What a Lady Demands

by Ashlyn Macnamara

  “But you cannot take this to your brother.” Good God, what will he think of me if I drive you off after as little as a day? He left that part unsaid, but the words echoed through her mind as if he’d shouted them.

  She crossed her arms, and watched him from the corner of her eye. It was all she could do to keep her toe from tapping. “If you’ve another solution, I’m willing to listen.”

  His chest expanded on a breath. “For one thing, we can give this marriage business more of a chance before we decide we do not suit.”

  “Then you accept my condition.”

  “I cannot simply give up my plans after all it’s taken to set them in motion. Surely you can understand that.”

  “What I understand is this: As long as you cling to the past, Lydia might as well be in that marriage bed with us. And as long as you’re so blasted intent on bringing about Battencliffe’s ruin, you have not let her go. As much as my involvement with Eversham was a mistake, I have reason to thank him.” She stopped there and waited. She wanted his complete and entire attention.

  “What could you possibly thank that bastard for?”

  “Because he could have destroyed me, and I didn’t let him. Whatever else he taught me, he showed me I have the strength in myself to move beyond what he did to me. I could have holed myself up at my mother’s house and never gone out in society again. I could have been miserable for the rest of my life. And for a while, I thought that was all there was left for me. Except I woke up one day and decided he would no longer hold all that over me. I decided to make something of myself. I decided I have worth as a person. I decided. Me. And no one can ever take that away from me, unless I allow him to.”

  He blinked. “Christ, the next thing you know, you’ll be bringing love into this godforsaken mess.”

  She swallowed the heavy knot that formed in her throat at his words. “Do you think I’d take the trouble to tell you as much if I didn’t care even a little bit?” She turned to sweep from the sitting room, but on the threshold she paused. “When you have an answer for me, you’ll let me know.”

  And then she left him alone to ruminate over everything she’d said.

  She really ought to go check on Jeremy, and more than that, make him work on his reading and writing. But drat that impossible man, she didn’t think she could make herself stay inside and sit still for lessons. Not when he’d filled her with such frustration that she didn’t know what to do with herself.

  Actually, she did, but she couldn’t take out her excess energy on Lind, no matter how pleasurable the encounter might turn out. To do so would send the wrong message—that she really could make a marriage out of their relationship when he wasn’t through with his last. If he believed she’d accept him on those terms, he’d never have reason to move on.

  So she tromped up the stairs, collected her charge, and proposed they take a walk. She led him out through the back entrance that gave out by the stables. The morning air was cool and crisp, a precursor of the impending autumn, and a sudden chill crept up her spine.

  What if Lind told her he wasn’t ready to give up his plans for revenge? What if he forced her back to her brother’s in spite of everything? She wrapped her arms about her waist and hugged herself, but the feeling did not go away.

  Right, and if he told her as much, she’d face a life alone—truly alone, for she wouldn’t be able to seek another husband. But she couldn’t accept him on any lesser terms. She hadn’t lied when she told him Eversham had taught her to value herself.

  Jeremy tugged at her skirts. “Can we go see my pony?”

  She reached down and ruffled his hair. “Of course we can, dear. And perhaps we ought to decide on what to call him while we’re at it.”

  He bounced on the balls of his feet. “I want to call him Well- Wellington.”

  It could be worse. He could have asked the name of Wellington’s horse, but Copenhagen would have been a mouthful for Jeremy. “That sounds like an excellent name.”

  Jeremy smiled. “Do you think Regan might give me a riding lesson?”

  “We can ask him, but if he says he has other duties, we’ll have to listen to him and wait until he’s free.”

  She took his hand, and they entered the darkness of the row of stalls. The clean scents of hay and straw vied with the underlying cut of manure, just enough to remind her this was a working stable. A very quiet working stable. While everything was in order, the place seemed deserted.

  “Where do you suppose everyone’s gone?” she asked conversationally. “It can’t be their half-day, can it?” It could, she supposed, but it wasn’t even past noon. On the other hand, Lind might well let the stable boys and grooms leave the moment they were finished their regular duties. No, that didn’t sound at all like the regimented man she knew.

  Jeremy only shrugged, but she hadn’t really been expecting a reply.

  A quick glance about showed a line of empty boxes—all but two. Lind’s big gelding pawed at its bedding, while Wellington poked his nose over the stall door and whickered, seeking a lump of sugar, without doubt. Only a few days here, and the beast was already well on his way to becoming fat and lazy and spoiled.

  “They must have taken the other horses down to Powell’s to be reshod,” she muttered to herself.

  Jeremy patted his pony’s velvet nose, while Cecelia scratched the animal’s poll, the thick hairs of its forelock coarse beneath her fingers.

  “My lady, might you have a moment?”

  At the question, she jumped. The voice was at once familiar and foreign. Not one of the grooms, but she’d heard it recently. Turning, she realized why. Battencliffe had entered the stables behind her.

  And his gaze was pinned on the boy rather than her.

  “My goodness, did no one ever warn you not to steal up on a body?”

  “Your pardon.” He put a hand on his chest and gave a little half bow. “I was only hoping you might spare a moment.” Again his glance drifted to Jeremy, the movement telling. A prickle of unease raised the fine hairs on her arms.

  “I’m not certain this is a good idea,” she said carefully. “Should anyone catch us…”

  He took a step back. “I understand completely. Lindenhurst isn’t the sort to give the benefit of the doubt where I am concerned. Only…Well, I hoped you might be a little understanding.”

  His words weighed heavy with implication. He didn’t see his son often, if ever, but now he was going to take that chance and to hell with the consequences. Worse, his presence had drawn Jeremy’s attention away from his pony.

  He eyed Battencliffe with interest. “I’ve never seen you before. Are you a new groom?”

  “No, I am not in your father’s employ,” he replied easily. Too easily. The word father had slipped straight out of his mouth without the slightest hitch.

  “Are you a friend of his, then? Were you in the army with him?”

  “No, nothing like that.” Oh dear. Battencliffe had tinged that reply with a shade of regret, but Cecelia could not afford to let her heart turn over. Jeremy knew nothing of this man, and it was best he remained in ignorance.

  “I am fairly certain that Lord Lindenhurst will not be happy if he finds you still on his property,” Cecelia said pointedly.

  Battencliffe acknowledged the admonishment with a brief nod, but his attention remained riveted on Jeremy. “Is this your pony? What’s his name?”

  “Well-Wellington.”

  Battencliffe didn’t even blink at the hitch in Jeremy’s speech. “And do you enjoy riding him?”

  “I’ve only had a few lessons.”

  “Ah, so he’s a new acquisition.”

  “Yes, but Father has promised to take me about the estate with him once I can ride well enough.”

  Cecelia watched Battencliffe’s reaction closely. At Father, he barely wavered, but goodness, that had to have hurt. Especially given Lind’s reception earlier. “If you don’t mind, we really ought to be off on our constitutional.”

  “
My lady, I’d just like a moment more of your time before I go on my way.” He tilted his head in the direction of the tack room. “Alone, perhaps?”

  “I have responsibilities…”

  “Please?”

  Blast it all, she could not resist the pleading note in his voice. “Jeremy, you wait for me here. I’ll only be a moment.”

  The air in the tack room smelled of leather and saddle soap. The dusty space was dark, except for one small window that let in a shaft of weak sunlight. Motes of straw filtered through the beam.

  Now that they were alone, Cecelia could express herself freely. “Please, you must go. You know what Lind will make of this if he finds you here.”

  He stepped closer to her, one hand extended in supplication. Too close. “You would keep a father from his son?”

  “A son you can never acknowledge.”

  “But I can. Gossip already made a cuckold of Lind five years ago.”

  “And yet, legally, that child is Lind’s heir.”

  “Knowing Lind, an heir he most likely does not want. And I’ve heard things. The boy isn’t quite right.”

  Righteous anger for Jeremy’s sake boiled through her. “I’ve seen nothing that cannot be overcome,” she grated. “And at his age, he is too young to understand why one man is suddenly his papa when he thought his father was another. Why should you wish to make the situation worse by confusing him?”

  “If Lind follows the family tradition and sends him to public school, the boy will learn of his situation soon enough, even if no one here informs him of his parentage.” He took another step—to the side, this time. Between her and the door. “That’s the nature of boys at Eton. They can be cruel like that. They enjoy discovering others’ vulnerable spots and pecking at them until the fragile ones crumble. Rather like flocks of chickens will weed out the weak from their midst.”

  “You are talking about a little boy. Your son. Not some bird that’s just as likely to end up in a stew once it’s old enough to stop laying eggs. It’s not the same.” Besides, Jeremy would be better served here at home, learning how to run Lind’s estate. Latin would serve him nothing, while becoming well acquainted with his tenants would. If Lind fully accepts you as his wife, you can ensure that outcome. “And Lind has never once mentioned sending him away when he’s older.”

  “That doesn’t mean a thing. Perhaps he sees it as an easy means to rid himself of an unwanted problem.”

  A set of ghostly fingers ran a cold march down her spine, and she resisted the urge to hug herself. Lind had said something about hiring a tutor eventually. He did hold the boy at arm’s length. An entire army of doubts besieged her, but she couldn’t let that show. “He wouldn’t be so cruel.”

  “Do you think so? You seem well enough acquainted with what he’s done to me.”

  “He’s punishing you so he doesn’t have to punish himself. I have never once witnessed him being deliberately cruel to Jeremy.” Cold, yes. Cruel, no. “He’s bought the child a pony, and he’s arranged for riding lessons. He’s taken him on his rounds of the estate. He’s hired an entire string of governesses, because none suited his exacting standards.”

  “Because he means to send him off to school when he’s old enough.”

  “Because he means to ensure the child gets a proper education,” she insisted. “He will have a position to take up in society when he’s older.”

  “Ah, yes, society, which can be just as cruel as Eton, come to think of it, with any perception of weakness. Do you think the ton will treat him any better?”

  Must he bring up polite society? Well, she knew what its members were like. “Then we must ensure that he’s prepared when the time comes, and I cannot see how allowing you to have access to him will help in that respect. If word gets out, it will only fuel gossip. It’s in the boy’s best interest for you to stay far away.”

  “A pity I disagree with you on that score. No, the best course of action is for me to disappear with the child. Since Lind is remarried, I’m certain you can get down to the business of providing him with an heir in due course. A proper heir of his own blood.”

  “And how do you propose to simply disappear and see to a young child’s needs? You’re practically penniless. How will you keep yourself up, let alone a child?”

  “That will not be your problem, now, will it? And perhaps I don’t believe Lind is properly equipped to see to the boy’s needs. For all his wealth, he does not care.”

  “That’s not true.” Deep down, she knew she spoke the truth. Lind cared in his way, if only because Jeremy was his last connection to Lydia. “You don’t understand how he beats himself up on a regular basis because of the accident. He’d have saved the boy if he could have. He feels a terrible amount of guilt because he was unable to arrive in time.”

  “Only because it meant he lost Lydia.”

  Blast him for his perception. “You and he were friends once. Close friends.”

  “What has that got to do with anything? That is in the past.”

  “My point is, you knew him. You knew the sort of man he was. He knew the sort of man you were. Enough that you might each concede a bit of ground to each other.”

  Battencliffe’s laughter filled the small space. “You may have married the man, but I see you do not know him at all, if you think Lind is the sort who can make concessions, especially where Lydia was concerned.”

  “I think it’s you who doesn’t understand him, then.” He would concede to her. Or not, but then she’d know exactly where she stood with him. “And we’ve talked around this topic long enough. I need to return to my charge.”

  She made to step around him to the door, but he moved to block her path again. “I’m afraid I can’t let you do that.”

  A fist twisted in her gut. Had he kept her here talking for a reason? Had any of what he’d just said been sincere? “What have you done with Jeremy?”

  “Nothing, I assure you. It isn’t Jeremy I want, although he might well turn out to be a bonus. It’s you.”

  “Me?” Her glance darted to either side of him. If she could manage to dodge, she might stand a chance. But he was too big, and she’d let him get too close. The fist twisted and burrowed in deeper. “What could you possibly want with me? Until this morning, you didn’t even know I was here, let alone that Lind had married me.”

  “I know more than you think. When a man hounds you into the poorhouse, you tend to pay attention, and you make what allies you can.”

  “Allies?” Her mind whirled with the possibilities, but no. She couldn’t worry about who his allies were. She needed to think about how she was going to get herself out of this.

  “It so happens I ran into a Mr. Eversham, and he is willing to help me out with my debts. As long as I can deliver you to him.”

  A scream gathered in her throat, and she drew in a great lungful of air. Someone would hear her. Someone must.

  “I shouldn’t do that if I were you.” The solid line of Battencliffe’s shoulders blocked the newcomer from her view, but she recognized the voice well enough. The chill fingers along her spine turned to solid ice.

  His grip merciless and unbreakable, Battencliffe clapped his hand over her mouth and turned her about.

  Outlined by the faint light filtering in through the stables, Eversham stood in the doorway. He held a knife in his fist. His other arm was wrapped about Jeremy’s chest.

  “Not one sound,” Eversham went on. “It would be a shame if I had to cut this boy’s throat.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  In his study, Lind fingered a glass of brandy. Though it was rather early to begin imbibing, he’d already made a good start. His bottle was half-empty—not that drink was helping to clear his head by any means.

  Damn it all, he shouldn’t even have to think about this. He’d put Battencliffe’s ruin into motion, and he needed to allow events to play out. Yes, he might stop the process. All he had to do was forgive the debts he’d already collected from Battencliffe’s
other creditors. He could afford the loss, but why should he take it?

  It wasn’t right that Battencliffe should simply waltz away after impregnating Lind’s wife and leaving him in a situation where he had no choice but to pass the child off as his own. His heir, for that matter.

  He drummed his fingers along the side of the bottle. No, he shouldn’t even consider stopping now.

  So why did Cecelia’s last words to him keep running through his head? If you want me to be your wife in truth, you will drop this scheme to ruin that man. Wife in truth. And what did that mean? That she’d warm his bed? She’d certainly brought him pleasure—a great deal of it—in the past few days. Pleasure, passion, fulfillment, all of it. But he’d done without those things in the past. Done without and survived well enough.

  Survived. That thought remained behind as an annoying echo in his mind. Was mere survival enough? During the war, he’d thought so. He’d counted himself lucky to have come out of Belgium with his body intact when so many others had lost limbs, if not their lives.

  But the discovery of Lydia’s pregnancy so soon after his return had cut short his joy. Even once he’d got over his shock and anger with her, the nature of their marriage had changed. He’d tried. God only knew he’d tried; still, their life together had never been the same.

  He hadn’t let it show, naturally, but the niggling doubt constantly ate at him. Lydia was simply going through the motions of their marriage because she had no choice. She would have preferred he’d died on that road to Waterloo. Then she could have observed a proper mourning and married the man she really wanted.

  Battencliffe.

  Oh, she’d assured him otherwise on any number of occasions, but the thought remained at the back of his mind, like a festering wound that ate at his happiness. So he’d survived the war, yes, but that was all he’d done for the past six years.

  Until Cecelia came along.

  He had to admit that he felt more alive with her than he had in all the lonely years since Lydia’s death. Hell, he hadn’t felt this alive since before the war, when he first married Lydia and he was young and full of hope and most especially drunk on the wine of victory. For he’d won Lydia’s affections just as surely as Wellington had won the war against Napoleon.