Sattler, Veronica (77 page)

Always
willing to make friendships where none had existed before, however, Ashleigh
had decided to accept Elizabeth's offer at face value and attend. She had, of
course, discussed the matter with Brett and Mary, both of whom conceded that
she was probably right in her decision, but urged her to maintain caution
regarding what ultimately transpired between her and their blond neighbor.

Margaret,
however, had been enthusiastic and encouraging when she'd joined her for tea
later that afternoon, saying, "My dear, of course you must accept
Elizabeth's olive branch! After all, if you and I could mend our fences and
become friends, why shouldn't you be able to do the same with my dear
goddaughter? I thoroughly wish for the two of you to become fast friends, and I
just know you will—I just
know
it!" Then she had gone on to invite
Ashleigh to join her in traveling to Cloverhill Manor on the day of the
luncheon, saying that if the weather was fair, she would be going there in the
skiff and she'd ever so much appreciate Ashleigh's company when she rowed—also
implying, subtly, that Ashleigh ought to regard this as an honor; she only
invited those nearest and dearest to her for a demonstration of her rowing
skills, "a sport I excelled in as a young woman and can still accomplish
with pride, my dear, I assure you!"

A
delicious nuzzling at her ear brought Ashleigh back to the present, and it was
only then she noticed the coverlet had dropped to her lap and Brett's hands
were cupping her breasts, his thumbs brushing their suddenly hardened peaks.

"Ohh,"
she moaned, feeling the familiar tightening in the pit of her belly, "but
Brett... the luncheon..."

"Damn
the luncheon!" he growled, a hand moving to her bare, rounded, little
buttocks and then testing the gathering moisture in the juncture below as he
joined her on the bed....

The
tall-case clock at the foot of the stairs was striking eleven when the two of
them were finally able to remember what day it was, and that they had
obligations that wouldn't wait.

For
Brett's part, he knew the afternoon was destined to hold much more than a
luncheon. He'd been sworn to secrecy by Elizabeth and Margaret, who were
actually holding a surprise party for Ashleigh, involving all-day festivities,
including a banquet and, later tonight, a ball. The two had come to him several
days ago with their plan, saying they were genuinely contrite over their past
behavior toward his bride and wished to stage this celebration as a means of
making amends. Most of the
ton
was to be in attendance, they'd told him,
and since the duchess was fast becoming a darling of that set, how could he
refuse to help them?

Weighing
their words carefully, Brett had at last agreed. He still wasn't sure he
trusted this turnabout on Elizabeth's part; she was a patently rigid person,
too molded by the narrowness of her upbringing to make major reversals.
Moreover, he hadn't entirely dismissed her as a candidate for whoever it was that
had made the vicious attacks on Ashleigh's life, although he knew that if his
former fiancée was behind them, she had most certainly hired some blackguard to
do the actual dirty work; Elizabeth was too daintily squeamish to soil her own
hands.

Thoughts
of the danger Ashleigh was in caused Brett to draw his wife more tightly into
his arms, fitting her replete body closely against his, while his mouth formed
a grim line and the turquoise eyes grew hard.

It
had been several days since the harrowing accident on Irish Night, and during
the interim he'd taken several steps toward ensuring Ashleigh's safety, and one
significant step toward catching the culprit. Ashleigh didn't know it, but from
the time she left their rooms in the morning until the minute he escorted her
back upstairs each evening, a pair of Old Henry's most trusted grooms
discreetly watched her every movement. Moreover, her ladies' maid, Annie, a
young woman whose honesty Jameson and Mrs. Busby swore to— and whom he doubly
trusted for the way she had always seemed to adore her mistress—had been set to
guard their chambers when he and Ashleigh weren't there, to make sure no one
tampered with anything that might result in harm to the duchess. And
guards—footmen handpicked by the Busbys— were stationed in the kitchens, to
watch carefully the preparation of Her Grace's food and drink, while yet others
kept round-the-clock watch over the stables, paying particular attention to all
the carriages Her Grace might use, as well as to Irish Night and her tack.

Then
there was the matter of flushing the villain out. On their way to Ravensford
Hall at this very moment were Lieutenant George Hodges and his sister-in-law,
Mildred Hodges. The lieutenant was a specialist in naval intelligence, a highly
trained spy. He was also one of Brett's closest associates in the Admiralty.
His younger brother had been, too, but Mildred Hodges's husband had been killed
five years ago in Belgium, on an assignment for the Crown. Three months later
the diminutive brunette had arrived at the Admiralty on the arm of her
brother-in-law, asking to be trained as a spy; there had been a vengeful look
in her eyes, but the overall impression had been one of intelligence and cool
control before her late husband's superiors, and her request was granted. A
year later she commenced a four-year career that saw her become one of His
Majesty's most valued agents.

Brett
relaxed his grip on Ashleigh somewhat as he considered Mildred's expertise.
Through a few carefully staged maneuvers in which the petite woman would dress
in Ashleigh's clothes and masquerade as his wife, the three of them, he felt
sure, would flush the bloody bastard out!

Feeling
him relax against her, Ashleigh turned in his arms and smiled languidly.
"You really oughtn't become too comfortable, darling. You promised to
drive Mary to the luncheon in your phaeton, and I'm due at Lady Margaret's in
less than an hour."

Brett
was reaching for his jacket and, more specifically, for the small package in
its pocket—a package that had been delivered yesterday through a special order
he'd placed in London weeks ago. At the mention of Lady Margaret, he hesitated,
examining his feelings about his grandfather's twin. He'd been greatly
heartened by her overtures to Ashleigh in the past few weeks. God knew, no one
wished, more than he, for the entire world to love and accept his wife, and it
had been a relief to see that old harridan's heart warm to her.

But
he was also skeptical of this sudden change in the woman. New baby or no, it
just wasn't like Margaret to resign herself to something she'd been opposed to
for so long, much less embrace it. He sighed. Margaret, too, was not entirely
above suspicion.

Nothing,
he reminded himself, could lull him into taking any chances when his precious
wife's safety was at stake. That was why young Jonathan Busby and Tom Blecker,
the master carpenter who'd repaired the broken railings at the dowager's
cottage, were stationed there right now—in pretense of mending a garden fence;
in actuality, they were to protect Ashleigh at all costs.

"What's
wrong, darling?" Ashleigh questioned as she saw him hesitate.

Brett
forced himself to appear relaxed and smiled at her. "Not a thing in the
world, love—except that I haven't given you your birthday gift yet." He
picked up his jacket and withdrew the package from its pocket.
"Here," he said softly as he placed it in her hand. "Happy
birthday, love."

Ashleigh's
eyes sparkled as she examined the small bundle. Then she peered at it more
closely, curious. "Why, it's wrapped in—" her fingers carefully pried
the outer wrapping loose "—some kind of document!"

"Oh,
that... yes," Brett acknowledged. "Actually—"

"Oh,
Brett!"
Ashleigh
squealed excitedly. "Oh, it's a certificate of ownership—of Irish
Night?" She looked up at him, incredulous. "I—I cannot believe
...
It has my name on it!"

"Of
course it has, goose," he chuckled. "Don't they usually place the
owner's name on the space where—"

An
embrace that, from any larger person, would have been a bone-crusher, cut him
short. "Oh, Brett!" Ashleigh cried, "I've never had a better
gift!"

Brett
held her close, delighting in her exuberance, marveling at how easy she was to
please. "She's been yours all along, Ashleigh," he murmured against
her hair, noting for the dozenth time that morning how it smelled like fresh
rainwater and violets. "I wanted to give you this paper when we got
married."

At
this, Ashleigh sobered and withdrew to look at him. "And I spoiled
everything by being frightened off like a scared rabbit, by not trusting you
and—"

Gentle
fingers closed her lips. "Hush, love," he murmured. "We both
made mistakes in those days. But we love each other, and the past is behind us.
And I'll not have you troubling yourself about any of it—especially on your
birthday!"

Ashleigh
kissed the strong, tanned fingers at her lips and smiled tremulously while
tears misted her eyes. "Oh, Brett, I love you so very much!"

"And
I you, Ashleigh... forever." Suddenly he grinned. "Now, aren't you
going to open the box the paper was wrapped around?"

Ashleigh
blinked. She'd been so caught up in the perfect moment between them, she'd
forgotten about it! Hastily she flipped up the lid of the small black box. Then
she gasped.

There,
lying against a bed of deep blue velvet, lay a huge oval sapphire pendant,
surrounded by diamonds. It was a piece of jewelry fit for a queen.

"Oh,
Brett," she breathed, her hands trembling as she only half dared to touch
the delicate gold chain attached to the pendant, "it—it takes my breath
away!"

"And
the woman who'll wear it robs me of mine," he told her quietly.
"Here, love," he added, helping her extract the neck piece from the
box, "let's see you with it on."

He
rose and helped her from the bed, then guided her toward the large cheval glass
near the door to the dressing room. Once there, he faced her toward it and,
positioning himself behind her, fastened the chain about her throat.

They
were both silent for a long moment as Brett stepped back a pace and viewed her
image.

She
stood there wearing nothing at all, save his gift. Her shiny black hair tumbled
down her slim back and over slender, creamy shoulders that appeared even fairer
in contrast, and her sweetly curving lips were tinted the color of wine from
his kisses. The stones of the pendant, as it nestled in the crevice between her
lush breasts, sparkled and winked reflections of sunlight, yet he found these
poor rivals for the light shining in her eyes. Slowly the words of Byron's poem
took shape in his mind, and he whispered:

"She walks
in beauty like the night

Of cloudless
climes and starry skies;

And all that's
best of dark and bright

Meet in her
aspect and her eyes."

Ashleigh
barely breathed as she heard him murmur the words, then watched as he bent to
place a kiss at her neck where the delicate chain touched it.

"Thank
you," she whispered when he'd raised his head and found her gaze in the
mirror.

The
mantel clock chimed the quarter hour and broke the spell.

"Damn!"
Brett
swore, glancing at the time. "I'd better leave you to your toilette,
sweet," he told her with a rueful grin. "If you hurry, you might just
be in time for the old witch's rowing exhibition."

"Brett!"
she chided as he kissed her cheek and turned to leave. "I'll admit Lady
Margaret may have warranted such epithets in the past, but she's been so
thoughtful and sweet lately. The least we can do is respond in kind. She's
really just a poor, lonely old woman deserving of some kindness, you
know."

"Sorry,
love." He grinned. "I'll try to mind my tongue in the future. Well,
I'm off. See you at the Manor. Hurry, or you'll miss the boat." He gave
her an affectionate swat on the buttocks and left.

A
few minutes later he found his mother in the library.

"Brett,
dear," she said after accepting his kiss on her cheek, "I realize I'd
asked you to drive me to the party, but the children are planning a pageant to
present at Cloverhill Manor before the ball—in honor of our birthday lady—and
Aldo asked if I couldn't remain to supervise a final rehearsal before leaving.
I can have one of the grooms drive me over in the barouche in a short while. Do
you mind?"

"No,
of course not." Brett grinned. "Those little ones certainly adore Ashleigh,
don't they?"

"We
all do," she said.

Not
quite all,
was
the ominous thought that crossed his mind, but he pushed it away as he glanced
at Mary who was looking beautiful in a turquoise voile Empire day gown that
brought out the turquoise flecks in her eyes. "You look lovely,
Mother," he murmured appreciatively.

"Thank
you,
caro."
She smiled. "Now, run along, and do not worry
about me. I shall make the festivities in plenty of time, and, from what I
understand, Elizabeth needs you."

Brett
reflected on the note that had arrived yesterday, begging him to arrive early
and help Elizabeth keep her father sober so that he wouldn't "spoil our
fun." His mouth straightened into a grim line as he pondered the task that
lay ahead of him. Perhaps he'd just assign a couple of footmen to lock the
blighter in his room and keep him there until the festivities were over!