The Earl’s Mistletoe Bride (18 page)

B
eth rolled over sleepily and reached across the pillow. ‘Jon?’ she murmured. She wanted to be in his arms again, rejoicing in his touch.

He was gone!

She was jerked fully awake. She sat up. No, she was not mistaken. Jon’s side of the bed was empty. He had loved her. And then he had left her. But surely it made no sense now? Why would he not stay?

She scrabbled about for the tinder box and lit her bedside candle. What was she going to do? Tonight, she had been so sure he would stay that she had not even asked him. She must ask him now, this minute, or she would never have the courage to do it. Then she would be condemned to sleeping alone for the rest of her life.

She swung her feet out of the bed and dragged on her wrapper. She could not find her slippers. No matter, she
would go barefoot. After all, she would be returning to bed very soon.

She lit a branch of candles, leaving the first one by her bed. Then she crept out into their shared sitting room. It was silent, and dark. The fire had gone out long ago. She set the candles down on the little table by Jon’s door and put her ear against it. Still silence. She took a deep breath and eased the door half open.

He was lying on his back, asleep. She could hear his deep, even breathing. She pushed the door a little wider and reached for her candles.

‘No! Stop! Release her or I will shoot you down. Oh, good God, no, no!’

Candles forgotten, Beth raced across to the bedside. Yes, he was still asleep, but now his breathing was shallow and rapid, and there was sweat on his brow. A dream. No, a nightmare! Something terrible. For a moment she stood frozen, wondering whether to wake him, or leave him.

She did neither. She let her wrapper slide to the floor and slid into the bed beside him. He was shaking. And muttering. Tentatively, she reached out to place her palm on his naked chest. After a moment, his shaking stopped. She slipped both arms around him and allowed her body to stretch down the full length of his. He groaned and tried to pull away, but then his whole body relaxed and he returned her embrace.

Beth smiled against his skin. She would wait.

‘Beth?’ It had taken at least ten minutes for his body to emerge from that nightmare and for him to realise that she had joined him in his bed.

She touched a kiss to the line of his jaw. In the dim
light from the sitting room, she could see his profile, but little more. ‘You were having a terrible nightmare.’ She understood only too well what they could do. She took a deep breath. It had to be now. ‘Is that why you insist on sleeping alone? Because of nightmares?’

He groaned. He started to push her away, but then he pulled her back into an even closer embrace. ‘I…yes. I had hoped you would not find out, love. It was—’ He shuddered.

The dark might help, Beth decided. ‘Tell me. Perhaps if you speak it aloud, here in the dark, the memory will stop tormenting you.’

After a long silence, he said, ‘Very well. It was after Badajoz. I was in the town, with two young subalterns, trying to restore some order. It was impossible. The men were all roaring drunk, and— They had a woman, an innocent Spanish woman. They were going to rape her. I tried to stop them. I…I shot at the ringleader, but my pistol misfired and then the blackguards struck me down. My companions carried me back to camp. They were too young and too frightened to do anything else.’

Beth closed her eyes against the horror of it. ‘And the woman?’ she said in a tiny voice.

‘I found her body. Later, after the looting had stopped. My only consolation was that the rapists were also dead, killed by their comrades’ wild shooting. There was so much death…’

‘It was after Badajoz that you sold out?’ She had to know it all.

He nodded against her hair. ‘They left their wounded comrades to bleed for two days while they drank the
town dry. It was sickening. So when Mama wrote about George trying to ruin the estate all over again, I took it as an excuse to resign my commission. But I should have saved her. She died because I failed.’

Beth did not have to ask what he meant. She stroked his hair back from his damp brow and snuggled against him. ‘You did all you could, my love. You risked your life for her.’

‘Wellington should have stopped it. He knew the horror of it all, and he did nothing. For two whole days, he did nothing.’

It was no wonder Jon had sold out after such disillusion. But Beth would not say that, not ever. She would simply hold him while he slept, until the nightmares subsided.

‘Come back to bed with me, love.’ She took his hand and sat up, pulling him after her. ‘You have nightmares here. In my bed, we have only love and passion. Come, sleep with me till morning. The memories will not dare attack you there.’ She smiled at him, even though she was sure he could not see.

‘I swear your goodness could heal anyone, and anything, my love.’ He caught up his dressing gown and, together, they padded across the floor and back to their marriage bed. Soon they were peacefully asleep in each other’s arms.

It was Christmas Eve at last. Jon felt more contented than ever before. His beloved wife was by his side and, thanks to her, he had spent his first undisturbed nights in months. He owed her so much. Yet, when he had
offered her the moon, she had asked only for a chance to drive his horses!

He waited until the curricle had come to a stop and the groom had run to the horses’ heads. She really drove extremely well. He reached across and squeezed her fingers gently. ‘Perhaps you would like to tool the curricle round the lanes for ten minutes or so and then return for me? I have business with Miss Mountjoy, but it will not take long.’

‘I am flattered that you should trust me with your precious horses,’ Beth chuckled.

‘More to the point,’ he responded with a grin, ‘I am trusting my horses with my precious wife.’

They both laughed, though Beth was blushing, too.

Jon climbed down. ‘Go with her ladyship, Sam. She is going to drive around the lanes for a short while.’ He watched until the curricle was out of sight before marching up the path and knocking on the cottage door.

‘Lord Portbury!’ Miss Mountjoy gasped as she opened the door.

‘May I come in, ma’am?’

‘I—’ She stood back and dropped a polite curtsy. ‘Very well. It is, after all, your house.’

Jon ignored that and walked into the neat parlour. ‘Miss Mountjoy, I have come to enquire about your future plans.’

She drew herself up very straight. ‘Our meeting at the Abbey was to be our last, you said. Or have I misremembered?’

‘Forgive me, Miss Mountjoy, I should much prefer it if we did not repeat the substance of that last interview.
Harsh words were spoken, on both sides. And on both sides they are better forgotten.’

She frowned, puzzled.

‘Miss Mountjoy, much has happened since our last meeting. I have come to realise, and to regret, the cruel way I treated you then. I do still think that you should leave King’s Portbury—partly for my family’s sake, but for your own sake also, since there must be many unhappy memories here for you. I cannot comprehend your feelings for Alicia, nor hers for you, but I do understand—now—that they were sincerely felt. I know that love is a gift, wherever it strikes. I should like to change the terms of our agreement.’

A slight shudder ran through her frame. She was afraid.

‘For the better, Miss Mountjoy.’ He drew out a sealed document and offered it to her. ‘This is the lease on a cottage by the sea. It is on the south coast, a long way from King’s Portbury, but it is a delightful house. If you wish, you may have it for the rest of your life for a peppercorn rent. I ask for nothing else. I am certain that you will respect Alicia’s memory and keep her counsel, for I know the bond between you was very strong. I do not suppose that death can break it.’

‘There are no other conditions?’ she whispered, in disbelief.

‘None.’ He set the lease down on the table.

‘Lord Portbury, this is more than I deserve after what I tried to do to you. In return, I…I should warn you to beware of your brother. He…it was he who encouraged me to poison your wife’s reputation. He hoped that you
and she would part. That there would be no heir. I am sorry.’ She hung her head.

Jon took a deep breath. George had been the cause of all this? His brother? Jon knew he had every right to have George thrown into the gutter for such wickedness. But he knew, too, that he could not do such a thing. Not any more. He would threaten George with penury, and make sure he believed it, too, but that would be all. ‘Thank you, Miss Mountjoy.’ She looked up, surprised by his tone. He smiled at her. ‘I wish you a long and contented life in your new home. Let everything else that has passed between us be forgotten.’

She did not speak but her face cleared. As she picked up the lease that guaranteed her future, Jon fancied that her eyes were shining. There was nothing more to be done now. He bowed.

She sank into a deep curtsy.

‘I will show myself out. Goodbye, ma’am.’ Jon closed the parlour door gently and made his way out into the fresh, crisp air of the winter morning. He felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders by an unseen hand. Alicia was gone. And all the heartache that had been part of his first marriage was gone, too, washed away by Beth’s love and the generosity she showed to everyone around her. Jon would never have a fraction of his wife’s goodness, but he would try to learn from her example. Today’s gift to Miss Mountjoy had been his first small step on that hard road. Dealing with George would be the second.

He walked through the cottage gate to see his curricle approaching at a fast trot. He held up his hand, waiting to judge how well Beth was handling the ribbons. She
halted her pair very successfully, but not before they had gone a good thirty yards beyond him. He marched down the lane until he stood at the side of the curricle, arms akimbo, and shaking his head. ‘Dear, dear. Is that the best you can do, Lady Portbury?’ He climbed up beside her and held out his hands for the reins.

She ignored him, smiling wickedly. ‘You were clearly much in need of the exercise, sir. As to what I can do…’ She rearranged the reins in her gloved fingers and tightened her grip on the whip. Then she grinned. ‘Watch!’

Seconds later, the Countess of Portbury was springing her horses with such vigour that her husband was thrown back in his seat and robbed of the power of speech.

His laughter was echoing round the lane as the curricle disappeared from sight.