may be fewer servants in the house now, but that doesn’t mean you can raise the rooftop with your infernal shouting.”

  “Then don’t creep up like…like a bloody snake behind me!” she sputtered, incensed. “Having to sleep together in the same bed to make things look cozy and proper between us is quite another thing than you standing there watching me bathe. Now please leave!”

  With that she faced front and sank down further to her chin, which, to her chagrin, only made her knees rise higher, the tub too small to accommodate her long legs. But bare white knees were better than her breasts bobbing in plain view, no matter that Donovan was standing well behind her. She closed her eyes and counted to twenty, then hazarded a glance over her shoulder to discover he had gone.

  Oh, Lord, that made her wonder if he had stormed from their suite altogether, and here she wanted to talk to him! Corisande grabbed one of the thick cotton towels hanging over a wooden rack and wound it around herself as she climbed from the tub, water splattering the rug as she raced to the wardrobe. It was such a relief to see some of her own familiar clothes again. She didn’t bother to dry herself fully but shrugged into a thin linen shift first, then one of her wool dresses, followed by plain white stockings and her sturdy walking shoes.

  Her first thought as she hastily gathered her hair into a loose bun was to run downstairs to catch him, but she supposed she should check the other rooms first. He might not have left. She flew into the sitting room, stopping short as Donovan turned dark brooding eyes upon her from where he stood by a tall window.

  He didn’t look happy at all, and she imagined that was due to her shrewish outburst. Even if he had interrupted her at her bath, she shouldn’t have shouted at him like a fishwife and called him a snake. That hadn’t been wise, no, not with servants lurking around. In fact, she felt a bit guilty about it, but he had startled her so badly

  “I see you’re feeling none the worse for last night.”

  He didn’t sound very happy either, no, not at all, Corisande thought with some apprehension, swiping a damp tendril from her face. “Actually my stomach feels a little odd. I’d never have imagined one could become so ill after bumping one’s head.”

  “Helped along by a glass of champagne, of course.”

  Corisande looked at him uncertainly, his tone having grown even more brusque. “Well, yes, I suppose I shouldn’t have drunk it so quickly—”

  “Or half emptied the decanter of sherry in the drawing room. I suggest if you’ve a mind to drink spirits in the future, you keep it to a minimum, Corie. Nerves will suffice as an excuse for our wedding night, but not again if we’re to make things look as if you’ve been properly bedded. Are we understood?”

  She gaped at him, bristling and feeling quite embarrassed by turns. Properly bedded? Lord, she wasn’t going to touch that one at all, but the other…

  “I’m not a drunkard, if that’s what you’re thinking and—and, well, I don’t care what you think! Anyone in my place would have done the same thing. You were meeting with Gilbert, and I was left waiting and waiting—and I don’t see why I’m explaining myself to you anyway! If you just came up here to rant at me—” Corisande didn’t finish, suddenly eyeing Donovan warily. “How did you know about the sherry? One of the servants could have drunk—”

  “You told me yourself. Just before you got sick.”

  She frowned. “That’s not possible. I’d have remembered. I remember tripping and bumping my head.”

  “And becoming ill?”

  “Yes, of course! I told you my stomach still hurts.”

  “But you don’t remember telling me about the sherry.”

  “No.”

 
“Or anything else, for that matter, after you were sick.”

  He was looking at her so oddly that Corisande began to feel quite nervous. “Why did you say that? Is there something I should have remembered?”

  When he gave no answer, merely staring at her, his handsome face set and unreadable, she felt a flush race from her scalp to her toes, her sense of unease growing. “You didn’t…I mean, we didn’t…oh, Lord, surely not—”

  “No, we didn’t, but your not knowing is another damned good reason to stay away from the sherry, wouldn’t you say?” Donovan interrupted gruffly, ending her torment. Time to end his too—damn if he couldn’t drive the image of her sitting naked in a tub out of his mind!—and get on with why he’d come to her room in the first place. “I was already on my way to see you when I met Miss Biddle in the hall. She mentioned she’d asked for your help in replacing some of the household help, so you must know—”

  “Yes, I know,” came the snappish reply, Corisande’s deep brown eyes full of angry fire. “How gallant of you to come to my rescue, kind sir! It must have been a fine show, indeed. I wish I’d seen it! Ah, yes, the vengeful husband protecting his bride! But I fear you’re too late, the damage already done.”

  “What damage?” Donovan demanded, not liking it at all that her sarcastic words had stung. “Those girls are gone, enough said.”

  “Ha! You think by dismissing them the gossip has stopped? A story like that has wings, my lord. It’s already flown through the servants. By the end of the day, everyone in the parish will have heard every detail and think I’m a fool. A silly romantic fool for believing that a fine aristocratic gentleman like yourself could come and sweep me away, a vicar’s daughter, while all you actually wanted was a good breeder to help you win your inheritance.”

  “Bess said that too? A good breeder?”

  “She said a lot of things.”

  Corisande’s voice had grown so quiet that Donovan felt his throat tighten, much as it had last night. And good God, it was bloody ridiculous! He didn’t want to feel sympathy, he didn’t want to feel anger for the hurt she’d suffered, he didn’t want to feel anything when it came to this long-legged waif of a woman.

  Why, just look at her, dressed once more in her dowdy ragamuffin clothes and probably quite happily too. She wasn’t anything at all like the sophisticated women he’d known, women whose perfume alone could fill a man with lust. This chit smelled medicinal, reeking of lavender. Nothing sensual there. Damned unpleasant too!

  The only good thing he could say about her, Corisande wasn’t like those grasping title-hungry virgins who’d been thrust at him every Season until he’d gone to war. She wouldn’t have looked at him twice if not for the business arrangement she’d accepted, not to benefit herself, but the people she cared about. In fact, she despised him! Despised him, and she didn’t know a damned thing about him. So why should he care if her feelings had been hurt—oh, hell, enough!

  Donovan glanced out the window to see that Henry already waited for him below, their horses saddled and snorting in the heavy drizzle. The man had worked fast. God, how Gilbert had tripped all over himself to swear he hadn’t betrayed Donovan’s confidence. It had been almost laughable. But the last thing he felt like doing right now was laughing as he grimly turned from the window to find Corisande scowling at him.

  “Obviously, my lord husband, you’ve nothing further to say, which doesn’t surprise me in the least. After all, it was never a question of your reputation—”

  “Or yours, woman, if you’d pause to consider things a moment before spouting at me. Is that bloody possible?”

  Stunned that he had raised his voice at her, and so harshly, too, Corisande clamped her lips together, which apparently was just what Donovan wanted.

  “Excellent. Now, as for your reputation, it doesn’t matter what the servants think, or the parish, or the blessed whole of Britain. Good marriage, unhappy marriage, indifferent marriage, it doesn’t make a damned bit of difference. And believe me” —Donovan’s voice grew even harsher— “unhappy marriages are far more common among those of my station than the blissful roles we’ve been playing—which is exactly my point. You don’t have to pretend that you’re happy anymore.”

  “I—I don’t?”

  “No. In fact, it would probably be better if you acted as if you hate me, at least for a time, considering the terrible surprise you’ve just suffered. That shouldn’t be too difficult for you.”

  His sarcasm was so biting that Corisande could only stare at him, never having seen this darker side of Donovan before…well, except a few days ago in the stable, and even that hadn’t been as bad.

  “Nothing to say? You surprise me, Corie. I’d have thought you’d be ecstatic to know you’re free to act however you please—ah, no matter. Do what you will. Just remember, people can think whatever they want about us as long as they don’t suspect our marriage is a purely temporary arrangement. That’s the only thing you and I need be concerned about.”

  “Why did you dismiss Fanny and the others, then, and not simply reprimand them?” Corisande asked, confused. “That would have made the most sense instead of leaving poor Ellen Biddle short of help and with three times as much work to do— Donovan?”

  He had strode past her so abruptly that she stood stunned, but before she thought to go after him he had spun back to face her, his eyes an angry black.

  “Stick to your affairs, Corie, and I’ll stick to mine. Is that understood? Those young women overstepped their bounds, upsetting the peace of this household. They should have known to keep their gossip well to themselves.” With that he strode into his bedchamber but stopped again, his swarthy face grown as dark and hard as she’d ever seen it.

  “Oh, yes, something else that might please you. I plan to spend much of my time at the mine, at least during the day. So you won’t be plagued with my presence. I’ve also informed Miss Biddle and Ogden that you will be continuing with your charity work throughout the parish and with helping your father, and that I wholeheartedly approve. So you see, your life hasn’t changed so drastically. You’ll be busy, I’ll be busy. The time will fly, and soon we’ll be free of each other’s company forever. I’ve sent a letter to my brother to let him know that yesterday we became husband and wife, as well as a formal announcement to the London papers. That should make things move swiftly. Now, was there something you wanted to speak to me about?”

  Corisande shook her head, speechless.

  “Good. I’ll see you at supper. By the way, you might wash that lavender smell from yourself before you go out. It’s damned overpowering. Not pleasant at all.”

  Gasping softly, Corisande felt her cheeks growing hot as Donovan moved to the door.

  “Have the coachman take you wherever you need to go. No matter the state of our marriage, you’re Lady Donovan Trent now. There are certain proprieties to be observed. I don’t want you going out alone.”

  “But—but that’s ridiculous! I’ve always gone everywhere by—” Corisande jumped, the door slamming behind Donovan before she’d even had a chance to finish. Outraged, she almost went after him but instead ran into his bedchamber and threw open the balcony doors, cool rain pelting her face as she went to grip the iron railing. She was determined to tell him exactly what she thought of his preposterous command as soon as he emerged from the house, and she didn’t care if the whole estate heard her. She wasn’t one of his regiment to be ordered about!

  “Why—why, Lady Donovan. Should you be standing there? It’s begun to rain, you’ll take a chill.”

  Corisande looked at Henry Gilbert’s upturned face, tempted to snap at the man—of course she knew it was bloody raining!—but something Donovan had said made her hold her tongue.

  Do what you will.

  Oh, yes, he had said those words as plain as the rain dripping off her nose. So why bother screeching and hollering? He was going his own way, she would go hers. What could be better? He probably couldn’t care less what she did anyway.


  That thought stuck with her as Donovan strode outside, Henry gesturing to him that she stood on the balcony. But Donovan barely gave her a glance as he donned his hat and mounted Samson, then spun his stallion around and urged him into a gallop. Within moments, he and Henry had ridden from view while Corisande stood shivering on the balcony, feeling strangely hollow inside and quite, quite alone.

  It was clear that he’d dismissed her from his mind as easily as flicking lint from his greatcoat. She was money in his pocket, nothing more. Why, he’d scarcely given her a look while she was…

  “Standing here like a bloody fool getting soaked and chilled to the bone, is what you’re doing, Corie Véronique,” she muttered to herself, running back inside the room. Lord, what was the matter with her? So she was alone. Wonderful! She wanted to be free of his company, yes, forever. She could hardly wait!

  She shut the balcony doors against the rain and then ran her hands over her face, which made her stop and stare at her palms, her skin fairly reeking with a distinctive smell.

  She smiled.

  So Donovan didn’t like lavender, hmm?

  Chapter 17

  “Are you sure this is the place, Gilbert?” Donovan studied doubtfully the crumbling white cottage with its small shuttered windows, no smoke pillaring from the stone chimney. “Looks quiet as a tomb.”

  “He’s probably still sleeping, my lord. Jonathan Knill said he’d heard Pascoe was working the last core at Great Work mine, so he wouldn’t have come home until after dawn.”

  “I’m surprised the bastard was able to find work at all,” Donovan said tightly as he dismounted and left Samson to nibble at the sparse grass alongside the muddy road. And as a bloody mine captain no less. Gilbert had brought the astonishing news this morning, though Great Work in neighboring Breage parish was so huge that there were a dozen such men overseeing hundreds of tinners. Jack Pascoe ranked the lowest of them all.