Sattler, Veronica (71 page)

"Lies,
are they?" spat Elizabeth from behind her. "Well,
my fine duchess,
I just dare you to go out there right now and see for yourself! Go ahead, take
a look at your randy duke. At this moment he stands in a corner making an
assignation with his old mistress. And Pamela! Why, she fairly drooled when she
saw him approaching!"

Ashleigh
hesitated, old fears trickling to the surface as she digested Elizabeth's
words. Then she took a deep breath and walked resolutely to the door. She would
not believe these lies—she
wouldn't!

But
as she left, she heard Elizabeth's ugly laughter behind her. "I told you
he'd never be faithful. His kind never is!"

Ashleigh
approached the door to the Great Room with cautious steps. She realized she
shouldn't even be walking in this direction, for the way to the cloakroom
circumvented the ballroom; the footman had told her so.

But,
much as she wanted to disbelieve Elizabeth's hurtful remarks, something
wouldn't allow her to pass without checking the ballroom for herself—if only to
prove Elizabeth had lied.

She
entered the ballroom and stood just inside the door. A waltz was in progress,
but a quick check told her Brett wasn't on the dance floor. Then, suddenly, she
saw him, for his height made him stand out easily among the crowd.

And
he was with Lady Pamela! In an intimate stance, his head was bent toward her,
and Ashleigh saw him laugh at something the honey blonde whispered behind her
fan.

All
at once Ashleigh felt nausea well up inside, and she bit her lip to keep from
crying aloud as a sharp pain tore through her.

Blindly,
for tears were blurring her sight, she groped for the door frame to steady
herself. Then she turned and stumbled from the room.

It
took her several minutes to find the cloakroom. A footman handed her her wrap
and she threw it about her with trembling hands.

Then,
as she was wondering how she could gracefully summon the brougham without conferring
with Mary, she stopped.

What
are you doing?
she
asked herself.
Is this the way a woman in love behaves when confronted with
slander against her man?
For, as she stood there assessing the situation,
she became more and more convinced that Elizabeth's words were probably just
that—a vicious slander!

Hadn't
Brett just made her see how that woman had operated in exactly the same manner
before? What if he
was
talking to Lady Pamela? It proved nothing. They
were old acquaintances, after all, and it was only Elizabeth's words that
insinuated it was something more.

Well,
the callow girl she'd once been may have been taken in by such deception, but
not she! She was now a woman grown, mature, and far more sure of herself... and
of her love for her man. She was Brett's wife, the mother of his child, and he
had missed her. He'd told her so in no uncertain terms. What's more, he
desired
her!
Of that she was fairly certain.

"Ah,
there you are, sweet!" Brett came up behind her and planted a kiss on her
ear. "I'm sorry if you had to wait," he added as he ushered her
toward the door. "I got caught up in a conversation with Pamela Marlowe.
She's a changed woman, and you'll never guess why."

Ashleigh
glanced up at him, hardly daring to breathe. "Why?" she whispered.

"She
and Ranleagh are engaged to be wed! She's in love with the rogue!"

Suddenly
he stopped, his face a mask of concern as his hand went to her cheek.
"Ashleigh, have you been crying? Sweetheart, what's wrong?"

"Oh,
nothing, Brett." She smiled as she felt her heart start beating again.
"Nothing in this whole wide world!"

A
while later, as Brett drove them home in his phaeton, Ashleigh refrained from
saying a word, even if he did seem to urge his blooded bay a bit too fast. And
if he seemed uncharacteristically hasty as he threw the reins at the stable boy
at home, it caused her no concern. Her own pulse was racing so, she couldn't
speak.

Brett,
too, was silent as he led her up the stairs toward his chamber. But as they
neared it, they heard the awakening cries of their daughter coming from the
room across the hall.

"Marileigh!"
exclaimed Ashleigh. She glanced at Brett. "I've been keeping her with me
down here." She didn't add that she'd been reluctant to sleep in the
master bedroom when she returned because it housed too many disconcerting
memories she wasn't ready to deal with at the time. "I guess she's
hungry." She gave him an apologetic look. "It won't take me long to
feed her."

"I'll
come with you," he said warmly. "One of the things I dreamed of in my
confinement was watching you nurse our daughter. I wouldn't miss this for the
world!"

They
dismissed Miss Simms, who had just finished changing the infant's nappies, and
amid Brett's wondering exclamations over how much she'd grown and what a beauty
she already was, Ashleigh settled down in a comfortably upholstered chair to
nurse their daughter.

But
it was only after she'd seated herself that she realized her ball gown fastened
down the back and thus hardly lent itself to the task at hand.

Seeing
her awkwardness and then her helpless blush, Brett chuckled and came behind the
chair. "Here, let me," he whispered, and began to unfasten her gown.

A
minute later the bodice dropped and Ashleigh moved the fussing infant to her
breast. Marileigh rooted frantically for a moment, then seized the proffered
nipple and settled down at once.

Brett
laughed. "It doesn't take her long to get down to business! She's a young
lady who seems to know what she wants. A Westmont, if I ever saw one!"
Privately he was thinking that there was a male Westmont in the room who knew
exactly what he wanted as well. He wanted Ashleigh. And not only in the
physical sense, although the sight of her ripe breasts, exposed as she nursed
the babe, was enough to set him on fire.

But
beyond this, he wanted her in a far more enduring way. This was a woman he
would love forever, a woman to bear his children, to laugh and cry with over
the years, to grow old with. And as he saw her now, stealing an abashed glance
at him from time to time as she nursed their child, he was seized with the
terrible need to tell her how much he loved her, to share with her his heart
and his soul.

But
then he smiled ruefully to himself. He had waited this long; he could wait
longer. Because what he wanted was not just for now—it was for a lifetime.

Ashleigh
felt his eyes on her as she fed their child and was suddenly caught up in a
maelstrom of love and longing so overpowering she could hardly breathe. Oh, she
had loved him for so long now! How much longer could she go on loving him this
way—in silence—when her soul cried with her need to tell him! If only she could
believe he might come to love her too!

But
she forced her hopes away from that impossible dream, telling herself it was
enough that he had begun to treat her tenderly. Better to accept the bounty
fate had already sent her, than to be greedy and ask for more. It would have to
do.

She
glanced down and saw that Marileigh had fallen asleep. Gently, she removed the
infant from her breast, then raised her to her shoulder and began to massage
the tiny back.

A
soft burst of air from his daughter's mouth caused Brett to chuckle. "Even
her belches are delicate and ladylike," he said as he took the
still-sleeping babe from Ashleigh and laid her in her cradle. He bent and
placed a soft kiss on the tiny head, then straightened and came toward his
wife.

"Come,
sweetheart," he said quietly and held out his hand.

Ashleigh
let him pull her from the chair, then paused awkwardly as her eyes dropped to
her bared breasts.

Brett
laughed softly, then removed his jacket and draped it over her before leading
her across the hall and into the master bedroom.

Someone
had lit several candles whose light bathed them in a soft glow as Brett shut
the door. He took Ashleigh by the shoulders and gently turned her to face him.
"Now," he said, looking solemnly into her eyes, "you're going to
tell me why you'd been crying at Almack's."

Startled,
she tried to look away, but found she couldn't. The turquoise gaze was far too
riveting. "I—I'd had an encounter with Elizabeth Hastings in the room
where I went to repair my hair."

Brett's
face darkened grimly, but he kept his voice soft. "Go on."

"She—she
taunted me with the fact that you were... with Pamela Marlowe. Sh-she—"
Ashleigh faltered, the sting of tears assaulting her eyes as her words conjured
up the pain she'd felt. Feeling foolish that even the memory could reduce her
to tears, she wiped at them impatiently with her hand and continued. "She
said you were making an assignation with Pam—"

"Bloody
hell!" Brett exclaimed. "That poisonous
bitch!
I'll—"

"Oh,
but, Brett! You cannot think she succeeded! For she did not—not this
time," she added in a softer voice. "That's why you found me in the
cloakroom, why you didn't find me... gone." Ashleigh began to speak more
rapidly now, as if it were important to tell him all that had happened before
he misunderstood. Her next words came out in a rush.

"You
see, I did spy you in the Great Room with Pamela. And my first impulse was to
run from there and never look back. That was when I succumbed to tears. But
when I reached the outer room, my... good sense, I suppose you'd call it, took
over. I remembered what you'd said about Elizabeth's perniciousness before
and—" her voice dwindled down to a low whisper "—I decided to stay
and hear what you had to say about it."

Brett
released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding as he was seized with
uncontainable joy.
She had trusted him!
And where there was trust, there
was the hope of something more!

"Ashleigh,"
he said in a shaky voice, "I'm so proud of you!"

"Proud?"

"Yes.
Because you came to me after what you'd heard and seen, even though you were
hurting. Don't you see? You found the strength to face the evil Elizabeth was
spewing, instead of running away. You trusted me, even though you were in
pain... enough pain to bring you to tears before you faced me... enough to
bring these tears now."

She
nodded mutely, the tears streaming down her cheeks. But through the tears she
met his eyes and was struck by the notion that he could see what she was
feeling... that he could see into her very soul.

"Ashleigh,"
he murmured as he took his fingers and gently wiped the moisture from her
cheeks, "I'm so in love with you, I can't see straight!"

"Wha-what?"
she stammered. Disbelief warred with dawning joy as she digested his words.
Then she met his eyes and knew it was true.

"I
said I love you, Ashleigh." He hadn't meant to blurt it out that way.
Somehow, the words had just tumbled out by themselves. But now that he'd told
her, he felt an overwhelming sense of relief and only hoped his admission was
something she could handle, that it wouldn't send her scurrying from him in
confusion or guilt because she couldn't return his feelings. "I
realize," he added with a queer, tender smile on his face, "that you
have every reason not to care for me in the same way. I know I've given you
reasons in the past, not to—"

A
sharp, inarticulate cry cut him off as Ashleigh threw herself into his arms.
"Oh, Brett!" she cried, her voice somewhere between laughter and
tears, "
I
love you so much, I
could die!"
Her
arms tightened about him, and she was trembling. "And now that you've told
me you—oh, I think I
have died
!
I think I'm in heaven!"

Brett
forced her gently from him and held her by the shoulders as he searched her
face for the truth. And he saw it, mingled with shadows of the pain and longing
she'd tried to deny during those terrible months of separation and which now
gave way to the love and joy shining in her eyes.

"My
love..." he whispered as he cupped her face with his hands and lowered his
head for a kiss that was full of tenderness, and joy and love—the sweet miracle
that had touched his soul.

As
Ashleigh parted her lips for his kiss, she knew she would never forget this
moment, and she drew into her memory, her heart, the essence of it, hugging it
to her as a talisman for a lifetime, for the life and love they would share.

Brett
released her lips and let his hands trail down until they were resting lightly
on her shoulders while his gaze locked with hers.

She
saw his eyes darken with passion, and her breathing increased with this
awareness. A pulse throbbed at the juncture of her neck and shoulder; Brett
felt it under his hand and his own blood pounded in his veins. He held her
gaze, then saw her eyes become two deep blue shimmering pools, and he felt he
could lose himself in them forever. Closing his eyes, he smelled her soft
perfume, along with the musky woman-scent he remembered well, and his head
reeled with it.