“So you changed his treatment?”
“I did, and I believe he is feeling much more himself at present.” Loud. Obnoxious. Occasionally bizarre. Awake practically around the clock. And Millicent liked him much better this way.
“You do look quite tired, my dear. If I might be also so bold to ask, how are you faring with this new arrangement?”
“I am doing quite well,” Millicent answered honestly. “The changes have required some adjustment on the part of everyone, mostly due to the increase in the size of the household. But a shortage of living space has been my greatest problem right along.”
Mrs. Trimble poured Millicent some more tea. “And I was so sorry to hear that in the midst of all this, you had to let go of your steward.”
“That was inevitable. Mr. Draper and I did not get along from the start, and with each passing day things just seemed to get worse.”
“But finding a replacement has been difficult.”
Millicent nodded and took a sip of her tea before putting the cup back on the table. “I have interviewed three people thus far, but none of them seems to be the right person for Melbury Hall.”
“And spring shall be upon us quite soon.” She shook her head. “So much of the day-to-day responsibilities of the steward, then, are squarely upon your shoulders.”
“Indeed, there is a great deal to do.”
“And you were planning to improve the cottages on the estate, as well as building more. How can you possibly be holding up, my dear?”
“Fortunately, nothing has fallen to pieces yet.” Millicent smiled. “Lord Aytoun’s personal manservant, a very capable Scotsman who has been with his lordship for years, has been seeing to those responsibilities vacated by Mr. Draper for the past few weeks. Selfishly, I suppose, I’m hoping that he might consider taking over the job of steward permanently. Of course, I still have to convince Lord Aytoun of that.”
Millicent thought that just asking the question should be good for at least a half dozen overturned dishes. Lyon was quite fond of doing that.
“Your description of everything is so much more pleasant than the rumors that were initially floating around the village.” Mrs. Trimble squeezed Millicent’s hand affectionately. “I am so happy for you. I do hope we get a chance to meet his lordship soon.”
“Well, perhaps once the weather improves, I’ll persuade him to come into the village with me.” She would have to do this persuading on the same day that she asked his opinion of Gibbs becoming the new steward. And perhaps the same day that she asked him to stop destroying the household furnishings. And the same day she asked him to talk rather than shout. Perhaps that would be the day to ask him to shave off that hideous beard as well.
Millicent glanced at the handsome clock above the hearth. It was approaching the noon hour, and she began to worry. She sincerely hoped Lyon had eaten some breakfast. She wondered what his reaction had been this morning when she had not come to his room, or if he had even noticed her absence. If he had eaten nothing for breakfast, she wanted to be there to encourage him to have something now. Well, either encourage or bully him.
“I cannot imagine what is detaining Reverend Trimble.” The rector’s wife, following the direction of her visitor’s gaze, pushed herself stiffly to her feet and went to the window. She was a tall woman, and Millicent could see her looking out past the garden at the village.
“Would you consider me terribly rude if I were to curtail our visit today?” Millicent asked. “I know it sounds silly, but suddenly I find myself concerned for my husband. I have not left him alone for so many hours, and he is still recovering.”
“I understand perfectly,” Mrs. Trimble answered, turning back to her with a smile. “I am very sorry that Reverend Trimble missed you. The builders at the grange must be interesting fellows.”
Millicent stood up. “I’m certain they are. In fact, I was hoping to ask his assistance in hiring one of these same men for the renovations at Melbury Hall. Aside from the new cottages, I was also hoping to build a stone wall to stop the river from flooding into the Grove every spring. I have quite a bit of work that needs to be done at the Hall.”
“I know he’d be delighted to help out with that, my dear. Perhaps I could have him stop out at Melbury Hall sometime this week. Perhaps while he is there, he could meet his lordship.”
“That would be very nice,” Millicent said in a small voice, already wondering what kind of bribe she could use with Lyon to make him behave for the few minutes Reverend Trimble would be in his company.
****
The door to the earl’s bedchamber was open. A few minutes earlier, Ohenewaa had seen one of the servants cursing and grumbling as he passed her with a tray. She took a step toward the door and looked inside.
The man was alone, propped up in a chair near the window. She was surprised to see he had a newspaper on his lap. His attention appeared to be divided between the paper and the view outside the window.
“Instead of hiding in the shadows, why not come in?”
He never turned his head, and he caught her off guard. Ohenewaa considered ignoring the remark and moving down the hall. Instead, though, she entered the chamber. There was a marked difference between what she saw in the room now and what she recalled seeing her first night here. There were no vials of medication. No smell of sickness. No sense of gloom. She inspected the painting and rugs and tables, and then looked over the man, studying him like any of the other furnishings.
“Why do you roam around the halls like a ghost? You can walk. You can talk. Why not make more noise?” His questions were abrupt, and this time his eyes focused on her from across the room.
“You make enough noise for both of us. Since we have started asking questions, though…” She motioned to the open paper on his lap. “Why don’t you admit this to her? You appear perfectly capable of entertaining yourself.”
“Perhaps I enjoy her company.”
“Perhaps you need someone to torment.”
“I do not ask her to come. She agreed to the arrangement. What she does, she does of her own free will.”
“You haven’t told her that you’ve improved. You might tell her that there is no need for her to fret over you every minute of the day.”
“You care about her,” he said, staring incredulously.
“You do not.” Ohenewaa matched his expression for a long moment before turning and starting toward the door.
“Come back again. I enjoyed our lengthy visit.”
Instead of going downstairs, Ohenewaa walked to her own bedchamber and stood looking at her herbs and bottles.
She had helped the earl and his wife once already. But her excuse to herself then had been that she was tired of listening to the two of them shouting and breaking things at all hours of the day and night. Her involvement, she told herself, had been as much for her own sake as for theirs. But what she planned next was far more complicated.
In fact, before today she wasn’t certain that it might be a wise thing to go through the entire process of decocting to extract the oils for a particular mixture that she wanted. The salve she had in mind would serve several purposes. Thinking about him now, Ohenewaa told herself that she was a healer. Besides, from the first day on, she had been looking for a way to thank Millicent for what she had done for her.
The question of whether he was deserving of the effort Ohenewaa would expend had been answered today. She had seen he had a spirit within him, and—whether he knew it or not—he was helping his young wife to heal.
And that was a good enough reason, Ohenewaa thought. She would help him.
*****
The ride and the bracing winter air had a noticeable effect on her. She looked far more relaxed—almost cheerful—and completely undisturbed by the complaints that he started with the moment she walked into the room.
“A swarm of dung flies would not sit on this bread. And this soup must surely be the result of some mangy cur lifting his leg and pissing in the p
ot. Are you and your bloody cooks trying to poison me?”
“With images like that running unbridled through your mind, m’lord, I don’t blame you for not wanting to eat it. Indeed, you must surely detest the food simply for being weary of it. I must have a talk with the cook. You are beyond the need for these watery broths and dry bread. There is no reason that you should not be served what the rest of us are eating.”
As she took the untouched tray off his lap, the profanities that he was preparing to deliver withered on his tongue. For the mere seconds that Millicent had leaned close to him, he had smelled the scent of fresh air in her hair. He found himself admiring the touch of sun on her cheeks. He watched her deposit the tray on a table beside the door. Bloody hell, he thought, recovering his composure.
“I don’t want to eat anything you bring up here,” he barked shortly.
“I perfectly agree.”
“By the devil, I think this is a first.”
“I assure you, it is only the first of many agreements we shall have.”
He scowled at her bright face suspiciously. “What is this all about?”
“You should not be served your meals here in this room at all. The surroundings are too restricted. The air is too stale. I also believe that an ill-tempered disposition tends to linger in a place. And I must say that with your temperament, this chamber already reeks of it.”
“Well don’t leave your own temperament out, as long as you’re going on about it.”
“Very well, m’lord. Our temperaments.”
“And don’t call me ‘m’lord’,” he grumbled. “I won’t have my wife calling me that. You’ll call me Lyon when we’re alone, and Aytoun when we’re not.”
“As you wish.” Millicent held her hands folded before her and gave him a bright smile. “But starting tonight, you and I will have our meals in the dining room.”
Lyon would have told her she was daft if he weren’t momentarily arrested by her smile. She was damned bewitching with those soft dimples in her cheeks and the mischief dancing in her gray eyes.
“That settles it.” She clapped her hands once and reached for the servant’s bell.
“The devil it does!” he finally managed to get out. “I am no wooden puppet to be dragged up and down those damned stairs three times a day while jug-headed rogues stand by and ridicule me.”
“You certainly are not, m’lo…Lyon. No puppet I’ve ever seen could talk and curse with such fervor or frequency.” She moved toward him. “But in spite of your many faults, I will promise you that—other than two of your own men who shall help me move you—no one will be standing about and watching.”
“This shall not be.” He spoke more forcefully.
“Indeed, it shall.” She matched his tone.
“I am content to remain here.”
“Before, you were content to remain unconscious and to starve. Right now, you are content to play the part of the angry bear and constantly flash those teeth at me.”
“Come closer, my dear wife," Lyon threatened in a low voice, "and I’ll show you how dull my teeth are.”
A soft blush spread evenly across her cheeks, but instead of backing away, she placed her hand on his shoulder and leaned toward him until they were face to face.
“Despite the tangled beard and uncombed hair that successfully give you a certain mad look, I don’t believe you look very frightening from this distance. Maybe if I were to shave your face—”
His left arm darted out and took hold of her arm, toppling her onto his lap. She gasped in surprise and fell against him.
“No one touches my beard.”
She seemed lost for words. This close he could tell her gray eyes had silver speckles in their depths. Her skin looked so soft. Lyon’s gaze fell on her lips, and without another thought he found his mouth had captured hers in a rough kiss.
She did not pull away, but rather leaned into him and clutched his shoulders. Blood pounded in Lyon’s body. Her lips were so soft and giving. He slanted his mouth over hers and was about to deepen the kiss when suddenly she dragged herself off him and away from the chair. She was blushing furiously, her hand over her mouth as she backed all the way to the far side of the room.
Lyon tried to calm his unsteady breathing as he watched her flushed face. She touched her brow, tucked loose tendrils of hair behind an ear. With trembling fingers she tried to straighten her dress. He followed the movement of her hands and told himself she was his wife. After three weeks of being in each other’s company constantly, this was to be expected. Still, though, what had happened between them was totally inexplicable to him. What he felt was confusing as hell. She finally turned to him with a polite smile pasted onto her face. But he could see through the mask. She was vibly shaken.
“We cannot live the rest of our lives in this one room, m’lord.”
His thoughts, however, were not in agreement with hers. He still wanted to be left alone here, with one small exception…Millicent. Surprising as it was, he wanted her here with him.
“I believe it would be good for both of us to get out of this chamber.”
Us instead of you. Anger began to seep into Lyon’s bones. Every time the door had opened this morning, he’d hoped to see her. And now she was playing games with him. He forced himself to look away from her lips, cursing himself for this additional layer of dependence on another.
“No one asked you to spend so much time in this room. I was content without you. I live here. You do not.”
“You are mistaken.” Once again her fire returned. “I am your wife. Where you are, Lyon, I shall be. Where you eat, I shall eat. Where you—”
She cut the words short, but Lyon knew what she was about to say: Where you sleep…
“Do as you please, and the devil take you,” he barked irritably. “I do not care to discuss this further. I don’t need you. I am tired of seeing your face. And I’m bored with your incessant chatter. Out.”
Lyon turned his head away without waiting for her response. Staring out the window into the courtyard and the fields beyond was his only escape. Silently, he tried to convince himself that she deserved his sharp tongue. So what that they were man and wife? Kissing her had been an impulse—a mistake. He only wanted her to let him be.
There was no sound for a long time. She had not moved, but she said nothing, either. Lyon wondered if she was finally going to give up.
“Actually, there is another reason why I wish to drag you out of this room.” Millicent had the matter-of-fact tone back in her voice. She was not ready to let him alone.
“Is there, madam?” He did not look at her.
“From what Gibbs tell me, before your accident you took an active interest in many of the Aytoun family business matters. He said you never felt it was beneath you to oversee the management of your estate in the Borders and your lands in the Highlands. You served as a most valuable resource to many of your less capable peers. You are educated and obviously quite shrewd when it comes to getting what you want. And you are here.”
“Your skills at flattery need work. Shrewdness is not a noble quality.”
Lyon turned his head and saw her run a nervous hand down the front of her dress to smooth an invisible wrinkle. He knew what she was doing. This new strategy of hers was nothing if not transparent.
“I should like to introduce you around Melbury Hall.”
“No.”
“This is not a social request, but one regarding…well, business. There have been a few matters having to do with the estate where I have needed guidance. I would very much appreciate it if I could occasionally ask your advice on these concerns.”
“You have the income now. Hire a better lawyer.”
“I already have an excellent one thank you,” she replied, continuing tenaciously. “But you know that the law considers women feeble, at best. You also know that, as my husband, you are wholly responsible for the actions of your wife.”
He snorted.
“Therefore,”
she went on, “I am giving you the opportunity of being involved. But again, considering your reputation in the household as a tyrant, perhaps I need to rethink my suggestion. After all, only a fool would want to have you meddle in things that you quite possibly know nothing about. It would not be the first time people’s perceptions of a man’s abilities have been mistaken. Or Gibbs may simply have been speaking out of blind loyalty. Then again, I may have inferred more about your abilities from what he said than he intended. Never mind. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“Nor do I. Your vexatious nagging almost stops my breath, madam. Almost.”
Lyon let the weight of his gaze travel down the length of her body. Despite the somber face that tried to mask the woman’s feelings, despite the plain cut of her dark blue dress, despite the simplicity of the way she piled her hair upon her head, he knew at that instant that being confined in one room with Millicent was having a disquieting effect on him.
“If leaving this room means you will no longer plague me with your constant mindless chatter, then I will do it…and gladly.”
CHAPTER 12
Preparing a dinner for the royal family would not have rattled Millicent as much as planning this meal for her husband. She wanted everything to be perfect—the food, the wine, the dining room. She had questioned Gibbs endlessly about Lyon’s likes and dislikes with regard to the menu, and she had made certain every detail was conveyed to the cook and to Mrs. Page. Now, shortly before she was scheduled to go to her husband’s chamber to supervise Will and John in bringing him down to dinner, Millicent was overcome with yet another reason for uncertainty. What could she wear that was appropriate? Of course, she wanted to dress presentably, but she also knew that what she chose for this occasion could relay a specific message to the earl.
She’d not had any time this afternoon to dwell on what had happened earlier, but she was still rattled by his kiss and by her own response to it. Avoiding intimate contact with any man had simply become Millicent’s way after the physical abuse she’d endured under Wentworth’s cruel fist. This had been one of the reasons why she had found marrying Aytoun so unobjectionable. Because of his physical inabilities, there would be no possible way that any such demands would be put upon her. Her insistence on a clause allowing for an annulment had been spurred by that very problem. Of course, she told herself as she stared into her looking glass, a kiss should not necessarily constitute any change in her thinking on the matter.
02 - Borrowed Dreams Page 12
