The Reluctant Marquess (15 page)

She bit back a sob.

He had approved of her choice of gowns, he’d said so on the way back from Bath. He had been generous to a fault. She had never had to ask for money or trinkets, or beg him to take her anywhere she wanted to go. And he was often tired from running his affairs, but never complained. He had never complained about her behavior in society, either, although she had erred badly on more than one occasion.

Yet he hadn’t loved her.

She had been prepared to turn herself inside out to please him, but if he wanted a tall, fair and slender beauty like Lady Arabella and Mrs Marchant, she could never be that. She was short and rounded, and her hair closer to brown than fair. She clenched her fists. It was impossible!

Another thought crept in. Had she expected Robert to be like her father? Father had been an orator, keen to express his feelings. Robert was a man of few words, and did it really matter? Didn’t actions speak louder than words?

Might she have been entirely unreasonable to wish for a husband to act like a romantic knight? The picture of Robert standing beneath her window singing love songs brought a laugh to her lips. He had fought for her honor, and she had not appreciated it at the time.

And now she did.

That night, Charity slept deeply, but woke unrefreshed. She had dreamed that Robert came to take her in his arms.

It weighed heavily on her heart to find herself alone. She wandered the shore accompanied by Felix, adding a few pieces of driftwood to her collection and wondering where life would lead her. Did an unbearably lonely future await her? Surely Robert would not leave things this way. He would come to some decision and need to discuss it with her. This thought only served to make her more nervous. She knew little about legal matters but it seemed that divorce would be extremely difficult, and they could not say the marriage had not been consummated.

Returning to her chamber, she began fashioning a carved piece again. It helped to distract her for a little while.

Another lonely night passed. Would her sad heart ever accept the inevitable?

In the hired carriage, Robert rested a boot on the seat and gazed out at the passing countryside. It was not as well sprung as the St Malin coach, and the horses were sluggish. It was no good trying to hurry things along. He must be patient, but patience was not something he found prevalent in his nature.

And even his newly found maturity — his lips thinned at Charlesworth’s sly use of the word immaturity to explain his behavior — didn’t seem to supply it. He had spent two nights on the road staying at the same inns as he and Charity had after their wedding. He remembered how they’d slept in separate rooms– what a fool he was. How much time wasted! He cursed, having to admit that Charlesworth was right. He’d been an immature fool and had to learn his lessons. He only hoped the punishment would not be too severe, and the sweet girl would forgive him. Would she look at him with her soft eyes full of love ever again? When both innkeepers informed him that she had stayed in their inns on her journey south, he felt profound relief. He prayed she’d arrived safely.

In the fading light, the coach entered the shadowy Cardinham Woods, where the trees grew close together.

Moments later, the crack of a pistol shot sounded. The coachman cried out, and the horses skidded to a jerky halt.

“I’ll have that trunk. Toss it down,” he heard a rough voice say. “You in the coach, come out!”

Heart racing, Robert seized the pistol he’d brought with him. He threw open the door. Two highwaymen on horseback blocked the road, their hats pulled down and handkerchiefs masking the lower part of their faces. One of them had his gun aimed at the coachman and his groom on the box.

The other looked at him with interest. “You’d best drop that pistol,” he said. His horse sidled closer. “I’ll have anything of value on your person.” He cocked his gun. “Make it fast; I can retrieve them quite easily once you’re all dead.”

As the man leveled his gun at him, Robert dived and rolled.

One of the men fired, but the shot missed him, biting into the ground near his foot. He came up in a crouch and fired.

The leader crumpled to the ground. His horse whinnied and galloped off into the woods. The other man let out a string of curses when he saw his companion lay dead. With no time to reload and his back against the wheel, Robert sucked in a breath and could only watch as the ruffian took aim at him and fired.

The hot lead entered his shoulder, burning like fire. Robert was vaguely aware of the man riding off. He groaned. Would he live to tell Charity he loved her?

Gifford, his groom, knelt at his side. “My lord, are you …?” His voice faded as blackness descended.

After another long night, Charity sat in front of the mirror and gazed at her reflection as Rebecca brushed her hair. The fresh air had tinged her cheeks with color, but her eyes looked flat and dull with shadows beneath them. “I think I’ll go for a ride today, Rebecca. Get out my habit, will you? And then tell James to have my mare saddled.”

It had rained in the night, and the sunshine was brilliant on the wet hedgerows. Charity rode her horse over the estate lands, breathing the newly washed smell in the sweet air. They clattered across the bridge and cantered through the slanting shadows in the meadow. Pulling back on the reins, she found herself at the oak tree and realized she’d re-traced their steps to the spot where Robert had asked for her hand. She chewed her bottom lip. Only after she’d requested he ask her properly.

He had not wanted to marry her. She dismounted and leaned against the rough bark of the gnarled old oak tree remembering his first kiss with a painful longing. A thrush sang in the branches above. She paused to listen, but for once, it did little to improve her mood, and she mounted again, riding through the lanes to the village. The villagers curtseyed and hailed her as she rode along the narrow cobbled lanes to the harbour front.

A cloud of screaming gulls followed the fishing boats out on the water. A lone fisherman on the wharf raised his hand in greeting.

Warmed a little by their friendly faces, she began to consider that she could make a home for herself here. After a certain interlude, she expected she would grow impervious to Robert’s charms. He might visit to secure his heir, and she would receive him coolly and wave him goodbye when he left. She gasped and shivered at the thought. Who was she fooling? Certainly not herself.

Leaving the village and the harbour behind, she cantered over the fields, fighting the numb hollowness in her heart. Might there be a role for her here? It was surely her duty to become involved in the lives of the tenants and the village affairs. She resolutely ignored how lonely that sounded and entered the castle grounds, where the groom stepped forward to take the reins.

She had just entered the house with the intention of changing into a house gown when a vehicle clattered into the castle forecourt. She ran to the drawing room window to see a dusty black coach pull up outside. She recognized Gifford, the groom from St Malin House, sitting beside the coachman.

Robert!

She paced around. She wasn’t ready to face him! But when would she ever be? Heart thumping, she went out the door to greet him. Would he still be angry with her? What would she do if he’d come to claim her as his possession? She knew she would not resist him again. Living on his terms was better than being alone.

There was a commotion as the groom leapt off the box and rushed to open the carriage door. “Highwaymen held us up outside Bodmin, my lady, in the Cardinham Woods,” Gifford called to her as she approached. “’Is lordship picked off one of them. But the other one shot ’im and got away.”

Inside the carriage, Robert lay back against the squabs.

Charity gasped. Blood spread across his chest and dripped from the fingers of his flung out arm, pooling on the carriage floor.

“Robert?” Her voice sounded high pitched and strange to her ears. She peered into his white face and gently shook his shoulder. He didn’t stir.

“Have him carried inside, quickly,” she said to James. She swung round to address the groom just returning from stabling her horse. “Ride for the surgeon. Take my lord’s horse. It’s faster.”

“Don’t come back without him.”

The groom ran back to the stables. Two servants carried Robert’s limp form into the house. To see her strong husband struck down made Charity’s knees shake.

“Take him to his chamber. Send up a warming pan and light the fire.” Charity picked up her skirts and hurried after them towards the stairs. Her pulse beat a tattoo in her throat. He would not die. He could not. She would never allow it.

Chapter Twelve

With a wildly beating heart, Charity assisted the doctor to remove the ball from Robert’s shoulder. She held Robert’s arm still as the forceps plunged deeply into the wound.

When it clattered into the bowl, she let out a sigh of relief.

“Will he …be all right now?”

“He’s in a bad way.” The doctor bandaged the shoulder. “We shall have to see.”

Three days passed as Robert tossed and turned, muttering, but never fully waking. Charity remained by his side, covering him when he threw off his blankets. Exhausted, she curled up for cat naps at the foot of his bed on an uncomfortable chaise longue, heavily adorned with swags and fringes. During the lonely daylight hours, she paced the room or hovered by him, listening to the incoherent words he uttered. She woke from snatching a few hours’ sleep, thinking he’d called her name and rushed to the bed, but he said nothing more. As night fell, she stood at the window and watched the sunset turn the water aflame. Yet another day passed as she thought over the past months, feeling the pain of her failings and wishing she’d handled things better.

Sometimes one doesn’t get a second chance to put things right. The thought made her fearful.

On the fifth day, as she dozed in the sunny warmth from the open window, a knock on the door brought her to her feet.

James entered. “The local constable is downstairs and wishes to have a word, Lady St Malin.”

Wondering what he might tell her, Charity tidied herself and went down to greet him.

The constable had been shown into the library. She found a solidly built man sporting a wiry brown beard waiting with his hat in his hands. He bent his head low in a semblance of a bow.

“John Hawkshorne, Lady St Malin.”

“You have news for me, Mr Hawkshorne?”

“Yes, my lady. I wished to advise that the highwayman who shot his lordship has been apprehended.”

“Well, that’s good news. May I offer you a libation?”

“No, thank ye, my lady.”

“Please sit and tell me what happened.”

Mr Hawkshorne eyed an oyster velvet chair and then shook his head. “I wanted to tell ye, is all, my lady. I’ll be going along now.”

She followed him to the door. “I gather that the man has been imprisoned?”

His eyes widened. “No, my lady. It’s dead, he is. We shot him when he tried to escape.”

“Oh. Well, thank you for coming to tell me.”

He gave a broad smile, displaying tobacco stained teeth.

“You’re very welcome, my lady.”

Charity returned to Robert’s chamber, a little dismayed to find she wasn’t above enjoying the fact that justice had been served. The man who had struck her husband down was dead and she was relieved that he couldn’t strike at some other unfortunate traveler.

On the morning of the fourth day, the doctor shook his head and tut-tutted. “I think it wise to bleed him.”

Charity cried in dismay. “No! Surely he’s lost too much blood already!” Dr. Ingot’s brows rose, and he stroked his large nose with a finger.

Charity recoiled in horror at his dirty nails. “Very well, we’ll leave it for now.

The bullet doesn’t appear to have damaged any vital part. We can only hope the infection leaves him.”

Charity crossed her arms. “We must make sure it does.”

He sniffed, taking umbrage at her criticism. “There’s nothing more I can do. It’s up to him now. Let’s hope his lordship wants to live.”

Infuriated with the doctor’s callous response, Charity took to caring for Robert herself. She sent James to the village herbalist for calendula cream, which she knew had healing properties and white willow bark to help with pain. She bathed Robert’s face and hands with lavender water. She kept an eye on the wound when his bandages were changed, watching for signs that infection worsened, while trying to soothe him and keep him still. At his every toss, her heart stopped, afraid he would reopen his wound.

By the end of the week, his restlessness eased, and he slept deeply. She watched him anxiously, her eyes gritty with tiredness. Was that a sign he was getting better? Or worse?

Charity woke at dawn and rose quickly from her makeshift bed on the chaise. Days had passed, and she had no idea how many. She stretched her aching back and went to pick up Robert’s wrist to check his pulse as she always did. She sighed with relief. It felt steady and strong.

Fingers curled around hers, making her gasp. She hesitated, afraid to look up, and then as hope filled her, did so. Blue eyes studied her. “How long have you been sleeping there?”

Relief made her knees weak. She placed her free hand on his brow, finding it pleasantly warm. Thank heaven. “Normal.” She gave a long shuddering sigh, and perched on the edge of his bed, smiling into the face she loved. His eyes were bloodshot. Well, she was sure that hers were too. In fact, she must look a fright.

She put a hand to her hair and fiddled with her collar.

“You look perfectly lovely, if a little tired,” he said croakily.

He frowned. “My fault, I fear.” He gave her hand a shake. “I asked you a question. How long have you been sleeping on that chaise?”

“Since you came here.”

“And how long is that?”

“I don’t know, some days.” Her lips trembled, and tears blurred her vision. She hadn’t cried since they’d brought him here. She’d been too intensely devoted to making him well. And she’d been afraid to, for crying seemed so final, as if it would seal his fate.

His lip curved in a smile. “I can see I’ll have to ask someone else.” She sniffed, wiped her eyes and laughed as she straightened his bed covers. “Are you hungry? I’ll ring for food.”

“In a minute. I want to talk to you.”

“Let me get you some brandy first.”

She rose and went to the bureau to add brandy to a little water. She returned and slipped an arm around his shoulders to help him drink it.

He drank half a glass and sank back down again gratefully. “Thank you.”

She leaned forward, her eyes taking in every loved feature, his teeth white beneath cracked, dry lips, his angular jaw badly in need of a razor, his dark hair in a tangle on the pillow.

“We can talk later. You must eat.” She stood to pull the bell sash.

“No. Do as I say, wife.” He coughed. “Sit down. I have something to say.” A muscle tightened in his jaw.

Was he about to tell her they would part? She obeyed him, sitting back down, afraid of what he might say. To delay hearing the words, she smoothed his sheets. “I must get these changed when we can move you.”

“Will you let me speak, Charity?”

Charity swallowed. “But I can tidy you and make you more comfortable, while I listen, can I not?” It would be better if she could hide her face from him. He must never know how much she cared.

He sank back on the pillows, closing his eyes, a wry smile hovering on his lips. “You seem intent on fussing about, so please do.”

“I’ll just send for more hot water.”

When the servant came to her summons, she requested the hot water and a tray of food. “Tell Cook something light. He’ll know best.”

Charity picked up his hair brush from the dresser and returned to the bed. She began to brush his hair, smoothing it away from his brow.

He closed his eyes. “Mm, that feels good.”

“You have very nice hair,” she said to distract him.

He grabbed her hand and kissed her wrist. “So do you. I like it hanging down your back and over your shoulders. Naked shoulders …”

Charity’s pulse raced and hope filled her heart, but she hid her delight and shook her head. “I don’t intend to encourage this conversation. It’s not good for you.” There was a knock at the door. “And here’s the water.”

Dipping a cloth in the lavender scented warm water, she proceeded to wash his face, gently dampening his dry lips. Lips she badly wanted to kiss. He lay there meek and uncomplaining under her ministrations. After patting his face dry with a fresh towel, she continued to wash his throat down to the vee in his nightshirt, skirting the bandage at his shoulder. Her hand lingered on his chest, smoothing the dark hairs there before she dried it.

“That feels nice.” He gave the glimmer of a smile. “Do you intend to wash every inch of me?”

Charity tamped down a rush of yearning and raised a brow, looking as stern as she could. “I don’t like that gleam in your eye. I believe I’ll send for a male servant to do it.”

His brows snapped together, and the old Robert appeared.

She didn’t know if she was glad or sorry. “Not bloody likely.”

“Very well,” she said mildly, not at all sure she could keep herself in check.

She pulled up his nightshirt and began to wash his chest and the ribs of hard muscle over his stomach. She had not seen his naked body clearly in daylight and caught her breath at how athletic and strong he was. She lost her nerve and skirted the male part of him. Ignoring his faint protest, she stroked the cloth over each long, muscled leg and gave far more attention to his feet.

“Unfair!” he said with a lazy smile, as she dried him.

She swiped a loose lock of hair from her forehead with her forearm. “You’ll do for now.”

A gleam brightened his eyes. “You promise to be more thorough tomorrow?”

Charity rubbed her neck muscles as they loosened with relief. He had forgiven her. “We shall see how you are tomorrow, my lord.” She briskly straightened the bedclothes. “Now if you can sit up a little, you must eat.”

She smoothed his bedding and arranged his pillows as he eased himself up painfully. “Charity, I came to Cornwall to tell you I was sorry. Sorry for everything.”

She caught her breath. “So am I. So very sorry, Robert.”

He shook his head, those vivid blue eyes gazing earnestly into hers. “You have nothing to apologize for. Before I embarked on this cursed trip, I went to see my mother. I made my peace with her.” His voice rasped with emotion. “Your wise words, my love, made me realize I was no longer that hurt boy. It was quite amazing how light-hearted I felt after I’d straightened things out between us.” He sounded boyish, and it made her smile.

“Oh, I wish I’d been there,” she said, thrilled. “I do so like them all.”

“They’re not so bad. Well, all except Charlesworth. Pompous boor.”

She laughed and didn’t remind him she’d accused him of being pompous more than once. She shook her finger at him. “We shall see them all when they come to visit.”

“All right,” he said sheepishly. “Charlesworth does appear to care for my mother.” His eyes took on a sleepy, intense look, which sent her pulse racing. “You can make me feel a lot better with a kiss.”

She leaned over the bed to press her lips to his, feeling warmth and contentment replace the tension and icy fear she’d suffered. This was what she had always wanted, and where she was meant to be. His left arm grasped her waist and drew her against him on the bed. She tried to pull away, but he was surprisingly strong. “My lord!”

A knock sounded at the door.

“Blast and confound it!” Robert reluctantly released her. The servant placed a plate of food on a table.

Charity checked the bandage with a tiny smile. “Most timely! We wouldn’t want you re-opening that wound.”

“Sorry for the profanities, my love,” Robert said after the servant departed the room. She tucked a napkin under his chin.

He grinned. “What do we have to eat?”

“It’s a Cornish pasty.” Charity cut the savory up into small pieces. “I asked Cook to make them after the servants told me how tasty they are.

The men working in the tin mines take them for their lunch. The filling is made of potatoes, meat and turnips.”

Robert dug his fork into the meat.

At the end of the second week, Robert insisted he get up. After the doctor sanctioned it, he dressed and walked with Charity through the gardens. The cool breeze off the ocean ruffled the leaves of the trees which had turned glorious shades of crimson, gold, and russet since she’d arrived here.

He stopped to rest, a hand on her shoulder and glanced about. “It is very nice here, I must say.”

“I hope you’re not going to demand we return to London soon.” Charity gazed up at him. “I’d like to stay until you’re completely well.”

He raised a brow. “You’d like to stay even after I’m well, wouldn’t you?”

“Not if you don’t, but I do love it here. I’d like to see the other properties too. Sometime in the future when you’ve fully recovered.”

“And you shall. I will have to see to business there before the year is out. There’s a hunting box in Leicestershire, a pretty house in Hertfordshire built of grey stone, and I haven’t seen the villa in Italy, but I believe it has wonderful gardens and a fine view. I’ll enjoy taking you. We never had a honeymoon.”

“I would like that.”

He looked at her, amused. “Yes, you wanted to live in Italy, didn’t you?”

She screwed up her nose. “Only to annoy you. You were so insufferable.”

He widened his eyes. “Was I?” His gaze grew solemn, but she detected a glimmer of humor there. “I suppose I was.”

“You’re here, and that’s all that matters,” she said, deciding not to pursue it. There was love in his eyes at last. It made her feel warm and cherished and she no longer wished for them to examine things too closely. It seemed better to put the past behind them and start afresh.

He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her close, placing his cheek against her hair. “I want to make love to you, sweetheart.”

“I want that, too,” she murmured against his chest. “But are you strong enough?”

He cast her a hot glance. “Would you like me to carry you back to our chamber to prove it?”

The raw lust in his eyes thrilled her, her desire fighting against the worry that he might damage himself. “Please don’t do anything to set back your recovery. I couldn’t bear it.”

His gaze dropped to her mouth. “I’ll be gentle.”

The memory of his gentle lovemaking reassured her. “I know you will.”

Robert held her hand and led her back to the house. At the door he said, “We don’t wish to be disturbed, James.”

James managed a poker face as he bowed.

Charity’s cheeks grew hot with embarrassment. Did he have to say such a thing? In broad daylight? How scandalous! She followed Robert up the staircase, their hands still linked. Just the promise in his hot blue glance sent shivers racing through her body. By the time they reached the chamber, her breath had shortened and her nether regions clenched with nervous desire.