At her gasp, he added quickly, “I meant to say that I will free you so that you can put on your nightgown. I won’t leap on you, Susannah.”
18
SHE TURNED HER BACK TO HIM. HE STARED DOWN AT ALL that white flesh, trembling slightly when his fingers touched her. He unfastened the remainder of the buttons, then helped her free her arms. She was able then to pull the gown over her breasts. Too bad.
“You know, Susannah, you gave me fifty years.”
“No, I never agreed to any length of time, did I? Actually I really don’t remember what we agreed to. Was it an heir?”
“The heir’s a beginning. That could take ten years.”
“How could that be true? I became pregnant with Marianne almost immediately.” She turned to face him, her face no longer hectic with color, more calm now that her gown covered her. She was more certain of herself.
“Well, there is absolutely no way I will have you pregnant every year, Susannah. I don’t want my wife to become ill or worn out from too many childbirths. I don’t want you old by the time you’re thirty. That happens far too often. It will not happen to you. No, when you become pregnant it will be when it is appropriate. I am not a pig, nor am I going to put your health at risk with too many pregnancies.”
“But you said you wanted a dozen children.”
He smiled at her, lightly touched his fingertips to the tip of her nose. “We will see.”
“Then you’re thinking you will just keep me around without using me?”
“What a very strange thing to say. I will keep you around because I want you to be around. I hope that soon you will want me around you as well. By ‘using’ you, you mean having sex with you? Of course that’s what you mean. But you and I will make love until we’re exhausted and sweaty and grinning like fools at each other. There are ways to prevent conception, Susannah, and I will use them.
“We will see about children. Both of us will discuss what we want. But I will not have you pregnant every year.”
“My mother died in childbirth. It was a little girl. She died as well.”
“You won’t die. I won’t allow it. Now, you have done quite well. I will leave you so that you can change into your nightgown. When you are ready, you will come to me.”
“I don’t know if I want to, Rohan.”
“I won’t force you. I’ve told you that. I would be pleased if you would bring yourself to believe me. No, what I’m saying is that since you’re my wife, you will sleep beside me until we both cock up our toes and pass to the hereafter.”
She was quiet a moment, staring down at her slippers. Then her head whipped up and she nearly yelled at him, “You’re being nice to draw me in! You want me to let down my guard. When I’m asleep you will do whatever you want and I won’t be able to stop you.”
He realized he was pulsing with anger at her, proper raging anger, for the very first time. He wanted to shake her until she begged his forgiveness, but he didn’t. He remained standing where he was, his hands relaxed at his sides. Then he merely shrugged, turned on his heel, and went back into his own bedchamber. He said calmly over his shoulder, not looking at her, “I will expect you in ten minutes, no longer.”
He waited exactly ten minutes. There was no sign of Susannah. Truth be told, he had expected her to come to him. He was surprised. He had expected that level of obedience from her, because she was a woman of her word. But she hadn’t given her word, had she? Well, no. However, she had promised to obey him. Maybe she hadn’t heard Mr. Byam dictate that in the ceremony.
Yes, he’d believed she would slither through the adjoining door at exactly the ten-minute mark, her head down, afraid of him, her breath shallow, so wary that she would jump if he even snapped his fingers.
But she hadn’t come.
She’d surprised him. He had to grin at that. No woman had surprised him in a very long time. The question was: Now what was he to do?
There wasn’t really a choice. He walked through her door and saw that the room was plunged into darkness.
“Susannah?”
No answer.
He walked to the bed. It was empty.
He was flummoxed. It was his wedding night. He had decided not to try to make love to his wife. He’d been more than reasonable about the whole thing. He’d taken her a bit of the way, and he knew that she’d been surprised at some of the things he’d done. Surprised and pleased. But then he’d moaned—made the sound of a man deeply in the throes of lust, a man who just might be on the edge of being crazed and out of control. Didn’t she know he never lost control? Who the hell cared about a moan? He had given her her way. He had left her. Surely she hadn’t expected him to attack her when she came to him, had she? Evidently so. Perhaps he hadn’t been clear with her. But it didn’t matter—she should have understood, should have trusted him.
Curse it. It had been that moan of his that had sent her scurrying for safety.
He’d given her ten minutes to compose herself. And she’d had the absolute gall to disappear.
He was furious.
This would have been unacceptable in a wife. In a bride of only one day it was a stunning rejection.
“Susannah? Where are you? Perhaps you are behind the wainscoting, and you’ve painted yourself as brown as the boards?”
No answer. Curse her. Strangling her was becoming a pleasant expectation.
He was not going to search through Mountvale House to find his bride. A man had to have some dignity. He had to nurture and maintain his pride. Pride was an excellent friend in situations like this. Surely that was true, since there was not much else.
He went back to his own bedchamber, slamming the adjoining door behind him. That felt good. He rather hoped she would take a chill wherever she was hiding. He didn’t care. He shrugged off his dressing gown and climbed into bed.
The sheets were cold, but not for long. His anger warmed them up very quickly. She was a dolt. He would decide in the morning how he would deal with her.
He turned on his side and began to count cats. Ozzy Harker had taught him to count cats when he’d been only a young boy. Ozzy had claimed that sheep were the very devil to count, they were all so fluffy, all the same color, thus all fading into each other, all of them baaing in exactly the same tone. Could he imagine sheep racing? No, certainly not. Silly bleaters would just stand around looking stupid.
Now, cats, that was quite different. There were tabbies and brindles and calico cats. So many sorts of cats. Some of the dear little buggers were blacker than a sinner’s pleasures—no reference to Rohan’s father, naturally—nor was Rohan to forget the glorious long-haired white cats that wouldn’t race even if the Regent offered to take his clothes off for them. On the other hand, who would move a single toe for such a treat as that? And then . . .
Rohan counted five more cats—tabbies all—then fell asleep, but his dreams weren’t pleasant.
Susannah was on her knees, her bottom in the air, that bottom facing him, playing with her new racing kitten. Ozzy Harker was sitting on the floor opposite her, telling her, “Ye may name the littil bite, milady.”
The kitten in question didn’t look like an enthusiastic racer. He or she was lying in Susannah’s cupped hands, sound asleep. Slowly, careful not to disturb the kitten, Susannah rose, turned—and nearly dropped the animal.
“Rohan,” she said, her voice blanker than a schoolboy’s tablet. “Oh, goodness, it’s you, isn’t it?”
“I believe that is true. Good morning, Susannah, Ozzy. This is our new future champion?”
“Aye, milord. Ain’t he a beaut? Come on, ye littil divil, wake up, and show ’is lordship wot yer made of.” A big rough finger scratched beneath the kitten’s chin. The kitten opened its eyes and stretched, sending its arms and legs flopping off Susannah’s palms.
She laughed and raised the kitten to her face. “You’re a darling.” She kissed the kitten, rubbing her cheek against his soft black fur.
Rohan rather wished she would
do that to him.
“What’s his name, Susannah?”
“I haven’t decided yet. Do you have any suggestions, Ro-han? Ozzy tells me that as a boy you spent a good amount of time with the cats. That you would have made a very good racing master, if only you weren’t the heir and thus had to follow in your father’s and mother’s footsteps.”
“Well, I did spend a bit of time with the racing cats. As for this little fellow—” Rohan lightly stroked his fingertip over the kitten’s white belly. There was a bit of gray mixed with the black on his back. “How about Gillyflower?”
“Goodness, that is so romantic.” Susannah stared at him. Had she attempted a guess at what he would have called the kitten, it doubtless would have been a more manly name, like Brutus or Satan or perhaps even Caesar. “Why Gillyflower?”
“Did you know that ‘gilly’ is the Old English for ‘July’?”
“No, I didn’t know.”
“Yes. I assume that’s because the gillyflower makes its appearance in July. The flowers are large, and very fragrant, especially at night. My favorite is colored rose-purple. It will soon be July, and this little fellow does smell sweet.”
“How would a man of your reputation know all that about a gillyflower?”
“I am a Renaissance man, a man of many fine parts. Ah, just look at that face. I don’t think he’ll be a flat-out racer, Ozzy, or a mean one to chew up his opponents, but he’ll fly, light and high. Yes, let’s name him Gillyflower.”
“ ‘Gilly’ for short, sir?” Toby said, coming into the estate room.
“Yes, that has a nice sound to it.”
“Not bad, milord,” Ozzy said, nodding. He rose to his feet. “Well, milady, I’ll be off to the gardens now. Tom is in the roses this morning. ‘E’s not all that nifty wif roses.” He saluted Rohan and took himself out of the estate room.
“Thank you, Ozzy,” Susannah called after him. “I will see you tomorrow morning for Gilly’s lessons.”
Her eyes remained on the kitten, who was now curled up in her lap. “He is adorable, isn’t he?”
“Yes, quite adorable,” Rohan said.
“What kind of lessons can you give a kitten?” Toby asked. “All he’ll want to do is play and eat and sleep.”
“Not too many, since he’s so young,” Rohan said. “It’s just what you’d call an introduction to racing. You’ll see, Toby. Now, you two, would you care for breakfast?”
Rohan picked up the sleeping kitten out of Susannah’s lap, lightly rubbed his fingertip under its chin, and laid it on his shoulder. It was all so very natural. Only for an instant did Susannah wonder if the kitten would fall off, but he didn’t. No, Rohan knew exactly what he was doing.
She followed him to the breakfast room. Toby left them to ride to the village for his lessons with Mr. Byam.
They were alone. Rohan left the kitten on his shoulder.
When the silver dome on the platter of bacon was raised, however, the kitten’s nose started twitching. “No, you won’t eat on the table,” he said, and set the kitten on the rug beside his chair. He crumbled a small portion of bacon on a plate and set it in front of him. Alongside it, he placed a small saucer of milk. He said absently to Susannah, “Just a tiny bit of bacon. It’s too strong for a kitten’s stomach, but just a taste won’t hurt him.”
“Are we going to Oxford today?”
Rohan straightened in his chair. The kitten was lapping up the milk. He’d snaffled down the bacon in two frantic bites.
“Why would you ask?”
“You said yesterday that we would go.”
“I can’t imagine your wanting to come with me now, Susannah. You would have to share a room with me at the inns we will stop at. There would be no place for you to hide.”
“Oh, that.”
Her eyes were on her place. The slice of buttered toast was limp in her hand.
“Yes, that. Doubtless I would wait until you were asleep, and then I would attack your fair person.”
“That is a possibility, but I’m willing to chance it.” She raised her head and looked at him intently. “I want to get this mess solved, Rohan. I want to find out about this map and why these men are so desperate to get it.” She paused just a moment, then drew a deep breath. “But most important, I want to find out who George really was.”
She was serious and he’d been goading her about sex. He sighed. He still wanted to take a strip off her, but now wasn’t the time. “I’m not certain it’s safe to take you with me,” he said finally. “Our Mr. Lambert, God give him grace on the high seas, wasn’t a nice man. I don’t expect that the others—there are always others, I’ve found, when it comes to sin—will exceed his level of civility. They will be dangerous.”
She leaned toward him, her elbows on the table. “I was thinking about that. I understand your concern, but remember, George was my husband—”
“Do keep your voice down, my lady.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“It’s critical that you wipe all of it from your mind. I caution you, anything known by the master and mistress is usually known by the staff. We must be very careful. Fitz has ears that extend to the stables and beyond to the east pasture.”
“I understand. I will be very careful. Now, regardless, I have given this a good deal of thought. You must have friends at Oxford, a family we could visit for a week? Marianne and I would have the protection of the family, would we not? Wouldn’t it be safer than if we were all staying at an inn?”
“You didn’t spend your entire night finding ways to thwart me, Susannah? Damn you, don’t draw back in fright. Very well, I will think about it. As to a place we can visit, I had planned on that already. I have a longtime friend whose country home is very near Oxford. His name is Phillip Mercerault, Viscount Derencourt. We went to school together. It’s more than likely that he is in London. I wrote him last week, telling him of our proposed visit to Oxford. I have no idea if he received it or if he is even now at his country estate, Dinwitty Manor. No, don’t giggle. Dinwitty Manor was named after a wife brought into the family way back in the seventeenth century.”
“She must have been an heiress.”
“No doubt. But to force the house to carry her name is asking a lot, isn’t it? We’ll leave for Oxford tomorrow, if that pleases you.”
“Ow!”
Rohan laughed. The kitten had just climbed up Susannah’s skirt, digging his claws into her leg along his journey.
She was laughing then, grabbing the kitten and shaking him lightly, all the while giving his little nipping kisses.
Just like he’d wanted her to nip his tongue.
19
“RO-HAN!”
It was Marianne, in high good humor, balanced on Lottie’s hip. She immediately scrambled down and ran to him, reaching up her skinny arms until he picked her up and set her on his leg. “You hungry, pumpkin? I see, you don’t care a whit about food. This little fellow is named Gilly and you’re to be very gentle with him. He’s just a little fellow, not a big girl like you are.”
Within five minutes Marianne was chasing the kitten throughout the breakfast room, shouting, laughing, the kitten having a fine time himself.
“I will have to tell Ozzy that the kitten had his first lesson today,” Rohan said. “It’s called survival. A racing cat can never learn about survival too soon. Just look at them. Look at him fly. I’m hopeful that we just might have a champion, Susannah.”
She was staring at him. This man—her new husband—was a libertine? A womanizer? A lecher? And yet here he was laughing and quite enjoying himself watching a kitten and a little girl. He knew all about gillyflowers? She said slowly, not looking at him, “Did you know you can use gillyflowers for flavoring? In jams and in sauces?”
“Certainly. It’s an excellent flavoring since it has the smell of cloves.” He suddenly stilled at the expression on her face. “Tell me what you’re thinking, Susannah.”
“I was thinking that you’re a pu
zzle, my lord. I was thinking that many of the pieces appear to be unrelated, as if the puzzle the world sees isn’t the puzzle you really are.”
He laughed. “Does this mean that from now on you won’t preface every comment with ‘a man of your reputation’?”
“Reputation,” she repeated slowly, frowning now at him. “Those three old biddies believed I was a slut before you jumped in with both feet and your wits to save me in your own peculiar way. It would have become my reputation. But I am not a slut. All this is curious, don’t you think?”
He looked at her and wanted her desperately. He couldn’t think of a thing to say and thus simply nodded.
His wife wasn’t a virgin, and that, strangely enough, made things worse. He had never before encountered a problem of this sort. It would require a lot of thought, a lot of planning and strategy.
He posted another letter to Phillip Mercerault, this one to Dinwitty Manor, informing him again of his imminent pleasure if he chanced to be there. Then he brooded. That bored him quickly. He got Marianne from Lottie and took her for a ride on Gulliver. She screamed with pleasure and Gulliver snorted over his shoulder at her. He had just wheeled about on the country road when Lady Dauntry came by in her landau, a tall bonnet on her head, sporting four ostrich feathers dyed purple. It was difficult not to simply stare at those purple feathers.
He smiled at her, bidding her good day.
“Baron,” she nodded. “Is this the little girl?”
“This is my little girl, Marianne. Pumpkin, say hello to Lady Dauntry.”
“Hello. May I have a purple feather?”
To Rohan’s astonishment, Lady Dauntry pulled one of the feathers from the bonnet and handed it to her. Marianne enjoyed instant bliss.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Rohan said. “That is very kind of you. Isn’t she a darling?”
“Yes, she’s adorable, the very image of you, baron. You were wrong not to bring the little girl and her mother to Mountvale House for so very long, but I suppose that they’re here now and that’s what is important. You have faced your responsibilities. I dare say that Charlotte is bewildered by all this?”
The Wild Baron Page 19
