Heather Graham (18 page)

He stared at her incredulously. “Trying to save your life!”

“If you hadn’t chased after me—”

“If you hadn’t tried to sneak away—”

“I just came out for a ride!” she cried.

But it was a lie. He arched a brow, staring at her, watching her cheeks redden since they both knew that it was a lie.

His lip curled and his voice was light, if challenging. “Just where were you going?” he asked her.

She tried to push away from him. His fingers were laced around her waist, holding her tight.

“To see the sights.”

He started to move her. He wasn’t at all sure that some part of his body wasn’t broken. The whole of it hurt, although he had no intention of letting Rose know that. She’d be calling him ancient again if he wasn’t careful.

As he lifted her above him, he heard a jangling. It seemed to come from her side. She took advantage of his assistance, though, and leapt up, instinctively backing away from him. He stood quickly, following her. “My dearest love, what could that sound be?”

“Nothing!”

But he reached her, pulling her into his arms and flipping away the cape. She was dressed in simple cotton, and the jingling had come from her pocket. He reached out and discovered that she was carrying a small pouch in her skirt. She struggled for a second to keep it, then, knowing he would defeat her, surrender the pouch and backed away swiftly.

He jingled it by his ear, smiling at her. “Why, how amazing! This has the sound of a good sum of coins!”

She colored slightly but kept her chin high, her eyes steady upon him.

“It’s my money.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

“I’m a wealthy woman—”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I am owed quite a dowry for you. But that is not the point, my love. Just where were you going? To London perhaps? To board the first ship leaving for the New World?”

Her coloring betrayed the truth of the matter. He lowered his head for a moment, fighting the wave of fury—and of fear—that had seized him. Perhaps it was not a match made in heaven, but she was his wife. And in a few days time, she had managed to weave a web of silken enchantment around him. He would never let her go. And when he thought of the dangers she might have encountered in London, unchaperoned, with her face and figure—and a pocket of gold to boot—he felt ill.

“Lady, I should beat you black and blue! Lock you in the highest tower!”

She might have trembled slightly, but she didn’t back away. “Why is that, milord?” she demanded icily. “You are free to ride where you will! Perhaps I only wished to take a ride.”

“With a pocketful of gold coins?”

She lifted a hand in the air. “They were for the poor. Again you have wronged me!” she cried, a consummate actress. “You dragged me ruthlessly from my horse and now accuse me of all evil—”

“I saved your life!” he snapped.

“You simply cannot accept the fact that I am the better rider!”

“And I’ll also not accept the fact that these coins were for the poor!”

“How dare you! I have a very generous nature—”

“Really?” A touch of amusement tinged his voice. Smiling, he stepped forward, catching her elbow. “Come, then.”

“Come where?”

“With me, upon Beowulf.”

“And where are we going?” she demanded, her beautiful eyes wide—and very wary.

He lifted her easily upon his horse, leaping up behind her. His arms came around her as he picked up the reins.

“I’ve my own mount. The mare is frightened—”

“Is she? Poor thing. I imagine she’ll trot on home.”

“While we …?” Rose queried.

“Why, my love, I’m going to help you. We’ll give your coins to the poor!”

“But—” she began, and fell silent in frustration. Behind her, he smiled. He suspected the pouch held all the gold that she had with her. Oh, she was rich as Midas. But once those coins were gone, she would be hard put to prove it to any ship’s captain.

He made his way quickly through the woods to a small farm village. A tiny wooden church stood in the center of it. Cows, chickens, and goats all moved about small peat fires that filled the air with their rancid smoke. Men and women, so quickly aged, looked after dirty young children while they worked.

From their midst a very young priest all in black except for his collar came walking toward them. “Milord DeForte!” he called in cheerful greeting. “We are honored! What brings you among us?”

“Father Flagherty, I’d have you meet my wife, Lady Rose,” Pierce said, not dismounting. He smiled. “She has brought a gift for these good people.” He tossed down the bag of gold coins.

Rose watched the pouch fall with dismay. They were the only coins she had. Father Flagherty opened the pouch. His dark eyes widened in amazement. He looked back to her with a gratitude in his eyes that shamed her. She’d lost the coins. But when she looked at the people and all the little children, she realized she had lost them to a good cause.

Pierce had seen to it.

But he had done this only to thwart her!

“Milady!” Flagherty said, his voice trembling. “What kindness, what goodness, that you have the duke grant us this great boon—”

“The gift is hers, Father,” Pierce said.

The man’s eyes fell on her again. “Thank you, thank you, oh, Lady, the good God bless you—”

“Please!” Rose gasped, wanting to crawl beneath the horse. “Father, you and these good people are heartily welcome to the coins!”

“Come, then, milord, milady, break bread with us—”

“We cannot, Father, as I’ve business I must return to. Keep well.” With that he turned Beowulf, nudged the horse, and they started toward the castle at a trot.

Rose was dead stiff.

“Aren’t you pleased, my love?” Pierce asked her tauntingly.

She tried to sit forward so that she wouldn’t feel the muscled strength of his chest at her back.
Pleased!
She might have been pleased. She might have cried out that she lay awake at night in tempest and anguish because she found herself so absurdly
pleased
at times.

But she could never explain everything in her heart. The days here were too painful.

He slept with her every night.

And every day he disappeared throughout the sunlight hours.

Looking for Anne, she knew. And though she wished Anne all the very best in the world, she couldn’t bear the way she was beginning to
wait
—no,
long,
for the nights, when he returned to her.

A consolation prize! He had said it himself.
His heart lay with Anne.

“The coins have gone to those who need them,” she responded.

“But truly, milady, that was not your intent, was it?”

“My intent was to ride. And I cannot begin to see why I am not allowed to do so when you spend all of your days …”

“When I spend all of my days doing what?” he queried sharply.

“Looking for another woman,” she cried out. Then she waited for the explosion of his temper. It didn’t come.

They returned to the castle. He rode straight to the stables. The young groom came hurrying out. “Milord, milady’s mare came back! We were heartily frightened—”

“Ah, but my lady is well!” Pierce assured him. “She is not very familiar with the area, though,” he said lightly enough, but he followed it with, “
and she will not be taking any horses out again for the time being unless she is in my company!
”

Rose stared at him inhaling sharply. Then she turned and ran for the entrance to the main tower.

“Rose!”

She didn’t answer him.

“Rose!”

She reached the doors. He caught up with her at last, just within the entrance.

“Damn you—”

“Am I truly a prisoner here then?” she demanded. His jaw locked. “Am I? Oh, you’re hateful!”

She didn’t give him a chance to answer. A whirlwind of fury with more tempest than a winter’s storm, she hurtled herself against him, a small fist catching his chin and his chest. He itched to slap her, but maintained his temper, both because he could see that Geoffrey, Garth, and other servants were coming into the hall, drawn by the noise, and because the gleam of tears in her eyes somehow caught his heart.

“Damn you, Rose!” he hissed furiously, catching her wrists. “I have looked for Anne, yes! But I also spent time in London sending out captains to ascertain the fate of your maid! I have the answer now. Your Mary Kate is safe, and bound for your father’s house!”

She gasped softly, pulling away from him. Her cheeks pinkened just slightly when she realized that Geoffrey at least, and maybe some of the others, had heard them.

Geoffrey was quick to assure her, too. “It is true, milady.”

Leaning against the stone wall, Pierce crossed his arms over his chest, staring at his bride.

Garth cleared his throat. “If I’m not needed—?”

“Thank you, Garth. You’re not,” Pierce told him, his eyes on Rose. His body tightened into knots. They had been here nearly a week now.

Every day he had gone through the motions of tending to his estate and business.

And he had ridden out each day.

But he had spent his nights with her. Each had been different. Twice she had tried to argue with him. Twice she had feigned sleep. Twice she had tried to lie dead still with absolute indifference. Now, tonight stretched before them.

Yet no matter what her manner when he at last came to his bedroom, he always wanted her. No anguish for another could stop the longing that seized him when he thought of her. He had planned the first few days to take her again and again, until the fascination died. But it never did. It refused to fade. Each night it only seemed that the hunger intensified.

Now, as she watched him, her lashes fluttered over her eyes. She lowered her head, then met his gaze again. “You really spent some of that time sending messages out with your ships, searching for Mary Kate?” she asked softly.

“Indeed, madam,” he said. He lowered his voice carefully then. “Whatever your thoughts, milady, and whatever your heart, you are my wife. What causes you anguish, I will always do my best to change—even if you do spend your days seeking new ways to deny me my nights!”

She paled. “For Mary Kate, I am grateful,” she murmured. “Thank you, milord DeForte!” she cried softly, then tore past him, and up the stairs.

He watched her go, then realized that he wasn’t really alone. Garth was hovering within the archway that led down a path to the kitchen, which had once been a separate building.

“I think I will dine now, Garth. In the counting room.”

“If I may be so bold, milord,” Garth said, clearing his throat, “you might to try dining above the stairs, at the cherrywood table at the foot of your bed. That is where the duchess dines.”

Pierce ignored Garth’s reproachful tone. Damn them. The whole lot of them. The fools were all falling halfway in love with his wife themselves.

“I’ll dine in the counting room,” Pierce repeated.

“As you wish, milord,” Garth said with exaggerated patience.

He left. Now Geoffrey was staring at him. Pierce threw up his hands. “What?”

Geoffrey bowed to him. “I can see you are in no mood to continue with business, milord. I will keep you informed of any information I receive.”

He bowed deeply, and walked out the entryway.

Pierce swore softly. He entered his counting room and immediately swept up a bottle of his best Caribbean rum.

He barely touched the rich mutton stew Garth brought him, but he did manage to set down the bottle of rum before drinking too much from it. The hour grew late. After a while he rose and went into the great hall, staring up at the broad, curving stairway.

He started up the steps, wondering what it would be tonight. Ah, yes, it was late! She would pretend to be asleep. She would curl when he tried to touch her. Then she would sigh, and grit her teeth.

But in the end, he would take his silent triumph, for no matter how she tried to fight, he knew the signs. He heard the gasps of breath, felt the sweet surging of her body. Rose Woodbine might be trying to fight him and herself, but she was innately sensual and exquisite, and could not deny either of them, no matter how she pretended.

Still, he was weary of the games. He entered the antechamber, closed the heavy old door behind him, and strode through the dark to the bedroom. There was more light there, for a fire burned low within the hearth. The master quarters were huge. His great draperied bed was centered against the back wall. To the right of it, two huge armchairs sat before the hearth, book racks surrounding them.

He strode quietly to the bed, stripping off his long coat as he did so, folding it over a high-backed chair near the door. He sat upon the foot of his bed and pulled off his boots and hose, then stood, puzzled.

She wasn’t in bed.

He spun around, wondering furiously if she had been foolish enough to try to escape again.

But just as the thought occurred to him, his heart ceased its frantic beat and his temper came crashing back down. He saw her. She was curled in one of the chairs before the fireplace, wrapped in a long, deep blue velvet robe. Her shimmering copper head hung over the arm of the chair. A book she had been reading had dropped to the floor.

Incredibly, she had been trying to wait up for him. And for once, she wasn’t feigning sleep.

He walked over to her, kneeling down beside her. “Rose.” He smoothed back the wild fall of her hair. “Rose, you cannot sleep so. You’ll awaken with all manner of pains in your back.” She stirred slightly. He rose, scooping his arms around her to lift her.

He discovered that she wore nothing at all beneath the deep blue velvet robe. She had bathed and washed her hair, and both her tumbling copper curls and flesh smelled faintly of flowers.

His weariness fell from him like a doffed coat. It was almost as if she had planned to seduce him.

Her eyes flickered open as he held her. They widened with alarm for a moment, then, startling him, they seemed to fall again with a comfort and security. Her arms curled around his neck.

“What is it?” he asked her.

“I don’t …”

“You waited up,” he told her, carrying her to the draped expanse of his bed. Her eyes stayed on his, very wide, as he laid her down.