Nothing to Commend Her (26 page)

"You look different,” Hattie said with a giggle. “I can't quite put my finger on it, but there's definitely something different."

Laughing, she took her cousin's hand and drew her to a chair. “I'm truly happy, and not merely content."

"Would that be due to your success with your fertilizer or due to your husband?"

"Both, but if I have to choose, then I choose my husband."

Hattie sighed, a happy gleam in her eye. “It's wonderful to be in love, isn't it?"

"There are no words to describe it. I cannot imagine why so many women of our circle choose to marry without it."

"I suspect it has more to do with their parents than anything else."

She patted her cousin's hand, a smile on her face. “You and I shall never do that to our children."

Hattie cupped her stomach, a tearful smile on her face. “No, I shan't."

"Oh, Hattie! Are you really?"

She nodded and a tear slipped away.

"How wonderful for you! And your husband, he's pleased with the idea of becoming a father?"

"Oh, yes,” she said with a watery giggle as she swiped away the tear. “He couldn't stop crowing for days."

Agatha wondered if Magnus would be as happy when she informed him. She wasn't one hundred percent sure yet, but soon she would know.

Katherine entered the parlor, her hands filled with papers, her gaze intent on them. “Agatha, have you seen—oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize you had company."

"That's quite all right, Katherine. Come join us. This is my cousin Hattie."

They fell into a comfortable chat, Hattie and Katherine getting along famously from the start, just as she knew they would. They talked of Hattie's honeymoon, her trip to Italy, to be precise, and of Katherine's wedding plans and her own honeymoon.

Agatha wondered, although not seriously, what it would have been like to have gone on a trip with Magnus. They'd been at such odds in the beginning, both too afraid to say or do anything wrong. And there was that awful business with Beatrice Hayden. It's quite possible she would have followed them and created some sort of incident that looked like an accident. She shuddered at the thought.

"Are you all right, Agatha?” Hattie asked.

"Oh, yes. I'm fine.” She stood and pushed the past behind her. “But I've a few things I need to do. Will you be all right here with Katherine?"

"Of course, I'll see you a bit later."

With a nod, Agatha was out the door and in search of her husband. She only needed to see him, just to make sure he was well. Silly of her, she knew, but the memory of a gunshot and not knowing who had been hit stole up on her thoughts at odd times.

His study door was ajar and she eased inside. He sat at his desk, his attention on a ledger spread open before him. She could smell the out-of-doors on him from across the room. It could not have been long since he'd taken his morning ride.

She silently closed the door and leaned against it to watch him as he worked. A familiar fluttery feeling wafted through her and she grinned. Although scarred, he was the most handsome man in the world—her world, and she loved him beyond anything.

"If you keep looking at me like that, we shall need to lock the door,” he said, lifting his head with a crooked grin.

"How long have you known I was here?"

He rose and circled his desk. “I knew the moment you peeked through the doorway.” He sat on the edge of his desk and held out his arms.

Laughing, she raced across the room and threw herself into the haven of his embrace. “You have a very keen sense of hearing, my lord."

"No, love. Hearing has little to do with it,” he said, kissing the tip of her nose. “My body—my heart responds to you wherever you are. But as much as I am enjoying this visit, are you not supposed to be visiting with your cousin?"

She linked her hands behind his head and soaked up the sight of him. “I left her in Katherine's care."

His brow furrowed. “Is something wrong, love?"

"Can a wife not seek out her husband for a few stolen moments?"

Magnus brushed a stay tendril from her cheek as he studied her sweet face. He knew of her nightmares, they'd begun the moment the house began filling with visitors. Bringing back all the memories of what had happened more than a month ago. Often, he pulled her to his side, held her close as she slept until her worried murmurings subsided. Not once had she awoken, nor had she mentioned them to him, and he feared they would plague her for some time. Even he had his share, but they would fade with time.

"You may seek me out anytime, night or day, love,” he said, and pressed a soft kiss to her lips.

"Oh, I do wish this wedding was in the past."

He chuckled. “Are you not enjoying your friends?"

"I'd rather enjoy more time alone with my husand,” she said, and nipped at his lips with her teeth.

"Do not move.” He released her and crossed to the door. With a flick of his wrist, the key was turned. He crossed back to her then lifted her onto his desk.

"You have that look in your eye,” she said, her breath soft and inviting.

"That I do.” One hand slid beneath her skirts as the other cupped the back of her head and held her as he ravished her mouth.

He made quick work of the barriers between them, and soon she was lying back across his desk and ledgers like a wanton, begging him to touch her, fill her—love her.

And he did, with his whole heart.

Haverton House was filled to the rafters for the wedding breakfast. There was barely enough room to breathe, but Katherine looked lovely in her wedding dress, while George looked a bit green around the gills, but he'd managed to remain upright for the service, which was saying quite a bit for the man.

A rather tenderhearted toast echoed about the dining room, and Magnus slipped his hand in Agatha's beneath the table. She squeezed in return, and wished for the bride and groom to hurry things along so they might return home and have a moment alone with her husband. She had something very important to tell him.

But the day wore on at a snail's pace, and once home, she collapsed in a chair in their rooms, exhausted.

"Tired, love?” Magnus asked, taking her hand and kissing the back.

"Beyond measure."

"You are still having dreams,” he said with a nod.

"How did you know?"

He chuckled, and she waved the answer away, it was obvious. They'd not slept apart since that awful woman tried to kill her.

"Now that the wedding is done, the Reynolds and their throng will be gone soon, and all will be peaceful once again."

"Um, yes."

He paused in tugging off his neck cloth and looked at her. “Agatha?"

She plucked at the lace edging her sleeves Hattie had insisted she wear. “It will be quiet for a time, but not for very long, I'm afraid."

He sat down beside her and tipped her chin up to look into her eyes. “Explain."

"I am—we are—that is to say—"

Chuckling, he lifted her and placed her in his lap and wrapped his arms around her. “Out with it. What have you done or not done that is going to cause our peaceful existence to be spoiled once again?"

She bit her lip, and said, “We're going to have a baby."

He sucked in a breath, and stared at her with wide eyes. “You—we—"

"Yes. We are. In eight months the house will be turned upside down once again."

"You're not—happy about it?"

"Oh, no. I'm very happy, shocked, but happy. I just wasn't sure you would be. At least, not so soon."

"You, my love, may turn this house upside down and inside out with all the children you desire. That is a noise I will be more than happy to live with.” He cupped her face in his hand and kissed her thoroughly.

She threw her arms around his neck and cried happy tears. “I'm so happy."

"As am I. I will forever be grateful to those harpies at Crittenden's welcome home ball for driving you straight into my arms."

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Emily opened her eyes and tried to focus on her surroundings. Something was very wrong. Where were all the blinking, bleeping machines? Why was she at the hotel instead of at the hospital? She vaguely recalled sirens, someone shouting out orders, and Lila crying. Somewhere amid the chaos she'd given up the fight and let the blackness take her. But surely they would've taken her to the hospital, or had she recovered enough to be sent home? Maybe she'd only been tired after all.

Maybe...wait. This wasn't her hotel room, she realized as she gingerly sat up. It was a beautifully appointed room, but it wasn't where she and Lila had been staying.

"Oh my. You're awake,” a voice said from the doorway.

Emily blinked a few times and brought the young woman into view. She didn't recognize her at all, but what on earth was she doing dressed like that?

"I'll fetch his lordship."

"His what?” she asked, her voice gravelly, but the woman hurried out the door. Emily shifted her legs to the side of the bed, pausing only a moment when a wave of dizziness caught her unaware. With a steadying breath, she stood. Her legs were a bit wobbly, but she managed to make it across the room to the hearth. A warm fire burned in the grate. Where in the world was she

Noise from the doorway drew her around, but she held firmly to the mantle for balance.

A tall man, lean, and rather handsome, wearing a neck cloth and weskit of all things, strode toward her. He didn't seem happy.

"You should not be out of bed,” he said. He reached for her, and she backed away, her shoulders bumping into the mantel.

"Where am I?"

His brows drew together. “In your room."

She warily shook her head. “This isn't my room."

His eyes narrowed. “Return to bed. You're overwrought."

"Not until you tell me where I am.” She held fast to the mantle, but her strength was fading. Her gaze darted from his to the others standing behind him, all of them wearing the oddest clothes, and their faces were pulled into worried frowns.

"Who are you people? Why have you brought me here?"

The handsome one seemed to make some mental decision as his stern features relaxed.

"We're here to help you. Now, you must get back into bed.” He reached for her again and she jumped back, rattling the fire poker in its stand.

"No!” She snatched up the poker with her shaking hands and waved it in front of her. “Get back. I don't know what you want from me, but I'm not staying long enough to find out."

She eased toward the door, willing her legs to obey her, but they had other ideas, as did her head. The room was spinning wildly. “Just stay—back—all of—you."

The poker slipped from her hands and fell to the floor with a clatter and her body followed, but the man scooped her up before she completed her descent. She felt his warmth, inhaled his scent, and it oddly soothed her.

"Who are you?” she cried, fighting off the blackness closing in around her.

"No one you need fear.” The rumbling of his voice echoed through her weary body.

"Name,” she said, gripping the lapels of his coat, struggling to make her mouth cooperate.

He laid her down on the bed and pulled the covers to her throat.

"Please,” she breathed, her strength nearly gone.

His cool gray eyes peered into hers. “Viscount Westmore. Your husband."

She tried to shake her head, she had no husband, and even if she did and for some reason couldn't remember, she knew without a doubt he wouldn't be a viscount. But her strength deserted her completely, and she was lost to the blackness.

"Watch her closely, Martha. In this state she might hurt herself,” Viscount Westmore said.

"Yes, my lord."

Barnaby looked at his wife one last time before leaving the room. He doubted she was playing at one of her games this time. She seemed almost innocent when she'd looked up at him from her drooping lids. He saw confusion clearly in her crystal blue eyes and fear. Still, it would be best if he kept a careful watch on her. His wife was a devious witch, one he dare not underestimate.

Emily opened her eyes to the same room she'd thought she'd dreamed. The bed, a more luxurious comfort she'd never known, not even in the five star hotels she'd stayed in, encapsulated her weary body. But those people, she thought and sat bolt upright in the bed. Who were they?

She looked around the room again, it was exquisitely furnished with antiques. Even the wallpaper was over a century old. All those tours of old English homes had taught her a thing or two about vintage decor.

"Well,” she whispered to herself, “whoever you are, if you wanted to hurt me, you wouldn't have put me in here."

"Good morning, my lady."

Emily jumped at the sudden appearance of a young woman.

"Um, good morning.” She vaguely remembered her from yesterday or had she been out of it longer than that? Either way, just because the room was nice, and the woman seemed pleasant enough, didn't mean there wasn't something severely wrong.

"Would you like your breakfast now, my lady?"

And what was with the
my lady
stuff? “I—um, yes that would be nice."

The woman moved to the side of the bed and Emily leaned away, leery as she reached out then pulled on a silk rope hanging by the bed.

Emily let out her pent-up breath. She needed to get a grip, or better still some answers. “Who are you?"

The woman's pleasant round face twisted into a worried frown. “Martha, my lady. Your maid. Don't you remember?"

"Right. My maid. Sure.” Okay, she'd play along for a while. “And how long have you been my maid?"

"For five years, my lady."

The woman's expression grew more worried with Emily's questions, so she decided to back off a bit.

"I'm sorry,” she said with half a laugh. “I'm afraid I'm—I'm a little confused."

The maid smiled just a bit. “It isn't any wonder you're a bit out of sorts. You've been terribly ill."

Yes, she was ill, very ill, but now... she felt fine. Well not fine, but not in any real pain, just tired. “And what illness did I have, exactly?"