To Protect and to Cherish (17 page)

“You will feel wonderful once Erin finishes her magic,” Jillian nodded at the maid who began massaging Amy’s neck and shoulders.

Jillian sat near the head of the bed, “I told you.”

Amy’s answer was muffled, but it was clear she was enjoying the treatment.

“When I was a child, I was never sore like I am now. I imagine it is the few extra pounds and the lack of regular exercise that does it.”

“Have you gotten a chance to ride that new black?” Amy lifted her head slightly to ask the question.

Jillian snickered in a manner most unbecoming her station.

Amy looked at her expectantly.

Jillian sighed and began the st
ory, “I tried to ride him. Slade wanted me to wait for him, but I decided I couldn’t wait any longer.

“
I had Peter saddle him, and then I led him around a while. Since he seemed to be pretty calm, I decided to climb on.”

“When was this
?” Amy spoke with her face in the pillow.

“Oh, it was a few months ago. Shortly after the harvest was complete, I believe.”

“So what happened?”

“At first he wouldn’t move at all,” Jillian shuddered at the memory. “Then he took off running through the west field. I pulled back, but it was like he didn’t have
a bit in his mouth at all. He just kept charging on like he was racing toward a finish line.”

“How did you get him to stop?”

“I guess he got tired. He stopped pretty suddenly.”

“I bet that was a relief.”

“It was until he started up again.”

“Did you fall off?”

“Yes. And then he landed on top of me.”

Amy laughed, but Jillian was not offended.

“The biggest insult was that he just lay there on top of me like it was the most natural thing in the world. Finally, I had to push the sweating beast off of me.”

Amy was laughing so hard she was shaking.

“I am glad you have your amusement for the day, but it was rather painful at the time.”

“So sorry,” Amy’s tone told Jillian she wasn’t really.

“I’ll have you know he is very heavy,” Jillian tried to keep a straight face.

“I imagine so.
He is quite large, after all,” Amy leaned on her elbow, “And did you tell Slade?”

Jillian bit her lip, “No.”

“Did he not wonder about it?”

“He would be upset.”

“Perhaps,” Amy didn’t look like she approved of Jillian keeping this from Slade.

Jillian pointed to the pillow to indicate Amy should lie back down, “
I may tell him eventually, but at this time, I think it would do more harm than good.”

She sat back and picked up a book to keep from distracting Amy any further.

She would not have been so easy if she had known her husband was sitting by the door dividing their chambers, a scowl on his face. Doing still more damage, was the fact that he had been able to make out only a portion of his wife’s words.

He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. He had been in his room searching for the book he had been reading. When he heard her speaking, he thought to discover why she was in her room.
With the exception of dressing, she had scarcely used it since their trip to the shore.

When he heard her mention the timing of their first act of intimacy, he
stopped and listened with more purpose.

Surely she was not discussing that with her maid – or anyone else. He shook his head, but pieces of the conversation floated through to him.

Got tired. . .stopped suddenly.

Collapsed on top of me.

Slade could not believe what he was hearing. Could there be anything else she was speaking of. Jillian would never allow another man to touch her, so she must be speaking of him.

The biggest insult was that he just lay there on top of me like it was the most natural thing in the world. Finally, I had to pus
h the sweating beast off of me.

At the sound of a familiar laugh, Slade turned from the doorway and sat heavily on the nearest chair.

She thinks me a great beast. No
, he berated himself,
a great sweating beast.

Slade wasn’t sure which was more humiliating to him, that Jillian felt that way about his touches or that she was mocking him – with his sister, no less.

Slade’s stomach clenched and roiled. He was certain it would soon return his morning meal.

He rose abruptly from his chair, tipping it over.

He swore under his breath.

“Slade?” he heard her voice calling from her chamber.

He cast about looking for something to do, then realized he still had the book in his hand.

She appeared in the doorway, “Are you alright? I heard a loud noise.”

He couldn’t look at her. He held up the book, “Lord Rivers would like to borrow this.”

She pursued him even as he backed away, “Slade?”

He knew she would read in his eyes the emotions that ripped through him, “I had better get back to him,” he frowned, “and you need to see to your own guest.”

She reached for his sleeve and held tight, “It is your sister. She will not be offended if I neglect her momentarily.”

He did not answer.

She did not relent but grabbed his other sleeve in her fist.

“You are angry, Lord Ashley,” she reproached him in a soft tone.

Her astute comment finally brought his eyes to hers.

She stepped back and dropped her hands from him, apparently shocked at the depth of emotion she saw.

He did not stop to discuss the matter further, but
turned smartly on his heel and left the room.

Jillian blinked. This was not like her husband at all. He was gentlemanly and kind. She realized she must have done something to upset him but could not think what it was. She had not even seen him since he left the house before daybreak.

She moved slowly back to her own room where Erin was helping Amy to redress.

“Is everything alright, Jillian?” Amy must have seen her face.

Jillian managed a tight smile, “I am sure it will be. I think I just need to speak to Slade about something.”

Amy raised her eyebrows, “Was not that just Slade?”

“Yes,” Jillian sat in the armchair, watching the fire, “but I think I did not understand something.”

Amy laughed softly, “It will be best, then, to clear it up as soon as possible. In fact, I think you should do that rather than go riding with me now.”

Jillian’s smile returned in earnest, “I think it had best wait, Amy. He is in a meeting with Lord Rivers anyway and cannot presently be disturbed.”

CHAPTER
12

Lord Ashley’s
good humor had not returned by dinner. Jillian thought it best not to hint at the matter when there were servants around, so she planned to discuss it when they retired for the night.

It was disappointing, then, that he did not come to bed before she fell asleep.

The next morning did not bring any relief from the tension because he was up before her and gone from the house by the time she awoke.

Jillian knew she was not imagining that he was avoiding her.

He sent word with Mr. Tellem that he would be riding into town and she should not wait to dine.

Jillian was unable to eat much of her own meal. She went to her room and dressed for be
d, wondering if she should even bother going to her husband’s bed chamber. If he saw her there, he would likely leave.

She paced in her own chambers, waiting for him to return. For three hours she dared not sit and read lest she fall asleep and miss him.

Finally, she heard him stirring. She checked her appearance, straightening her new nightgown and arranging her hair neatly over her shoulder.

“Slade,” she passed through the doorway as she spoke.

He was sitting in his chair, pulling off his boots. He glanced up, his eyes – ignoring his command to look away – casting over her form.

“What do you need, Jillian?” he knew his tone was harsh, but he dared not soften.

He could see she was injured, but she did not back out of the room.

“I a
m here as I have been here for the past few months,” she seated herself gracefully on the edge of the opposite chair. “I came with the knowledge that you are unhappy with me, but if you tell me what I have done wrong, I can apologize.”

“It is late Jillian,” he
pulled angrily at his cravat. “Go to bed.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, “
Go
to bed? You are sending me away, Lord Ashley?”

He rose swiftly and turned away from her. He knew well enough that he could not look at her and still refuse her.

She rose as well and came to stand behind him, “If I have injured you, I beg you would tell me. Any wound left to fester will only become worse with time.”

Slade knew this a
s well, “I heard . . .” he stopped and tried to find a way to tell her what he overheard.

He began
again, “Did you truly think. . ?” his tongue failed him again.

H
e was still facing away from her. He wasn’t sure he could continue with the explanation. The humiliation of experiencing it was bad enough, but to tell her what he heard her say would be torture.

She lay a hand on his upper arm, “Slade, please.”

He sighed and was about to try again, but she rested her head between his shoulder blades in the same manner as the first night she came to him.

The memory of that evening along with his knowledge of her perception of it flooded his being. It was too much.

“Please,” he knew he sounded desperate, but he hadn’t much strength left in him, “please just go.”

             
“Slade,” she lifted her head and pressed her hands against his back, “I am going to leave, but I need to know how I have injured you.”

             
He hung his head, ashamed he could not tell her, but too embarrassed and wounded to try.

The following morning she was in the sitting room when he left his room.

“It is early, Jillian,” he didn’t look at her. “Why are you up already?”

She rose, “I am up still, Slade. I was unable to sleep.”

He had scarcely slept himself. He had tossed throughout most of the night before finally giving in and rising.

“Will you tell me now?” she stepped to him.

His breath caught at the scent of her.

She noticed. He could tell she noticed because her expression changed from wary to hopeful.

Slade attempted to formulate the proper words, but nothing came. Was he supposed to ask her if his advances had all been truly repulsive or just the first? Should he just pretend nothing happened and resume their physical intimacy for the sake of an heir?

He chose the path of least resistance by turning on his heel and leaving the room.

It was pointless to run from Jillian. He knew he would not escape. The smell of her lingered in his room; the memory of her touch was impressed on his skin.

He also recognized that she was tenacious.

After another long day visiting tenants and rerouting the trench plans, things he only did to remain out of the house, she was waiting for him in his room.

“Jillian,” he had begun to strip his coat from his torso, but stopped once he saw her sitting on his bed.

“Slade,” she didn’t rise, “are you ready to talk to me?”

Her tone told him she was now angry. She had passed concerned or apologetic sometime in the last sixteen hours.

“Why are you in here?” he sat down and began pulling his boots from his feet.

Now she did rise, “Are you done with me then? You have had all you want and you wish I would simply disappear?”

He hated the pain in her voice.

“Perhaps you realize what a great error you have made in marrying me.”

A lump grew in his chest. Was she speaking for him or for herself? He still did not look at her.

“Is it because I am not yet expecting an heir?” the sentence started out as accusatory as the rest, but her voice caught at the end.

Slade looked up. She had tears trailing down her cheeks. He had done this. He had made her believe he didn’t want her for herself. That she was only valuable as a brood mare for his offspring.

He almost extended a hand to her.

“I didn’t force you into this marriage, Slade,” she stopped him. “You could have sent me away to some far-away place. You certainly have the means to do so.”

Then her conversation with Amy came crashing back to him. She did not want him any more than
she thought he wanted her. She did not desire his touch. It was simply the means to an end – an undesirable means.