Ashes in the Wind (45 page)

“Married women are safer,” Cole muttered in his glass. “No telling how many husbands have been cuckolded because of him.”

Braegar spread his hands wide in plaintive appeal. “I’m harmless!”

“I wonder,” Cole grunted.

A sigh of relief slipped softly from Alaina as Miles entered to announce dinner. The dining room, like all the main rooms of the house, was burdensomely ostentatious. The table was overlong, the chairs overlarge. Everything was rich, heavily carved, and obtrusively grandiose. Cole watched her reaction as she glanced about with a carefully blank expression, and she dared no response that would prompt him to question her credibility again.

Bay windows overlooked the land to the east, and when lightning shattered the ebony darkness of the stormy sky, the crystal panes glittered with myriad spots of raindrops. Beyond the windows and below the cliff, the meandering river was visible through the swaying trees snuggled close about the house.

Shortly after Cole seated her at one end of the table, himself at the other, and Braegar took a place halfway between, the swinging door to the kitchen opened, and a plumpish, gray-haired woman bustled energetically in. She was intent upon carrying a large bowl of steaming hot potatoes to the table and positioned the dish squarely in the middle of it before she stood back with a sigh of accomplishment. Setting chubby hands on round hips, she greeted Braegar and then carefully scrutinized Alaina.

“Aye, a pretty one to be sure,” she nodded finally and introduced herself. “Me name’s Annie, love. Annie Murphy. ‘Tis been me duties to tend the kitchen and cook the meals.” She threw a sharp glance toward Cole and gestured with her thumb in his direction. “Though me labors have been mainly unappreciated by milord here. ‘Tis a cruel shame I have to be introducing meself when he’s dallied so long with his own comforts.” At that, she cast her eyes meaningfully toward the snifter at his service.

“You’re a nag, Annie Murphy,” Cole avowed.

“Huh! I’ll thank ye kindly, sir, ter keep yer muckraking comments to yerself. Ye wouldn’t want me ter say what I thinks of yerself now would ye?”

“Heaven forbid!”

“You ought to be the gentleman like himself here.” She nodded toward Braegar. “A foin manner he has, always a-laughin’ and speakin’ well of people.” She paused, considering the distance between mistress and master, and screwed up her mouth thoughtfully. On leaving the dining room, she commented wryly in an overloud whisper. “And Mister Braegar is a lot friendlier, too!”

The Irishman gave in to choking laughter, while Alaina looked directly toward Cole and smiled charitably, delighting in the angry flush of color that suffused his face.

“As you must have guessed,” Cole warned, “Annie says and does much as she pleases. Since she’s been here at least a score of years, she has the idea I won’t dismiss her, and has become quite unmanageable.”

“I think she is just delightful!” Alaina shrugged and daintily bent her attention to the
potage, dismissing any further comment.

Throughout the meal, it was Braegar who entertained her, for Cole stiffly held his silence. Casually she noted that her husband ignored the potatoes and dined mainly on meat and other vegetables, while Braegar ate heartily of everything. The butler, Miles, was formal in his service about the table and most respectful of his employer. Annie’s effervescent cheeriness was a sharp contrast, yet they seemed to get along well with each other. Even when the cook jabbed the man in the ribs to draw his attention to the potatoes on Alaina’s plate, Miles only smiled and nodded.

“Now there’s one who knows what’s good for her,” the cook declared, then looked askance at Cole. “Not a bit like yerself, sir.”

Cole didn’t glance up, but, as he cut his meat, was heard to mutter dryly, “A body can learn to tolerate just about anything if he’s been close enough to starvation.”

“Aw, get on wit’ ye!” Annie shook her head as she stomped off into the kitchen, mumbling to herself about certain people who thought themselves above good Irish staples.

As the rain seemed destined to continue through the night, a bedroom was provided for Braegar. Eventually the storm passed but well after midnight, leaving in its wake a silent stillness. Mists cloaked the earth with wisps of white, while higher above, the moon played chase with the shredded vapors. Long after she had curled herself beneath the down-filled bedcovers, Alaina lay awake, listening for the footfalls that were familiar to her now. This was no chaste
marriage they had between them, not with the outpouring of passions that had already been displayed. Love, hate, rage, lust—were those emotions so different from one another after all?

Alaina drifted to sleep, never hearing what her ears strained to catch, and slowly, effortlessly, she sank into the vague world of dreams. She glided along the surface of a bright blue sea in a ship with towering masts and wide, white sails billowing out above her. The rhythmic creaking of the masts whispered and sighed in her brain, as if the dream sought substance. Then, abruptly she was awake, and in a rush she knew what had disturbed her sleep. She had felt a presence beside her bed, a tall form dimly silhouetted against the moonlit windows of her bedroom.

“Cole?” she sighed.

The door latch clicked, and Alaina turned her head to stare at the closed portal, knowing that she was alone again. Yet it was a long, long time before she could banish the illusive shadow from her mind.

A
LAINA
awakened with the dawn and, for a space, burrowed deep into her warm quilts, dreading that moment when she would have to set foot on the cold floor of her bedroom. Finally, she yielded to the inevitable, tossed aside the covers, and gathered a shawl around her shoulders against the crisp chill. For all its stone and brick and fortresslike exterior, the cliff house was cold and drafty. Her thin wrapper would be no protection come the long, hard winter if this was only a sampling of its frigid breath.

She ran quickly across the oak floor and perched crosslegged on the raised hearth, savoring even the meager warmth that it retained. Splinters of kindling went onto the bedded coals, and with the bellows, she worked until tiny flames leaped upward around the chips. The pile was rapidly enlarged until split logs were feeding the flames, and soon the heat drove her back. Warmed now, she went to stand at the window to have her first view of the countryside. Her eyes eagerly feasted upon the breathtaking splendor of it all, touching the languid river, the light mists that drifted over the surface of the water, the brilliance of the trees, and the steep cliff on the opposite side.

It took an effort, but she stirred herself from the sight and set her attentions toward a bath. However, the lack of water in the small nook posed a problem. Reluctantly she donned her thin wrapper and went downstairs to seek out Annie in the kitchen. A large copper boiler of water was already simmering on the wood stove, and when Alaina made her request known, the cook was garrulously apologetic until breathlessly she assured, “I’ll send Peter up with it the minute it’s hot, dearie. And now that we be knowing ye’re an early riser, they’ll be no more delay.”

On retracing her steps through the hall, Alaina noticed that the door to Cole’s study stood ajar, and out of curiosity, she went to peer in. The stale odor of smoke and liquor that permeated the room made her wrinkle her nose in repugnance, yet here at last was a place where she could feel comfortable. Books lined the rosewood-paneled walls, and a large desk stood before tall bay windows. A leather tufted sofa faced the stone hearth, and before it, two tall leather chairs faced each other across the surface of a low table. There was a manly flavor about the room, and it seemed much more in accord with the personality of Doctor Latimer, than did most of the house.

In the dim early morning light filtering through the drapes, Alaina became aware of the long form of her husband in the chair that faced the window. His feet were propped on a leather ottoman, and a thick woolen blanket covered his legs. The collar of a velvet smoking jacket was pulled close beneath his chin, as if the night chill had found him out. Quietly she moved
to stand beside his chair, and her eyes went to the small side table where an open wooden box of long cigars rested. Near it, a heavy glass dish bore the remains of several of the same. All this was shadowed by a large snifter that contained the last dregs of liquor in its bottom. As she weighed the evidence displayed before her a sudden urge made her lift her eyes, and as they touched Cole’s face, she saw that he had awakened and was watching her quietly. Self-consciously, Alaina pulled her muslin wrapper tighter about her narrow waist and realized the room was chilly to a fault.

“You spent the night here?” she questioned softly, her curiosity piqued.

Cole scrubbed a hand across his bristly cheek. “At times, the leg bids me sit rather than lie, and even thus sated, demands an exercise every few hours or so. I have all but given up the comfort of a whole night’s rest in a bed.”

His answer evoked a memory of a tall form beside her bed during the night, and she wondered what had gone through his mind as he watched her sleep. She reached down a finger to rub it around the lip of the snifter and teased, “There’s always Magruder’s solution.”

Cole frowned harshly. “Your sympathy is too much to bear.”

Alaina tipped the glass slightly. “You seem to rely heavily on spirits for your comfort.”

“I know of nothing else that will give me like comfort without an undue amount of complaint,” he rejoined meaningfully.

“I shall assume you refer to your late spouse,” she replied brightly, “since I complain not at all.”

Cole snorted. “True! But I’m wary of turning my back for fear you’ll find a handy weapon and take your revenge.”

“And I, sir”—she raised a brow—“will be more cautious of my bedchamber hereafter.” He looked up at her, and she questioned innocently. “Or did you have some matter you wished to discuss with me?”

He reached for a cigar and carefully inspected it. “In truth, madam, there is much that we have to settle between us.”

Alaina leaned forward until she drew his gaze. “Was I mistaken, sir? I thought we ended that discussion at the hotel.”

Cole flicked a thumbnail against the head of a sulfur match and watched it flare into a bright flame. “Do not be mistaken, Alaina. The argument is far from settled yet.”

Footsteps came across the hall, and with a brief knock, Mrs. Garth entered, carrying a tray that bore a cup of steaming coffee and, beside it, a crystal decanter of brandy. Placing it on the table before Cole, the housekeeper poured a liberal draught of liquor into the coffee, and after emptying the ash-filled dish and removing the dirty glass, she quietly excused herself and left.

“Is that what you have for breakfast?” Alaina asked in amazement.

“You should try it, my love,” he responded mockingly. “I have heard that it warms the coldest of hearts.”

“I have seen no evidence that it has warmed yours, Major,” she retorted glibly, and with a fine
flick of her heel, she left him, not waiting to hear his grumbled reply.

Once in her room, Alaina set about choosing her apparel for the day. Her wardrobe was barely adequate, but limited as it was, no room remained in the tall armoire. It was jammed full of the same sort of gowns, cloaks, and dressing gowns that had filled Roberta’s, leaving no space for her own meager possessions. Some other place would have to be found to store her cousin’s garments, she firmly decided. She didn’t want them in her room.

An armful of costly gowns came out and were tossed upon the bed. Cloaks followed, long and short. Coats, shoes, bonnets. Most of the clothes displayed no sign of ever having been worn, and she became utterly amazed because Roberta’s castoffs were far richer than anything a MacGaren had ever known. The selection of the clothes had been well exercised, for each garment was exquisite in detail, structure, and design. There were silks and plush velvets, plaid taffetas and plain, hats with plumes or feathers or with drapings of sheer cloth that would sweep dramatically beneath the chin. She was greatly saddened by the waste, and she had to fight a feeling of depressing envy that threatened to undermine her pride. How very easy it would be to relent to Cole’s demands and allow him to dress her in such a grand manner.

A half dozen large buckets of hot water had been placed in the bathing chamber, and with five of them, Alaina indulged herself in a leisurely bath. After having to contend with the grime of Al’s masquerade, she had promised herself, once free of it, she
would enjoy the luxury of being a woman. With that purpose firmly in mind, she used the perfumed oils Cole had sent, reasoning that her utilization would not greatly compromise her refusal to wear his gift of clothes. She rubbed lotions into her freshly bathed skin and savored the sumptuousness of her toilet. She brushed her hair until its sheen matched the costliest satins and left the softly curling mass hanging free while she dragged on cotton pantaloons. Trying not to dwell on the soft and dainty undergarments Cole would have her wear, she perched on the edge of the chair in her bedroom and donned knee-length black cotton stockings. The laces had been taken from the new satin corset to replace the broken ones in the old, and she had repaired her undergarments.
Even after his assault on her clothes, she had only been reduced to accepting the lacings. But no one knew what a great temptation his gifts really were. The silk stockings were a luxury she had never known, while the corset was a dreamy vision for her hungering eye.

A door slammed in the room beyond the bathing chamber, and Alaina froze in sudden horror. Someone was there! Someone with a cane and a limp! A tall, standing mirror had been added to her bedroom furnishings sometime during the prior evening’s dinner hour, and she gaped at her reflection, elbows jutting above the head, bosom bare beneath the binding, half-donned camisole, and gray eyes wide over the top. With belated perception, she realized what had so amused her husband the night before and just where his bedroom was. Of all the rooms in this overstuffed house, she had to pick the one that joined on to his.

Alaina gritted her teeth at the thought of her own foolishness and jerked the shift down, though it seemed each rustle of cloth would remind him of her presence. Still wiggling to set the undergarment in place, she stepped to the dressing room door and eased it shut with as little noise as possible. The door had no lock, as she had discovered the night before, and abruptly it came to her that she had seen none in the house except on that huge front door.

Much to her consternation, the far door in the bathing chamber opened. Water splashed in the basin, and an unfamiliar noise puzzled her until she realized he was stropping his razor. Alaina hurriedly resumed her dressing. If he meant to shave, she might have a few moments to adequately garb herself.

She eased into the old corset, fearing to breathe lest she make some small sound that would draw Cole’s attention. The new laces, drawn through the smaller eyelets, tangled themselves hopelessly into a knot, frustrating her every effort. Chewing her lip nervously, she fumbled behind her back and finally tugged the garment around to better fight the knot. The best her haste accomplished was a broken fingernail and the loss of her temper, for without warning her dressing room door was pushed open. Wearing nothing more than trousers, Cole leaned casually against the doorframe and wiped the last of the lather from his face as he contemplated her plight.

Venting a groan of despair, Alaina presented her back to him and jerked the corset about until it approximated its proper position, all the while savoring several fates that could befall the inconsiderate oaf who would so rudely intrude upon a lady’s privacy.

“Are there no locks in your house, Major?” she asked in rancor.

“I have never found a need for them,” he replied confidently. “Everything in this house is mine.”

Alaina considered him coolly over her shoulder. “I suppose that includes me.”

“Most especially you, my love,” he laughed. He threw the towel over his naked shoulder and limped across the room to take the knotted corset strings in hand. As if by magic, the cords came free beneath his fingers. With a deft motion, he settled the stays into place and began tightening the laces.

Alaina tried to look more indignant than she felt as she gazed over her shoulder, but the truth of the matter was that she enjoyed the husbandly service he performed. Besides, he managed the laces so well, it seemed to her advantage to let him.

His labor finished, Cole caressed the well-rounded posterior fondly, then brushing aside her hair, he leaned down to murmur in her ear, “I’ve heard it often said: all’s well that ends well. But you, girl, are the best ended thing I’ve seen—well, in a long time anyway.”

Still not ready to forgive him, Alaina whirled to face him, but immediately realized her mistake. She was far too close to that hard muscular chest, and a brief glimpse of her reflection warned her that she was not as well covered as she had supposed. A trembling set in, and it had naught to do with fear. She saw an excuse to gain some distance from him without retreat seeming obvious and sought out her petticoats. In an attempt to ignore him and thus urge him on his way, she slipped them quickly over her head. She had no
wish to appear vulnerable but Cole Latimer posed a definite threat to her peace of mind and composure.

“Was there some reason you came in here?” she asked through the cloth.

“There was a matter,” the reply came.

Alaina snatched the petticoats down into place and found Cole leaning against the bedpost counting out several large bills. Drawing near, he reached to the top of her chemise and stuffed a large roll of notes down between her breasts. “You were a charming hostess last night. Braegar was most impressed.”

Cheeks hot with indignation, Alaina snatched the wad of bills from her bosom and, copying his bold manner, hooked a finger into the top of his trousers and tucked the roll inside the front of them. She smiled tightly. “I wouldn’t take your money in a month of Sundays, Major Latimer.”

He raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Have you changed your mind?”

“Oh, don’t worry yourself, Major. I’ll be here to protect you from your frivolous affairs, but you can keep your money.”

Cole limped back to the bed and lifted a sleeve of a pink taffeta. “If you will not accept the money, then this should be worth about as much.”

Alaina was astounded at his suggestion—and hurt to the quick. “You’d have me wear Roberta’s clothes?”

The scowl that came on Cole’s face made hers seem gentle by comparison. “Do you think I would garb my wife in secondhand rags?” The notion made him irate, and he swept his arm around to indicate the large heap of clothes on the bed. “These were purchased all for you, madam!”

“Oh, Major,” she moaned, suddenly chagrined by her error. “I can never repay you for even a small part of—”

“Major!” he roared, and his voice carried thunder. Rage gathered like a storm cloud across his face. “By damned, woman, have you also set your fangs to striking me? Will you greet my guests this evening and make of me a miserly penny pincher? I forbid it!”

The force of his words made Alaina grind her teeth in stubborn defiance. Eyes flashing fire, she flared, “I will be garbed in such a manner that you will have no qualms, Major Latimer!”

“You will garb yourself as befits my wife! And if you can bring to tongue no better form of endearment, you will at least address me in the presence of others by my given name!”