Grasso, Patricia (36 page)

"Bring your handsome friend to join our group," Morgana invited her, flicking a glance at Rhys. "Are you avoiding me, dear sister?"

Keely gaped in surprise at her "dear" sister. A fluttering oak leaf could have knocked her over.

"I am Keely's half-sister, Lady Morgana Talbot," the blonde introduced herself.

Rhys grinned wolfishly at Morgana. His interested gaze perused her from the top of her blond head to the tips of her dainty slippered feet, but it lingered a moment longer than was proper on the alluring display of silken flesh above the bodice of her low-cut gown.

"We share a common interest," Rhys remarked. "I am Keely's stepbrother."

The fierce Welsh baron and the pampered English beauty ignored their common interest, namely Keely. His warm gray eyes locked on her sultry blue eyes, and for several long moments the world faded and only the two of them existed.

"For our sister's sake, we should become better acquainted," Morgana said, lowering her gaze in simulated shyness. "Would you care to dance?"

"Unfortunately, my education lacked that refined skill," Rhys admitted with no trace of embarrassment, giving her an easy smile. "Perhaps a deserted alcove would better suit our becoming acquainted?"

Morgana's smile was angelic yet seductively inviting. "I do believe I know of such a place."

"I'm sure you do," Rhys replied in a husky voice. Turning to his shocked sister, he said, "Will you excuse us?"

Before Keely could even acknowledge what he'd said, the unlikely couple walked away. Flabbergasted, Keely could only stare after them.

How did Rhys have the courage to admit to his ignorance about dancing? Keely wondered. She'd been mortified beyond endurance. The answer came to her then; Rhys was legitimate issue and a baron. While she was merely a—

"Good evening, countess."

Keely turned toward the voice. Willis Smythe stood beside her. His gaze, fixed on her cleavage, made her feel positively naked.

"Good evening, my lord," Keely said, pasting an insincere smile onto her face. Holy stones, she felt as shallow as the other courtiers in the chamber. But if she forced herself to mingle with a man she despised, mingling with the others would be easy.

"Has your husband deserted you again?" Smythe asked.

Keely cast him a flirtatious smile. "I'm afraid so."

"I believe the pavane is your favorite dance," Willis remarked. "Shall we?"

"The pavane is my
only
dance," Keely quipped, placing her hand in his.

Keely suppressed the urge to shudder as he led her onto the dance floor. Willis bowed to her in courtly manner, and she curtsied in return.

"You look especially lovely tonight," Smythe complimented her, his gaze on the enticing swell of her breasts as the pavane began.

"I'm flattered that you appreciate the cut of my gown," Keely said dryly.

Smythe gave her a smile meant to melt the frigid look in her eyes. "I understand that congratulations are in order. And how is the mother-to-be feeling?"

"Wonderful, at the moment. 'Tis the morning sickness that prevents me from eating breakfast."

"Isn't skipping breakfast unhealthy for the babe?" Smythe asked conversationally. "I would have thought an expectant mother would fill herself with eggs, cheese, milk, and ham."

"Eat ham?" Keely echoed, crinkling her nose to emphasize her revulsion. "I heartily despise pork in any form. Though 'tis one of Richard's favorites."

Keely swayed to the right to touch her left palm to his and stopped short. Beside the baron stood her husband.
Her angry husband.

"I warned you, Smythe," Richard said, his voice low, his emerald eyes glinting with murderous intent.

"Give over, Devereux," Willis replied. " 'Tis merely a dance."

"You did leave me to fend for myself," Keely reminded her husband, as the dancers around the three of them inched closer to eavesdrop on this confrontation.

"I forbid you to dance with this man," Richard said. "Choose another partner."

Of all the unbridled gall,
Keely thought. Her husband could dance and flirt with whomever he pleased, but she must stand alone until he attended her.

"My lord, you do make a spectacle of us," Keely said, forcing a calmness into her voice that she didn't actually feel.

"Do not provoke me," Richard growled, reaching out to grab her wrist, insidious jealousy ruling his actions and words.

Keely stepped back a pace, lifted her right hand in the air, and gave her husband the fig. Whirling away, she marched proudly out of the hall. When she reached the corridor, Keely lifted her skirts and sprinted the rest of the way to their chamber.

How dare her husband order her to mingle and then - publicly reprimand her for doing so! Keely fumed as she paced back and forth in front of the hearth. How dare he—the door crashed open.

"Stay away from Smythe," Richard ordered, advancing on her. "Cease encouraging the attentions of other men."

Keely opened her mouth to reply, but Richard was faster.

"Do not deny it," he warned. "I have eyes in my head to see how those men look at you."

"I
am not the Devereux whose private beauty mark is intimately known and universally admired by every female at court," Keely shot back.

That stopped the earl's intended tirade.

"I have heard enough. You will pass the remainder of the evening in this chamber, where you will reflect upon the error of your ways," Richard said, his voice stern. At that, he stormed out of the chamber and slammed the door behind.

Keely glared at the offending portal. "I hope you break your big toe," she cursed.

Suddenly, Keely heard a masculine shout and a loud crash in the corridor. She yanked the door open and stared in surprise at the sight that greeted her: the earl sprawled among the rushes on the stone floor of the corridor.

Slowly, Richard raised his emerald gaze to hers and said a bit sheepishly, "My haste tripped me."

Keely slammed the door shut. She covered her mouth with her hands and dissolved into muffled giggles, but the disturbing thought that her marriage was a failure sobered her almost instantly.

Keely sat down in the chair in front of the hearth and sighed. She had always yearned for two things: a father and a home. Winning her father's acknowledgment and love had happened so unexpectedly, she couldn't believe she would be lucky enough for both dreams to come true. Without a doubt, Keely knew that that special place called home would forever elude her.

Born and bred a Welshwoman, she could never fit into this strange English society, but she would remain in England for the sake of her child. Keely could accept life without her husband's love if he proved a loving father to their children. An imperfect world sometimes forced the heart and the soul to compromise and make do with what was offered.

Living at the Tudor court, however, was an entirely different matter. Remaining amidst its superficiality even for one more day seemed like an impossible task.

Keely needed the sun warming her shoulders. She needed the wind caressing her face. What she needed most of all was to worship at the sacred site in the earl's garden where the yew, the birch, and the oak conversed.

Keely decided she would return to Devereux House in the morning, with or without the earl.

The power of her positive thinking lifted Keely's spirits. She packed a few belongings in her leather satchel and went to sleep in a much better frame of mind than when she had awakened.

Hoping to avoid another argument with his wife, Richard returned to their chamber later than usual. He undressed in the darkened chamber, tossed his clothing onto the floor, and climbed into bed. Snuggling against his wife, he promptly joined her in sleep.

Only a few moments seemed to have passed before Richard swam up slowly from the depths of unconsciousness. A hammer—no, a battering ram—pounded inside his head, and his eyelids felt too heavy to open. Good Christ, why had he drunk so much wine?

Seeking the comfort of his wife's body, Richard inched closer to the middle of the bed. Keely wasn't there. Then he heard her humming softly as she moved about the chamber.

"What time is it?" he moaned without opening his eyes.

" 'Tis early."

Sensing her presence beside him, Richard opened his eyes just as she set a sheet of parchment down on the pillow. Blinding sunshine streamed through the window behind her. He squinted against the painful brightness.

"What is this?" Richard asked, his gaze sliding to the parchment.

"A note for you," Keely answered.

"A note from whom?"

"From me."

Richard cocked a copper brow at her. "Well, what does it say?"

Keely lifted her leather satchel off the floor and turned away, saying, "I'm going home."

Richard groaned. The last thing he needed this morning was a runaway wife. Why couldn't the witch wait until his head cleared before she started creating new problems?

"I forbid you to leave this chamber," Richard ordered in his most authoritarian voice.

"Dearest, mix feverfew herbs in a mug of warmed cider for your headache," Keely told him. She gave him a sunny smile and then quit the chamber.

Richard leaped out of the bed and marched across the chamber. He yanked the door open but stopped short.

A passing serving wench winked at him and giggled. " 'Tis true!" she exclaimed. "You do sport a freckle on the tip of—"

Richard slammed the door shut and hurried across the chamber to fetch his discarded clothing from the previous night. Because his industrious wife had already folded and put them away, Richard wasted five minutes searching for breeches, shirt, and boots.

When he opened the door again, Richard nearly tripped over the breakfast tray, which had been delivered while he was dressing. He paused for a moment and then picked it up. The tray was laden with hard-cooked eggs, cheese, bread, and a small mountain of ham slices. Richard looked at the tempting slices of ham, but the thought of eating sickened him. Too much wine the previous night had stolen his usually robust appetite.

His impetuous wife had no concern for the babe she carried. Determined to return to Wales, she would endanger their child by starving herself. First, Richard intended to cram her breakfast down her throat, starting with the ham she despised. Then he'd lock her in their chamber.

Reaching the lawns outside the palace, Richard spied his wife up ahead. Keely walked along almost leisurely— an unusually slow gait for a runaway. A smile flirted with the corners of Richard's lips as he admired the gentle sway of her hips. His headache dulled to a minor throb, the sight of his sweet wife a balm to his health and well-being.

Lecturing and ordering hadn't once bent the independent witch to his will, Richard thought. Would his fabled Devereux charm be more persuasive?

Richard walked into the dimly lit stable and saw his wife standing in front of Merlin's open stall. At least she'd had enough sense to refrain from lifting the heavy saddle.

Inside the stall Hew was readying Merlin for travel while Odo was trying to persuade Keely not to leave. All three looked at the earl when he approached.

"Breakfast is served," Richard announced, gifting her with his devastating smile.

"I never eat breakfast," Keely replied, seemingly immune to his masculine wiles.

"Don't forget the babe needs the nourishment."

"I'll dine later." Dismissing him, Keely turned toward the stall and stroked Merlin's forehead.

Richard set the tray down. Trying to hold his patience, he silently counted to ten and then added another twenty for good measure. Though he'd never before suffered from a quick temper, his frustrating wife brought out the worst in him.
And the best.

"You're riding to Wales alone?" Richard asked, keeping his voice mildly curious.

Surprised, Keely snapped her head up and looked at him. "Wales is not my destination."

"Tell me, what exactly is your destination?" Richard asked, successfully suppressing the urge to shout at her.

"Devereux House."

Richard relaxed and stepped closer. "Could we speak before you leave?" he asked, drawing her away from the stall.

Keely nodded. "What would you like to discuss?"

Richard opened his mouth to speak, but heard Odo shout, "No, Merlin! Bad horse!"

Keely looked over her shoulder at the horse devouring their breakfast. "Never mind," she called. "Let her enjoy it."

"Keely, why are you leaving?" Richard asked.

"I told you. Living at court doesn't agree with me."

"Why?"

Keely dropped her gaze to his chest as if embarrassed to divulge her inner thoughts. " 'Tis destroying our marriage. You either ignore me or fault me for whatever I do. Perhaps I will not displease you so much if we live at Devereux House."

"You do
not
displease me," Richard said, tilting her chin up, his emerald gaze locking on hers. "In truth, the court holds no appeal for me, but I promised Elizabeth we would remain through Twelfth Night. We'll return to Devereux House when the court moves to Richmond for the winter."

"Another two weeks in this place will surely kill me," Keely replied.

"Do not exaggerate," Richard teased, tracing a finger down her silken cheek. Then he coaxed, "If you stay, I promise to wear my ceremonial robe when we go home."

Keely stared into his emerald eyes for several long moments and considered the sincerity of his offer. That her husband was bribing her to stay was obvious. If he cared enough to do that, perhaps their marriage could succeed after all.

"Come, love," Richard said with a lazy smile. "I'll let you watch me eat breakfast."

An agonized screeching rent the air behind them. Whirling around, Richard and Keely saw Merlin stagger against the side of the stall, fall to her knees, and then flop onto her side. Horrific shrieks of pain burst from the shuddering mare.

Concerned for his wife's safety, Richard grasped her upper arms and held her captive, but desperation gave her strength. Keely pulled out of his grasp and dropped to her knees beside her downed mare's head.