The Highwayman's Lady (22 page)

“Shhhh. Easy, love. Cry if you want to.” I murmur the words into her hair, refusing to relinquish my hold on her despite her struggles. Her resistance subsides in seconds, in any case, and I gather her closer to my chest. “I have you, you are safe.”

That was perhaps not the best choice of words. She stiffens within my embrace. “H-how am I safe? I hated what happened downstairs, and you said you would punish me again, if I cross you?”

“Then do not cross me, little one. I do not believe I am being unreasonable, I have demanded but one thing of you, only that you keep yourself and our bairn safe.”

“It is not just that. I do not know what you want, what you expect. I do not even understand why you are here.”

“I am here to make sure you are cared for. I will leave when you are calmer.”

“I do not mean here in my room.
Your
room. I mean here, at Kirkleven.”

“I came to Scotland because I wished to talk with you. I explained that last night.”

“You have spoken to me now and more besides. There is nothing more to say. You should leave.”

I cannot help but indulge in a wry grin, though she does not see it as her nose is buried in my chest. “I suspect my brother might agree with you, but you would be the first to remind me that such a precipitous departure would upset Beatrice. I believe I might remain here a little longer.”

Her sobs have subsided now and she tilts her head back to peer up at me through eyes red-rimmed and swollen. “I want you to leave me alone. If you insist on remaining at Kirkleven, I wish to have nothing to do with you. I shall avoid you, Gray, as best I am able, and I would appreciate it if you would do likewise.”

I return her gaze and detect much of interest in her glittering eyes. I see fear there and the remnants of anger. Remorse and regret too. And doubt. Her harsh words do not reflect her true emotions, but she is seeking to defend herself, to erect a shield that she imagines will protect her from me. I can allow that. For now.

“You will not avoid me entirely, Imogen, since you will be calling upon me for assistance on a regular basis. I believe we have established that. But otherwise, very well, I shall respect your wishes. But first, I intend to see you resting in comfort. Turn around and I shall loosen your gown.”

“I can manage perfectly well. Perhaps one of the maids—”

I treat her to one of my finely honed stern glares. “Give me your back, Imogen, and we shall deal with the matter without further fuss.”

She glares back at me, but eventually gets to her knees and turns around. I am relieved, I would not have wished further confrontation today but I do intend to leave her in no doubt regarding the dynamic between us. I will have her obedience. She sniffles as I make short work of the laces securing her gown and ease it from her shoulders.

“Stand up and let it fall to the floor, then climb back into bed.”

She makes no move to obey, but I can be patient if the situation demands such. She lifts her gaze to meet mine, her expression more compliant now. “What about dinner? I am supposed to be dressing, though I am not in the least bit hungry.”

I raise my eyebrows. “You wish to join the family for the meal?”

She shakes her head. “No, not really. But I will need to explain my absence to Beatrice.”

“I will deal with that. I shall tell the countess that you felt indisposed, no doubt some lingering effects from this morning and have decided to spend the evening in your chamber.” I ease her from the bed and onto her feet before she thinks to dispute my actions further and quickly dispose of the gown and several petticoats. She does not attempt to hamper my efforts. “Would you like a tray to be sent up?”

She tilts her chin at me, a hint of defiance creeping into her expression. “I am not ill. Just—”

“I know and for what it may be worth, I am not aware of anyone who suffered permanent loss of appetite from sexual frustration. Your interest in food will be restored soon enough, but in the meantime I must insist you eat something. I will order you a tray. Come now, into bed.” I stand and draw back the covers for her and, obedient, she climbs in.

“I do not wish to repeat what happened downstairs,” she whispers. “It was awful.”

I pull the covers up around her, then cup her face in my hand. She does not attempt to escape my grip. Wise girl. “You may apologise to me, in that case and I will have your promise that you will take better care of yourself and our baby in the future. Because be under no illusion, Imogen, I
will
punish you again, if I have to, in order to keep both of you safe. You now appreciate that I can be inventive if I must, in view of your condition, but I
will
have my way in this.”

She holds my gaze for several moments, then closes her eyes. I know I have emerged the victor in this battle of wills.

“I am sorry. I did not mean any harm. I do care about our baby and would not intentionally endanger him. Or her.”

So far so good. I wait for the rest.

Imogen appears to be thinking, her pretty mouth working as she formulates her words, first in her head, then I hope, out loud. At last my patience is rewarded.

“I promise.”

“Please be more specific, Imogen. What do you promise?”

“To be careful, to do nothing that might put me or our baby in peril.”

“Thank you. I accept your word. If I have cause to take issue with your conduct in this regard ever again, you know the retribution will be severe. There will be a reckoning between us, Imogen.”

“Yes, sir. I know that.”

I release her chin and step back from the bed. “Then we are done here. Rest now and I shall see you tomorrow. Or perhaps not, since we are to avoid one another. If you do decide, though, that you wish to complete what we started in the library, you have only to ask me. I would be delighted to hear your apology again, and to show there are no hard feelings, I will endeavour to fuck you to your total satisfaction. I leave that choice with you.”

She makes no reply to that, and I find I am not surprised. I offer her a curt bow and make my exit. I have another awkward conversation to deal with and I can put it off no longer.

* * *

I find my brother and sister-in-law together, in the sitting room. Beatrice summons Masterson as soon as I enter and asks the man to bring another jug of ale and a goblet for me. Intent on my comfort, she ushers me into the seat she vacated and perches on the arm of her husband’s chair.

“So, Francis, how are you? Really. Tell us all your news.” She bestows her bright, expectant smile upon me, an expression I have never managed to quite come to terms with. It is as though she defies me to disappoint her.

I shift in my chair, using Masterson’s bustling presence as a ploy to delay the inevitable. Even I can only play for time for so long though and eventually I lift my gaze and commence the fabrication which will have to pass for my account of the last four years.

“I have been abroad, for the main part. On the continent initially, then the New World.”

“You have been in the Americas? How exciting.” Beatrice beams at me, leaning forward to encourage me to elaborate.

“It is a place of much interest and fascination, certainly.” Thus far I have not departed entirely from the truth. I did go to France with the prince and remained there for several months before travelling to Spain. From Cadiz I boarded a ship bound for the Spanish colony of Mexico, a land I found both colourful and vibrant if somewhat uncivilised. Bitten by a wanderlust and relentless curiosity I travelled northeast into the territories of Texas and Louisiana, eventually arriving at New Orleans where I spent several months before seeking passage back to England. I might have remained longer had it not been for an unfortunate incident concerning the wife of a cotton plantation owner, following which I considered it prudent to make myself scarce. I loved the New World and it is my intention to return to the colonies at some stage, though perhaps not anywhere in the vicinity of New Orleans.

“So you were in the Americas all this time?” Phillip regards me over the lip of his goblet, one dark eyebrow raised.

I nod and busy myself in taking another slug of my ale. With luck, he may accept my story at face value and not opt to dig for more detail.

“I have recently acquired property there, in Virginia,” my brother continues. “Is that a location you know?”

“Not an area I am familiar with myself, but I have heard there is much wealth to be made in the states further north.” This at least is true.

“My land is mainly good for farming, I gather. I could grow tobacco, but prefer cattle and horse breeding. Those are pursuits I can understand.”

“Why did you purchase property so far away?” I am puzzled. I do not recall Phillip demonstrating such an adventurous disposition, at least not in matters of business. And as long as I am quizzing him, he may not interrogate me.

“I did not purchase it. I won several thousand acres at cards and decided to retain my interest rather than disposing of the land at once.” He glances up at his wife. “Perhaps we shall go there, my dear. It will offer some welcome respite from the children.”

She pats his shoulder, offering reassurance. “I am sure they will become less taxing in the fullness of time. Indeed, I have heard the indigenous tribes in the New World can be every bit as troublesome. You might not find much improvement and it is a long way to go in search of peace and quiet.”

“You are right, as ever.” He returns his attention to me. “So, where in the Americas, exactly, did you travel? And what occupied you there?”

Ah, so much for my brief diversion then. I have no option left but to depart from the truth, at least in the matter of timescales. “I remained with The Young Pretender for the first year and a half, then decided to explore further afield. I was mainly in the southern states and gained employment managing a cotton plantation. I returned to Britain but recently.”

“You were homesick?” enquires Beatrice.

It is as good an explanation as any. I nod. “I found I craved our temperate climate, not to mention our fine ale and excellent whisky. So I boarded a ship bound from New Orleans to Nassau and from there to London and here I am.”

“You managed a cotton plantation? What on earth do you know about cotton, Francis? Or indeed any form of agriculture? It was all we could ever do to convince you of the merits of skirting a hayfield rather than trampling the crop under the hooves of your mount. How did you manage to convince any owner who valued his profits to employ you?”

Excellent question. Trust Phillip to hit my least defended flank with such precision. I reach for my goblet again, in need of a few moments in which to formulate my response.

“I have changed since last I saw you and I have learnt a great deal on my travels. Cotton farming involves labour, much labour, unskilled in the main. An army of workers requires to be organised, commanded. I may not be a farmer, but I can command an army well enough. A few hundred slaves and a couple of dozen peasant overseers offered no challenge at all.”

“You were involved in the slave trade?” Phillip makes no attempt to conceal his distaste, though the practice is both widespread and lucrative throughout the colonies.

“No, not directly. And I do not hold with unnecessary cruelty so the slaves under my control were well treated.”

My brother’s response is a dubious-sounding grunt. I am grateful for Beatrice’s intervention.

“We are delighted to see you home at last. Are we not, Phillip?”

At the absence of immediate and enthusiastic support for her assertion, Beatrice urges her husband’s agreement by means of a sharp nudge with her elbow. It appears to work. “Indeed so. Most gratified. And now that you are home, how long do you intend to grace us with your presence, little brother?”

“Now, Phillip, let us not be chasing him off before he has even had chance to draw breath. You are welcome to remain with us as long as you like, Francis.”

“Thank you, Beatrice. I thought I might stay for a few weeks at least.” Until this moment and despite my words to Imogen just a half hour ago, I had no such solid intention. My plans appear to be crystallising fast.

Beatrice beams at me. “Oh, that
is
good news. Phillip would welcome your aid in managing Kirkleven, would you not, sweetheart? Your experience in the New World will come in useful. We would be delighted to learn of how matters are conducted across the ocean, minus the slavery, of course. I doubt that practice would find much favour with our farmhands.”

My brother’s pensive features suggest he is already contemplating the tasks he might put my way. I resolve to find something to occupy my time whilst I am here or there is a real danger I might find myself harnessed to a plough.

A month has passed and Gray has been as good as his word. He said he would contrive to avoid me and he has done so. He has been most diligent in this endeavour. When in the house, he tends to spend his time either in his own chamber or in the library. If I should enter the library, my usual haunt in the afternoons, he makes his excuses and vacates the room, though he leaves strict instructions regarding the lifting of books. It is his habit to rise late so he invariably misses breakfast with the rest of the household and is rarely to be encountered at lunchtime.

The evening meal is the one occasion when the family gathers and Gray will join us in the dining room if he is at home. As often as not, though, he is absent from the table, his seat opposite mine unoccupied. When he is present, the silence between him and me is almost palpable. I cannot miss the calculating expression on Phillip’s face as he observes the awkward exchanges, nor Beatrice’s distress at the continuing hostilities.

Of course, my beloved cousin has no idea what lies at the root of the discord in her home and although I long to confide in her I gave my word that I would not reveal the identity of my baby’s father. Any attempt to explain the cause of the discord between myself and her brother-in-law will lead dangerously close to revelations I prefer not to make. So I remain silent—the destruction of my blossoming friendship with Beatrice just one more offence to lay at Gray’s door.