Between the Duke and the Deep Blue Sea (16 page)

Roxanne bounced on the bench like a child and began to laugh until she could barely breathe. As they wended their way down the lane, past the front of the estate, she clapped a hand over her mouth.

The entire lawn, which had been maintained with military precision just a fortnight ago was now riddled with the evidence of rodents who had churned tunnels with voracious fury.

Roxanne Vanderhaven, the Countess of Paxton in truth if not in spirit, jumped into his lap, the dairy book falling to the floor. “Oh, how can I thank you?” she said, nearly choking with mirth. “I was wrong, you know.”

“About what,” he murmured.

“Revenge
is
sweet. Look, I know it’s evil to be so gleeful, but he had a very odd connection with that lawn.”

He lifted his brow. “You are the only woman I know who would show such gratitude over a clutch of moles.”

“But you see he loved that lawn so much that he wouldn’t let anyone set foot on it except to cut it. He had two under-gardeners whose sole occupation was to water it, weed it, and cut it with more care than his own hair. Once, he even threatened to dismember Eddie if he ever saw him near it. And to think, all you had to do was hide a false map on my dog’s collar and find a few lovely little moles. Heavens . . . this is so much better than the headstone. It’s simply brilliant. It’s—it’s,” the words spilled out so fast. “I—Oh,
thank you, Alex
.”

She leaned down and kissed him for all she was worth. He had to agree. Revenge was, indeed, sweet. Sweeter than anything he had ever tasted. Her fingers raked his hair, surely making a more authentic tousled effect than the one Jack insisted on foisting on him every chance he could.

That was the last thought in his rational mind as Roxanne began to explore every inch of his face with torturing little kisses. Every now and again a soft giggle would escape, and it set his body on fire for her. He was beginning to believe he would be willing to move heaven and earth to see that sort of happiness on her face every day.

Until she left, of course. Nothing ever remained the same. Change was inevitable. But he had learned to take advantage of every last morsel of goodness while it lasted. And then to put it all behind him. To forget was the only way to survive.

God. She fit so perfectly in his embrace. He loved the way her slim waist bent as he pulled her closer. He loved the way she smelled—of warm honey soap, and something maddeningly elusive.

And now his breeches were uncomfortably tight in all the obvious places. He squirmed in his seat and her pert derrière only nestled deeper into his lap. He was so close to his limit that he had the vague sense that he might for the first time in his life embarrass himself. And he hadn’t even touched her bare skin.

With a shout, the carriage stopped so abruptly that Roxanne nearly ended up on the floor. At the last moment, Alex gripped her tight.

Who would have guessed that it would be the Earl of Paxton who would save the Countess of Paxton from finding herself in a far more precarious predicament than the one she had faced a few weeks before?

Chapter 11

“H
ey, ho!” the driver shouted.

Alex glanced out the window only to see Lawrence Vanderhaven running toward the carriage by way of his ruined landscape, waving his hands in the universal signal to stop.

“Stay in here, and don’t you dare say a word or move a single blasted finger,” Alex warned her before loosening the carriage curtain from its roping. He quickly grabbed the book, opened the door, leapt from the vehicle without bothering to let down the step, and firmly closed the latch of the door.

He covered the placket of his breeches with the book and tried to think about anything except the long, slim femininity inside his barouche. He prayed that for just once, she would obey him. An obviously useless wish.

“Halloo!” The Earl of Paxton’s fast gait was disjointed and as inelegant as a goose’s waddle.

“Yes?” Alex replied as soon as the man was near.

Lawrence Vanderhaven leaned over his knees, breathing hard. “So glad I caught you. Saves me a visit.”

Alex raised his brows and waved his hand. “Love what you’ve done here.”

F
or the first time in many years, Roxanne was grateful to Lawrence. She was completely out of her depth with the Duke of Kress. The man scrambled her wits. She was sure he thought her a lunatic. One minute she was telling him she was leaving as cool as you please and the next she was attacking him with kisses and God knows what other silly romantic nonsense. And he appeared completely immune to her efforts.

Oh, he kissed her back, but he never let his tightly leashed emotions get involved, no matter how hard she tried. It only proved yet again what a failure she was in the game of seduction.

And her marriage had been the same. Lawrence had preferred hours spent with his plants, his books, his horticulture magazines, anything but time spent with her. And when he had come to her bed, less and less after the first year of marriage, it had been a perfunctory quarter of an hour. Then again, wasn’t that the way it was done? And yet . . . She had once spied the Paxton stable master and the scullery maid in a passionate embrace behind a hayrick one summer afternoon. It was not at all what she had experienced with Lawrence. She had assumed that sort of exuberance was considered vulgar by the upper classes.

Until Alex.

As she slid down on the bench to hide any shadow she might cast, she wondered yet again if her marriage would have been different if she had conceived a child. She sighed.

“Do allow me the honor of asking you to join me in my library, Your Grace,” her vile husband simpered on the other side of the carriage door.

Well, at least this would give Alex the chance to snatch the miniatures while she sat in this overheated carriage.

When she heard Alex reluctantly agree to her husband’s request, Lawrence instructed the coachmen to move the barouche to the circular drive in front of Paxton Hall.

Roxanne had more than a half hour in the darkened carriage to contemplate the grave injustice Lawrence had done to her. She had thought she was done with revenge. She had thought she was through with finding answers. Why then did that little question still sneak past her defenses and plague her?

Why?

Why had he wanted her to die? It wasn’t her money as Alex suggested. He was clearly courting Miss Tillworth, and her nonexistent dowry.

The carriage seat had become as hard as the wooden slat bench miners lowered into shafts. She wiggled against the discomfort. And the airless inside of the carriage caused her to become even more uncomfortable. She peeked past the edge of the curtain. There was not a soul in sight. And she knew it was the hour the servants took their dinner.

She nimbly descended from the barouche and whispered her intentions to the driver before she disappeared toward the west side of the mansion, where the library lay to tempt her.

She tiptoed up the four steps of the wide terrace, and rested flat against the brick wall adjacent to the French doors. She had not enough luck on her side. The doors were shut. But if she knew anything, she was certain they would be unlocked. One of Lawrence’s favorite activities was to stand on the terrace and admire the landscape he had designed.

She eased toward the window of the French door and peeked inside. Lawrence was in his favorite chair, the back of his head just visible. The bald spot he had always tried to hide with boot polish was quite evident. It made her smile.

Her eyes focused on Alex, sitting across from Lawrence. All at once, Alex’s brown eyes met hers and she dared not think what he would do when they were alone.

No matter. It would be worth it. She reached for the knob of the door and turned it slowly. Noiselessly, she eased the door open an inch.

“Your Grace, I knew you would understand,” Lawrence stated.

“Oh, completely. I understand you have quite a bit of gall to ask to remove something from the Mount,” Alex drawled. “It is my duty as the current duke to protect all that is entailed in the duchy’s name. I cannot let anyone run roughshod over the grounds to dig up precious greenery no matter how much you desire to cultivate this rare white camp— Whatever.”

“It’s the white form of the red campion, actually. Surely there must be some room for negotiation, Your Grace.”

“I told you not to address me so informally,” Alex announced.

“But there is no more formal address.” Lawrence’s voice gained a squeak. “I could address you as ‘Peter,’ as you suggested the time we last met.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, why would I have ever requested that when my Christian name is Harry, the masculine form of Harriet, don’t you know?”

“Please, I beg of you,” Lawrence whispered.

“Oh, very well,” Alex said with a convincing sigh, “as you said, we are the two most important people residing in Cornwall for the moment. I suppose we shall have to deal with each other.
Perhaps
I will see fit to accede to your request, but you must give me what I require in return.”

“Anything,” Lawrence breathed reverently.

Yes, this was the little man she knew, Roxanne thought with annoyance. She prayed Alex would find a way to secure the miniatures.

“You must answer a question.”

The fine hairs on her neck rose.

Lawrence Vanderhaven leaned forward in anticipation. “And what question would that be?”

“Why did you kill your wife?”

Roxanne would have swooned if not for the fact that she had to hear Lawrence’s answer.

“I beg your pardon?” Her demented husband’s voice cracked.

“Your dearly beloved wife, the Countess of Paxton.”

Lawrence half rose from his seat. “How dare you come into my house and suggest—”

“Because I happened across your wife’s headstone the morning of the funeral. No, I require you to remain seated, sir. I was amazed you were able to have it carved so quickly”—Alex let that sink in before he tapped in the last nail—“and then a party from the Mount toured St. Ives yesterday and I took the opportunity to bring some flowers from your wife’s dog to place on the hat’s grave. Have you seen what has been done to the headstone?”

Roxanne would have given just about anything to see her husband’s face just then.

Lawrence stuttered, “I—I—I don’t know what you are suggesting, but I was informed that someone had vandalized my wife’s—”

“Your
beloved
wife’s,” Alex corrected.

“Yes, yes. My
beloved
wife’s memorial. It is being repaired as we speak. I can’t imagine that it is still there. I asked for it to be removed several days ago. You say you saw this yesterday?”

“You have forgotten the more important question, Lawrie.” Alex’s voice sounded like that of a disappointed father chastising a child.

“Sorry?”

Roxanne could see her husband mopping his face with a handkerchief.
How cliché
.

“Why did you kill her?” Alex asked softly. He lifted his eyes from Lawrence and glared at her for a moment before returning his attention to her husband.

“How dare you suggest anything of the sort. I should not have to defend myself. Of course, I did not kill my wife. I loved her with every breath I possess. Your reasons for thinking such are a grave insult. I should call you out.”

“Why don’t you?” Alex’s voice sounded thoughtful.

“I don’t believe in such barbaric practices. That sort of thing should have remained in the dark ages—or in London, for hotheaded young blades who consume too much spirits. Something I would never do. I am a peaceful sort. In fact I am the magistrate in the district and I’m known for my generous forgiveness of sins.”

“And so you forgive yourself first, then?”

“I don’t have anything to be forgiven for.”

Alex was accomplishing it. He was finally getting the earl angry. She could hear it in Lawrence’s voice.

“In fact,” her husband continued, “if anyone should require forgiveness, it is my poor wife.”

Roxanne almost lost her balance in her desire to inch closer.

“Yes,” Alex agreed. “I find most women to be deficient on many levels. There is even one I know who never,
ever
keeps her promise or does what she is told. What did your beloved wife do to merit forgiveness?”

Lawrence hesitated.

Alex urged him on. “I have yet to find a female worthy of any man. Don’t you agree?”

That opened the floodgates. “To be perfectly honest, she was frigid,” Lawrence gushed. “A most spiritless creature, and incapable of procreation. Everyone knew it. Reproduction is the main purpose of every living thing on this earth. Plants manage it perfectly, even brainless animals. She could not. And why are you so bloody interested in my wife? You never even met her.”

Alex ignored the question. “And so you killed her. Your
beloved
wife?”

“No, I did not kill her,” Lawrence said stiffly. “You asked me why my wife merited forgiveness. You suggested all women have faults, as we both know. Eve tempted Adam, remember? Why, I pitied Roxanne more than anyone, but I did not kill her.”

“Really?”

“Really. Now, may I please remove a portion of the white form of the red campion on the Mount?”

“No,” Alex said calmly.

“I beg your pardon?” Lawrence stood up suddenly. “And what do you keep looking at behind me. It’s as if—”

Alex rose up from his seat, like a giant specter behind Lawrence, and whacked his head as Lawrence turned to look over his shoulder toward her. Her husband went down in a boneless, spineless fashion, but Alex caught him to silence the fall.

It all unfolded so quickly Roxanne had barely a moment to react. She had been frozen as solid as a Scottish icicle in January since Lawrence’s words had floated through her, paralyzing her.
Frigid
. She had been deemed frigid and barren.

Her arm fell to her side, cracking the tension in her body and she stumbled through the French door.

“Is he dead?” she whispered with more than a modicum of hope.

“No. He’s too thick-headed for a book about dairy cows to do any satisfying damage. Now’s your chance to give him a good kick or three if you’d like.”

“I just want to leave,” she murmured, dejected, “before one of the servants discovers us.” She turned to go, but he reached for her arm to stop her.

“Wait,” he said in a serious tone. “You might be finished but I’m not.”

She couldn’t respond, but for once she did as he asked. She just didn’t have the spirit required to banter with him.

And so she waited as he had bid her.

She watched as he pulled something out of his vest pocket and picked up Lawrence’s limp hand. He jammed her tiny ugly ruby and diamond ring on her husband’s pinkie which was more than a mite too large for the ring.

She tried to muster a smile.

“Now go outside and meet me in the carriage,” Alex said. “Have a care and try not to let anyone see you.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’ll join you before you have a chance to plan your
beloved
husband’s funeral.”

She couldn’t speak and so she nodded her agreement.

A thousand and one thoughts flew through her head as she waited for Alex in the carriage. A thousand and one times the word
frigid
echoed within her. She squeezed her hands over her ears. She was not even entirely sure what it meant, but she knew it was ugly.

And how dare he suggest she was barren? True, they had not had any children, but he had made very little effort if the local midwife’s advice had been accurate. Roxanne had privately sought out the woman to learn the secrets no one dared speak of in polite company. She had learned that relations should be frequent—at least several times a week—if one was to conceive a child. It was also a fact that Vanderhavens were notoriously short on producing heirs, and notoriously long on handing down the title to distant relations.