Heartless (27 page)

And she felt unutterably helpless. She clenched her hands and tried to compose her mind for sleep. It was early morning and the feeble light of dawn was creeping between the part in her bedroom drapes. It only made sleep far more difficult to achieve.

She must have slept at some point. Sunlight streaked across the room, straight to her bed and over her eyes. She blinked, turning her head away. She encountered two large blue eyes gazing at her in wonder. Pasting on a bright smile that she didn’t really feel, she greeted Rhiannon Greville and tried to wake up.

“Hello, sweetheart.”

Rhiannon smiled slightly. “Papa Levi bought me a new dolly,” was the child’s reply.

The response was effective in restoring much of Leandra’s calm and natural joy, despite the events of the night just past. She struggled up against the pillows, popping her spectacles onto her face.

“Can I see?” she asked, smiling at the simple joy on the adorable child’s piquant features. How she wished for a child of her own!

The little girl held up a very pretty doll with blond hair and blue eyes the same shade as Rhiannon’s.

“What is her name?”

“I call her Moppet cause that’s what Papa calls me.”

“I see. Does she have another name as well?”

Rhiannon’s brow puckered adorably as she thought about that. “Mama says her name is Lucy.”

“That’s a very pretty name,” observed Leandra. “Where is your nurse?”

Her brow puckered again. Then she grinned. “In the nursery.”

“And why are you not in the nursery as well?” Leandra couldn’t resist asking.

“I wanted to show you my new dolly,” explained Rhiannon as if the answer were quite plain to even the simplest of souls.

“Well, thank you for showing me, my dear. Now I must be up and about if I am to prevent the household from falling down about our ears.”

She swung her feet from the bed and moved toward her dressing room. The clock informed her it was nearly four hours past her accustomed time to rise. 

“Will the house really fall?” asked a tiny, fearful voice at her side.

Leandra paused to stare down at the little girl. She wasn’t really surprised that she hadn’t left. Who would want to stay cooped up in the nursery on such a mild autumn day? Perhaps she could take all the children out later to take advantage of the pleasant weather.

“No, I was speaking metaphorically,” she told her now, keeping the idea of an outing to herself for the moment. She’d have to get permission from all the parents before doing anything and she didn’t want to raise Rhiannon’s hopes unnecessarily.

The child appeared to ponder her words carefully. Leandra used the opportunity to ring for her maid. Where was Liza anyway? She’d come and gone, that much was clear. The open drapes allowed in the sun that woke her and a pitcher of tepid water waited on her dressing table.

“What’s metaphorically?” inquired Rhiannon, carefully enunciating the large word.

“Not literal.”

Rhiannon thought about this while the duchess searched for a particular gown in her armoire. She finally found it and took it out, shaking out the wrinkles.

“What’s literal?”

Leandra smiled. “Literal means true, I suppose.”

An arrested expression crossed the child’s tiny features. “Then you lied,” she pronounced in accents of shock.

Puzzled over the little girl’s strange reaction, Leandra opened her mouth to explain that it wasn’t a lie, merely an exaggeration, but Liza chose that very moment to enter the room. Rhiannon sent the duchess one last look of reproach and darted from the room.

Liza glanced at the fleeing child then back at Leandra. “What was that all about, your grace?”

“She wanted to show me her doll.” Leandra shot her maid a puzzled look. “Do you know much about children, Liza?”

“A little,” replied the little maid with an air of curiosity. “My mama had ten, me being the oldest. Seven of us survived. Is this the dress you were wanting to wear today?” she asked, pointing to the wool gown draped over a chair.

“Yes,” said the duchess. She sat down at her dressing table and allowed Liza to brush out her hair and style it in a simple chignon with a few loose curls framing her face. “I wonder why Rhiannon was so upset when she thought I was lying?” wondered Leandra aloud.

“Is that what had the girl in such a pother? I do suppose it were the fact that her mama lied so much to her husband.”

Leandra turned in her chair, eyeing her maid severely. “What are you talking about?”

Liza took a nervous step back. “Lady Greville’s maid did say as how her ladyship had that little girl out of wedlock and then married his lordship and did never tell him. He didn’t know until the child were kidnapped by her real papa.”

Leandra’s mind raced. Aurora had admitted Rhiannon was her daughter but Leandra had simply assumed the child was Lord Greville’s as well—it was a natural assumption. Apparently, she was not. It was equally apparent that the earl had already drilled into his stepdaughter how wrong it was to lie.

“Liza, you are not to speak of this to anyone, do you understand? I do not like gossip. It is hurtful and brings no good with it. Promise me, Liza.”

“Yes, your grace. I promise, your grace,” the maid responded in a terrified squeak.

“Good. Now I must finish dressing and see how his lordship is faring.”

Liza swallowed with difficulty. “Cook says as how his grace is already up and about, your grace.” She cringed at the no doubt furious look in Leandra’s eyes. “I wasn’t gossiping, honest.”

“It’s not that, Liza. I will murder that madman when I find him. He was stabbed just last night. What the devil does he think he’s doing?”

Leandra’s toilet was finished only moments later. She sped down the stairs to the drawing room where she assumed everyone would be. Upon entering, she found the ladies assembled in one corner of the room, two of the gentlemen entertaining them with Society gossip. In the far corner of the room her husband stood with Lord Greville and Mr. Gabriel St Clair, the expressions on their faces attesting to the seriousness of their conversation. She had trouble maintaining her temper as she stalked over to them where they stood near the window.

Derringer saw her coming out of the corner of his eye and his face lit up with unholy glee. “Unless I miss my guess,” he told his companions, “my lady wife is going to finish the deed started last night.”

Greville chuckled, agreeing with the duke’s observation. Gabriel added his own observation that perhaps he deserved it. This made the three of them laugh.

They closed their mouths and placed innocent expressions on their faces as the duchess drew up to their group—which only made Leandra want to throttle them all.

“Just what the bloody
hell
do you think you are doing out of bed?” she demanded, keeping her voice low with an effort.

Greville’s brows shot up at the intensity of her anger. With a muttered excuse, he and Gabriel fled what they were sure would become an awful row.

Leandra dimly noted their departure and heard him suggesting to the others that they take a stroll in the rear gardens. She continued to glare at her husband, who stared steadily back until the room emptied.

“Such language, my love. One would think you’d been hanging around the stables all your life,” remarked Derringer. “Or me.”

“That doesn’t answer my question, your grace.” She threw his title at him like a weapon and he stiffened imperceptibly.

“You do realize that as my wife you are of high enough rank to call me
my lord
, or
your lordship
, or
Duke
, or
Derringer
. You don’t have to lower yourself to the ranks of an earl’s bastard daughter.”

Anger shivered through her. “Thank you for the lesson in proper deportment,
your grace
, but I
am
nothing more than an earl’s bastard daughter!”

“You are behaving like a shrew,” he informed her, ice coating each word.

“Is it shrewish to worry about my husband who was just
stabbed
, and
beaten
, a mere eight hours ago? You should not be up and about. You should be abed.”

“Scratched, my blushing beauty, not
stabbed
. And hardly beaten,” he drawled carelessly. “Just knocked about a bit.”

His tiny bride growled at him in frustration.

Derringer’s eyes lit with sudden speculation. The sight caused a momentary qualm in Leandra’s breast. What was he up to now?

“I am well enough to wander around the castle, Merri,” he soothed.

“How is that possible?” she exclaimed. “You were stabbed, Hart! Stabbed!” She completely ignored his earlier claim about his wound being a mere scratch.

“Would you like me to prove to you that I am well?” he asked, eyes intent on her face. He marveled at how green her eyes turned when angered. He’d seen emeralds with less vibrancy, less fire that were still magnificent specimens.

She studied his face for signs of fatigue, signs of hidden pain, but saw only his dark eyes staring relentlessly into hers, devoid of expression. “Very well,” she replied reluctantly. “If you can prove to me, without a doubt, mind you, that you are well enough to carry on as usual, you may do so.”

She wondered how he planned to prove it beyond the shadow of a doubt.

He wondered where she had gotten the mistaken impression that he would obey her whether he proved it or not.

Taking her hand firmly in his own, Derringer led his wife from the room and to the back of the house. He led her up the servants’ stairs and down long winding corridors that Leandra had never before traversed. He finally stopped outside the door of his own chamber. Without a word, he led her inside, shutting and locking the door behind them. Releasing her hand, he locked the door leading to the sitting room between their apartments, pocketing both keys.

Leandra watched all this with growing alarm. Surely he didn’t mean to…? Not now! Lord, what was he thinking?

Derringer was thinking that he’d waited long enough to bed his wife and she wanted proof that he was well. What better way to prove it?

When he advanced on her, Leandra found herself backing up. The gleam of desire in his eyes had her truly alarmed…more of her own reaction than his. And what if he further injured himself? She would feel it was her fault.

“Hart, listen to me,” she implored as he continued to literally back her into a corner. “You cannot possibly mean to do this. It would be the greatest folly. It could kill you,” she said desperately although she had no actual fear that it would.

This ludicrous statement made him pause. He cocked his head to one side, regarding her one dark brow quirked, then smiled. “But what a way to go,” he remarked devilishly.

With those words, she knew there was no hope of dissuading him and her own sense of humor rose to the fore. She smiled at the look on his face, then laughed. He traversed the rest of the distance between them in three quick strides.

Before she could say or do anything, he was kissing her with a single-minded passion that threatened to rob her of her wits, her breath, maybe even her life, she thought, dazed. His hands went into her hair, scattering pins everywhere and she found her own arms stealing up around his neck. His hair was tied back in the usual tail and, seemingly of their own volition, her hands untied the knot in the black silk cord. She ran her fingers through his silky black hair and groaned at the feel of it slipping through her fingers. She had wanted to do that since she’d first laid eyes on him, she realized.