"You'll be making witticisms when we're all dust," Michael said, walking his aunt to the door.
"See that you're good to her," Lady Mary told him, offering her cheek for a kiss. "She's too good for the likes of you."
He kissed her, his eyes taking on a distant glow. "You're probably right, Aunt Mary. You usually are."
Chapter 33
A week had passed since Michael's parents had departed for the country. Michael was gone most of every day, and some evenings he didn't arrive home until Mallory was in bed. He still came to her bed each night, and she knew she should tell him about the baby, but she kept her precious secret to herself.
Mallory was alone again. She stood at the front window, gazing out on the park across the street. She watched as several carriages passed, hoping one of them would be Michael's—they weren't.
She ate a solitary meal in the formal dining room, thinking this was little different from when she was alone at her father's house in Cairo. After thumbing through several books in the library, Mallory decided to retire.
She was already dressed for bed when she felt the strangest sensation within her stomach. At first, she thought she might have imagined it, but no, there it was again. She could only liken it to the flutter of butterfly wings.
The baby had moved!
Too excited to sleep, she pulled on her blue robe and walked to the small office Michael had given her as her own. She sat down at the desk, took paper and pen, thinking she would write Cousin Phoebe and tell her of her marriage, and about the baby.
She had left the door open so she would hear Michael when he arrived. The letter was almost finished when she became aware of voices downstairs. She assumed Michael had returned and was talking to the servants. She put her letter aside.
She was so excited—she would tell Michael about the baby and that she'd felt it move tonight!
She hurried to the stairs. The voices were coming from the sitting room, and Mallory could hear the butler talking to Michael.
She rushed into the room, her eyes bright, her hair streaming down her back. "Michael, the most wonderful—"
She stopped, her eyes falling on her husband, who was seated on the couch next to the most beautiful creature she'd ever seen. There were several other ladies and gentlemen in the room, but she was hardly aware of them.
"Michael," Lady Samantha said, looking Mallory over with a critical eye, "who is this woman? She can't be one of the servants, or she wouldn't have addressed you so familiarly. Her robe is at least ten years out of date, and tattered besides. I can only say that if she's your doxy, then you were in the desert too long."
Mallory's lips trembled, but she raised her chin, her blue eyes flashing dangerously. She was humiliated, and she was outraged. "And who are you?" she demanded, although she already knew it was Lady Samantha.
"Michael," Lady Samantha said with a pout on her lips, "surely you aren't going to allow her to speak to me in such a manner?"
Michael came to his feet, staggering slightly. "I admit I've had too much to drink, Mallory. But this isn't what it looks like. I was at my club with my friends when a servant informed us that there were ladies below in a coach, asking to see us."
Mallory didn't flinch. "So you brought them here?"
"They're my friends."
There was no accusation in her voice, only hurt. "And you haven't told them about me?"
"Why should he?" Lady Samantha said, pulling up her elbow-length gloves. "Women like you are seldom introduced to respectable people."
Michael was aware that Samantha put her hand on his arm, and he shook it off.
"Michael, I will not discuss this in front of strangers, but when they have gone, you'll find me in my room." Without another word, Mallory turned and left.
"My God, Michael, who was that beauty?" Lord Grussom asked. "If you don't want her, I'll take her. Where have you been hiding her?"
The look in Michael's eyes made Lord Grussom take a step backwards.
These people weren't his friends anymore, Michael thought with distaste. He'd been trying to recapture his life as it had been before he left England, but he'd realized tonight that it was useless. He didn't want that life anymore.
"Get out of my house, all of you. Don't you know a lady when you see one? Not a one of you is worthy of my wife."
There was stunned silence in the room. At last, Lady Samantha spoke. "Your wife!" she cried. "No one told me that you were married."
"I should have told you, but I wanted to keep her to myself. She's not like us—hard and unfeeling. You hurt her tonight, Samantha, and I allowed it."
"I waited for you," Lady Samantha raged. "You led me to believe we would one day be married. You did, Michael—you know you did."
He shook his head, trying to clear it, while all he could think about was the stricken look in Mallory's eyes. "If I did, I apologize. You should have listened to the old Gypsy. Everything she's predicted has come to pass." He turned to the butler.
"Show them out."
* * *
Mallory sent the upstairs maid for her battered trunk that had been stored in the attic. When the maid returned, Mallory could see pity in her eyes, and that hurt almost as much as Lady Samantha's insults.
"Have a carriage made ready for me, and then have someone come for my trunk. I'll be leaving almost immediately."
"Yes, m'lady." The servant quickly withdrew, and Mallory tried not to cry.
When Michael entered the room, she didn't even look up, but went on cramming her belongings into the trunk, not caring if they became wrinkled.
"You aren't leaving," he said, bracing his back against the door.
She paused and glared at him. "Yes, I am, Michael. I have tried not to be demanding and encroach on your world, because I knew you needed time to become accustomed to having a wife. But I would never have believed you capable of deliberate cruelty. You humiliated me tonight, Michael, and in so doing, humiliated yourself as well."
"It wasn't like that, Mallory. I told you that I'd had too much to drink."
She stamped her foot. "And I hope you have the damnedest headache in the morning."
He dropped down on the bed. "I won't let you leave."
"You have nothing to say about it."
His head seemed to clear as he looked at her. "I don't want you to go."
"Shall I stay so I can be the butt of jests, and endure your friends' hateful remarks? You don't know me very well if you think I'll live like this. I've never had a real home, and I thought—no, I hoped, I would have one with you. I know now I was mistaken."
He stood up and gripped her by the shoulders. "I know it's my fault tonight, but it started out in innocence."
"That may be, but the pity is that you would rather be at your club with your friends than at home with me."
"I did try to go back to my old life, but it wasn't the same. I've changed, Mallory, and my friends haven't. I'm older in experience, and I'm not one of them anymore."
"And I don't belong with you anymore."
"Mallory, won't you try to understand?"
"I'm trying. If I hear you correctly, you want me to understand that you were bored with your friends, bored with me, and looking for something that wouldn't bore you."
His hand tightened on her shoulder. "No, damn it, that's not it at all."
She moved away from him and closed the trunk, securing the leather straps. "I'll be waiting in the coach for my trunk."
"Where are you going?" Michael asked.
"I'll let you know."
He watched her leave, feeling helpless to stop her. Until this moment, he hadn't known how much he wanted her. It was too late. She'd never believe him now.
Mallory entered the waiting coach, half hoping that Michael would come after her. When he didn't, she settled into the seat and rested her head on the high leather back. "Take me to Ravenworth," she told the coachman.
It was midafternoon when the coach stopped before the massive doors of R
avenworth Castle. Kassidy had been cutting flowers when the coach arrived. When she saw Mallory, she dropped the flowers and hurried to her daughter-in-law.
"My dear, what a wonderful surprise. If I'd known you were coming, I would have planned something special." She hugged Mallory to her. "Is Michael with you?"
Mallory met her inquiring eyes. "No. I'm alone."
"What is wrong? Has something happened to my son?"
"No, Michael is all right. I . . . Michael . . . I didn't know where else to come, so I came to you."
Kassidy looked into eyes swimming with tears and put a protective arm about Mallory. "If you don't want to talk about it, you don't have to. This is your home, you can come any time you like."
Mallory collapsed against her, and Kassidy called for the coachman to carry her upstairs.
* * *
Mallory opened her eyes as a cool cloth was placed on her forehead. She caught at Kassidy's hand. "I'm sorry to cause you distress."
"Nonsense. Does my son know you're going to have a baby?"
"No," Mallory said, not even surprised that Kassidy had guessed her secret.
"I see."
"You won't tell him?"
"No. That will be for you to do." Kassidy moved to the door. "When is the last time you had something to eat?"
"Yesterday . . . I'm not sure."
"You rest now, while I get you something light. It's always better to have something on your stomach when you are expecting a child."
Mallory caught her hand. "I don't want you to think Michael did anything wrong. I . . . he . . . cannot help it if he doesn't love me."
For the first time in her life, Kassidy was angry with Michael. "Did he tell you that?"
"Not in words." Tears spilled down Mallory's cheeks. "I came to you because of the baby. I know how important this child is to the DeWinter family." She wiped her eyes. "But you should know this. I'll never leave my baby, as my parents left me. This is my child, as well as Michael's."
Kassidy closed her eyes, feeling the young girl's pain. "I don't know what happened between the two of you, and I don't want to know. But you are as welcome in this house as Michael. And he will not bother you here, if you don't want to see him."
"You are so kind."
"Not at all. Actually, I've been lonely since Arrian and Warrick took the children back to Scotland."
"You must think badly of me."
"Not at all. You are exactly what I would want for my son. And I know, better than you think, what you are feeling. There was a time when Raile was like Michael. But have hope, because where there is love, there is hope. And Michael does love you—I believe that."
"I don't believe that love is what he feels for me. But I don't want him to worry. If you would have someone notify him that I'm here, I'd be grateful."
"I'll do that."
Mallory was so exhausted that her hand fell across her chest. "If I could rest for just a bit, I'll feel better."
Kassidy pulled up a chair and sat beside Mallory until she fell into a restless sleep. Oh, yes, she knew so well how this sweet girl's heart was breaking. There had been a time, when she and Raile were first married, that she had thought he didn't love her, and she had never forgotten the hurt.
She left the bedroom in search of her husband. It was time Michael became a man and accepted the responsibilities of being a DeWinter.
* * *
Michael had slept little since Mallory left. He worried that the coach had been in an accident. When the coach did return, he was on the steps waiting for it.
"Where did you take her ladyship?" he asked the coachman.
"Why, m'lord, I took her to Ravenworth."
"Was she all right—I mean she didn't seem upset or—?" He broke off. One didn't question the servants about one's wife.
"I have a letter from His Grace," the coachman said, reaching onto his coat pocket. "He said I was to deliver it into your own hands."
Michael took the letter with his father's seal on it and hurried to his office. He closed the door, ripped it open, and read.
Michael,
This is to let you know that Mallory arrived at Ravenworth without incident. It is at her request that I contact you, so you will not worry. She and your mother have become very close, and I've come to love her like a daughter. Let us hear from you soon.
Michael ran into the hallway and up the stairs, calling for William. "Pack my clothing, we're going to Ravenworth." "Very good, m'lord." "Hurry, William. I want to leave within the hour."
* * *
Mallory opened the bedroom door in response to Kassidy's knock. She smiled, shaking her head when she saw the two maids carrying armloads of what looked like gowns.
"What have you there?"
"I had the seamstress make you several gowns. I noticed you are beginning to fill yours out, and I wanted to surprise you."
Kassidy instructed that the gowns be placed on the bed, and when the servants left, she picked up a powder blue one and held it up to Mallory.
"Just as I supposed, blue is a good color for you."
Mallory touched the light gauze fabric. "It's lovely, and how cleverly it was made to disguise the baby."
"I haven't given you a wedding present, so, after the baby comes, you and I will go to London and I'll give you a whole new wardrobe."
"I would love that."
Kassidy picked up a pale pink gown, then frowned, and tossed it aside. "Not with your red hair."
Mallory touched her stomach. "I feel the baby move almost every day."
Kassidy's eyes glowed. "I can't tell you how excited I'll be to have a baby in this house again. Arrian's children are wonderful, though they are being raised in their Scottish heritage, and rightly so, but this baby will be a DeWinter."
"I hope it's a son. Michael seems to be driven by the need to have a son."
"As was his father." Kassidy sighed. "I was always sorry I couldn't give Raile more children."
"You gave him two."
"Actually, Arrian was the child of my sister and Raile's half-brother. Abigail died giving birth to her, and Raile and I took her as our own daughter. She has been as dear to us as if she had been born to us."
"I would never have guessed she wasn't your daughter." Mallory was quiet for a moment. "Do you suppose he'll come?"
Kassidy knew she meant Michael. "Oh, yes, he'll come, if not today, then tomorrow."
Chapter 34
Mallory moved through the picture gallery, looking at portraits of long dead dukes and duchesses of Ravenworth. She could only wonder at the pride that ran deeply in this family. Had she not seen that pride in Michael?
She stopped beneath a portrait of the present duke and duchess. Raile with the proud tilt to his head, stood with his hand on Kassidy's shoulder, while Kassidy, looking beautiful in a frothy white gown, had a slight smile on her lips.
Mallory moved down the hallway looking at portraits of many generations of DeWinter wives. She wondered if her portrait would ever hang there. She doubted it would.
Mallory had basked in the kindness of the duke and duchess. Raile was particularly solicitous, inquiring about her health as a father might inquire about a daughter. He was an amazing man, and she was in awe of the power he wielded in the village of Ravenworth. But if they respected the duke, the villagers loved their duchess, and surrounded her whenever she went among them, the children holding out bouquets of crumpled flowers for her.
The people had been curious about Mallory at first, but now they smiled at her and wished her a good day when she accompanied Kassidy to the village.
She paused at a huge portrait of Michael and Arrian as children. She looked into the eyes of the boy her husband had been and saw something she had not seen before. Life seemed to pulsate from him, and the smile on his lips was a smile of one who was contented, and certain of the future.
"Our portrait will hang here. Would you like that, Mallory?"
Breathlessly, she turned to see her husband.
There was no arrogance on his face, no haughtiness. Was that uncertainty she detected in those green eyes?
"Michael, you have come," was all she could manage to say.
"You should have known I would, Mallory." He took a hesitating step toward her and paused, his eyes looking back at the blank wall that was reserved for his portrait when he became duke of Ravenworth.
"Imagine, years from now, some young wife will stand where you are now standing and look up into your face. She will wonder at your beauty, and her husband will say, 'That's my great-grandmother. Was her red hair not glorious to behold? Was not my great-grandfather the most fortunate of men?'"
Mallory's throat closed off with emotion because the look in Michael's eyes was soft, and she could see love shining there.
She rushed into his open arms and cried against his shoulder. "Oh, Michael, I love you so desperately. And I have missed you so dreadfully."
His grip tightened on her. "Oh, Mallory, Mallory, how long I've waited to hear those words from you. Do you remember that I once told you I wanted something from you?"
She nodded. "I remember."
"I was waiting for you to love me."
Happiness burst from her heart. "I love so much. I never knew it was possible to love this deeply, and to hurt so badly."
Michael's eyes swept her face. "The last person in the world I'd ever want to hurt is you, Mallory. That night you left, I feared I would never see you again."
There was earnestness in his eyes as he paced back and forth, trying to find the words that would make her trust him. "You must believe that nothing happened between Samantha and me. She means nothing to me, and never has. Please say you believe me."
"I have found you to be an honorable man, Michael. If you say that nothing happened between you and Lady Samantha, then I believe you."
"You are wise beyond your years, Mallory. I pledge to you this day, before my ancestors, that I will never in any way dishonor you or the vows we took"—he smiled— "twice."
Desert Song (DeWinter's Song 3) Page 27
