She turned to him, her heart in her eyes. "That's why you play the highwayman, then, isn't it? To pay for the children, since your father spent all his money on the mansion and left you without adequate funds."
"Not precisely." He was about to add that he'd turned his father's illicit enterprise into a prosperous legitimate shipping company, but thought better of it. Not that he wanted to hide things from her, but damn it, his hands were tied.
It was no fault of his he was stuck in this situation. He'd been wracking his brain for a believable excuse to continue playing the highwayman, and she'd just dropped one in his lap. Never mind that he could support Caldwell Manor ten times over. She didn't have to know that. Not right now.
"When I tell my brothers—"
"Don't. Don't tell them anything. I promised them I'd stop the highway robbery."
"No, you didn't. You ducked that issue cleverly." She was entirely too perceptive for his comfort. "If you stop, the children will suffer, and I couldn't bear to be responsible for that. I was an orphan, myself."
"Aye, well, any feeling human being would be sympathetic to their plight." Trick's mind raced, searching for a way to avoid these secrets and lies. But he saw no choice. He'd promised King Charles he wouldn't breathe a word of the real purpose behind the highwayman ruse.
He sneaked Kendra a guilty glance. She twisted her hands in her lap, and the imported lace fell back from her wrist, leaving it bare. "Why aren't you wearing the amber bracelet?"
"It doesn't go with this plain gown."
He wondered why he found her flip answer so disturbing. "Are you still mad at me for being a duke?"
"I'm not sure what I feel. I don't like being lied to." Though she directed those words to the sky, she soon looked back to him. "Did you feel abandoned as a child?"
"In a sense," he said slowly, wishing he could go back in time and start this marriage right. He didn't want it to end up like his own parents'. "My father took me from my mother when I was ten. I'd seen him but a few times over the years, and I'd never been more than a dozen miles from our home in Scotland." The caleche bumped over a particularly rocky stretch of the path, and he reached to steady Kendra. "He took me to France. A cold man, was my father. He wanted me only to further his business dealings."
"His business dealings?" She subtly shifted away from his touch. "He was a duke, was he not?"
"An impoverished one. He lost everything, including Amberley, helping finance the war. Upon the restoration, King Charles returned his title and land to him. But believe me, Father could never have abandoned the old manor house and built that mansion without the enterprise that sustained him through the Commonwealth years. He was ruthless, underhanded—not a man one would be happy to claim as a relation."
"What was this enterprise?"
"He traded in spirits, among other things. Madeira was his ticket to riches. Every bottle that graced the tables at the courts—French and English alike—passed through his hands." He hesitated, then decided to come clean with it. Enough secrets stood between the two of them already. "He was a smuggler."
She gasped. "A smuggler?"
"Aye. One doesn't amass a fortune paying import taxes—at least not on the scale that he managed. You can see now why I elected not to continue his enterprise, no matter that it was highly lucrative." And since that half-truth caused him no small discomfort, he added, "As I was only a pawn in his game, you can see as well why it is I felt orphaned as a child."
Some small measure of honesty, at least.
"But your mother—"
"She let me go," he said, the words calm and unemotional though he ached with an inner pain that would never ease. "Any warmth or love she showed me was naught but a facade. Elspeth Caldwell is a wicked woman. A Covenanter, plotting against king and country." Crickets chirped as they drove beneath a canopy of trees silhouetted against the cerulean sky. "And a loose woman, besides."
"How would you know all that? You were ten when you left."
"In eighteen years, she never once tried to reclaim me, or even make contact. In all that time, I haven't seen so much as one letter. Blackguard that my father was, I believe what he told me where she was concerned."
The details were hazy; no matter how much he'd pressed, his father had refused to discuss his marriage. But Trick had pieced enough of the man's rantings together to figure the gist was true.
Still, he'd never approved of the way his father hadn't tried to make something of the union. Even when Trick was young, his parents had lived completely separate lives. Sadly, he could now see all too easily how such a thing could happen.
"Tomorrow I need to go to London," he said.
Her eyes danced. "I love London. Have you a house in town?"
"Aye. And I'm sure you'll find it every bit as disgustingly opulent as Amberley House." He smiled on the outside, but cringed internally. "I'll be going alone this time, though."
"Oh." The light in her eyes died. "Why?"
He had to leave—he'd actually, before this whirlwind of a wedding had come up, been planning to leave today. His shipping company needed his attention. The shipping company that he'd decided to keep secret from her for the time being, lest she figure out he could well afford to support the orphanage without resorting to robbery.
"I had arranged it, he said dismissively, "before we met."
As he guided the caleche onto Amberley's long approach, he ran a hand through his hair and shot her an appraising glance. Her expression had turned contemplative. He could almost see the wheels turning in her pretty red head.
"Perhaps we can put aside some money and invest," she said. "In the future, with careful planning, playing the highwayman might become unnecessary. God willing, before you ever get caught and"—her voice dropped—"strung up at Tyburn." She turned on the bench seat to face him. "I'll help you."
"You will not. I won't have you endangering yourself—"
Her laughter rang through the deepening shadows. "I didn't mean with the robberies, but with the investing. I've quite a knack with finances—you can ask Jason."
"He lets you invest his money?"
She stiffened beside him. "Not independently, but I've helped him make decisions, yes."
"Whoa, there." He put a hand on her arm, pleased when she didn't pull away. The scent of lavender wafted on the breeze to his nose. "I wasn't disapproving, just asking."
"All right, then." Her expression softened. "It's only that I don't know you, and—"
"I don't know you, either."
"True enough." After a considered pause, an unmistakable glimmer lit her green eyes. "As for the highway robbery, I have a good aim—"
"You won't." Hearing his accent broadening, he winced. What was it about this woman that could drive him to such emotion? Pulling up before Amberley House, he tugged on the reins with more force than was necessary before taking her by the shoulders. He brought his eyes to within an inch of hers. "I mean it, Kendra."
"I was jesting," she whispered, her smile sweet. Something melted in his gut. It was such a small space to bring his lips to hers; he did it without thinking. Her mouth was soft and yielding, and he felt her breath quicken, her pulse race beneath his fingers on her neck. Their lips clung for a long, sweet minute; then he deliberately pulled away.
"Oh," she whispered. "I cannot keep my head when you do that."
"Aye?" He couldn't help but grin as he handed the reins to a groom and hopped down from the caleche.
Perhaps he would enjoy this marriage after all.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Seated at Trick's desk, Kendra frowned at the ledger in front of her. "So you've been living here at Amberley for six months?"
"Aye. And I fired Rankill after two." Trick took a sip of bracing whisky, then set the glass on the table beside his favorite leather armchair.
He'd returned from seeing to his London interests to hear his wife had spent the past week examining his books and inspecting his property. After recovering from the sh
ock, he'd decided he was pleased. With that part of their marriage, at least.
Now that he was back home, he'd work on the physical part. He'd made progress before he left—he was sure of it. Though he'd as soon strangle her brothers for being right, he had to admit he and Kendra were a damn good match...the rest would come in time.
"Were my suspicions about Rankill's dishonesty on target, then?" he asked her, feeling more than awkward requesting his wife's opinion of his own estate business. But between the king's mission and the demands of his shipping company, he had precious little time to see to Amberley. "Was I right to let him go?"
"You should have done it earlier." She glanced up. "Your father died three years ago. What brought you back now?"
He couldn't tell her he'd moved home at King Charles's request to track down a problem in the region. Or that he'd agreed to do so in exchange for a pardon from old smuggling charges. The threat of losing Amberley and the title had been veiled and, truth be told, unnecessary. Caring little for that legacy from his father, Trick would have agreed to the mission out of patriotism and friendship alone.
But, nay, he couldn't tell Kendra any of that.
"I decided Amberley was in need of my attention," he said instead.
"Well, you haven't paid it much," she countered with a dark glare.
Noticing she still wasn't wearing his bracelet, he sighed and sipped again, feigning nonchalance. "What evidence is there that Rankill embezzled?"
"Look here." She waved him over. "Amberley's northwest quarter is capable of producing many more bushels than are recorded. And in the east"—she startled when he leaned over her—"this land will support more sheep than are shown in the records." Slowly she shifted, turning to meet his eyes.
Enjoying her lavender scent, he braced himself with one hand on the desk and held her gaze with his. "Is that so?"
"Y-yes." She drew a deep breath and looked back down. "As a matter of fact, I counted fifty more head than are noted in the ledger. And you should purchase yet more. You're not maximizing your profits in this area."
"Our profits." They were in this together. He didn't think he'd quite realized that till now, or how much of a relief it was to find himself "saddled" with a wife who had turned out to be so competent.
If only he could persuade her to let him show her, physically, how grateful he was, life would be nearly perfect.
"Thank you." He leaned closer, pressing his lips to the top of her head.
She stilled, drawing air in a soft, swift gasp. "You're welcome. You can sit back down now."
Her apparent discomfort was heartening. He didn't sit back down. A long silence stretched between them before she continued.
"The point is, Amberley is quite a bit more profitable than Rankill led you to believe. Run properly, with no one siphoning income, it should be self-supporting and then some. I realize you have a standard of living to maintain—"
"We have a standard of living." With his free hand, he skimmed his knuckles along her cheek.
A pink flush rose where he'd touched. "Well, yes. But, thankfully, it shouldn't be long at all until this mess is resolved and Amberley can support both you—us—and the orphanage." She paused for a breath. "So you can stop the robberies now, except..."
"Aye?"
"There are some matters that need attending. Depending on whether you think they or the children should come first."
"What sort of matters?"
"Repairs and the like. Rankill took money regardless of whether you could afford it. Your people are working with broken equipment, one of the barns needs roofing—"
"You have a list?" He ran a finger down her nose and stopped with it on her lips.
"Y-yes," she whispered against it. She pulled back, her elbow knocking a quill to the carpet.
"I'll take care of it all." He leaned down to retrieve it and tickled the feather under her chin, grinning at her discomposure. "I think I can survive another few highwayman masquerades."
With any luck, that would be all it would take. He'd amassed much of the king's evidence already.
"Weighing your safety against the children's welfare—"
"I'll be fine."
"I hope so," she said.
She really hoped so.
In less than two weeks of being married to the Duke of Amberley, she'd been surprised to discover she liked her life here. Although she adored Jason's wife, she hadn't realized the tension she'd felt at Cainewood—how difficult it had been for her to cede responsibility when Caithren had arrived. Here, the responsibility was her own. The house, the land, the people. And like the extra layer of marzipan on her bride cake, she had her orphanage, too.
"Speaking of the children..." she began.
"Aye?" At last Trick dropped the quill on the desk and went back to sit down and reclaim his drink.
Watching him, she realized this was the one chamber in Amberley House where he truly seemed at ease. Comfortable rather than opulent, it was furnished with the same classic eye to design as the cottage. Polish glinted from the deep grooves in the serviceable walnut desk where she sat, and the shelves behind Trick were stocked with well-read tomes.
"What about the children?" he asked.
"You'll remember, before you left, that I said I wanted to teach them some classical myths." She fiddled with the quill in her hands. "They're excellent learners, all of them."
One sandy brow quirked. "Even Thomas?"
"Well, maybe not Thomas." She smiled, thinking of the mischievous towhead and all the other children, all the fun she'd been having with them. "In any case, we're almost finished with the Greek stories, and before we start in on the Romans, I was thinking I'd like to throw an Olympian party."
Trick looked completely nonplussed. "A what?"
"An Olympian party. I know money is tight, but I've been pondering this, and I really don't think it will be expensive. The children can all dress up as their favorite god or goddess—I came across plenty of unused dress lengths in storage that they can wrap toga style. And decorations needn't be too costly. Phillips has agreed to help me make columns—"
"You've talked to the servants about this?"
"They think it's a fine idea. We'll eat ambrosia and drink nectar, and the children can each retell their favorite myth...it would be such a treat for them, don't you think? And reinforce what they learned, so they'll be even more eager for the next—"
"It sounds brilliant."
"It won't cost much—"
"Kendra." He set down his glass. "Have your party with my blessings."
"Really?"
The Duke of Lechmere would never have allowed it. Neither would he have allowed her a hand in the finances, which Trick had accepted with an easy grace. Hang her brothers' method of pushing them together, but she had to admit that, other than the physical mismatch, she and Trick did suit.
If only he hadn't refused to tell her why he'd gone to London and declined to take her along. Well, not refused precisely, but dodged the question as skillfully as he did many of her others. Then again, she supposed she could hardly expect him to tell her the truth, since she'd decided he must be hiding a mistress in London.
A man has needs, she'd heard her brothers say, and she knew full well she wasn't fulfilling Trick's. So it was best all around if he filled those needs elsewhere, even if the thought did rankle. This way, she could have Amberley and her orphanage and Trick's companionship, without worrying about the other.
Marriage was better all around than she'd anticipated. She couldn't imagine why she'd fought it so long.
Life was nearly perfect.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
A week later, Kendra waved to the children gathered on the steps of Caldwell Manor. "Good-bye! Take care, Mrs. Jackson!"
"Good-bye, Mrs. Kendra!" they called. "Good-bye, Mr. Caldwell!"
Yawning, she wheeled Pandora around to join Trick, mounted on his favorite horse, Chaucer. "They're excited about the party," Trick said as they started dow
n the lane.
"Two days. I can hardly wait. But there's still much to arrange."
"You're very organized. With everything else you find to do, I cannot believe you threw this together so quickly."
She shrugged. Planning the party had been the easiest part of her week. It had been much harder to resist her husband.
His offhand touches and occasional fleeting kisses never failed to weaken her knees, igniting her curiosity and desire for more. Yet she knew that more would only lead to disaster again, since they simply didn't fit properly.
She presumed he understood that too, as he never touched her in bed. Though he insisted on sharing, he left her alone, which, in its own way, she found every bit as frustrating. He was still sleeping naked, and though she refused to so much as take a peek, she was as aware of his body beside hers as she'd been from the first.
She hadn't found much sleep since he'd been home.
"I think we should check on the barn," he said. "See how the roof is coming along."
She yawned again, then shook herself awake. "I'll race you."
He was off without another word.
She kicked Pandora into a gallop after him. His tawny gelding had a head start, but she slowly gained on him until they were neck and neck. She took gulps of the rushing air, feeling it revive her, enjoying the pace, the wind in her hair, the thrill of competition. When Pandora passed the barn first, ahead of Chaucer by a nose, she laughed triumphantly.
"Good girl, Pandora," she cooed, patting the mare's deep-brown neck.
"You won," Trick conceded with a grin. He slid off his horse, coming close. "Why did you name her Pandora?"
"Simple." Craftily Kendra dismounted on the far side. "Like the Greek goddess opening her box of problems, she leads me into trouble."
She started toward the barn, but he rounded Pandora and easily caught up to her. "Leads you into trouble, does she?"
"All the time. She led me to you, didn't she?" With his hand on her arm, Kendra had little choice but to stop. She turned to meet his eyes. "Trouble."
Amber (Jewel Trilogy, Book 3) Page 9
