The bed beside her was cold and empty. She was alone.
She sat up and buried her face in her hands, torn between relief and mortification. She had sleptthrough her own wedding night, putting all of Laura and Diana's marvelous tutelage to a shameful waste. What an utter ninny her husband must think her!
But what about the kiss? Had that been a dream or a memory? As she touched her fingertips to her lips, she was struck by an even more startling thought.
What if she had slept through more than just the night?
Fighting panic, she peered around her. The tumbled bedclothes revealed nothing. She'd always been a restless sleeper, given to flinging legs and arms in every direction and churning her blankets into a storm-tossed sea. She slowly lifted the edge of the quilt and peeked beneath. Although her dress, shoes, and corset were gone, she still wore her chemise, pantalettes, and stockings.
"I can't decide what's more insulting," drawled a voice that was equal parts silk and rust. "That you thought I would avail myself of a sleeping woman or that you believed you'd have no memory of it if I did."
Lottie's first instinct was to tug the quilt over her head. She forced herself to lower it instead. Hayden was standing in the open doorway, leaning against the doorframe. With typical perversity he had chosen that moment to look as if he'd just stepped out of a gentleman's fashion plate. Although he could have never been mistaken for the dandy Sir Ned was, his cravat was neatly knotted and his waistcoat pressed. A pair of buff trousers hugged his lean hips. His jaw was freshly shaven, his hair damp from a recent wetting and slicked back from his brow. His sudden inclination toward tidiness only made Lottie's own dishabille seem more tawdry.
Shaken that he'd divined her thoughts so accurately, she clutched the quilt to her chest, glaring up at him through a tangled skein of hair. "My dress seems to have gone missing. I was just making sure that I hadn't lost anything else of value as well."
"You were utterly exhausted last night so I asked the innkeeper's wife to help you out of your garments." He nodded to a ladder-backed chair in the corner draped with a faded blanket. "I slept over there."
Lottie winced. The chair must have been excruciatingly uncomfortable, especially after a hard day spent in the saddle. "So you were the one who carried me in?"
He nodded. "Fortunately, it was well after midnight and there were only a few stragglers in the common room. It would hardly do for rumors to reach London that I'd strangled my bride before the wedding night could even commence."
She narrowed her eyes at him, but it was impossible to tell if he was mocking her or himself. He still hadn't answered all of her questions. He might not rob a sleeping woman of her virtue, but would he steal her kiss? Or had that provocative brush of his mouth against her parted lips been nothing more than a dream?
He straightened. "If you'd like, I'll send one of the maids up to help you dress. I thought you might wish to breakfast in the common room." He arched one eyebrow. "Unless, of course, you'd prefer to dine on the basket Cookie packed for you."
"The basket? The basket! Oh, no, I forgot about the basket!" Heedless of her state of undress, Lottie threw back the blankets.
Betraying his first sign of alarm, Hayden crossed the room in two long strides and tossed them back over her. "There's no need to panic. Pumpkin, Mr. Wiggles, and their charming young female traveling companion are all downstairs in the inn kitchen, lapping up a saucer of fresh cream."
"Oh." Eyeing him sheepishly, Lottie settled back in the bed, hugging her knees to her chest. "I suppose I should have confided in you sooner, but I was afraid you were the sort of man who wouldn't care for cats."
"Nonsense," he said crisply. "I adore cats. They make the softest, most supple gloves."
She gasped. He was halfway to the door before she realized he was mocking her. At least this time. She sat up on her knees. "You must think me an ungrateful wretch. I haven't even thanked you properly for marrying me and sparing Sterling's life."
"There's no need," he replied without turning around. "I no longer believe in dueling. I would have never accepted your brother-in-law's challenge."
As a stunned Lottie sank back against the pillows, he drew the door shut behind him, leaving her with yet another mystery to solve.
* * *
They'd been back on the road to Cornwall for less than an hour when a chill curtain of rain began to fall from the leaden sky. Lottie opened a window of the carriage and leaned out, welcoming the sharp slap of the raindrops against her face. Now Hayden would be forced to share both the carriage and his real reasons for wedding her. Was it possible that he might actually be entertaining some sort of affection for her? That he hadn't wed her out of pity or duty, but out of desire?
As he drew his horse to a halt, her spirits soared. But he paused just long enough to drag an item from one of his saddlebags. As he shook out its voluminous folds and slipped it over his head, Lottie saw that it was an oilcloth cape, designed to shield its wearer from even the cruelest of elements. Although it left his head exposed, he simply shook the rain from his hair and rode on.
It seemed her husband preferred riding in the cold, pouring rain to spending a few meager hours in her company. Lottie sank back in the seat, wishing she could blame the stinging of her eyes on the rain.
* * *
Late that afternoon Lottie started from a fitful doze to discover a boneless Pumpkin draped across her lap. Mr. Wiggles and her gray and white kitten, Mirabella, were curled up together on the opposite seat. Now that they were no longer being smuggled like so much French contraband, the cats were enjoying the run of the carriage.
Although the patter of the rain on the carriage roof had ceased, the sky continued to brood. Feeling overheated and out of sorts, Lottie eased the napping cat to the seat and leaned forward to shove open the window. Her breath caught in her throat.
The orderly patchwork of meadows, hedgerows, and stone fences had vanished, leaving the landscape as alien as the pitted surface of the moon. The wind wailed across the sweeping sea of grass and marsh like a chorus of ghosts, swirling around the standing stones that littered the barren moor. It was as if this place would never know the kiss of spring, but would slumber forever beneath a winter sky. Yet its very desolation gave it a sort of bleak beauty, a thrilling wildness Lottie had never encountered in the tidy squares of London or the rolling hills of Hertfordshire.
Exhilarated, she leaned into the wind. It wasn't hard to understand how Cornwall had become the stuff of legend. She could almost see the towering Cormoran striding over the standing stones as if they were pebbles, massive club in hand and Jack the Giant Killer dogging his heels. The wind carried to her ears the clash of swords as Arthur met his bastard son Mordred for the last time on the field of battle. And was that the shadow of a cloud drifting across the marsh or hordes of nasty little spriggans streaming out of an ancient burial mound, looking for a traveler to terrorize or a baby to steal?
She caught a glimpse of Hayden riding well ahead of both the carriage and the outriders. If only she were pounding along on horseback beside him instead of cooped up inside the carriage! The scent of the sea tickled her nose and it was then that she caught her first glimpse of Oakwylde Manor.
Her first impression was of brooding gray stone perched against a stark backdrop of sky. With the moor behind them and the cliffs ahead, it was as if they had truly arrived at the end of the earth.
Hayden wheeled his mount around, his powerful thighs steadying the horse's flanks. With his dark hair whipping in the wind, he seemed as much a part of this place as the vast sky and the churning sea. If this was the end of the earth, then he was its master.
As well as her own.
The carriage made a sharp turn onto a long, curving drive paved with rough stones. As Lottie tilted her face skyward, her new home loomed in her vision. Hayden might be this house's master, but she would soon be its mistress.
Even by Sterling's standards, the Elizabethan manor with its sprawling wing
s and central court was a grand house. Although its steeply gabled roof was peppered with a plethora of brick chimneys, only a few plumes of smoke drifted skyward to mingle with the clouds. With no sunlight to reflect, its generous expanse of mullioned windows gleamed with the dull ennui of half-shuttered eyes. The house didn't appear to be dead, but simply slumbering beneath the same dark spell as the bruised sky and the windswept moor. Lottie shivered, wondering if the sun ever shone in this place.
As the carriage rocked to a halt, the front door of the house swung open and over two dozen servants came marching out, dutifully taking their places at the foot of the front steps to welcome home their master and his new bride. Lottie wondered at their numbers. A house this size should boast a staff of at least fifty.
Shyness had never been one of her failings, but she was suddenly reluctant to emerge from the snug cocoon of the carriage. Being a marquess's bride was one thing, but taking her place as his wife was quite another. She took her time securing the cats in their basket, smoothing the wrinkles from her skirt, straightening her hat. Finally, the carriage door swung open. It wasn't the coachman or a footman extending a hand in invitation, but Hayden himself.
Pasting on a brave smile, she took his hand and descended the carriage steps. The wind whipped the maidservants' aprons into a flapping frenzy and forced Lottie to secure her hat with her other hand. As they approached the house, Hayden scanned the rows of servants, a troubled expression on his face. Aside from their scant numbers, Lottie could find nothing amiss. From the distinguished butler and tall, scrawny head housekeeper with the ring of keys at her waist to the liveried footmen and blushing, apple-cheeked maidservants, they might have been the staff of any nobleman's country estate.
"Welcome home, my lord," the butler intoned, stepping forward. "The baggage carts have already arrived and been unloaded."
"Very good, Giles," Hayden murmured, although his expression lost none of its edge.
Several of the younger maids were gaping at Lottie with open curiosity. Surely Hayden had instructed the servants traveling with the baggage carts to prepare the rest of the staff for his bride's arrival.
Hadn't he?
Before he could formally introduce her, a plump, sun-browned partridge of a woman came striding around the corner of the house. Her arrival wouldn't have been so remarkable if she hadn't been dragging a young lady of approximately ten years of age… by her ear.
Hayden went rigid and Lottie could not help staring. The servants all gazed straight ahead, as if this were an ordinary, everyday occurrence in their lives.
Although her jaw was set in sullen defiance, the girl didn't let out so much as a squeak of protest as her captor marched her to the front of the servants, halting her directly in front of Hayden. The woman planted her beefy hands on the girl's shoulders to keep her from bolting.
The child was tall, yet painfully thin, with sharp features that might one day be considered striking. Her mane of dark hair was the largest thing about her, framing her face like a hedgerow allowed to grow wild. Lottie's fingers itched for a comb and a ribbon, although a garden hoe and a rope might produce more satisfying results. If Cookie were here, she'd insist upon force-feeding the child a steady diet of gingerbread and plum puddings to fatten her up.
Although it appeared considerable effort had been wielded to make the girl presentable, one of her stockings had slipped down around her ankle. Her blue pinafore was rumpled and marred by grass stains while its matching ribbon had slid halfway down her back, freeing her hair to fall in her face.
There was something oddly familiar about that face. Something about the stubborn set of her jaw, the wary look in her striking violet eyes, the sulky curl of her lip…
Lottie shook off the fancy. Judging from her disarray, she must be one of the servants' children or perhaps an orphan adopted from some nearby village. Sterling had taken in such waifs upon occasion, providing charity and an education until they were old enough to take their place in the servants' hierarchy.
The woman beamed up at Hayden as if the jovial twinkle in her brown eyes could somehow offset the child's petulance. "Welcome home, Master Hayden. We're glad to have you back. I trust you found everything on your journey that you were seeking?" She shifted her smile to Lottie, her freckled nose crinkling.
Although the woman's familiarity caught her off guard, Lottie could not help returning the warm smile.
"On the contrary, Martha," Hayden replied, thetrace of irony in his voice unmistakable. "I found far more than I was seeking."
"We can see that," the girl blurted out, shaking the hair out of her eyes with a defiant toss of her head.
"So who is she? Is she my new governess?"
Before Lottie could even react to the absurd question, Hayden drew her gloved hand into the crook of his arm. "No, Allegra. She's your new mummy."
Chapter 8
Had his wife returned from her moldering grave to frighten me… or to warn me?
LOTTIE WOULD HAVE BEEN HARD PRESSED TO say who looked more horrified by Hayden's announcement — she or the girl. They both gaped at each other for a startled moment, then shifted their disbelieving gazes to Hayden. Lottie tried to snatch her hand away from him, but he held it fast, his profile impenetrable.
A stunned buzz had risen from the servants. Apparently, his daughter wasn't the only one caught off guard by the news of Hayden's nuptials. One of the maidservants even dared to giggle, only to find herself sharply shushed by the head housekeeper. The woman's quelling glare could have frozen a waterfall.
Studiously avoiding Lottie's eyes, Hayden said, "Lottie, I'd like to introduce you to my daughter, Allegra."
"Daughter?" Lottie blurted out, too flabbergasted for discretion. "You made no mention of a daughter."
The minute the words were out of her mouth, she wished she could snatch them back. Although she would have believed it impossible, the girl's expression grew even more stony. "And why would he? Since he prefers to pretend I don't exist."
Hayden's jaw tightened until it was practically a mirror of the girl's. "You know that's not true, Allegra. I just don't choose to expose you to unnecessary scrutiny."
"Because you're afraid I'll embarrass you," Allegra shot back.
"No. Because I'm afraid someone else will seek to embarrass you," he retorted.
Lottie felt compelled to intervene before the exchange deteriorated into a full-out row. "Now, Allegra, you mustn't be angry at your papa for not warning us of each other's existence. Had our… um… courtship not been such a whirlwind one, I would have had time to brush up on my Debrett's." Digging her nails into Hayden's arm, Lottie beamed up at him. "You simply didn't want to spoil the surprise, did you, darling?"
Allegra folded her bony arms over her chest, looking even more like her father. "I hate surprises."
"Now, young lady, I don't believe that's entirely true," Hayden said, his expression softening.
Although he could have set one of the footmen to the task, he strode back to the carriage himself and unlatched the rear boot. Resting at the very top of the deep storage compartment was the mysterious trunk that had taunted Lottie since the first moment she had laid eyes on it. While Allegra watched his return with wary indifference, Lottie bit her lower lip in anticipation.
At Hayden's command, one of the footmen stepped forward to steady the trunk while Hayden drew a small gold key from his waistcoat pocket and inserted it into the lock. Lottie and all of the servants craned their necks as he threw open the lid, displaying its contents for Allegra.
Lottie couldn't contain her gasp of delight. Instead of a severed head, nestled within the plush velvet lining was one of the most exquisite dolls Lottie had ever seen. She wore a lavender frock of dotted swiss sprigged with pink flowers, silk stockings, and a pair of dainty kid slippers. Her rich sable hair coiled around her shoulders in shimmering curls. A master craftsman had carved and painted her delicate features. A smile played around her rosebud lips, while her violet eyes seemed t
o twinkle with mischief beneath their lavish fringe of lashes.
Lottie's gaze slowly traveled between the doll and Allegra. Hayden had obviously gone to great trouble and expense to commission a flawless miniature replica of his daughter — not a replica of the child she was, but of the woman she might someday become.
Hayden awaited Allegra's response, so stiff Lottie would have sworn he wasn't even breathing. Allegra continued to gaze into the trunk, her expressioninscrutable. The silence stretched until Lottie could no longer bear it.
"What an amazing piece of workmanship!" she exclaimed, smiling at Allegra as she reached to stroke the doll's cheek. "Why, she looks exactly like you!"
"Don't be silly," the girl said, sparing her a contemptuous look. "It looks nothing like me. It's beautiful."
With those words, she wrenched herself from Martha's grip and went pelting away, her dark hair streaming behind her. This time, no one tried to stop her. The servants either studied their shoes or stared straight ahead.
Hayden watched her disappear around the side of the house, his face no less expressionless.
Although she couldn't have said what possessed her to be so bold, Lottie gave his arm a comforting squeeze. "Don't take her words to heart, my lord. I was a very precocious child myself."
"You still are," he replied, slamming the lid of the trunk and thrusting it into her arms. Before Lottie could respond, he had turned on his heel and strode into the house.
* * *
"Don't mind the master," Martha told Lottie as she led the way up a broad, curving staircase to the third floor of the manor. "Even as a boy, his temper sometimes got the best of his tongue."
"You knew him as a boy?" Lottie asked, trailing her fingertips along the iron balustrade.
"That I did. I was his nurse, you see. His and hisfather's before him. God rest his soul," the woman added, signing a cross on her ample bosom. "Being his only child and heir, Master Hayden was the apple of his papa's eye. I've often thought it a blessing that both his father and his mother passed shortly before he decided to wed that flighty French girl. The scandal probably would have killed them anyway."
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