The Lady Who Came in from the Cold (12 page)

“I’m glad,” he said.

Lord Nicholas and Lady Helena Harteford were more acquaintances than friends to them, but this was due mainly to the fact that the couple spent most of their time at their country estate. Whenever he and Penny did see the other pair, conversation flowed easily as they had much in common. Both couples had married around the same time and shared the experience of raising little hellions. Indeed, the Hartefords’ three boys made James, Ethan, and Owen appear sedate by comparison.

“Girl?” he inquired.

Penny’s lips curved wryly, and she shook her head.

“Poor Harteford,” he said ruefully.

“Poor
Lady Harteford
. She’s entirely outnumbered.” His wife smiled at him.

At that moment, they walked into a patch of sun, the glow illuminating her. Diamonds of ice clung to her dark lashes. The ermine lining of her hood was no match for the downy perfection of her skin, the richness of her red coat setting off her vivid coloring.

God, but her beauty affected him, its impact as visceral as a fist in the gut. It had been this way from the start, and despite everything, he knew it would be this way until his dying breath.

Devil take it.

Tamping down the crazed urge to pull her into his arms, he cleared his throat, said gruffly, “Who else is coming?”

“I invited Carlisle as you requested. Both he and his brother Mr. Murray gave affirmative replies.” A furrow formed between her brows. “Carlisle’s not usually one for parties. I’m rather surprised that he agreed to come.”

Marcus wasn’t surprised. During his stay with his friend, it had become clear that there was only one way out of Carlisle’s financial dilemma. As the viscount had cynically put it, “I’ve got a title to sell off, and I’ll look for the highest bidder. It’s a business arrangement pure and simple. As long as that’s made clear, no reason marriage should interfere with my life.”

The man had a lot to learn.

“Carlisle’s turning over a new leaf,” he said noncommittally. “Who else?”

“The Ashleys. Lady Cora most definitely and her husband possibly.”

Marcus didn’t miss the edge to his wife’s tone. For some reason, she’d never liked the Countess of Ashley, in spite of the fact that
she
had been the one to lure Marcus away from the other—not that he’d needed much luring. One look at Penny had blinded him to other women. In the past, he’d secretly found his wife’s possessiveness amusing and not a little arousing, but now it struck an unpleasant chord in him.

What did
she
have to be jealous about? He’d never carried on in secret with Cora or with anyone. He’d kept his vows, been honest and fully disclosing for the whole of his marriage—unlike his wife who’d lied about her past, about her other men.

Just like that, peace fled him. His shoulders bunched, his blood pumping hotly.

“Papa! Over here!” Jamie’s voice penetrated his angry haze. His eldest son was waving at him, standing by the far edge of the park. “I think I’ve found a burrow of some sort. But I can’t be sure what kind of animal made it.”

Marcus drew a breath, glad for the interruption. “I’ll be right there, son,” he called. To Pandora, he said curtly, “I’ll go see what he’s found.”

“Of course.”

The hurt returned to her eyes, but he couldn’t do a damn about it. Better to walk away than to let loose what was roiling inside him. He strode toward Jamie, fuming that the worst thing she’d done wasn’t just betraying his trust. No, it was that she’d made him doubt
himself
.

He’d always been a man who’d known his own mind. Hell, he’d commanded an entire battalion, made snap decisions that had affected the lives of countless others, and never faltered. Never wavered. Since Pandora’s revelations, however, his thoughts had been like a teeter-totter, going back and forth with galling ambivalence. His mood could shift wildly from one moment to the next, so much so that he thought he might be going mad.

He barely knew himself, and he hated it.

Shaking off his dour thoughts, he approached Jamie. “Now where’s this burrow?”

“Right here, Papa.” Jamie pointed excitedly at a hole in the snow by the base of a tree. “I think it may be a rabbit or possum—”

“Get down from there right this instant, Owen!”

Penny’s urgent words made Marcus spin around. His heart rammed into his chest as he saw his youngest son balancing on the branch of an oak tree, some fifteen feet off the ground.

“But Mama I can walk just like Madame Magnifique,” the boy sang, taking a step on the icy ledge. “Look at me—”

His words ended in a shriek as he lost his balance, tumbling, his arms flailing.

Marcus was already racing over, but Penny got there first, her arms outstretched. Their son plowed into her, and she took his full weight, falling backward with a thud. Her head hit the icy ground with a heart-halting crack.

He reached them the next second. With practiced swiftness learned on the battlefield, he ascertained that Owen was stunned but unharmed. He lifted the boy off Penny and parked him at his side, barking, “Stay here and don’t move.”

Owen nodded, his lips trembling. “Is Mama…?”

Pulse pounding, Marcus tore off his gloves and gently examined his wife. Her eyes were closed, but there was no blood. Nothing broken as far as he could tell. Her pulse was weak but steady.

“Penny, love,” he said urgently. “Open your eyes.”

Nothing. His gut clenched.

Pounding footsteps marked the arrival of Jamie and Ethan.

“Is Mama all right?” they blurted as one.

“She’ll be fine.” Hoarsely, Marcus said, “Wake up, Penny. You don’t want the boys to worry, do you?”

An eternity seemed to pass before her lashes fluttered up, revealing dazed violet eyes.

Thank God. Thank bloody God.

“Owen…?” she whispered.

Marcus forced the words through the fierce constriction of his throat. “He’s fine. It’s you we have to worry about.” With utmost care, he lifted her into his arms. “All right?”

“I’m fine. Just the wind… knocked out of me,” she said, her voice breathless. “I can walk.”

His heart knocking against his chest, Marcus carried her to the house, their sons following behind.

Chapter Thirteen

“Are you certain I can’t get you anythin’ else, milady?” Jenny said as she cleared away the breakfast tray. “Another pillow, more blankets—”

“I’m perfectly fine,” Penny assured the ginger-haired maid. “There’s no need to fuss.”

“Well, you gave us a fright, you did, milady. All o’ us. Waitin’ for the doctor to finish with you last night, I ne’er saw the young masters so still and somber like. And ’is lordship nigh paced a trench in the drawing room.”

Warmth unfurled in Penny’s belly. “He was worried for me?”

“Beside ’imself, ’e was.” Jenny smiled, her eyes brightening. “The kind o’ worry that puts water ’neath the bridge, if you don’t mind my saying.”

Penny wasn’t surprised that Jenny had noticed the rift between her and Marcus. After all, the maid was used to walking in and finding Marcus in Penny’s bed. His absence and the tension between them outside the bedchamber must have caused speculation, and Penny wondered what the staff thought of the chill between master and mistress of the house.

“Is there much talk below stairs?” she asked.

Through the years, the maid’s loyalty had proved unwavering. Penny trusted the other not only to be discreet but to tell her the truth. Jenny was worth her weight in gold.

“Some, milady,” Jenny admitted, “but ev’ryone knows ’ow much the master dotes upon you, so most think it’s a tiff. The kind that’s part an’ parcel o’ any marriage. And like I said, ’is lordship’s wearing out the carpet with ’is worry over you as we speak. ’E wouldn’t do that if is ’eart weren’t true, would ’e now?”

Hope flickered in Penny. “Thank you, Jenny. And I don’t want the boys or my husband to worry, so please help me get dressed. The saffron wool, I think.”

“But milady you ought to rest some more—”

An imperious rap on the door cut the maid off.

Penny’s heart sped up. “Come in,” she called, a trifle breathlessly.

Marcus strode in. He was in his shirtsleeves, his stark navy waistcoat molding to his lean torso, charcoal grey trousers hugging his muscular legs. The concern in his gaze stopped her breath altogether and made heat prickle behind her eyes.

She’d feared that he would never look at her this way again.

“Milord.” Jenny dipped her knees. “I’ll, um, just go get your toilette ready, milady.” With a smile on her face, the maid scurried off and closed the door behind her.

The Ormulu clock ticked away on the mantel, Penny’s heart even louder in her ears.

Wrapping a large hand around a poster at the end of the bed, Marcus said, “How are you feeling this morning?”

“Much better. I’ve a bit of a bump on my head, but mostly the blow I took was to my pride.” She risked a smile. “I thought I could keep my balance.”

“You caught our son falling out of a tree. You’re lucky Owen didn’t flatten you like a pancake.”

“He has gotten bigger than I realized.” Seeing Marcus’ darkening expression, she added quickly, “It’s not Owen’s fault.”

“Not his fault?” Marcus’ scowl deepened. “The boy deserves a sound whipping for putting himself and you at risk.”

The very idea made her bolt upright against the pillows. From the instant she’d held her firstborn in her arms, she’d vowed that no child of hers would know suffering, not if she could help it. No babe of hers would ever feel unsafe or unwanted or unloved.
Spare the rod, spoil the child
be damned.

Luckily, for the most part, Marcus deferred to her wishes. He was a stern disciplinarian, but his habit was to lecture and punish by means other than corporal.

“Owen’s been punished enough. I’m sure he feels terribly about it,” she insisted. “He doesn’t need—”

“Devil and damn, woman, will you ever stop defending the little rogues?”

Marcus stalked to the side of the bed, staring down at her, his hands planted on his hips. Judging that he appeared more exasperated than angry, she decided to be honest. “No.”

Her husband scowled. “He’s losing his outdoor privileges for a month.”

That was fair. “All right,” she said softly.

“As for you…” He dragged a hand through his hair. “Damnit, Penny, don’t risk your neck like that again.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think. I just saw him falling,”­—she swallowed, flashing back to the panic, the utter horror of seeing Owen in danger—“and I reacted.”

Marcus said nothing. She couldn’t read his expression, didn’t know if she’d pushed her luck, made him angry again. He surprised her by sitting on the edge of the bed.

“We should talk,” he said.

Apprehension tickled her nape. “Yes?”

“The state of affairs between us. It can’t go on like this,” he said tersely.

Her stomach plunged. Had he come to a decision about their future? God, had he decided to divorce her after all—

“I can’t forgive the past,” he said in flat tones.

She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even manage a nod. Terror paralyzed her.

“Thus, I believe the only solution is to move forward. To put it behind us,” he went on. “For the sake of the children, we must turn over a new leaf and start afresh.”

Slowly, her brain caught up. Sensation pierced her—relief so intense it was akin to pain.

“Would you be willing, Pandora?”

“Yes, Marcus, oh yes,” she whispered.

“There are conditions,” he warned. “First, after today, I don’t want to hear about your past again. Knowing about your indiscretions,”—he bit the word out—“doesn’t put me in a good place. So if there’s anything else you’ve lied to me about, any other lovers, you’d best get it over with and tell me now. Because after today, I want to hear nothing of it.”

There
were
secrets she hadn’t revealed but not of the sort he was referring to. Not deceptions that she had to feel guilty about. She had the intuition that it was best to keep things simple.

“There’ve been no other indiscretions,” she said quietly.

He gave her a level look. “All right then.” He rose.

“That’s it?” She couldn’t keep the disappointment from her voice. “You’re going?”

“You should rest.”

“I feel fine. Trust me, I’ve taken far worse tumbles…” She trailed off, realizing what she’d inadvertently revealed. In her desire to keep Marcus with her awhile longer, she’d referred to her past. The past that he’d just stated that he wanted to know nothing about.

What in the blazes is the matter with me?

“There’s more to discuss,” she added lamely.

His brows winged, his arms crossing over his broad chest. “Is there?”

“About… us. Our arrangement.” She felt as if she were fumbling in the dark. “We haven’t talked about what it means to start afresh.”

“I believe we just did.”

“Yes, I mean I understand that my past is behind us. But what about the future?” Swallowing, she said, “How are we to… to be… as a married couple, I mean?”

His expression didn’t change. “You’re referring to bedroom matters.”

Blood rushed into her cheeks, but she whispered, “Yes.”

After a moment, he said, “I owe you an apology.”

“For what?” she said, confused.

“For the way I treated you in the bathing room.”

Her cheeks heated further. Wetting her lips, she said, “That was my fault. I shouldn’t have pushed you.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.” He raked his hair again and then his hands planted on his lean hips. “But I shouldn’t have left you as I did. I let anger get the best of me and treated you badly. It was wrong of me, and I apologize, Pandora.”

“Apology accepted.” Seeing his eyes soften, she blurted, “And it wasn’t, um, bad. Only the way we parted. Before that, it was… wonderful.”

His gaze went from warm to smoldering. “Goddamnit, Pandora.”

“I know I’ve bungled things up, but since we’re starting anew, I want to be a wife to you,” she forged on. “I want to share a bed with you, be with you, because I lo—”

He placed a finger across her lips, stemming the tide of her words.

“Don’t,” he said sternly.