The Black Knave (33 page)

Then his fingers left her.

“Now the earrings,” he said smoothly, as if completely unaware of all the feelings he’d initiated. “Turn around.”

A puppet. She was a puppet in his hands. She turned around, knowing her eyes were blazing at him. He had one earring in his hand.

She stepped back. “I can put them on myself.”

“Of course, but I have a special expertise in such matters.” A gleam illuminated his eyes, and his mouth crooked up in a half smile.

For a moment she almost succumbed to a charm that was not totally eclipsed by his extravagant adornments.

“Aye, I see you do,” she said, a chill edging the words.

He apparently took that as assent, for his fingers went to the lobes of her ears and with a gentleness she’d experienced the night they’d consummated their marriage, he fixed first one earring, then the other, in place, his fingers lingering still.

The kernel of warmth inside her flamed to intense heat. She felt herself trembling. It took all the will within her to step away.

“You look very much the marchioness,” he said. “You do honor to the gems.”

It was prettily said, but she felt only humiliation at the way her emotions had bounced so out of control, at the way she responded to a man who was everything she despised.

She looked at him steadily. ” Tis a shame that you do honor to no one or no thing.”

“It is,” he said affably, “a character flaw. Now let us go, madam, and charm the Duke of Cumberland.”

Indeed, he had not lied. He had some very serious flaws in his character. He had always known it, of course. He’d been told often enough.

But he had never quite been so aware of them as when he had touched her. He hadn’t meant to. He had only meant to see that she wore the jewels and received his small gift, which would help her later escape. But any good intentions to keep his hands to himself faded when he saw her.

True, her gown was plain, but it suited her. It was a pale gray which made her eyes look even bluer, and her hair looked truly lovely tumbling down the silk. But even more appealing was the bare perfection of her neck. The gown was modest enough, but it still revealed enough to make his trews far more snug than they should be.

So he’d used obnoxiousness as a weapon the way he always had. He’d not been able to keep from touching her, but he could make sure she would withdraw from him.

He wanted her so damn badly. He ached for her. He ached to hold her, and make love to her. He ached to take the loneliness from her eyes, and turn defiance into passion. He yearned to have her touch him as he enjoyed touching her.

And Cumberland was waiting downstairs for them.

He took her arm, feeling her reluctance, knowing her hatred for the man who had destroyed everything she held dear. There was a gallantry to her that he envied.

They went down the steps together. He reached for her hand and took it. It felt small in his, and yet there was strength in it. There was strength in
her
.

The room was full. All of the lords from surrounding properties had been invited. By Neil, no doubt. Another glimpse of Neil’s ability.

All eyes turned toward them. The men and women all stood while they entered. All except Cumberland, who sat at the head of the table. But when they approached him, he stood. “Marriage becomes you, my lady,” he said to Bethia.

His wife curtsied nicely. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

Rory, who knew his wife well by now, thought he might be the only one to detect the irony in her voice.

She sat and took a sip of wine.

Cumberland leaned over and stared at her. “I heard you were not feeling well. Nothing serious, I hope.”

“How kind of you to be concerned,” she said. “I would be much comforted by the presence of my brother.”

“I believe he is quite content with Creighton,” Cumberland said.

Rory took a deep swallow of his wine and listened to the duel between them. He was glad that, for once, he was not a participant and the recipient of Bethia’s often-sharp tongue. He only hoped his wife would be wise.

“Then you would not object if I paid him a visit?”

“I believe your husband might object,” Cumberland replied.

She turned to him. “Would you object?”

“I would have to think about it,” he said.

The disappointment in her eyes hurt far more than it should have.

“You have duties here,” Rory said. “And there is your health to be considered.”

Her face fell, her eyes dulled. He knew he had failed her yet again, yet he could not risk incurring Cumberland’s displeasure. Not now. Not tonight.

Cumberland nodded in approval. “A wife should be in her husband’s home. Your brother is safe and happy.” He looked down toward her midriff. “You might soon have children of your own to care for.”

Her face flared red. But then, she often showed her feelings. Rory had been amazed that she had been as cordial as she had toward his royal guest.

“We hope to make a happy announcement soon, Your Grace,” he said.

His wife kicked him under the table.

He turned and warned her with a glance.

Since Cumberland was in such an expansive mood, however, he decided to risk a suggestion. “My wife and I would like the boy to come for a visit.”

“I am afraid that is impossible,” Cumberland said. “He is well-settled now. We would not wish to disturb him. Now if you knew for sure she was with child, we might make an exception. Mayhap my physician should stop by.”

Cumberland looked smug.

Another bribe. Money for him. Her brother for Bethia. Damn it, why?

Rory decided to change the subject. “We sent out men tonight, Your Grace. Not a man or woman will pass unnoticed on the road.”

Bethia tensed. Her hand stilled. “Why is that?” she said.

“I have increased the reward for that bandit fellow,” Cumberland said. “I expect he will be in our hands within a week.”

“Would you like to make a wager on that, Your Grace?” Bethia’s voice was silkily polite.

Cumberland looked at her disapprovingly, then turned to Rory. “Your wife needs some discipline.”

“‘Twas my husband who taught me the value of a wager,” Bethia said impudently.

Rory could barely withhold a smile. She did indeed have courage. Good sense, no. Courage, yes. “Aye, Your Grace. I will see to it, and the other matter as well.”

Cumberland nodded, then turned his attention to food and drink. Bethia sat frozen with disapproval. Rory frowned, trying to warn her not to push Cumberland too far, but she studiously avoided him.

“I hope you enjoy the meal,” he said, trying to distract the duke. “It is my wife’s doing. She is also doing the accounts and overseeing the cleaning of Braemoor.”

Cumberland grunted. He was still obviously unhappy with Bethia’s challenge. His attention focused on the jewelry Bethia was wearing. “The Forbes jewels,” he commented. “They favor you, Marchioness.”

He then turned to Neil who sat on his left, asking details of the number of men he would use to patrol the roads and lanes. Bethia’s back was stiff with indignation, but she had the sense not to say anything more.

The first course of saddle of mutton, veal and sirloin of beef was followed by baked plum pudding and lamb fricassee, then a hot flan with chickens and spinach. A third course offered fried sole, roast fowl and sweetbreads along with green peas and artichokes. Almond custard and cherry pies concluded the meal. Decanters of fine wine were refilled constantly. Rory watched as the duke turned his attention to the food, emerging only once to comment, “Your table has improved.”

It was, Rory thought, enough to feed an entire village. But Cumberland was correct. The food was far better since Bethia had joined the household. “As I said, my wife is responsible,” he said. “She is competent in many ways. ‘Tis a very felicitous union.” His expression left no doubt as to what one of those ways were. Bethia kicked him again. He was going to have very sore legs.

“I told you it would be a suitable marriage,” Cumberland said expansively. “Did I not?”

“Aye, Your Grace.”

Rory leaned over and kissed his wife, disregarding her obvious displeasure. He made it hard and demanding, drawing the cheers of the men at the table. For a moment she resisted. Then she seemed to relax, only to bite down hard on his tongue. He could taste blood and he saw momentary triumph in her eyes.

Rory withheld any reaction, though it hurt like the blazes. His hand tightened on her arm, and though he closed his mouth, his lips savaged hers. After a moment, he was surprised to find her body reacting, her lips responding to his. Reluctantly. She tried to pull away, and this time he allowed it.

“I am lucky in many ways, Your Grace,” he said, using a smirk to cover the blood in his mouth. She never gave up. The thought pleased him even if the lingering pain did not.

He took a sip of wine, and swallowed the bitter mixture of wine and blood.

Bethia pulled her chair back. “I am feeling unwell, my lord.”

Rory looked at Cumberland, who nodded. Rory stood and pulled the chair back. “I will be with you soon, my love,” he said.

She said nothing, just swept from the room.

“She does not care for public displays of affection,” Rory said dismissively. “She reserves that for the bedchamber.”

Cumberland nodded. “Marriage becomes her. So will motherhood.”

There it was again: the man’s obsession with his wife’s childbearing abilities.

He decided to probe. “She said she has an English grandfather.”

Cumberland took another bite of pie. “You do not have to worry about her pedigree. It reaches into royalty.”

“Is any of her family still alive?”

Cumberland nodded curtly. “They disowned their daughter when she married a Scot.” He couldn’t quite keep the contemptuous outrage from his voice.

“She has English cousins, then?”

Cumberland turned cold eyes on him. “I would not take undue interest in the matter,” he said.

A clear warning. It set all his senses tingling. He did not like it. He knew that Cumberland thought him none too intelligent. That kiss was meant to reinforce Cumberland’s image of him as a womanizer, a bore, an ineffectual sycophant. Now he knew he was not to ask questions. He would have to get some answers from his wife. For the first time, he felt a chill of fear for her.

“As you wish, Your Grace,” he said in an anxious-to-please voice.

The duke’s frown faded. “Just do your duty,” he said.

“Your wish is my command.”

The duke nodded. Rory caught a puzzled expression on Neil’s face. Why? He had always been servile to Cumberland in his cousin’s presence.

Bloody hell, but he wearied of keeping so many balls in the air at one time.

He suffered through the rest of the supper. He waited, in fact, until Cumberland retired to his room.

Then he made his way up to Bethia’s room. She would be furious. It was the third time he had publicly humiliated her. With Cumberland’s men about, however, he did not believe this was a good night to go to his own chamber alone.

He did not bother to knock.

She was standing at the window. Her night robe molded her body, and he remembered too well how it had felt under him.

Bethia did not turn. She was holding the little terrier and staring at the hills as if her heart were there, and only a shadow stood in the room.

“I am sorry,” he said. “It was necessary.”

“I know,” she said. “When I got up here and thought about it, I realized what you were doing.”

She had stunned him again. But why? He’d understood almost immediately that she was smart, intuitive.

“You were protecting me in your own way. You did not tell him about my … escapade.”

He was silent for a moment. “Is that what it was? An escapade?”

“I wanted to get away from here. From you. I was angry because when I woke …”

He did not say anything. He wanted to take her in his arms. But it wasna right.

“Why did you not tell him?” she asked.

“It is a matter between you and me.”

“I believe I know why he wants me to be with child.”

Surprise flickered across his face. “Why?”

“You asked me once about my family. My grandfather is the Duke of Blandford. They had only two children, my mother and her brother. My uncle was ambushed and killed twenty years ago by Highlanders. He served with General George Wade when he tried to pacify the Highlands. He had no children. There is no direct heir now.”

“There’s your brother. And you.”

“Nay. My mother was disowned, disinherited. They hate anything Scottish. My brother and I were both raised as Scots.”

A muscle flicked in his cheek, and she knew he understood. A frown replaced the cool indifference he usually wore.

“Aye,” she said quietly. “A bairn untainted by a Scottish past. One to be molded into a proper Englishman.”

“But your brother …”

“He could try to claim the title.
If
he were still alive.”

Rory stared at her. It all made sense now. Including Cumberland’s demand that his physician be at any birth.

Would they just steal the baby, or try to convince Bethia that he, or she, was born dead?

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you did not tell Cumberland about my disappearance. Because you offered to deliver letters to my brother. Because perhaps you were right when you said we need a little trust between us. And because you are not the fool so many believe you to be. And …” she faltered, not finishing the sentence.

“Aye?”

“It would also be your child.”

Rory could say nothing. She always surprised him, but never more than now. He thought honor had long left this country. It was disconcerting to find it in his wife.

“Why do you so often play the fool?” she asked.

“Why are you so sure it is playing?”

“Answers like that.”

He shrugged. “Little is expected of a fool. I think I told you before that I dislike expectations.”

Her gaze bore into his. “What do you want?” she finally asked.

“What everyone wants. To enjoy life.”

“I donna know if I believe that any longer.”

“Then you see only what you want to see.”