An Unwilling Baroness (6 page)

"So, we have a deal then?" Jude asked, his
voice closer, the sound of boots on the hard packed earth growing
louder as the pair approached. Her heart skittered. She didn't want
to be seen as an eavesdropper, but more than that, she didn't want
to face her father. Didn't want to beat him with her fists or cry
out. But mostly, she didn't want to tell him how truly disgusted
with him she actually was.

Unfastening the lock on the stall door, she
slid into the shadows beside Daisy.

"That's a girl," she whispered. The animal
so tame she didn't look at her or shift her weight as Chloe took
cover. Kneeling between the beast's warm chest and the now closed
door, she waited. The sunny scent of hay tickled her nose.

The shadow of their boots fell beneath the
stall door and they stopped. She held her breath.
Blast! Of all
the stalls, why this one?

"Aye, Jude. We have a deal." Her father's
voice sounded forlorn, a deep seated sorrow had taken the place of
his usual bravado. It should've saddened her. But, it didn't. He
had done this. He had allowed Dorothea's excesses. It would've been
easy to solely blame the grasping woman, but he was too generous
with her and she far too ready to exploit that generosity.

There was an uncomfortable silence and then
the unmistakable jingle of coin. "Pay your most pressing debts with
this," Jude said, his tone heavy with disapproval. "Don't allow
Mother a new tiara or something equally unnecessary."

"It's because I wished to make her happy,"
Father replied weakly.

"I can tell you, sir that is not something
any man has ever been able to do. I count myself in that
unfortunate club."

Father grunted. "It's a lesson I have
learned in the hardest of ways."

"And unfortunately for Chloe, she's paying
the price for your lesson."

"I know, and for that I am sorry."

CHAPTER FIVE

The usually comfortable bed seemed too hard.
The pillow was too warm against her cheek. The room so quiet, the
silence had her ears aching. But worst of all was her mind.
Thoughts flew through on unhindered wings. Round and round they
went, never finding a reprieve, save one. Marry the baron.

Rolling on her side, she gave the downy
pillow a hard punch before tossing it across the room. It landed on
the worn floorboards with a soft thud. Worn floorboards, just one
more missed indication of her family's poverty. Of her poverty.

Rising from the bed, she fetched the pillow
and held it to her breast as she paced back and forth. Three hours
till sunrise and she hadn't slept a moment. It was torture, her
entire existence, torture. No escape offered, not even on the
gossamer wings of sleep.

Again she tossed the pillow, this time
toward the bed. It landed on the edge and hung for a moment before
sliding to the floor. She let out a frustrated cry, for she too
hung precariously on the edge and with just the slightest touch,
she'd fall not to the ground but into a deep, dark abyss.

Settling into her slippers, she rushed from
her room and into the stuffy hallway. All the bedroom doors were
closed. Everyone slept. Dorothea no doubt dreamt of throwing sacks
of puppies into raging rivers, Jude, of his beloved fiancée and
Father of a juicy pork chop. All three so selfish they didn't
realize the torment their action or inaction caused her.

Maybe she should pack a satchel, jump on
Sebastian and flee as far as the animal could carry her. The idea
held a definite charm and yet she knew she wouldn't do it. Not only
did she realize that Pembridge House was too much for her to lose,
but the guilt of deserting her father, no matter how justified, was
something she could never forgive herself for. Her father and
stepmother had her stuck in the stickiest of webs.

She marched down the hall and found herself
in the conservatory, standing before the garden doors. The garden
used to be her personal Eden, now ruined by Fredrick.

Even the garden, as lovely as it is, is in
need of weeding.

"You couldn't sleep, either?"

Jude.
The sound of his voice washed
over her and the ache it caused had her fighting back a sob. She
slowly turned from the window to face him. He sat in a button back
chair not three feet from her. The moon reflected off his
spectacles, his broad body cast in a heavenly blue glow. Her gaze
traveled the length of him, he looked like a marble statue,
perfectly beautiful and perfectly cold.

"No. I have rather a lot on my mind." She
considered telling him that she knew of his arrangement with her
father. That she was only too aware that he now owned Sebastian.
But how could she speak of it when she'd hidden in the stall like a
castaway aboard a ship?

"As do I."

His tone spoke more then his words. He was
obviously fatigued but what did he have to worry over? He had been
strong enough to walk away and strong enough to resolve his own
problems. He didn't need anyone's help. Oh to be a man and enjoy
that freedom. Never in her life had she cursed her sex more than
she had these past few days.

"I would think you were the happiest of
men." Her ire pressed hard against her heart. She wanted to shriek
at him like a harridan and yet she stood there, hoping he couldn't
feel the anger she cast through her bitter gaze.

"And why do you think that?"

"Oh, I don't know?" she said, shuffling
toward the piano forte and pulling out the small, claw footed
stool. "I suppose it's because your life is moving on at a pleasant
pace." She sat down and waited for him to respond. He didn't, so
she continued. "And, are you not meeting with your lady love
tomorrow for our picnic?"

In the dim moonlight, he stood and moved
with an elegant ease over the marble floor. Turning his head, he
looked at her, only stopping when he came to the garden doors.
"Yes, indeed. My fiancée will be coming in for the day from
London."

My, but she loathed the way the word fiancée
had been bandied about of late. It was becoming an irritant, much
like a splinter in her eye. "You have yet to tell me her name. What
is she like? How did you meet?"

"Are you truly interested in all that?" He
pushed open the door. "Or are you simply trying to be polite and
act interested?"

The bitterness in his words had her reeling.
What had she done to deserve the derision he had constantly offered
since his return? The only gentleness he had shown was the loving
caress to her cheek upon first arriving at Pembridge.

Letters and letters had been written since
she hurt him. Did her unintentional dismissal merit his current
anger? And the letters. They were letters so sweetly written and
filled with news that she found herself longing for more when he
signed off. Found she ached with a desire to be with him. Could he
be kind only on parchment?

"Are you never going to forgive me?" she
asked without thinking. For had she thought about it, she surely
would've kept her mouth shut. She had opened herself up to ridicule
and she damned herself for it.

"Forgive you for what?" The gruffness was
gone from his voice and she wished she could see his face more
clearly. His eyes always told her how he felt, regardless of the
words he spoke.

"For the insult to your manhood and most of
all for dismissing your feelings for me." She held tight to the
skirt of her gown, crushing the delicate fabric in her anxious
grip. "I would never hurt you on purpose, Jude. You have to know
that."

"I’m fine, Chloe. I'm rather miffed by the
current situation, and it's my turn to apologize to you. I left you
here, unprotected from my she-devil mother and your weak willed
father."

His concern touched her. This was the Jude
she remembered. He was her comrade, her protector, her best friend.
But would it last? "You had to find your life." She stood and
slowly approached him, needing to be close to someone who
understood.

"Yes, I suppose I had to do that to prove
myself a man. And let's not forget, it was your
unintentional
dismissal that gave me my freedom."

She stopped at his side and lifted her gaze
to his face, wanting to read his expression. His words were spoken
softly, but they hinted at acrimony. "And now it's my turn to find
my life," she said in a raspy whisper.

His gentle stare caressed her features and
again he touched her cheek. The delicious warmth that flooded
through his fingertips upon their contact with her flesh nearly
stole her breath.

"Yes," he muttered, placing his lips to her
ear. Chills cascaded across her body and she closed her eyes,
savoring their intimacy. "As Fredrick's wife."

His words were like icy water on a heated
pan, they sizzled and popped and steamed. She backed away from him,
the shock sending her heart into a pulse pounding, dizzying spiral.
"So, you too are pushing your mother's agenda. You've not rethought
your earlier position at all?"

"No, what has changed that I would do that?
Have you found a more logical suitor? Someone that satisfies your
requirements. One that you…love?"

She stared at him, standing there, his
countenance alive with the question. He seemed suddenly larger than
life, a man who demanded an answer. Gone was the rakish youth. Gone
was the Jude she knew and loved…Oh God, she had loved him. Why
couldn't she have realized it before he had undergone such a
change? Her heart ached with the revelation.

"No, the only one I loved is gone."

His eyes grew wide at her confession, as if
the statement surprised him. As if he now knew she mourned the loss
of who he used to be. Still, the astonishment was short lived and
quickly replaced by the man the boy had become. "I’m pushing you
toward someone who will catch you when you fall. He’s a good man,
Chloe. The only man I know that may actually be good enough for
you."

"But my heart doesn't beat for him." Did she
dare tell him how much she missed him? How she wished he had come
home to see to Pembridge. That he had come to see to her? But no,
she didn't want him this way. This man, this creature before her
was cold and cruel. Despite the fact she found herself more
physically attracted to him then she'd care to admit, she no longer
saw him as a match for her. Perhaps they were all right. Perhaps
Fredrick was her future.

"Good night, Jude." She turned from him and
on unsteady legs made her way toward the hallway. Once in the
safety of the shadows, she lifted the skirt of her nightgown and
rushed to her room. Burying her face in her pillow, she sobbed.

CHAPTER SIX

Fredrick seemed far too large for the
carriage. His wide shoulders and long legs made his comfort an
apparent impossibility. He smiled at Chloe from the far side of the
enclosed compartment and shifted. "You appear somber today, Miss
Pembridge. Are you ill?"

She opened her mouth to reply only to have
her answer stolen by Dorothea. "She's quite well."

"If you say so, Ma’am," Chloe remarked. The
carriage hit a rut and she fought to stay in her seat.

"You don’t know if you’re unwell?" Fredrick
inserted, his blue eyes caressing her face with concern. Warmth
touched her cheeks and she leaned to the left, trying to put as
much distance between her stepmother and herself as possible.

"Of course, Baron. But of late I find that I
am rather stifled and it's just easier to agree than to
disagree."

He smoothed his mustache with the tip of his
finger. "I see."

Dorothea emitted a low growl, her face
turning red. That alone brought a small pinprick of joy. Bothering
the woman was something she was determined to do until the day she
wed.

She smiled and gazed upon this stranger,
this man she was supposed to spend her life with and he returned
the gesture. There was a smugness thinly hidden by the dark hairs
of his mustache. Was it possible he knew her game?

"You know, that is what I’m forced to do
from time to time too. Imagine, dear lady, not having to do that?
Imagine a man willing to listen to you when you talk. A man who is
more than happy to pay heed to your advice."

"Is there such a man?" Chloe asked, tilting
her chin. "For if he does truly exist, he's a treasure and almost
certainly spoken for."

Fredrick pursed his lips. "I know of
one."

"Pray tell, who could that be?" Dorothea
interjected.

"Yes, indeed," Chloe agreed, loathing the
heavy sway of the carriage and wishing she sat facing forward. "For
he's a rarity and should be placed in a museum so women can be
assured of his existence."

Fredrick placed his hand upon his chest, the
white linen of his shirt a stark contrast to his long, tanned
fingers. "I, ladies, am such a man."

Chloe laughed, the sound so unexpected and
joyful that she suddenly stopped. There was lightness about
Fredrick, and for that she was grateful. "Yes, I do believe you may
be telling the truth. You listen, not only with your ears, but with
your observations"

Dorothea turned her head and stared at
Chloe, her mouth agape, her surprise palpable. She was flirting,
there, in front of her stepmother and God, and she was enjoying it.
And as much as Chloe hated to admit it, she was beginning to see
the value in marrying a man of Fredrick's caliber. If he could make
her laugh when she despaired, there was hope for happiness yet.

Fredrick pinned Chloe to her seat with his
gaze. The fire that flickered in his eyes heated her blood and the
attraction she initially felt for him flared. "I would love nothing
more, Lady Chloe, then to observe every aspect of you."

She felt herself falling into his gaze, as
if they were the only two in the slowing carriage. Dorothea sat all
but forgotten at her side.

"You speak too boldly, sir," she mumbled and
yet found she couldn't look away. The appreciation in his eyes, the
raw desire for only her, and her heart thrummed in her chest.