Secret Pleasures

by Cheryl Howe

  Ivy blinked and pursed her lips against telling him that Melody was not hers so he would leave her alone, but she dared not. She would not deny Melody.

  “You’re hiding something. I can see it in the tilt of your eyes.” Maddox rubbed his chin. “I shall find out, you know.”

  “There is nothing to discover except that my child was born out of wedlock. That is scandal enough. I did not plan to expose her to that kind of scrutiny. I shall raise her abroad.” Ivy hoped that little taste of the truth would satisfy him.

  “Well, take Blackmore with you. I can’t have him going on another bender after your departure. He has done enough damage. He tried to shoot me this morning.” Henry turned away from her and examined the rustic fireplace with a sneer.

  “He did not. He would not hurt Robert.” Ivy regretted her words the instant Maddox swung around to face her, a grin on his face. Surely he wasn’t going to try and blame Darien for the shooting at the hunt. But why wouldn’t he? Ivy suspected he had often arranged events to his advantage.

  “Robert Fitzgerald was of use to me. I don’t care who plants the seed as long as it grows on Westhaven’s family tree. I can’t expect the old man to do the job all on his own. And my grandson will be a peer of the realm.”

  Maddox strolled to the front door and rested his hand on the knob. He flicked the lock without hesitation, as if he’d been in the house before. Ivy took deep breaths through her nose to calm herself. He was almost gone.

  “So from this day forward,” Maddox continued. “Stay away from Arianna and restrain your mongrel. I have planned this alliance for a good many years and I have been too patient to let it fail. My descendants will be the earls of Westhaven.”

  “You will have no further interference from me.”

  Maddox nodded then flung open the door and strolled out, not bothering to close it behind him. The real danger had left and she could not lock him out with a bolted door. But he would be back, of that she was certain. Ivy rushed up the stairs to pack her things. She must leave for America immediately, before Maddox discovered the truth. No one would take her daughter from her.

  ***

  The moment Arianna spotted Robert lying still on white sheets, a bandage of the same material spotted with red around his abdomen, she lost all fear and doubt. Arianna would never again question her strange fascination with things that would make a “normal” woman wretch. She rushed to Robert’s side, taking no more than a cursory notice of the men hovering in the far corner. Robert’s mother seamlessly moved out of the way so Arianna could take Robert’s hand.

  He smiled weakly at her touch. That he remained conscious unnerved her slightly. She should be relieved by his show of strength, but he would no doubt cry out when she cut into him.

  “Thank you for coming back.” His face was drawn and damp.

  “Are you mad?” She genuinely laughed. The sound echoed in the sickroom like broken glass. “Let me see.” She reached for the bandage and he grabbed her wrist, a warning look in his eyes.

  An elderly gentleman in a fraying wig, a magnifying glass attached to his forehead, approached the other side of the bed. “The ball ricocheted off something on the ground, a rock perhaps. The shot ripped upwards. Could be in his heart the way he’s bleeding. There is no hope in surgery.”

  “He’ll bleed to death if you don’t try,” cried Robert’s mother from behind her.

  “Of course, I’ll try.” She took a deep, steady breath, a little stunned how excited she was, how alive she felt. “I’ve yet to perform surgery on a live patient and I shan’t miss my opportunity.”

  Robert tried not to grimace and lay his head back weakly on the pillow. He released her arm but he carefully studied her face. Arianna forced her emotions behind a bland smile and cut away the bandage with scissors she’d grabbed from the bedside table.

  “She never worked on a live patient. You failed to mention that.” Lord Blackmore was suddenly behind her, breathing over her shoulder.

  Arianna pulled the bandage from the wound that bled entirely too freely. She grabbed a pile of torn sheets stacked on the table with other instruments. She glanced over her shoulder.

  Lord Blackmore quickly paced to the other side of the room.

  “Mrs. Fitzgerald, could you put pressure on the wound while I fetch my instruments from my room.” Arianna offered Robert’s mother the cloth, seeing in her steady brown gaze the woman who would be the right candidate for the job.

  “Use mine, dear,” called the doctor. “They are quite expensive. Pure Spanish Silver. Draws bad humors from the blood.”

  Arianna examined the shiny surgical tools that matched the scissors she had recently used. The finely made shears had frayed the cotton.

  “They are beautiful but mine are sharper. I shall fetch them.” She turned to Robert to find him now blessedly unconscious. If she hurried, perhaps she could dig out the musket ball before he came to.

  “Are you squeamish, Mrs. Fitzgerald?”

  “Not when it comes to my only son, no. And please, call me Lily.” Robert’s mother held the cloth exactly as Arianna directed.

  “Then I will ask that you ensure we have plenty of fresh linens and clean water. I will need to keep the area as clean as possible while I try to locate the ball.”

  She nodded then returned her gaze to Robert.

  “If he wakes, give him more laudanum. I will need strong men to hold him down. May I count on you, Lord Blackmore?”

  Lord Blackmore leaned against the far wall with his arms folded but immediately straightened. For the first time in their acquaintance, he appeared completely unsure of himself.

  “At your service, Miss Maddox.” Lord Blackmore bowed, regaining his composure and sending a dark lock of hair over his forehead.

  “I would help,” said the earl from a chair near the doctor. She had not noticed him at all when she came in.

  “Thank you, my lord,” Arianna said, making voluntary eye contact with the old man for the first time. His worried blue gaze held sincere compassion and sorrow, reminding Arianna of her own grandfather. She forced a strained smile before she turned her back on him and leaned over Robert. The obstacles that stood between them seemed insignificant considering that his life was in jeopardy.

  Arianna pressed her lips against Robert’s heated lips. My God, he was burning up. She let her mouth linger, brushed back his hair. His eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks but he did not kiss her back, nor did he wake at all.

  “I love you. And I will do everything in my power to save you.” She did not whisper her words but said them loud enough for Robert to hear if he could, along with anyone else who cared to know.

  Arianna rushed to retrieve her instruments. There was no more time to waste. Her mother stood at the doorway in wide-eyed horror, blocking her way.

  “Arianna, what are you doing? This is no place for a girl of your temperament.”

  “This is the only place for a girl of my temperament.” She paused to squeeze her mother’s cold hands. “Do not worry. I know what I’m doing.” And for the first time in her life, she did.

  We have both been threatened, as you will no doubt hear in lurid detail.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Darien rummaged through an array of cut crystal decanters until he found one with brown liquid that looked like whiskey. He forced himself to take a glass from the side table. A lacquered map of the world served as the bar’s table top in his father’s private study. The whiskey barely had time to settle in the glass before Darien slugged it back. The fiery jolt took the edge from his shaking hands.

  “Would you like a brandy?” Darien glanced at his father who’d collapsed in his favorite armchair, or at least it had been the last time Darien had been in this room. “Father?”

  Darien strode to his father who sat slumped and unresponsive. Surrounded by dark masculine furniture and oversized portraits of wounded prey, his father looked like a shrunken version of his former self. Darien shook his shoulder.
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  “Yes, brandy,” his father shouted. He came to quickly enough, but his blank gaze showed signs of confusion as well as exhaustion.

  “Perhaps I should call for some food. What time is it, anyway?” Darien glanced to the clock on the mantle and found it was late in the afternoon. Clouds had gathered, prematurely darkening the day to match their dire mood.

  “I could not eat a thing. Just the brandy.”

  Darien went to pour his father a drink. They had held Robert down while the woman who claimed to love him methodically dug out the musket ball imbedded in his chest. The task had been too grueling for either Lily or Rand and both were asked to leave the room. By the end, Robert had been too weak to struggle. Thank God. Arianna had finally removed the ball and Robert slept quietly, ghostly and pale. He had lost entirely too much blood. Darien glanced down at his stained shirt front and his nails still encrusted with red from this morning, though he’d scrubbed his hands in a basin of hot water.

  “I need a bath,” Darien said. He set down his glass, wanting nothing more than to get home to Ivy, take her to bed and never let her go.

  His father clutched his glass and stared blankly, his face strangely emotionless.

  “Should I call someone for you?”

  Henry Maddox strolled into the study. He’d been absent most of the day, making a brief appearance around midday. Finding his daughter, hands covered in blood, operating on her wounded lover, only raised his eyebrows. To Arianna’s credit she turned and met her father’s questioning gaze with undisguised challenge. Maddox merely bowed to his daughter and left the room.

  “Did he die?” he asked, glancing from Westhaven to Darien.

  “The girl removed the ball. Time will tell now. She’s with him upstairs.” Darien’s father’s words were slurred and thick though he had not yet touched his brandy.

  “Can the good Reverend Fitzgerald still perform the ceremony?” Maddox strolled to the side table. He plucked a bottle from the jumble Darien had had to sort through.

  “Are you mad?” said Darien.

  The earl’s expression did not waver. “My nephew is indisposed at the moment, Henry.”

  “Then send for another preacher. I can have someone in from London on the morrow.”

  The earl stood but gripped the chair’s edge. “Very well, then. I shall need my rest.”

  Darien blocked his father from escaping, feeling more on solid ground now that the old man was back to his bull-headed self.

  “Surely you do not intend to go on with this charade. Robert Fitzgerald’s life hangs in the balance, and we still do not know who shot him.”

  “Why don’t you enlighten us, Blackmore?” Maddox swirled a large portion of golden-brown cognac in a fat-bellied glass.

  “How would I know?” Darien watched Maddox stroll to the mantle, examining the artwork as if he had a vested interest in it.

  “Were your orders to kill me?” He turned to Darien, took a sip of brandy. “Or perhaps you finally found the courage to eliminate your dear, old man?”

  “If I wanted to shoot someone, Henry, you should know that he would be dead.” Darien rolled the empty glass in his hand. He’d love another drink, but he’d rather be on his way home to Ivy.

  Maddox stiffened and stationed himself on the edge of the desk in the corner, strategically located behind Darien’s father’s chair. “Whatever the case may be, this morning’s little incident changes nothing.”

  “I think it changes everything. Surely you see that Arianna is in love with Robert Fitzgerald,” Darien said to his father. Maddox obviously did not care one way or the other, as long as he got what he wanted.

  “Love has no basis in these kinds of decisions.” His father leaned heavily on his chair. His often used words did not hold their usual callousness. Instead, he seemed almost defeated by them.

  “Did you learn nothing from your experience with me? You cannot recklessly disregard people’s feelings and think there will not be repercussions.” Darien strode to the other side of his father’s chair.

  “Of course we can.” Maddox retreated to the other side of his father’s desk. Sat in his father’s chair. “Oh, and if you think Ivy’s brat is yours, I hope to enlighten you before you make an ass out of yourself once again. Your son has a love child at his hovel, Lord Westhaven. I wished to keep it from you until after the wedding. I have already sent a man to London to investigate.”

  “You have no right to invade my home. How did you find out?” Darien stopped himself before he reached the desk. What was he going to do? Pull Maddox from behind it and beat him in his father’s study? Damn it to hell. Ivy would be furious with him either way. He should have acted surprised.

  The earl turned to Darien, still clutching his chair. “Is this true?”

  “Stay away from Ivy.” Darien directed his venom at Maddox, intending to ignore his father’s question for as long as possible. “She’s none of your concern.”

  “It’s my concern if she tries to pawn off her brat as yours and steals the title from a rightful Westhaven heir.” Maddox stood and leaned over the desk as if the hunk of wood kept him from throttling Darien.

  “As it is now, I’m the Westhaven heir.” Darien leaned across the desk, almost nose to nose with Maddox. “And once I marry Ivy, any son we produce will then be the legal heir. I won’t let you circumvent me, Maddox, so you might as well forget this wedding business.”

  “Ivy has a child?” His father stood behind Darien, no longer willing to be ignored. “Is she claiming it to be yours?”

  Darien turned. “I love her. I always have. And I plan to marry her with or without your blessing.” Darien sighed, sure he was going to hate himself later for any of his confessions tonight. Ivy hadn’t actually agreed to any of this. “However, I prefer it to be with your blessing.”

  His father stared at him a moment, then dropped his gaze and shook his head sadly. There was a small chair in front of the desk, probably used for a secretary or other underling. His father dropped his once large frame into it.

  “Ivy Templeton is barren. I’ve been assured of that.” Henry sank into the plush armchair on the other side of the desk. “She’s trying to pass off some whore’s brat as her own. It’s a girl this time, but do you want her trying to sneak a bastard son as his heir?”

  “I don’t care who my son’s heir is,” his father said to Henry.

  “You had better care, my lord. The wedding will take place tomorrow.”

  “I shall be there if you can get your daughter to agree.”

  “And what shall you do about him?” Maddox pointed to Darien as if he were rubbish left by the former occupants. He’d be glad to clarify the situation for Maddox but was too intrigued by what his father would say next. It was as if Darien no longer knew the man.

  “When my son-in-law, Major Fitzgerald, returns from his rounds with the search party, I shall have him find out if you have bothered my son, or his mistress. Then we shall see about continuing with this union. But I warn you, Henry, if Darien is troubled, I cannot keep our bargain.”

  “I have waited nearly a decade, my lord. Done things your way, but time is running out. I will see my last daughter married to the Earl of Westhaven if it’s the last thing I do. Surely you do not want your illustrious reputation to be destroyed by a drunkard and a whore.”

  All right. Time to show Henry Maddox out—through the window. His father stood and blocked Darien’s path as if he knew he’d reached his limit. Darien nodded and hung back. Not because he feared his father, but because the old man wobbled on his feet. His father sat back down but scowled at Henry with all the more force.

  “I shall not have you speak that way about my son in my presence. Leave us. I shall be ready for your summons when all the arrangements are made for the ceremony.”

  “Certainly, my lord.” Maddox stood abruptly, as if he suddenly realized he’d gone too far. “My apologies, Lord Blackmore.” Henry practically grimaced on his words. He gave them a curt bow and lef
t the room.

  “What in the bloody hell is it going to take to get you to see that this is a mistake?” Darien asked after Maddox had left with a slammed door to mark his exit.

  “Duty is never a mistake, Darien, but I see that you will never understand that. Do you have a child?”

  Darien turned away, finding he was unable to lie to his father in the face. “Possibly.”

  “Ivy didn’t mention a child when she came to see me after the ball.” His father watched him. His gaze clear, penetrating, as Darien remembered from his boyhood.

  “She came to see you? I find that almost impossible to believe.” Darien cocked his head, studied his father. His father never bluffed. He never had to. He always had the winning hand.

  “The day after you announced your engagement. Did you know of the child then? Is that why you decided to marry Ivy?”

  “Melody is a girl.” Dread began to build in his gut, though he tried to convince himself there was nothing his father could do or say to keep him from Ivy again. “It’s not uncommon for illegitimate children to become a part of a nobleman’s household. Melody can’t inherit, so I don’t see the harm.”

  “You never see the harm, Darien, but I do. So Ivy has agreed to marry you?”

  “Why would she not? Ivy loves me.” Darien did know that much was true, and he’d be a fool to forget it a second time.

  “Perhaps, but she’s practical. Did she tell you of the money I paid her to keep you out of trouble until the Maddox girl and I have wed?”

  Darien could not stop the slight shake of his head and took a telling step back.

  “Ivy will never be accepted in society as your wife.” The satisfied look on his father’s face told him Darien need not answer his previous question. “Henry will make sure of that. But if you want my blessings, you have them. Just be careful, Darien. I do not wish to see you fall apart again.” His father pushed out of his chair. Darien was too shocked to speak.

  “Why? Why did you pay her to be with me? How much?”