Embracing Ashberry (45 page)

“Instead you found the dirtiest,
unhealthiest death ship you could and deposited him on it—not a
terrible idea.”

Whitney shrugged. “It worked, I suppose.
Still, it was the cowardly way out.” He grimaced. “I couldn’t
explain it to Edward here or anyone in the family without
explaining how I had found her attacker.”

“We found out anyway,” Ashberry murmured
simply. “After our marriage, I was unwilling to let the matter stay
completely buried.”

Edward finally cleared his throat to
interject, “I still don’t understand how you kept the woman, Papa,
or where your current money is coming from.” He frowned.

Whitney looked suddenly uncomfortable. It
took him several minutes to decide upon his answer but after a look
at Ashberry’s face, Edward waited. Finally, the baron answered
slowly, “I have been very careful since you were learning your
sums, Edward, to keep my two lives separate. You know I have a
violent edge I cannot always control—when I felt it spilling out of
me, I would come to London until I was sure I no longer endangered
your mother or you children.” He cleared his throat. “The few times
I was unable to escape here, your mother bore the brunt of it.”

“At home, when I was a boy, I remember,”
Edward said soberly. “And more recently, in Europe.”

“Yes,” Whitney murmured. “Part of that
second life was a mistress, who I understand you have met.”

“You beat her,” Ashberry said simply. “She
made it clear to us that was part of the package—it was understood
on both sides.”

Whitney nodded and both of his challengers
saw the chagrin on his face. “When I was young, I tried boxing,
hunting, even fencing. Nothing worked. As soon as I could, I found
a girl who was willing and who wouldn’t complain for a pretty penny
and that seemed to satisfy me.” He swallowed and finally took a
gulp of the brandy, apparently seeking courage. “Your mother didn’t
even find out about my predilection until after you were born,
Edward. I finally confessed it to her after—after John was born. I
lost control of my urges one night and—”

Edward stopped him, his face darkening. “No
details, Papa,” he bit out. “Just the basic facts will do.”

The man nodded and went on, “She told me to
go to London then, and she wouldn’t argue with me over those trips
if she understood the reason. I realized soon after Ellie was born,
though, that Flossie wasn’t ... enough. I bought a small house in
Kensington and installed several girls there—working girls.” He
grimaced, “It didn’t take me long to realize that they were
continuing their business when I was out of town—I hired a manger
for them, so to speak, and began to collect my share of the profits
from their business.”

Ashberry’s eyebrows quirked at the news. “So
you own the brothel?” he murmured.

Whitney stared at the brandy again before
swinging another gulp. “Yes,” he ground out. “I own it. It’s
self-supporting—actually, it makes a healthy profit. I reimbursed
the Rose Hill accounts for all the money I took from them when the
thing began and keep this little diversion completely separate.”
His eyes, bleary as he gulped down the last of the brandy, met
Ashberry’s. “And I used it to pay Flossie as well. It’s made a tidy
profit over the years, particularly after I stopped supporting
her.” He laughed, suddenly amazed by his own fortune. “What man is
as blessed as I? I have four upstanding and respectable children,
two with titles, and I get to enjoy myself as much as I damn well
please without endangering them.” He hauled in a deep breath. “I
think I will go now—I have a pretty little Negro girl who I’m
teaching about pain. She’s still a virgin and tonight, I might
change that.” He stood and stumbled to the door, wrenched it open
headed into the hall.

The sounds of the hell drifted into the hall
as Edward and Ashberry stared after him.

* * * *

The marquess who stepped into his house in
Grosvenor Square was much more sober than the marquess who had left
it. He and Edward had hardly spoken after Whitney’s departure, at
least not until the carriage door had closed behind them.

Edward had broken the silence. “He never
could tolerate alcohol well,” he said disgustingly.

After a moment, he remembered his wife and
then looked at Ashberry seriously. “As to Charlotte, Ashberry—I
have never felt any desire to beat her, other than the common
momentary urges I have when she acts outrageously.”

Ashberry had met his eyes just as seriously.
“I know that you do not, Edward. I have seen you together and I
knew before you married her that you shared a temperament with your
mother—cool, decisive and without malice.” They had spoken no more
on the subject.

Ellie was in her sitting room. Ashberry let
himself into the room and simply looked at her as she reclined on
the chaise. She smiled up at him and rose, garbed in the glorious
golden nightwear he had given her when they married. His eyes
lingered on her curves and her glow and then he said quietly, "I
have so much to tell you."

"Later," she murmured, stopping just in
front of him and reaching out to unbutton his coat. "Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow, then," he agreed, and drew her
close.

TWENTY

Ellie laid back against the pillow and
smiled a bit at the ceiling. She was still in bed, true, and the
month before the birth of tiny Lady Rosalie Catherine Trinity had
been stressful beyond anticipation—at least beyond Ellie's
anticipation. Still, they had all survived, even Ashberry, against
all expectations and predictions of dire.

Knowing she needed to rest, Ellie peeked
under the sheet at the tiny bundle resting against her side.
Rosalie slept peacefully for the moment and so Ellie, too, closed
her eyes. The memories of the last weeks flitted through her mind,
as well as a bit of chagrin at her own actions.

Deliberately, she forced herself to
remember.

July wasn't the most pleasant month to be
kept in bed, though after a few humid, stale days, Ashberry carried
Ellie to her own room while big, burly men from the stables came up
to their rooms and moved the furniture. When Stephen had returned
his wife to the bedchamber, the bed resided in the one place where
the slightest breeze ruffled and bounced over the bed as it passed
between two open windows.

Ellie was again firmly ensconced amid the
sheets, billows and coverlets. At night, Ashberry would lie beside
her, draw up her voluminous gowns, and lovingly trace her curves,
even to the point of massaging the tiny appendages that stretched
Ellie's taut skin.

"First babies are notoriously late," Ellie
assured him a full week before they had calculated the baby would
come. "You know the doctor said it will be at least two weeks."

Ashberry frowned at the window beyond the
bed. "I'm just not certain I should go."

Ellie smiled at him gently. "Truly Stephen,"
she murmured, "I will be fine. You need to finish up that business
with Finnigan, and if you stay here, you'll simply haunt the house
all day worrying." She cupped his cheek. "Besides, you'll be back
before bedtime."

"I know," he grumbled, kissing her tenderly.
"But that is more than twelve hours away."

"You can sit with me all day tomorrow if it
makes you feel better," she encouraged him. "Sarah, Mother and
Caroline are all here to keep me company, and you know Wendy will
look after me. If I get become utterly desperate for entertainment,
I shall ask Caro to bring Andrew in for an hour or so." Andrew was
eight months old now, and smiling, laughing, and entertaining his
adoring female fans.

Ashberry laughed, and the mood lightened as
he bid his wife a good day.

Ellie waited exactly an hour after he
departed before she summoned Wendy. Bright-eyed and in the early
stages of marriage and pregnancy, Wendy dashed into the room.

Ellie's earlier smile had waxed into an
expression of decided discomfort. "I need to wash," she told the
maid briskly. "Thoroughly."

Wendy paused, for something in Ellie's face
clearly stated that had entered yet another phase in her pregnancy.
"What's happened?" she asked anxiously, feeling Ellie's forehead
with all the fussy skill of a new mother.

"Not a thing," Ellie grumbled, waiting while
Wendy went to deliver a quick request for hot water to the
underling in the corridor. Like Ellie, Wendy was not allowed to
lift, carry or otherwise endanger her unborn infant, and Ellie
smiled mistily at the notion of Wendy snuggled up with a little
babe at her breast. In truth, Wendy's pregnancy had turned her more
into companion than maid; another maid was assuming those duties
Wendy couldn't perform.

Wendy returned to Ellie's side with a cup of
tea, still looking her over carefully. With a sigh, Ellie relented.
"Oh, all right," she murmured, sipping from the hot brew. "I don't
think it will be two weeks like the doctor said. Indeed, I doubt it
will be two days."

Wendy stared at her in shock, mouth opening
in mute astonishment.

"I've been having small pains for a few
hours now," Ellie added with a small smile. "And they haven't gone
away like the ones did last month. Actually, they're getting a
little stronger."

Wendy found her voice. "But you can't—” she
breathed, horrified. "What about—” And then, "I'll send someone to
the Stables immediately. His lordship—”

Ellie shook her head. "No, he's not there,"
she said calmly. "He left for Finnigan's Folly nearly an hour ago,
Wendy."

"We'll send someone after him then," Wendy
rushed to the bell pull, but paused when Ellie struggled to sit up
in bed, holding out her hand.

"You'll do no such thing," she said firmly.
Ellie cocked a brow at her. "He'll be here in plenty of time and
the meetings are very important." Setting aside her teacup she
added more gently, "I don't propose to do anything foolish. I just
want to be clean, put on a fresh gown, and then call for Mother and
Sarah."

Wendy continued to look doubtful, so Ellie
added, a little desperation to her voice, "Please don't make me
anxious Wendy."

The plea was enough to send Wendy scurrying
for fresh sheets and a lovely emerald green dressing gown that
Ellie loved. Grateful for Wendy's patience, she cooperated while
Wendy helped her wash, freshen her hair and rub lotion into her
neck, shoulders, hands, feet and legs. Finally, Wendy helped her
slip the cool cotton gown over her skin and Ellie laid back against
the numerous pillows that were piled behind her.

After that, the day sped by. Wendy hovered,
her mother paced and worried, Caroline cheerfully came in and out.
Sarah interceded when the other women threatened to overwhelm Ellie
and smother her with their fretting.

Ellie bore the increasing pain with hardly a
complaint, though she knew her face was losing its color and
drawing deep breaths grew more difficult. Indeed, she could hardly
deny it, as her pale countenance was one of the primary reasons
Wendy kept forcing more tea into Ellie. The doctor came and
went—his visit a reluctant concession from Ellie to pacify her
worried attendants, who knew he wouldn't be needed yet.

Ellie had no way of knowing that Jenson had
been dispatched to the Stables, his posting permanent until
Ashberry returned. He delivered his message before the weary lord
had even dismounted from his steed.

The lady winced as she remembered how
Ashberry had burst into the room, a purely wild and uncontrolled
look on his face. Covered in dust and grime, his eyes fixed
unerringly on Ellie as he strode to the bed. Ellie thanked the
fates that she had been resting and not in the throes of a
contraction at the time, for her smile seemed to be the only
possible antidote for his temper.

The worry eased slightly from his cheeks and
forehead, though the undeniable temper in his eyes didn't fade.
Quietly, Ellie asked her companions to give her a few moments alone
with her husband. Ashberry opened his mouth, then closed it as he
realized Ellie had recognized his reaction for what it was. He
waited until the room had emptied before he let loose his
complaint. "Ella Trinity, I can
not
believe you didn't tell
me you were already having pains this morning!" His lips thin, he
blew out a long breath. "You
knew
I would want to
know!"

Ellie drew a long, slow breath, working past
the haze of pain that was again forming through her abdomen and
back. She finally said quietly, "I knew you would be home before
the baby came," she murmured, "And going today would be better than
three days from now."

"Business be
damned!
" Ashberry
roared, turning and making an angry, inadequate gesture with his
hands. Ellie closed her eyes and clenched the mattress, relieved he
had turned away, however unknowingly. "Ellie," he began angrily,
then paused.

Ellie opened her eyes but he continued to
stare out the window, unseeing. She remained silent while he
struggled with his irritation. And when he spoke her name again, it
wasn't in anger but echoed with a hurt that brought tears to
Ellie's eyes. "Ellie, please don't shut me out. I need to be with
you right now or I'll go truly mad."

Her voice was thin when she answered, for
the pain was at its apex then. "Then please come hold my hand,
Stephen. It hurts right now. A lot."

And he did hold her hand, for hours. He
washed and changed when the pain waned temporarily, and fed her
small bites of food even later. And when the doctor came the next
morning, he was still there, pale and tired and murmuring words of
encouragement.

Ellie was beginning to breathe a bit easier,
and the worry had begun to leech from Ashberry's face when the
doctor disposed of the afterbirth and then turned back to
Ellie.

She gasped and clutched as Ashberry's arm as
blood gushed between her thighs.