The Devil's Own Luck (Once a Spy) (29 page)

André had returned to his chamber. He stood gazing out a tall window overlooking the terrace as he mulled over what had just happened. A smile tugged at his lips. Clarendon had come in at a most opportune moment. He would do nothing to dispel the marquis of the notion that what he had seen had been an embrace. And in a way it had been. He closed his eyes, reliving the moment. Every facet of the experience lingered on his senses. The lemon fragrance of her hair, the smooth porcelain ivory of her skin, the feel of the straight, supple back resting against his arm. She was a delight. How could a man not be drawn to her?
    He shook his head slightly. What a predicament he was in. But fate was at work here. Otherwise, he would have died on the side of the road. If he could only be patient. The answer would come to him.

Crew and cargo are presumed lost.
Rand’s heart sank as he continued to read the missive that had just arrived from London. One of his vessels,
The Marianne,
had been overdue in returning from the West Indies. He hadn’t been concerned as delays were common. But a piece of her hull and the bodies of three seamen had washed up on the island of Curacao and there was little hope anyone had survived. An inventory of the lost cargo as well as a valuation of the ship had been enclosed with the letter but he didn't bother to read it. He tossed the list aside. He didn’t give a damn about the ship, but twenty-seven men had perished. Jack Barlow had been captain of
The Marianne
for almost twenty years and he had sailed for Danfield Shipping for over thirty.
Damn the old man!
He should have retired years ago. But Jack had fought tooth and nail against retirement. He said he’d rather die than stop sailing. And now it seemed that he had died anyway.
    It was hard to believe he was gone. Even in his sixties, Jack was built like a bull, low to the ground with impossibly wide shoulders and arms and legs like tree trunks. He scraped every bit of gray hair from his head with a razor, had a mermaid tattooed on one arm and an anchor and heart tattooed on the other. As a lad he had been fascinated with this colorful character who seemed more pirate than merchant captain. His mother had not approved. Jack had taught him to play cards like a shark, swear like a sailor and appreciate the taste of dark rum made from the sugar cane of the Caribbean. A sad smiled played on his lips. Jack also made the worst fish chowder he’d ever had in his life.
    A knock sounded at the door.
    He sighed and looked up at the door. “Come in.”
    Winston entered Rand’s office. He bowed then cleared his throat. “Lady Clarendon wished to know if we should set dinner back, my lord.”
    “What time is it?” He pulled out his fob watch then swore. Dinner was normally served at six and it was already twenty past. After insisting that Cecelia not be alone with André he had put her in a position where she had no choice. He rose from his chair. “I lost track of time. I’ll be right there.”

C
ecelia flipped over on her back and sunk into the soft mattress. Even Ashley’s rhythmic purring could not lull her to sleep. Unable to stop herself, she went over the events of the day, trying to make sense of them. And failing. Dinner had been just awful. Rand had been polite enough but there was an undercurrent of tension that had made her want to run from the dining room. After dinner, he returned to his office and she hadn’t seen him since.
    “This is just famous,” she muttered as she threw off the covers. “We’ve been married less than two months and we’ve already had an enormous row.” Knowing that she wouldn’t sleep until they were in charity with one another she rose from the bed, slipped on her robe and headed for Rand’s office. There she found him sitting in a leather chair nursing a glass of port. He didn’t appear overjoyed to see her. Even so, she would remain until she discovered what troubled him.
    He acknowledged her presence with a lift of his eyebrows. “You’re still up?”
    “You hadn’t come to bed.” She looked down at the patterned carpet a moment before continuing. “I thought something might be wrong. Something more than what happened this afternoon.”
    He took a generous swallow of his drink. “I’m fine.”
    She narrowed her eyes and looked at him a little more closely. “Are you foxed?”
    “Not yet, but I’m working on it.” He swirled the port in his glass. “Go back to bed, Cecelia.”
    “No.”
    The corners of his mouth kicked up and he laughed softly. “Stubborn chit, aren’t you?”
    “You knew that when you married me.”
    “So I did.” He shrugged. “Suit yourself and stay if you wish. But I warn you I’m not in the best of moods.”
    “Oh? I hadn’t noticed.” She folded her arms in front of her and made no attempt to hide her scrutiny. “Could you tell me where my husband went?”
    “I believe he’s sitting right here.”
    “I meant my other husband. The nice one. The one I like.”
    “He’s been distracted.” A long sigh escaped his lips. “There was a problem with one of my vessels.”
    “What kind of problem?”
    “Given my mood, I suppose you’re owed some kind of explanation.” He picked up the letter from the side table and held it out to her.
    She took it from him and read through the first two paragraphs. A cold feeling settled in her belly as the contents became clear. “I’m so sorry,” she said softly. “When did you find this out?”
    “Just before dinner.” He drained his glass and set it on the table. “Jack Barlow was the captain. He was a friend. A good friend. I’ll miss him.”
    “I’m so sorry,” she repeated. It seemed woefully inadequate but she didn’t know what else to say.
    “Twenty-seven men died.” He splashed more port into his glass. “Jack was too old to be sailing. I should have forced him to retire. He fought me on it and I gave in.” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Twenty-seven men. I never should have given in.”
    “It might have happened no matter who was captain.”
    He pushed himself from his chair and came to her. “We’ll never know, will we?” He cupped his hand around the white column of her neck and traced her lower lip with the pad of his thumb. His gaze moved over her. There was something chilling about the darkness of his expression. A long moment of quiet passed before his hoarse whisper broke the silence. “I need you.”
    She nodded. Apprehension mingled with desire as she allowed him to lower her to the carpet. He roughly shoved her night rail and robe past her hips and unbuttoned his breeches then spread her thighs apart and knelt between them. With one hard thrust he was inside her. Startled by the suddenness she gasped but he appeared not to have heard her. His eyes were hooded and his jaw clenched. He watched her a moment and then closed his eyes as if he could shut out the pain and guilt that tormented him. He began to move. Other than the point of their joining he did not touch her. She knew there would be no gentle caresses or sweet words. He was not making love but exercising demons and as he thrust into her over and over again. He seemed scarcely aware of her. She was a vessel. A place to rid himself of anger and sorrow and guilt. She could have been anyone and it wouldn’t have mattered.
    She listened as his breathing became more ragged, trying hard not to cry and hoping this would soon come to an end. Not because it was painful, but because she didn’t feel anything at all other than an overwhelming emptiness. She waited. She recited poetry in her head. She did whatever she could to distract herself. And when it did end, he came with a cry of anguish rather than joy. Panting, he collapsed on top of her and she struggled to breath beneath his weight. Finally he rolled off of her and lay on his back with his eyes closed.
    It was some time before he spoke. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. Not that way.” The regret in his voice was heart wrenching. “Did I hurt you?”
    “No.”
    “I know you took no pleasure in it.”
    She couldn’t deny it so she simply said, “Are you coming to bed?”
    “Not yet. There’s still paperwork to be done.”
    “But it’s late. Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”
    “I need to read the through the claims before I sign them. I won’t sleep until I do. They should be sent to Lloyd’s as quickly as possible. I don’t want to face it in the morning.” He adjusted his clothing and rose. “I’m sorry. This has been an extraordinarily bad day.” He was quiet as he looked down at her. “I haven’t given you much of a honeymoon have I? I promise it will get better. Once things are running smoothly we’ll go somewhere. Anywhere you want.”
    She nodded dully knowing it would be a long while before that came to pass.
    He held out his hand and helped her to her feet. “You should go on to bed. I’ll see you to our chambers.”
    Slowly, she shook her head. At the moment, she simply wanted to be left alone. “No. There’s no need. You said you had work to do. I’ll see you in the morning.” She straightened her gown, took the lamp she had brought with her and left.

Cecelia woke feeling drained and irritable. The morning was half gone and when Mattie came in with her morning chocolate she snapped at her. “Why on earth didn’t you wake me up? It’s well past ten. The children will wonder why I’m not there.”
    Mattie’s eyes widened at her mistress’s sour demeanor. “I’m sorry, milady, but milord said you were not to be disturbed. ‘e told Nurse to take Rosie and David to the garden to play if you didn’t wake’n time for lessons.”
    “They shouldn’t miss their lessons. You should have woken me, anyway.” She stopped realizing she was being unreasonable in asking Mattie to disregard Rand’s instructions. “Oh, never mind. I’m just a bit cross this morning.” Cecelia took the cup of chocolate her maid offered. “I’m also ravenous.”
    “I’ll bring a tray right up.” Mattie pulled a sheet of folded vellum from her apron pocket and held it out. “Milord said I was to give this to you. Should I ‘ave bath water sent up?”
    “In a bit.” Cecelia took the missive and waved her out the door. Rand’s side of the bed was undisturbed. For the first time since they’d been married she’d slept alone. Frowning, she looked at the missive and decided that an apology was too much to hope for. She opened the vellum.
Cecelia, the kitchen has prepared several baskets of food for the Trawleys and the McGuires. If you feel well enough, I would like you to take them. I’ve told Harris to accompany you. I’ll be home by dinner.
    “Very transparent,” she muttered. “But an excellent way to keep me away from Monsieur André, today.” Exhausted, she closed her eyes. What was wrong with her? May be Rand was right. Scowling, she tried to remember when she’d last had her courses. She should have paid more attention. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be pregnant. She did. At least she thought she did. Truth be told, she didn’t know what she wanted. Suddenly, she felt as if she were about to burst into tears. If this was what being pregnant did to one, she wasn’t certain she ever wanted to be pregnant.
    Mattie soon returned with a tray of scones and pastries. Cecelia ate two of the pastries then braced herself to ask the question she wasn’t sure she wanted answered. She watched as Mattie went about the room, tidying up and waiting for her mistress to decide about a bath and her ensemble for the day. She swallowed the last of her chocolate and cleared her throat. “Mattie, do you remember when I last had my terms?”
    Mattie stopped what she was doing and looked down at the floor. “I wasn’t goin’ to mention it, but it ‘as been awhile.”
    Cecelia chewed on her bottom lip. “Does ‘awhile’ mean longer than a month?”
    “Yes milady. ‘Bout five weeks I’m thinkin’. Maybe closer to six.”
    She took in a deep breath. That sounded about right. She’d had her courses only once since they’d married. “Well, that’s much too soon to be certain of anything. I’d like that bath now.”
    Mattie curtsied and left.
    Cecelia took a lock of her hair and twisted it around her index finger as she considered the possibility.
I’m never late, I don’t normally feel faint or this tired. Thank God, there isn’t any morning sickness
. There wasn’t much doubt in her mind she was carrying. So why did it have to happen when Rand was in such a God-awful state of mind? She fell back on her pillow and groaned. What rotten timing.

“Rosie.” Cecelia and Rosie had just left Miss Mae’s apartments and Cecelia had taken her charge aside for a scolding. “It was very rude of you to put your hands over your ears while Mrs. Halston was talking. After our lessons on how to conduct yourself at an afternoon tea, I know you knew better. It wasn’t well done of you at all.”
    Rosie’s lower lip protruded slightly. “But she kept talking and talking and talking and Miss Mae was snoring so loud and I...” She put the back of her hand to her forehead and finished dramatically, “I could bear it no longer.”
    Cecelia put her hand to her lips and turned her face away but it was too late to hide her laughter. “Where ever did you learn that?” she managed to get out.
    Rosie smoothed down the skirt of her embroidered white pinafore. “Mary Doolittle. She’s friends with Lizzy an’ she wants to be an actress, but she can’t because her papa won’t let her. Do you think I should be an actress?”
    “No,” Cecelia said firmly. “I don’t. Now I need you to promise you’ll never do anything like this again. Mrs. Halston had her feelings hurt. And I’m certain Miss Mae and Monsieur André thought you very rude.”
    “Miss Mae didn’t. She opened her eyes and winked and smiled at me. I like Miss Mae even if she did snore too loud.” She frowned. “But I don’t like Monsieur André very much.”
    Cecelia was surprised. “But why? He was very nice to you.”
    Rosie creased her brow as she thought. “Well. I think he’s nice on the outside but I don’t think he’s nice on the inside.”
    “I don’t understand that at all but you are entitled to your feelings. However, you must always be polite to him. Remember that he’s been injured and is likely very troubled by his loss of memory.”
    Rosie looked down at the floor. “I know.”
    "Now, tomorrow morning I will help you compose a letter of apology to Mrs. Halston and we will take it to her.”
    “Must I take it? Can’t someone take it for me? What if she starts talking again?”
    “Then you will listen.”
    Rosie heaved a long dramatic sigh. “All right.” At the sound of approaching footsteps she peered around Cecelia and her face brightened. “Hello, Winston.”
    Winston stopped a few feet away and bowed. “My lady. Miss Rosie.”
    “We’ve just had tea,” Rosie volunteered. “But I didn’t behave well. I was rude to Mrs. Halston.”
    “I’m sorry to hear that, Miss Rosie. I trust you will do better next time.”
    He looked at Cecelia. “My lady, my lord asked that you come to his study as you’ve finished with your afternoon tea. I’ll take Rosie to the nursery, if you like.”
    “Thank you.”
    Cecelia watched as Winston took Rosie’s hand and led her down the hall. The five year old was happy to be in his company and Cecelia suspected the feeling was mutual. Smiling she headed for the staircase. A few minutes later she knocked at his door and then stepped inside. Her hope that this might be an opportunity to resolve their differences were quickly dashed.
    Still dressed in his riding attire Rand was seated at his desk. Ledgers and correspondence littered his desk. He glanced up and said curtly, “Please it down, Cecelia.”
    She fixed him with a cool gaze and purposely waited a long moment before sitting in the chair across from him. She carefully arranged her skirts, folded her hands and placed them in her lap. Lifting her chin and assuming a regal air she said, “Yes, my lord and master?”
    He ignored the jibe. “I heard you paid a call on the Trawleys and the McGuires.”
    “At your request, my lord.”
    “I requested that you deliver baskets of food. It seems you did more than that.”
    She raised an eyebrow. “Was I supposed to drop off the baskets and then turn around and leave? It seems terribly discourteous, though courtesy appears to matter little to you of late. At Reardon we tried to maintain good relations with our tenants. It seems to increase productivity.”
    “I realize that Cecelia.” His tone was dry.
    “And I’ll remind you,” she continued. “That I am no novice in dealing with tenants. I frequently accompanied my mother when she called on our tenants and I went with Pricilla when she began calling on them as well. I did as I thought appropriate. How you can find fault with that I haven’t any idea.”
    “You interfered.”
    Her eyes widened. “Could you be a bit more direct? I brought them food, then stayed and chatted awhile. In what way did I interfere?”
    “By informing the Trawleys and McGuires that you mean to open a school for their children. Didn’t you think you should discuss this with me first?”
    The carefully maintained regal manner dissolved into anger. “I beg your pardon, sir. Shall I be hung, drawn and quartered? Or will a simple flogging do? And is it the idea of providing a school that you find distasteful or the fact that I didn’t ask permission before mentioning it?”
    “It isn’t distasteful. It isn’t reasonable.”
    “Why ever not?” she said. “I’m not suggesting they study Latin or French and higher mathematics. But basic skills in numbers and letters would benefit them greatly. At Reardon we provided schooling for the children in the village. It isn’t extensive but at least they have the ability to do more than mark an X for their signature. Was I mistaken in assuming you would want to do as much for your own tenants? Look how well Billy is doing. You said in a few years he’ll be able to begin training at Danfield Shipping.”
    “For Christ’s Sake, Cecelia, this isn’t Reardon and the tenant’s children aren’t Billy. You can’t make a valid comparison. These families have enough to do making the land provide for them again. It’s going to take a great deal of labor on their part and the older children will be needed to work with them. There simply isn’t time. Any type of education will have to be delayed. Maybe next year, but not now. Content yourself with the three charges that you have.”
    “But what about the younger children? Or do you plan to send enfants into the fields as well?”
    “Leave things as they are.”
    She opened her mouth to protest but he held up his hand.
    “Don’t gainsay my decisions, Cecelia. And I’ve too much on my plate to spend the afternoon arguing with you. Leave it be.”
    His words felt like a slap in the face but she was damned if she’d let him know. “Mrs. Trawley and Mrs. McGuire will be quite disappointed. I’ll have to inform them there will be a delay.”
    “It’s been taken care of.”
    “Is that all?”
    Rand leaned back in his chair and sighed. “No. I would have your promise on it.”
    “Very well. You have my word. Now may I please go?”
    “There’s one more thing.”
    “Oh? Have I done something else to displease you?”
    “How are you feeling? You look tired.”
    “I didn’t sleep well last night.”
And I’m likely carrying your child.
    “You didn’t answer my question.”
    “I’m perfectly fine.”
    “I’d like you to stay close to home for a while. I’m not saying you can’t ride,” he added quickly before she could argue. “But you don’t seem quite up to snuff and I don’t want you half an hour from home and growing faint.”
    “I told you I was perfectly fine. But if you insist, far be it for me to disobey my husband.” She rose from her chair. “If I have your permission I’d like to leave.”
    He nodded his head. Head held high, she swept from the room.