Amanda Scott - [Dangerous 02] (28 page)

Flashing him a relieved smile, Letty said, “I’ll hurry.”

Hastily, Charley said, “I’d better hurry, too.”

“One moment,” he said, catching her arm in a firm grip. “I have a few things to say to you.”

He seemed suddenly larger than life and frightening. She knew perfectly well that her prickling guilt added significantly to the illusion, but the man facing her now was neither the carefree Jean Matois nor the haughty Sir Antony Foxearth. This man made her wish she had never defied him.

Her moment of weakness was brief, however. She collected herself enough to say, “Do you mean to scold me here, or may we go into a more private room first?”

An appreciative gleam lit his eyes, but he retained his grip on her arm when he said, “The library will do.” Urging her toward that room, which lay at the rear of the hall, he waited only until he had shut the door before adding grimly, “If you ever throw anything at me again, madam, I will make you sorry you were born.”

She bit her lip but did not flinch. “I own, I amazed myself,” she said. “I could not tell at the time if I’d infuriated you, because you just sat there, reciting that absurd nonsense of Shakespeare’s, but I’m certainly not surprised that you were angry.”

He released her arm, but the look in his eyes was still stern. “Be more respectful of the Bard. You’ll learn that I quote him only when I am irritated or angry.”

She stared. “Truly? But why only then?”

He shrugged. “I’ve frequently found it unwise, even dangerous, to reveal my emotions. As a child, I’m afraid I tended to have a rather violent temper. I daresay my father—who disapproved of violence or tantrums from anyone but himself—was as much to blame for my seeking other outlets as anyone. I discovered in school that quoting Shakespeare focused my mind elsewhere than on my anger, at least for a time. My chums soon came to recognize the signs and gave me wide berth when I began to quote the Bard. Over time, I’ve added much to my arsenal. Though the lines this morning were comic ones, you may rest assured that I was not amused.”

She smiled ruefully. “Well, I’m sorry I dumped oatmeal all over you, but it’s dangerous to make me angry, too.” Turning away, she added lightly, “Besides, if all I’ve got to fear as reprisal is hearing a lot of silly Shakespeare spouted at me—”

“Don’t count on that.” He caught her shoulders this time and, turning her back, waited until she looked into his eyes before he said, “Use your head, angel. Think what more you risk if you infuriate me.”

“What would you do?” She no longer felt the least like smiling. To her annoyance, her voice sounded small, but his grip on her arms made her more aware than ever of his superior strength and size. She was glad she had got the words out at all.

“I am your husband,” he said, “with a legal right to force your obedience to my will. Think what a pickle you’d be in if I decided to do that.”

A vision of her Uncle Geoffrey filled her mind. She knew only too well what husbands could get away with under the law. “But what, exactly, would you do?”

“Whatever I please,” he said.

Grimacing, she said, “I doubt that you would beat me. It is not in your nature to hurt someone smaller than yourself.”

“You know nothing about my nature,” he said, “but there are less violent ways to punish you, I think. Like this, for example.” Slipping an arm around her shoulders, he tilted her face up with the other hand and kissed her, hard.

Stunned, she made no effort to resist. Never had a man dared take such liberty with her, but she felt her lips soften against his before she stiffened in outrage.

He raised his head and held her away. Instantly, her hand flew up to strike him.

“Don’t,” he warned, stopping her with the single word. “You don’t know what the consequences will be.”

“We have a bargain!”

“Make no mistake, angel,” he said, his grim tone sending shivers up her spine again. “I’ll do what I must to secure Wellington’s safety, and yours. If that means putting you across my knee and giving you what I think your father or grandfather should have given you years ago, I will. If it means giving orders in this household that you find humiliating, I’ll do that, too. And before you decide that running back to Alfred or revealing the whole sorry prank to the bishop looks better than staying here and keeping your part of that bargain, let me point out one fact you’ve overlooked.”

“What fact?” She could scarcely get the words out. No one had spoken to her in such a way in all her life, and between fury that he would dare and fear that he meant every word, her tongue seemed suddenly to have tied itself in knots.

“Just this,” he said, grasping her chin again and forcing her to meet his stern gaze. “If you run away before you have secured an independent future for yourself, and if my claim to the St. Merryn estates should prevail, it won’t be Cousin Alfred upon whom you depend for your bed and board. It will be Cousin Antony.”

T
HOUGH CHARLEY TRIED TO
pretend that Antony’s words and behavior had not shaken her, they had, and for the next few days, she scarcely drew a breath without thinking of him. To her dismay, however, it was not his anger that disturbed her. Nor was it his suggestion that she could be dependent on him whether they stayed married or not. It was his kiss.

All she had to do to bring the moment back to life was catch his eye or think of him. Instantly it was as if his lips possessed hers again. Lying in bed at night, she surrendered to her thoughts, wondering what it would be like if he claimed more than just a kiss. These thoughts and others of their ilk entered her mind at the oddest times, disturbing not only her mind but her body as well. Sensations that she had never before experienced threatened now to overwhelm her.

Sir Antony said nothing more about the oatmeal incident, but she almost wished he would. She had not realized how much living with a man day after day would affect her. It occurred to her that being in the same house with Rockland—a situation that had transpired not only at Tuscombe Park but at numerous house parties, and even once at her Aunt Susan’s house in Scotland—had never similarly affected her. Firmly, she discounted any similarity of circumstance on the grounds that she had known Rockland for years and was on unusually easy terms with him.

She had certainly never paid much heed to Rockland’s moods—or, indeed, to anyone else’s, not being moody herself—but she noticed the slightest variation in Sir Antony’s demeanor. She told herself it was because he rarely allowed anyone to discern his thoughts, that to do so had become a challenge. But it was more than that. When he was restless or seemed troubled, she exerted herself to soothe him. And although he did not talk to her about what he learned on his frequent sorties, she began to believe she could tell the difference between productive ones and others that were uneventful.

She paid heed to his likes and dislikes, taking care to inform Aggie when a dish particularly pleased him, and when one had not. Despite her attention to him, she did not neglect Letty’s needs or her own. She took the little girl riding every day, and with two armed grooms accompanying them, she gave the child lessons in how to train her horses. Soon Letty could make her chestnut mare kneel so that she could mount without aid of a block or a groom, and she had taught it to come when she called.

As Aggie had predicted, ladies in the district began to pay dutiful bride visits once they learned of Charley’s marriage and the couple’s removal to Seacourt House. Charley realized that some visited out of vulgar curiosity, but most were sincerely delighted for her. In all cases, she kept Sir Antony’s mission firmly in mind. Thus, she was able to send her visitors on their way again, confident that they did not suspect that her marriage was unusual or that she had been tactfully prodding them to reveal what they knew about any unusual events, or strangers, in the district.

She and Sir Antony had been settled at Seacourt for ten days before anyone from Tuscombe Park came to call. To Charley’s surprise, the first one to do so was Rockland. What was even more surprising was that he brought Elizabeth with him.

When they arrived, Charley was sitting in the drawing room, reading aloud to Letty while the child stitched a sampler for her mama. Jeremiah perched on the back of Letty’s chair, supervising every stitch and occasionally offering his version of criticism. Sebastian lay curled on the hearth rug, dozing before the fire.

“Good mercy,” Charley exclaimed, rising when the footman announced the visitors. “I thought you must have left Cornwall at least a sennight ago, Rockland.”

He bowed over her hand, saying with his familiar crooked grin, “No such luck, my pet. Put out with me though she was, Lady Ophelia begged me to stay, saying she wanted someone sensible to converse with at Alfred’s otherwise boring dinner table. It ain’t boring to me, I can tell you. You should hear her rake him down when he prattles as he does about the so-called weaker sex.”

“I can imagine.”

“Yes, but I must tell you, our Alfred’s in alt now, because he got a response from Wellington’s people at last, and the Duke will take supper with the family the evening after the consecration.” He grinned. “Even if Lady Ophelia had not asked me, I daresay I’d have found an excuse to linger, at least until then. That sort of event don’t take place every day, you know. It’s to be a dashed grand affair.”

“Fiddlesticks,” Charley said, laughing. “You don’t care a particle about the consecration or even Wellington, Rockland. Confess the truth now. You stayed for the same reason you came here today, because you wanted to know if we had murdered each other yet, or worse, if we had concocted a plot to murder you.”

Letty chuckled, but Elizabeth exclaimed, “Oh, no!”

Rockland said severely, “Don’t be talking foolishness, Charley. You’ll frighten the liver and lights out of poor Miss Elizabeth, and all she wants today is to wish you happy in your marriage, since you’ve decided to stick with Foxearth.”

Charley smiled ruefully at Elizabeth and said, “Forgive me if I have distressed you by teasing Rockland. I nearly always come to cuffs with him, you know. Still, it was very kind of you to call. Do sit down. You must be pleased about the Duke.”

“Yes, we are,” Elizabeth murmured, obeying. “Such a pleasant drive.”

“If you came by carriage, it was a long drive,” Charley said. Turning to the watchful footman, she said, “Please bring tea and whatever Mrs. Corlan has been baking that might tempt our guests, John. The most delicious smells have been tickling our noses all day,” she added, smiling at her guests. “Today is Aggie’s baking day, and she creates the most delicious treats for us.”

Letty had risen politely when their guests arrived, and noting now that the child was still standing, Charley said, “You may stay with us if you like, darling, or you may go to Aggie and let her give you your tea in the kitchen.”

With a flashing smile, Letty said, “I’ll go along then. It is a pleasure to see you again, Cousin Elizabeth. You, too, sir. Come along, Jeremiah,” she added, picking up the monkey and taking him from the room.

Charley turned her attention back to Rockland, aware that he had been watching her quizzically. “What is it?” she demanded.

He grinned, drawing a chair up between hers and Elizabeth’s. “Heard there had been ructions in Paradise,” he murmured. “Came to see for myself how bad they are.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Don’t you? Myself, I’d remember dumping a bowl of oatmeal over Foxearth’s head. Daresay I’d remember the aftermath even more clearly, come to that. Dashed if I’d have had the nerve to do it in the first place, though. He looks as if he would strip to advantage. Daresay you’ll call me a coward, but—”

“Where on earth,” Charley demanded, “did you come by that tale? No, don’t tell me. The new servants, of course. Several are related to Tuscombe servants. If I put my mind to it, I can probably even tell you who the culprit was.”

“So it’s true,” Rockland said, his amusement clear. “And what, may I ask, was your husband’s response to that little display of temper?”

“Goodness, Rockland, didn’t your informant tell you that, as well?”

“Told me bilge water. Said Foxearth mopped his brow, then finished his breakfast and his newspaper, whilst you rode off to Lostwithiel as if nothing untoward had occurred. I’ll go bail there was more to it than that.”

“Will you?” Charley remembered the aftermath again all too clearly, and she hoped her memories did not reveal themselves in her expression. “I’m afraid you will simply have to live with your curiosity, Rockland, for I don’t intend to tell you any more. You already know far more than you’ve a right to.”

“You must not tell him anything you do not wish him to know,” Elizabeth said gently but with a smile for Rockland. “As I told his lordship during our very pleasant drive here, certain matters should remain private between a husband and wife.”

“That’s all very well and good,” Rockland said, still grinning at Charley, “but I’ll wager anything you like that Foxearth didn’t take such Turkish treatment with a smile. It was seeing the way he managed her that made me work to convince—”

“Beg pardon, my lady,” the footman said as Rockland broke off suddenly. “Mr. James Gabriel wishes to know if you are at home.”

“Yes, certainly,” Charley said, casting Rockland a searching look. “Show Mr. Gabriel in at once.”

Rockland seemed suddenly interested in straightening the black silk ribbon attached to his quizzing glass, and since he rarely employed the glass for its intended purpose, she found his preoccupation highly suspicious and wondered what it was he had so nearly said.

Elizabeth said, “What a pleasant room this is, Charlotte. I do believe, the way this house is positioned, you must enjoy a view of the sea from nearly every window.”

“I’m afraid some of them overlook the stable yard, and the hedge garden and headland behind the house,” Charley said, amused. “Moreover, as I have frequently said to Sir Antony—who becomes more enamored of the place with each passing day, I might add—one ought not to make up one’s mind about Seacourt House until one has experienced bad weather here.”