by Anna Gracie
horse-not for him a stuffy ride in a horrid jolting coach.
The coach lanterns provided some light, by which she could see the
outline of the two rear horses, but there was no sign of Lord
d'Arenville. He was probably a long way ahead of them.
"What the devil do you think you're doing?" a voice suddenly roared in
her ear, giving Tallie such a fright that she almost let go of her
straps.
She turned her head and saw her husband had come up close beside the
carriage, so close she could almost reach out and touch him. Her mouth
dropped open. She stared, wide-eyed, suddenly oblivious of the
lurching of the coach. This was her husband? This creature of speed
and power, shadows and moonlight--this was The Icicle?
He rode as if born to the saddle. Tallie had heard the expression
before but had never been able to imagine it. She stared, half
fearfully, at the superb black beast beneath him, gleaming with sweat
in the moonlight. She noted its strong arched neck, the powerful
hindquarters, the steam coming from its nostrils, the slight flecks of
foam at its mouth. It seemed enormous, and very fierce, its hooves
pounding through the night. And yet her husband dominated this huge,
powerful beast effortlessly. Tallie had never ridden a horse-it had
not been on Miss Fisher's curriculum. but ancient myths and legends
had.
Suddenly Tallie knew exactly what a centaur looked like.
She had always imagined them to be rather ridiculous creatures--but
this. He was. magnificent.
She stared at horse and man, pounding along in the intermittent
darkness, now a mysterious black creature of the night, now a gleaming
silver knight, kissed by moonlight. He rode bare-headed, and wet locks
of dark hair clung romantically to his brow. How he could ride his
horse so perilously close to a racing, bouncing carriage was more than
Tallie could understand--it looked frightfully dangerous.
And then she suddenly remembered--he was probably trying to scare
her.
She turned a blinding smile on him, freed one hand and waved.
He moved even closer.
"Is something wrong?" he shouted.
Hah! thought Tallie. You hope in vain, my lord.
"Not ... in the least," she shrieked back at him, her hair whipping
about her face.
"In fact ... it is monstr--' The coach lurched and she nearly fell off
her seat again.
"What did you say?" he yelled.
"Are you all right?"
Tallie plastered her smile back in place.
"I am per--perfectly well, my lord," she shouted as she jounced around
on the leather cushions.
"This tr--trip is ... most delightful! I am having--' She hauled
herself back from the edge of the seat again and clamped her fingers
onto the window frame.
"I am having ... a won--wonderful time. It ... is monstrous exciting!"
She directed the biggest smile she could muster out into the darkness.
That should do it, she thought.
"We'll stop in an hour or so." Lord d'Arenville rode even closer to
her window.
"You can rest and recover yourself then. We shall sleep the night at
an inn." He galloped off into the darkness.
Sleep the night! Tallie gulped. She had forgotten--it was her wedding
night. And at some time tonight, in some unknown inn, Lord d'Arenville
would know her, and she would become, in truth, his wife. Her mouth
was suddenly dry.
Chapter Six
1 he inn was small and ancient, with exposed black beams and a sagging
roof. Lamps spilled warm puddles of golden light across the wet
cobblestones. The coach stood in the courtyard, the horses weary,
their breath smoky against the shadows.
The rain had intensified in the last hour. Lord d'Arenville waited to
hand Tallie down. She emerged stiffly and stumbled as she landed on
the wet and slippery cobbles, but a cold, strong hand caught her and
she was safe. Her husband pulled her hard against his body and allowed
his greatcoat to drop over her, shielding her from the rain.
The sensation was overwhelming. His body radiated warmth and strength
and power. And an odour--not at all unpleasant, she decided--of horse,
damp wool, leather and fresh male sweat. Tallie allowed her body to
lean against his, knowing her behaviour was indecorous and that there
were grooms and other people watching. She was too cold to argue, too
tired to pull away--and in any case his arm was wrapped around her like
a warm steel band, and she could not have moved away if she'd tried.
She had never been so close to a man before and was entirely taken up
with the sensations it produced in her. Odd, fluttery sensations. And
a sort of breathlessness.
Nerves, she decided. Bridal nerves. "Landlord!" Lord d'Arenville
shouted, hustling her inside.
"A private parlour, and refreshments for my wife!" He handed her over
to the care of a large clucking woman, the landlord's wife. She
ushered Tallie to a small, cosy sitting room with a fire crackling in
the grate.
Shivering with cold, Tallie stood as close to the fire as she dared.
Lord d'Arenville's coach contained several warm fur rugs, which she had
used, but they hadn't prevented a chill from seeping into her bones, a
chill she knew stemmed as much from nerves as from cold.
Tallie looked around her. The inn might be old, but it was clean and
warm. There was a knock on the door and the landlord's wife bustled
back in, bobbed an awkward curtsy and set down a tray containing a
large steaming jug, some cut lemons, a small brown pot and several
pewter mugs. An enticing aroma of wine, spices and citrus fruit came
from the jug.
"Ere you are, milady.
"Is lordship bespoke some mulled wine, and says you're to take some
immediate and not to wait for 'im to arrive.
"E's seeing to the 'orses, makin' all right and tight." She
chuckled.
"There be no need to worry. Our Jem reckons it's Christmas--such prime
bits o' blood 'is lordship's 'orses are."
She poured some steaming liquid into a mug and handed it to Tallie,
beaming.
"Drink it down now, milady. It'll warm your blood proper."
It was very strange, Tallie thought, to be addressed as milady, but she
supposed she would become accustomed to it. She took a cautious sip of
the steaming drink, then smiled at the hovering woman.
"It's very good," she said softly, and sipped again.
The woman beamed.
"Good of you to say so, milady, but there's more lemons if you want
them, and honey, too, if it be too sour for you."
"No, no, it's very good just as it is," Tallie assured her, taking a
large swallow of the hot drink and feeling the tangy warmth of it curl
around her empty insides.
"Thank you."
The landlord's wife seemed to swell with delight.
"A pleasure to be serving such a kind-spoken lady. The Quality ain't
so easy to please in general. Now, I'll be off to the kitchen, |
milady, but I'll be back in a trice with dinner for 'is lordship | and
&n
bsp; yourself. I've got a couple o' fat hens a-roasting, and a I stewed
pig's ear and faggots, as tender and sweet as you could | wish for.
And mutton pie, if 'is lordship fancies it. " She | frowned and
hesitated.
"I--er--I didn't 'ave much warning of | your arrival, milady, so I'm
afraid I ain't got no jellies or... or | delicacies what a lady
might--' | " Please don't worry, Mrs. " Tallie reached for the jug,
refilled her mug, added honey, and sat on a plush-covered chair.
"Mrs. Farrow, milady. Farrow, my us band be the landlor--' " Mrs.
Farrow, you must not worry about any lack of ladylike delicacies.
I am hungry enough to eat whatever you can provide, and I am sure Lord
d'Arenville is too. And if he is not," Tallie added, with a gleam of
mischief, 'he has only himself to blame, does he not?" She took
another mouthful of mulled wine.
"He did not, after all, give you sufficient notice of his arrival."
The landlord's wife, appalled at being implicated in any criticism of a
lord, uttered a series of embarrassed disclaimers and hurriedly
curtsied herself out.
Tallie reached forward and refilled her mug. She sat back . in her
chair, snuggling against the warm plush, remembering Miss Fisher's
high, adenoidal voice"--A lady never allows her spine to contact the
back of a chair." She took another sip of mulled wine. It really was
a most deliciously warming and relaxing concoction. She had tasted
wine before, and had found it rather nasty, but this--the lemons, honey
and cinnamon--made such a delightful difference.
She kicked off her slippers and tucked her stockinged feet under
her--another of Miss Fisher's solecisms--and basked in the warmth
provided by the fire and the mulled wine. The scent of roasting meat
tantalised her tastebuds. She leaned her head on the back of the
chair. So nice not to be bouncing and jolting around. Such an
interesting journey. She closed her eyes. The dashing highwayman
thundered along the road in daredevil pursuit of the runaway coach. The
coach lurched and swayed perilously, but the kidnapped princess
remained calm, knowing her beloved was riding ventre a terre to rescue
her.
Desperately she battered at the shutters which the evil Count had
nailed over the coach windows, but they were too strong for her. Then,
suddenly, crash! With a splintering of wood the shutters were wrenched
away from without. Laughing with joy, the lost princess leaned out,
her long dark tresses tossing romantically in the wind.
"Beloved," he called in his deep and manly voice.
"I am here. Hold out your arms." Smiling into the darkness, the
princess trustfully held out her arms. Hooves pounded, wind whipped at
her hair, and then out of the inky depths of the night rode the
highwayman, moving as one with his magnificent jet-black steed. He
rode perilously close to the razor-sharp wheels of the coach. The
treacherous coachman turned his gun and fired. She gasped, filled with
horror.
But the highwayman's gleaming white teeth glinted in the moonlight and
she heard his soft laugh. Suddenly she was seized in a strong, secure
grip and lifted by powerful arms onto the back of his gallant steed.
"Cold, my little love?" he murmured, his breath warm against her ear,
and. he wrapped his black velvet cloak around her shivering body and
drew her close.
His strength supported her and his body warmed her, smelling of
leather, wet wool and fresh male sweat.
"You belong to me now, Tallie, my dearest one," he said, 'and I belong
to you. " And, holding her safe against his heart, he galloped into
the night... Magnus, stripping a sodden pair of leather gloves from his
hands, had to duck his head under the low, smoke-stained portal as he
entered the private parlour. His riding buckskins and his high leather
boots were spattered with mud.
He straightened, sniffing appreciatively.
"Ahh, mulled--' He stopped, seeing his bride of ten hours curled up in
a chair like kitten, her slippers kicked carelessly off, sound asleep.
He sAd looking down at her. Her hair tumbled about her shoulders; damp
wispy curls clung to her pale forehead and clustered around her neck.
Long dark lashes fanned her cheeks, which were flushed from the heat of
the fire. Or maybe not, he thought wryly, as he bent down and removed
the pewter mug which dangled precariously from one hand.
HA put a hand on her shoulder.
"Thalia," he said, then, "Thalia more loudly. She didn't stir. He
decided to let her sleep until dinner arrived.
W poured himself a mug of mulled wine and drained it quicNy, shuddering
pleasurably as the warm spicy liquid flowed down his throat. He poured
himself another, then set it down pensively, his eyes on the sleeping
girl. She looked exhausted. Magnus watched the gentle rise and fall
of her chest and regretted the rough haste of the journey. He should
not have inflicted such a long trip on his gently bred bride,
especially on her wedding day. Not that little Thalia Robins- no-
Thalia St. Clair she was now--was particularly gently bred.
He shook his head, recalling the way the little hoyden had hung mA the
window of the coach, pert little nose in the air, ner aLU whipping
around her face, her eyes huge and dark in the pallor of her face. Her
skin had been damp with rain, globing softly in the moonlight as she
had shrieked some nonsens? shout how much she was enjoying the
journey. Monstroil8 exciting, indeed! His lips twitched. She'd
looked frightened half out of her wits.
agnus sipped the mulled wine and watched his bride sleep- He noticed
the faint sprinkling of freckles over the bridjof her tip-tilted nose.
Freckles were generally held to be a flaw, but hers were oddly
appealing. It was almost impossible to believe that he'd married this
little scrap of humanity He didn't feel married. And he had so little
in common with her. His wife. His new Countess. His impulsive choice
of hA As most unlike him.
H? would have to train her, he supposed, train her until she resembled
the wives. He frowned, considering the way he'd become acquainted with
most of those wives. No, he didn't want her to be a typical society
wife at all. He'd be damned if he'd let her cuckold him. This Lady
d'Arenville would not stray from her marital bed; he'd make sure of
that!
He took another sip of wine and pulled a face. It was almost cold. He
leant over towards the fireplace and pushed the blackened poker into
the coals. Thalia, he pondered, watching the flames flicker and
dance.
Peculiar name. It didn't suit her at all. He wouldn't saddle a child
of his with a name like that . a child of his. With any luck she
could conceive this very night. The poker soon began to glow red-hot,
and he pulled it out, shook the ash from it, then plunged it into the
jug of spiced wine. It sizzled briefly, and aromatic steam filled the
air. He tossed the poker back onto the hearth, poured the heated
mixture back into his mug and drank deeply.
>
The innkeeper, Farrow, entered with a tray of steaming dishes. Magnus
silently indicated his sleeping wife. Farrow and several creeping
minions set out cutlery, glasses and dishes with muted clatters and
clinks. Farrow issuing instructions in a hoarse whisper that could
probably be heard in the next room. The new Lady d'Arenville slept on,
serenely oblivious.
When the innkeeper had left, Magnus touched her shoulder.
"Thalia, our dinner has arrived." She didn't move. He shook her
gently and she stirred, but did not awaken. He stood for a moment,
oddly unsure of himself. She probably was hungry--there had been no
proper wedding breakfast after all-she had eaten nothing for hours. But
women seemed to eat almost nothing anyway, and she did seem to be very
tired. Perhaps it would be better to let her sleep through dinner and
then wake her when it was time to go up to bed.
Yes, that was the better plan. He would wake her then, for he had
every intention of consummating his marriage tonight. The sooner he
got her with child the sooner she would forget about this Grand Tour
nonsense.
like a kitten, her slippers kicked carelessly off, sound asleep. He
stood looking down at her. Her hair tumbled about her shoulders; damp
wispy curls clung to her pale forehead and clustered around her neck.
