The Earl's Untouched Bride (29 page)

'Please to lay out my clothes while I wash,' Heloise said, when Sukey gaped at the sight of her mistress pouring water into the basin for herself. 'My green cambric walking dress.'

She was halfway down the stairs before she wondered what on earth she was doing. She could well imagine what he wanted to say to her. He was ready to go back to London. And, since she had let him down so badly, he had no intention of taking her with him. She had lived in dread of this moment ever since they had got here.

She stood, clutching the banister for support, as tears began to roll down her cheeks.

Stifling a sob, she hitched up her skirts and, instead of meekly going to the study, she ran down the passage that led to the back of the house and fled into the gardens.

And she kept on running. From her pain, from her loneliness, from her sense of utter failure. Across the lawns, through the shrubbery, down the bank and across the meadow. Only when she reached the lake did she veer from her course, following the shoreline until her strength gave out and she crumpled to the ground, giving way to the misery she had bottled up for so long.

She had no idea how long she lay there, curled up like a wounded animal, her utter misery cloaking her in a dense shroud of darkness.

It was only when the first great fat drops of rain began to strike her back that she sat up, suddenly aware that the darkness was not only inside her. The storm which had been hanging over Wycke for days had finally broken. She gasped as rain struck the ground around her like a hail of bullets, spattering her dress with sandy ricochets.

Her first instinct was to seek shelter. But she could not bear to go back to the house. She could see herself standing before Charles' desk, her hem dripping water onto his polished floor, her hair hanging in rats' tails round her face, while he informed her, his lip curling with disdain, that he never wished to set eyes on her again.

She pushed herself to her feet and made her way back to a wooden footbridge she remembered running past. It led across a narrow strip of water to the island on which stood the rained tower. She would wait there until the storm had passed.

Maybe by then Charles would already have left Wycke, so that at least she would be spared the ordeal of suffering his dismissal in person.

Stumbling over a large piece of masonry half hidden by nettles alerted her to the fact she was nearing her goal. She lifted her head, brushing back the streamers of wet hair clinging to her face. The tower stood defiantly amidst the mounds of crumbling stones, all that remained of what might once have been an impressive set of fortifications. It still possessed a door, though it was almost completely obscured with a tangled growth of ivy. Grabbing the iron ring that served as a latch, Heloise turned it and pushed with all her strength.

The door yielded by perhaps two feet, grating over the stone-flagged floor within. She squeezed inside, grateful to have found shelter so quickly. It was dry inside, though almost pitch-black. Only the faintest glimmer of light filtered in from a source far above her head. It originated from the head of a wooden staircase, set into the outer wall of the tower.

She wrinkled her nose at the smell of decay that hung in the air. What was she doing in this dark, dirty ruin, when she could be sitting before a nice warm fire in her pretty sitting room, sipping hot chocolate? She could at least be comfortable, even if she would not feel any less miserable.

She wrapped her arms round her waist as a shiver racked her body. The rain had soaked right through her dress and flimsy indoor shoes in a matter of seconds. Charles would think she was an idiot for running in here instead of returning to the house.

Well, she
was
an idiot! She had been told as much for as long as she could remember. She sniffed. But the most foolish thing she had ever done was fall in love with a man that even a child could see should never have married so far beneath him!

And the worst of it was she had no right to admit she was miserable because he did not love her. Love was never supposed to have been part of the bargain they had made.

She wiped her hand across her face, not sure if it was rain or tears that were running down her cheeks, as a gust of wind blew in through the partially open door. She retreated from the storm, deeper into the gloom, and felt a sharp stab of pain in her shin as she stumbled over a broken chair which was lying on its side next to a battered wooden trunk.

Perhaps she would be better off up on the next floor, where it was a bit lighter. And there might not be so much rubbish lying about, she thought, making for the stairs. There was a metal railing fixed into the wall, onto which she clung as she tentatively began to climb. After only a few steps the air began to feel fresher, and as her head came onto a level with the upper floor, she saw that the room was indeed a great improvement on the rubbish tip the ground floor had become. Though the floor was a bit dusty, there were several pieces of quite sturdy-looking furniture, arranged to face a floor-to-ceiling window which, though grimy, was fully glazed.

She was just congratulating herself for making the decision to explore, when without warning the step upon which she had just placed her foot gave way with a sharp crack. Her foot went straight through, and if she had not been clinging to the handrail she would have fallen. Shaking with shock, she pulled her leg carefully up through the splintered tread.

Then realised, with horror, that it was not just her body that was shaking. The whole staircase was quivering under her weight.

And then, with a sound that reminded her of the ship's timbers creaking as the craft had plunged its way across the Channel, the whole structure parted company from the wall.

Charles pulled his watch from his pocket and frowned as it confirmed what he already knew. It had been three hours since Sukey had put his note into Heloise's hands, and still she had not come to him.

'You sent for me, my lord?'

Charles looked up to see Giddings standing in the doorway.

'Yes.' He snapped his watch shut and tucked it back into his waistcoat pocket. 'Have luncheon served in the breakfast parlour, and send someone to find out if Her Ladyship will be joining me.'

Perhaps she was unwell. Although, if that were the case, surely she would just have replied to his note with one of her own, apprising him of the fact.

No, he could not shake the conviction that this prolonged silence was a message in itself. He sighed. It had been too much to hope that he could put things right with his brother and his wife on the same day.

He went to the window, leaning his forearm on the sash as he gazed out at the rain which had begun to fall not long after Robert had left in the family coach, bound for London. He accepted that Robert needed time on his own, to come to terms with the new understanding they had reached in the early hours of the morning. And when Robert had haltingly given his reasons for wishing to return 'home', his heart had leapt, knowing that this was at last how he thought of his rooms at Walton House.

He turned at the sound of a knock on the door.

'Begging your pardon, my lord,' said Giddings. 'But Sukey does not seem to know Her Ladyship's whereabouts. Apparently she dressed in a great hurry and left her rooms quite early this morning, as soon as she received the note Your Lordship sent her.'

Charles felt as though a cold hand had reached into his chest and clamped round his heart. It could not be a coincidence that Heloise had disappeared the same morning his brother had returned to London.

'Will that be all, my lord?'

'What? Oh, yes
—
yes,' he snapped, dismissing his butler with a curt wave of his hand.

He had been standing in this very room, he recalled, the last time he had received news that had rocked his world to its foundations. Though he had only been a child, and standing on the other side of this desk, when his maternal uncle had told him he was never going to see his stepmother again. He stared blindly at the desk-top as he felt that same sense of isolation closing round him all over again.

His stepmother had kept a little singing bird in a cage in the sitting room that now belonged to Heloise. He had been able to hear it singing clear up to his schoolroom. But not that morning. When she had left she had taken it with her, and a dreadful silence had descended on Wycke.

And now, though Heloise had never really belonged to him, her absence would reverberate through every corner of his existence.

How could she have betrayed him like this? How could Robert?

He drew in a deep breath, forcing himself to sit down and consider his situation rationally.

Though jealousy would have him believe his wife was the kind of woman who would run off with another man, his saner self knew her better than that. Though she had made her marriage vows in haste, and soon come to regret them, he could not believe she would break them so easily. Her conscience was far too tender. Look how she had berated herself for supposed lack of morals that night he had kissed her at the masquerade, when she had still been a virgin!

No, if she had left with Robert, it was not to embark on an affair.

She could not do it.

The only thing that would ever induce her to break her marriage vows was if she fell in love with someone else. And there was no evidence to indicate she had done so.

And as for Robert... No, he could no longer believe that he would deliberately conspire against him either. What he could imagine was Heloise going to him and begging him to take her back to London, where she would be safe from her cruel husband. A man would have to have a heart of stone to refuse her.

He would give her a few days' respite from his loathsome presence before following her to London. Though follow her he would. For he would not be able to rest until he could look her in the face and tell her...

He sucked in a sharp breath as the truth hit him. He had fallen in love with his wife. Fallen. He groaned. What an apt term! A fall was something you had no control over. It happened when you least expected it. It shook you up, and took your breath away, and it hurt. God, how it hurt. Especially when the woman you loved could not bear to be in the same room
—
nay, the same county!

What was he to do now?

Why, he mocked himself, take luncheon as if there was nothing the matter, of course. It was what he did best
—
act as though nothing touched him.

He went to the breakfast parlour, sat down, and methodically worked his way through the food that was set before him.

When at last he rose from the table, he went to the windows. For a while he just watched the rain trickling down the panes, observing how it was drowning his entire estate in tones of grey. But at length something impinged on his abstracted mood. There was a thin plume of smoke rising from the trees on the island. Who on earth would be foolish enough to try lighting a fire, on his private property, in such weather as this?

His heart quickened. He knew only one person foolish enough to be outside at all on a day like today. He could not begin to imagine what Heloise was doing out on the island, nor did he question how he was so certain she was the one responsible for raising that defiant plume of smoke. He only knew he had to get to her.

Flinging open the French windows, he strode along the parterre, vaulted over the stone parapet, and broke into a run. He sprinted across the lawns and through the shrubbery, skidding down the slope and landing in an inelegant heap on the carriage drive.

He scrambled to his feet and pounded his way across the bridge, not stopping until he reached the foot of the tower, from which, he had soon realised, the smoke was rising.

'Heloise!' he roared as he forced his way through the half-open door. 'What the devil do you think you are doing in here?'

'Charles?'

He looked up to see her head and shoulders appear over the lip of the upstairs landing. It took him only a moment to work out what must have happened. All that remained of the staircase was a heap of rotten timbers scattered across the floor.

Heloise's face looked unnaturally white, and her hair was plastered to her face. Just how long had she been stranded up there, alone and afraid? When he considered how he had tucked into a hearty luncheon, bitterly imagining her guilty of all manner of crimes...

'I'll soon have you down from there!' he vowed, looking wildly about for something he could use to climb up to her. He had to get her to safety, take her in his arms, and wipe that agonised expression of dread from her face.

There was a chest which he knew contained croquet hoops and mallets, a table kept specifically for picnics on the island, and several chairs and other boxes used for storing all manner of sporting equipment. Hastily he piled them up against the wall where the stairs had been, and began to climb.

'Oh, take care!' Heloise cried, when the pyramid of furniture gave a distinct lurch.

'It is quite safe, I assure you. Give me your hand and I will help you climb down.'

She shook her head, backing away. 'Charles, I don't think I can...'

He was just about to offer the reassurance he thought she needed when his improvised staircase separated out into its component parts. The chest went one way, the chair another, and he gave one last desperate push upwards, to land sprawled at his wife's feet on the upper landing.