‘Are we never to what?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ He looked at her with those lovely, deep-blue eyes. ‘At least I will be here to protect you and take the burden of Tamara from your shoulders.’
It was spoken with an attempt at nonchalance and ardent chivalry, with the charming confidence in which Delphine knew him to be so proficient, but he did not quite manage to pitch it right this time. At that precise moment he did not look capable of protecting anyone, looked, indeed, to be in far more need of protection himself. He looked so tired, his eyelids almost too heavy for him to hold open, and some of her defiance began to melt away in the face of his vulnerability.
But Stephen was not so tired that he could not admire his wife. His mind was filled with thoughts of bedding her, of undressing her, of running his hands over her bare flesh, of plunging inside her, feeling release as he emptied his seed. But he had already decided to take things slowly, to tread carefully, not to rush things. He wanted to take her hand, which was within his reach, but his nerve failed him, for he had no wish to send her back into the stubbornness, the mutinous obstinacy she had shown on the day he had married her.
‘Do not misjudge me,’ he said softly. ‘Doubtless you think me the most abominable cur for seducing you. But I swear that at the time I did not know you were a respectable young lady—and you were so damned lovely I could not help it. I despise myself for it. I am tortured by guilt for what I did to you.’
Unable to doubt the sincerity of his words she managed a little smile. ‘I could never think you a cur. And all that is in the past, Stephen.’
‘I will try to control my urges in the future, Delphine.’ He gave her a most gentle, contrite smile. ‘But it will be no easy matter.’ For a moment neither of them spoke. Then he said, ‘I promise you I will not take advantage of you. For now, you are quite safe from me.’
God help her, she did not wish to be safe from him. As he turned his head away she wanted to beg him to kiss her like he had before he went away, to make her his, to ignore all his good intentions. The man she had married had been a libertine, careless of his life and in love with danger. There was a change in him now, which she assumed was caused by the horrors he had seen in Spain and his experiences of war. In the beginning they had hidden their feelings, had fought and argued—and made love. And now here they were, at a place where both of them longed to be, and yet they were strangers once more, both of them tongue tied.
‘I am relieved to hear it,’ she replied. ‘You’ve been away a long time. We need a while to get to know each other. I think we should take each day as it comes; see what each day brings.’ She met his gaze levelly. ‘For the time being I wish to be left alone—to go to my bed alone. I think you know what I mean.’
Stephen looked at her hard. Whatever ebullience he had briefly relished upon waking and languishing in erotic thoughts of his wife swiftly darkened into a sour irascibility. So, he thought, that’s the way she would have it. She could not have spoken plainer. It had not occurred to him that the beautiful, innocent temptress who had surrendered in his arms before he’d left for Spain, who’d returned his passion with such intoxicating sweetness, might no longer be quite so easily won over.
His wife had erected a high, sturdy barrier around herself, but not for one minute did he believe it was impregnable. Delphine was a warm and passionate woman; he was confident that he could succeed in luring her into bed any time he chose. But for the time being, with his head throbbing like hell and feeling as weak as a kitten, seducing his wife would have to wait.
Scooping Lowenna into her arms, Delphine crossed to the door. ‘Now you’re back with us I’ll have some food brought in to you. I’ll send Mr Oakley. He will continue to take care of all your personal needs while you remain in bed. What a loyal servant you have there, Stephen. I hope you appreciate him. He’s hardly left your side for a minute.’
* * *
After spending a further feverish three days in his room, driven to desperation by Mrs Crouch and Oakley fawning over him—but not his wife, who seemed to make a point of keeping away—Stephen made up his mind to rise from his sickbed.
As he strode about the house, becoming stronger by the day, Delphine watched his gradual improvement with admiration and pride, despite herself. Though thinner than she remembered, he looked healthy and bronzed, and his deep-blue eyes were clear and calm.
With each new day the bond between father and daughter grew stronger. Utterly enchanted by his beautiful child, Stephen doted on Lowenna; when he was with her, his eyes came truly to life. Delphine often found them asleep together in a chair, Lowenna curled up happily against his chest. At times the charming sight brought tears to Delphine’s eyes and she felt a tiny twinge of shameful envy, wishing she was the one resting her head on Stephen’s chest. Stephen was so gentle and patient with Lowenna that the child joyfully accepted this stranger as her papa.
Where Delphine was concerned, his eyes were always guarded. They were polite with one another, pleasant even, both of them doing their best to begin the process of making something of their lives together and to make a secure and happy home for Lowenna, but it wasn’t easy. Neither of them mentioned the couple of times they had spent in bed together before he’d left for Spain. Delphine didn’t wish him to see how desperately she wanted him. Her heart yearned for a two-way affection, not this one-sided affair, where all the emotion seemed to be on her side, and where all his tenderness was simply born out of natural lust.
* * *
The day was fine, the sea a sparkling sheet of light when Stephen returned from his ride over the moors. He entered the house so suddenly that Delphine, arranging flowers in a large vase, was put into a state of utter confusion. He paused in the open doorway, the light behind him, his shadow stretching across the hall. He wore a black jacket and white shirt and neckcloth, and it was strange seeing him out of his military attire. There was a brief silence, then he was striding forwards, his shining black hair, tousled from the ride, curling into his neck and outlining his tanned cheeks, the same magnetism she remembered of old in his midnight-blue eyes. The hall jumped to life about him as his presence filled it, infusing it with his own energy and vigour. There was not a trace now of his vulnerability when he’d lain wounded in bed.
‘They look nice,’ he said, indicating the golden blooms.
Stephen was almost bowled over when her face broke into a sudden dazzling smile. She was dressed in a powder-blue confection, her deep-red hair tied back with a ribbon of a darker hue, and he wanted to fold her into the embrace he’d craved since recovering consciousness. He felt the pain in his heart ease somewhat as his strange young wife began to fit tidily into an empty spot in his heart he hadn’t known was there.
‘Yes, I thought they’d brighten up the hall. There,’ she said, placing the last flower in the middle of the display and standing back to admire her handiwork.
‘Where is Lowenna?’ he asked, looking around, as if expecting his daughter to pop up out of nowhere.
‘Having her nap.’
‘I swear she grows prettier every day.’ He smiled. ‘She is as lovely as her mother,’ he said, meeting her gaze warmly. ‘Pretty as a princess, in fact.’
Flustered by the soft intimacy of his remark, Delphine could feel her face grow warm beneath his intense gaze. ‘Lowenna is certainly that—but she doesn’t resemble me in the slightest. She is the mirror image of you.’
‘I have the most beautiful wife and the most beautiful daughter in the kingdom. Any man would envy me.’
Stephen went and sat by the hearth, his long legs stretched out in front of him, tall shiny boots up on the fender, watching her. He was unable to believe what she had done to the house. Plasterwork and paintwork so obviously nearing the end of its life in the original stone-flagged medieval great hall, and the long gallery lined with an impressive ar
ray of Fitzwaring ancestral portraits, had been restored by master craftsmen. The carved-oak staircase rising majestically from the hall, in dire need of repair for years, had been put right, and the chimneys that smoked had been cleaned and repaired.
There was warmth, comfort, luxury even, in every room: the windows exquisitely draped with the finest fabrics and Chinese carpets in lovely shades covering the floors, their textures like velvet—all this without changing the nature of the beautiful old house. Even outside there was evidence of the time his wife had spent with the gardeners, discussing the care of the overgrown gardens that now pleased the eye wherever one looked.
‘I feel I must congratulate you, Delphine,’ he remarked as she took a seat opposite, the light from the flames reflected in his eyes. ‘You’ve worked wonders on the old place in my absence—and the gardeners have excelled themselves.’
‘I’m glad you approve of what I’ve done. You did give me carte blanche to spend whatever I wanted.’
‘I did, and after taking a look at the accounts I see you have spent wisely.’
‘What conclusions do you draw from my choice of furnishings?’
‘That you have excellent taste and that you are fond of colours—though delicate, not garish.’
Despite herself, Delphine laughed at the diplomacy of his answer.
‘You see, I am not so dull, am I? All women are fond of colours.’
His gaze lingered on her mouth. ‘I like hearing you laugh,’ he murmured. ‘You should laugh often.’
Her stomach lurched and she turned her head aside to hide her blush. She did not want him to be courtly and romantic, for if he did, she might succumb. She might start to believe he truly cared for her, when it was only a façade to get her into bed and satisfy his lusts. He did not love her, but she knew from the hurt in her heart that she was in great danger of loving him.
‘Tamara has not looked so fine in years—not since my mother was alive.’
‘Thank you,’ Delphine replied, touched and gratified by his praise of the changes she’d made. ‘But I cannot take all the credit. None of the changes could have been achieved without Mrs Crouch—and Alice, of course. It was a relief when the servants returned, otherwise we could never have done so much.’
‘And you never left to visit your parents in London?’
‘No. I couldn’t—not with Lowenna on the way, and afterwards there always seemed to be so much to do. But—I have arranged to go.’
‘When?’
‘Next month—in three weeks. My parents are keen to meet Lowenna. I thought I should go while the roads are suitable for travelling. Do you mind?’
‘Would it matter if I did?’
‘Yes, of course it would. You’ve only just arrived home. I would understand perfectly if you objected to my going.’ She frowned, giving him a questioning glance. ‘Do you?’
‘Rest assured, Delphine, I have no objections. It’s understandable that your parents should want to see you and to meet their granddaughter. I expect you are looking forward to the prospect after two years of enforced rustication. I told you I have several military matters to take care of myself in London, so I shall accompany you.’
‘Oh,’ she gasped, ‘I hadn’t thought…’
‘What? That I wouldn’t want to go?’ He smiled. ‘Naturally I wish to accompany my wife. I never had the chance to woo you before our marriage; now the perfect opportunity presents itself. No doubt we can attend a ball or two and take Lowenna sightseeing—although I suppose she’s still a little young for that. I shall take you shopping—for new gowns, material and jewels and anything else you might fancy.’
Delphine laughed at his exuberance. ‘Shopping?’ she asked, somewhat bemused.
‘Why not? Surely a man can be forgiven for giving his wife jewels and wanting to have her beautifully dressed.’ He waited for her to say, Do you think you can buy me…?, but instead she simply laughed again.
‘If you want to throw money at the goldsmiths and mercers in London, then do so—but please don’t expect me to wear them all at once. Anyway, I have more than enough of everything.’
‘Ah, but not chosen by me.’
She gave him a look of mock offence. ‘Are you saying my taste displeases you?’
‘No, you have excellent taste—if leaning somewhat towards the practical—and I have noted that you do tend to favour browns and greys and other unexciting shades. You have spent too long championing the poor and needy and neglecting yourself, Delphine. Now I think it is time for a little pampering.’
Delphine stared at him with disdain. ‘I have never been pampered in my life; I am sure I would not like it if I were. And jewels I have no need for. Everyone knows that jewels are displayed as a symbol of status, of wealth, which is meaningless to me.’
‘Nevertheless, I insist.’
‘Very well. If you want to indulge in wanton extravagance, then who am I to discourage it?’
‘Would you have everyone pity you for having a miser for a husband?’
‘I do not seek the approval of strangers.’
‘No.’ He laughed. ‘I don’t believe you do.’ And then on a more tender note that made Delphine’s heart flutter and brought her head up, he said, ‘There is nothing ordinary about you, is there, Delphine?’
‘I hope not. Do you mind?’
‘Most certainly not. I applaud the wildness and individuality I first saw in you. I would not have you any other way.’
The warmth of his voice brought a soft flush to Delphine’s cheeks. ‘I’m sure you won’t be bored in London. No doubt you are familiar with all the gentlemen’s clubs and have done your fair share of gambling.’
He grinned. ‘I confess I am not averse to a spot of gambling now and then, and have done so in most of London’s polite and impolite gaming houses. Now tell me what you have arranged by way of accommodation.’
‘I—I have arranged to stay with my parents, naturally. I shall understand perfectly if you wish to stay elsewhere.’
‘I confess that I do not relish the idea. On the other hand, I have no wish to be parted so soon from you and Lowenna. I shall send Oakley on ahead to look for a property to rent. That way we can be together and you can still see your parents. Is that agreeable to you?’
‘Not really. Rose and Fern are to be in London and Mama was so looking forward to having us all to stay.’
Stephen brooded for several moments, then took a deep breath. ‘Then I’m sorry to have to disappoint her. The manner in which your father forced my hand into marrying you still rankles. I am not yet ready to begin playing happy families, so you will abandon this idea, if you please, Delphine.’
He said it reasonably enough, quietly enough, but the space around them was hushed, waiting for something that would not be pleasant when it came.
‘I do not please, Stephen,’ she answered, her own voice quiet. ‘Since you have an aversion to staying with my parents, you can stay in rented accommodation and Lowenna and I will stay with them.’ Having made her own decisions during his absence, without having to answer to anyone, she deeply resented his high-handed attitude.
Stephen’s face hardened and his eyes darkened to indigo. Anger flared in them, as sudden and as bright as quicksilver. ‘I think not.’
Delphine felt her heart sink, but she ploughed on regardless. ‘How are we to discuss this terrible dilemma if every time my parents are mentioned you refuse to put behind you the threats my father made at the beginning?’
‘Can you?’
‘Yes, I must,’ she answered, determined to be truthful, wondering if she would ever be able to speak to him of her father without him freezing up. ‘Can you not see how awkward this situation is for me? What am I to do? It is natural that in time my parents will wish to come to Tamara—t
o see where their daughter lives.’
‘Even though their treatment of you throughout your life has bordered on neglect.’
She nodded, the memories still painful. ‘I have to, Stephen. I know that you and my father can never be friends, but what you did to me does not endear you to him, either.’
‘Really!’ he drawled. ‘You astonish me. I meant what I said, Delphine. When we go to London, we will live together—in accommodation of my choosing. Is that understood?’
Slowly but deliberately, Delphine said, ‘Are you asking, or ordering me?’
‘Does it make any difference?’
‘Yes, it does.’
‘I am your husband. You vowed to obey me. But in this instance I am asking you. Your first allegiance is to me—your husband. Remember that. It is I who make the decisions. A house of our own will be more suitable to our needs.’
She stood up and when she spoke her voice was icy. ‘You speak to me as if I were one of your soldiers, Stephen, and the way you use that word allegiance—why, anyone would assume we were about to go into battle, when it is nothing of the sort. Very well. It will be as you wish. I will go and write to my mother at once to inform her of my change of plans.’
* * *
The household at Tamara functioned with a smoothness Stephen found satisfying. Delphine saw so little of her husband. When he wasn’t working in his study on all sorts of unfathomable business transactions, meeting with his agents and bailiff, he spent his days at the mines and riding about the estate. When they were together, they did not quarrel or disagree on anything of importance, but there were tense undercurrents running between them that each was aware of.
In all this time Stephen did not step any closer to his wife. He did not fool himself into thinking that she loved him—he had known the truth of her feelings before he married her and, if he was perfectly honest with himself, knew she would not have married him had she not been forced into it. He had apologised for ravishing her—an apology ludicrously inadequate considering the seriousness of the crime.
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