by Jo Goodman
Salem grinned in appreciation, never believing the duke's story for a minute. "Most likely. Have you other apparitions?"
Salem and Nigel explored ghostly tales with Davinia's music a pleasant background. As the evening came to a comfortable close Salem suspected he had been wrong about Davinia's initial interest in him. Clearly Davinia was in Nigel's thrall. Away from the duke she seemed to have an independent mind, but Salem had seen for himself how she subjugated herself to her lover's will.
Still, there was time enough for circumstances to change, Salem reminded himself later as he prepared for bed. Though a number of thoughts could have plagued his sleep that night, Salem had a gift for putting them aside to draw on nature's healing rest.
In another bedchamber the duke was coldly angry and letting Ashley feel the bitter shards of his temper.
"He saw you!" There was a vicious twist to Nigel's mouth that Ashley had never seen before. "What were you doing at the window?"
"I wanted to see what manner of man the Colonial was," Ashley whispered, thoroughly daunted by her guardian's clipped ferocity. She was sitting at the head of her bed, pillows bunched around her, and the heavy comforter was pulled to her throat and gripped in white-knuckled fists. Her face was flushed, and she blinked repeatedly, trying to gather her wits after being jerked from a deep slumber. Her ebony hair, braided for sleep, had fallen across her neck and, combined with her stricken expression, gave her every appearance of someone bound for the hangman.
"Speak up!"
"I said, I wanted to see what manner of man the Colonial was."
"I don't believe you. You were signaling him for some reason. Did you think he would help you?"
That anyone brought to the duke's home would help her never occurred to Ashley. "No. I told you, I merely wanted to see him."
"And were you satisfied? Is he everything you expected? Did you immediately crawl between your covers and imagine yourself alone with your first lover?"
Ashley could not answer. She shook her head.
"Where is that stiff spine of yours now? What has happened to all your defiant airs? Seeing the captain has taken the wind from your sails, hasn't it, miss?"
"Please, Nigel," she begged in hushed tones. "You ask too many questions. I can't think."
"I don't intend that you should, you stupid chit! You have no decision in anything that is going to happen. I say you shall bed the Yankee! I say that you shall marry Bosworth! I say when and where these things shall take place! I will not have you complicating my affairs any longer. Am I understood?"
"Yes." Ashley's head tilted to one side as her ears caught the harsh sound of scraping metal. All through Nigel's triade she had been aware of his hands behind his back. She had assumed he took the stance to maintain control, to stop himself from laying hands on her. Now she wasn't so certain. "What have you got behind your back?"
A muscle twitched in the duke's lean jaw. His eyes were peculiarly bright as he brought his hands to his sides. In the left there was nothing. In the right he held iron shackles. "A poignant reminder of Linfield's darker history don't you think? I believe it was my grandfather who had some dealings in the slave trade to the Americas." He raised his hand so the iron rings swayed in front of him and studied them dispassionately. "Crude, to be sure. But effective, I think. I chose these fetters because of their size. I suppose they must have been intended for a child. That's rather sad. Though you are so like a child sometimes, Ashley, that I grow weary of it. I did warn you I would have my way, didn't I?" He glanced at his ward, smiling slightly when he saw the simple swing of the shackles had completely absorbed her attention. "You mustn't be so afraid, m'dear. I don't intend that you'll wear the bracelets forever, you know. This measure is only necessary until I decide you and the captain should meet." He lowered the shackles and took a step toward the fourposter. "Give me your wrist, Ashley."
The duke had supposed too much by Ashley's silence. She was terrified, to be sure, but she was never going to meekly submit to being chained to her bed. Nigel's step forward shocked her into action. "Stop there! I'll scream!"
Nigel seemed more disappointed than angry. "Foolish chit. And who is going to hear you? The staff? If they did it wouldn't mean anything to them. I told them you were ill. They know better than to question or interfere." He took another step. "Give me your wrist."
In response Ashley threw a pillow at the duke and lunged for the far side of her bed. Nigel was momentarily startled by her violence but schooled his features quickly. Lifting one brow in marked disdain, he observed the posture of her body, each slender limb poised for escape. "The door to your chamber is locked, Ashley. I have the key. There is nowhere for you to go. I will not fight you. I am prepared to remain here until you drop with exhaustion and then do what I must. Never think you can hope to outlast me."
Ashley sobbed, shutting her eyes as the depth of the duke's cruelty struck her like a physical blow. Nigel was bent on nothing less than her complete submission. He was not going to allow her to retain even a measure of pride by fighting him. Ashley experienced a sweeping sense of humiliation as she considered the duke's words and knew him to be correct. Even if she could remain awake longer than he and perhaps steal the key—then what? There was nowhere for her to flee. At every turn the duke bested her, and he did it with the enduring patience of a seasoned hunter.
Weary of it all, Ashley's slim shoulders momentarily sagged. "I won't let you do this to me. I am not an animal to be fettered in a stall." Her deep green eyes implored him. "Why are you doing all of this? What have I done?"
"I owe you no explanation. It is enough that I wish things as they are."
"Has it something to do with my mother?" Ashley persisted. "Is this how you treated her? Do I remind you of her?"
"Do not press me further. Now give me your wrist."
"No." Her reply was grave. "You'll have to stay awake longer than I to get it."
"As you wish."
Those three words ended all conversation. Nigel seated himself in a winged chair which framed one side of the bedchamber's hearth. The shackles rested on his knee. The keys were placed on the cherry wood table at his side. He seemed very comfortable. Ashley sat on the floor, bracing herself against the sideboard of her bed. She reached for neither her bedjacket nor her comforter, hoping the slight chill would keep her awake.
Somewhere in one of the adjoining rooms she heard the faint striking of the hour. She heard midnight, then one, two. She counted the chimes at four. She came fully awake, realizing she had missed the third hour of the morning. It was too late then. Her room was empty. Nigel had kindly stoked the fire. In the light it offered Ashley could see both keys on the cherry wood table exactly as the duke had left them. She knew he had done it purposely to taunt her. She could imagine his smile as he left the room, thinking of her despair when she woke and saw freedom in her sight but beyond her reach.
Ashley levered her head enough to see the shackle that held one wrist securely to a bedpost. The torn lace cuff of her sleeve bordered a portion of the metal ring, making it seem heavier, coarser in contrast. She cried out, yanking at the shackle, but only succeeded in scraping her wrist against the rough metal. Undaunted and numb with humiliation, Ashley struggled with her bonds as crimson droplets dotted her lace cuff. It was only when the ring was made slippery with her own blood and she could still not release her wrist that she stopped.
Struck by the savage ugliness of Nigel's treatment she turned so that her face was hidden against her shackled arm and wept softly into the curve of her elbow.
Chapter 3
Salem stroked the filly's blood bay shoulder. "You're a beauty, all right. But you're not what I'm looking for." As if sensing rejection the horse tossed her head and moved away from Salem's stroking. "Sensitive, aren't you?" To soften the blow he tossed some extra oats into her mix.
Where was the horse he was supposed to find here? None of the cattle matched the description his father had given him. After the initial
tour the duke had invited Salem to inspect the stables at his leisure. He already had three days at Linfield to do just that. And nothing had come of it. Oh, there was a great black stallion Salem had his eye on and the duke indicated he might sell, but that prime animal was no thoroughbred filly. Had his father's fancy been caught by rumors that were at least six weeks old when he heard them? If the horse existed it may very well have been sold. Salem was tempted to inquire directly, but something held him back. If a simple query could have answered everything, then Salem felt certain his father would have sent Gareth. Since he had not, he must have thought this was a transaction only his eldest could complete.
In an attempt to fathom his father's reasoning, Salem considered the differences between himself and Gareth. His brother didn't share Salem's love of sailing. To him it was transportation, pure and simple—no reason for excitement. Salem could have said the same of horses. Gareth was a canny trader, value for value. Gareth leaned toward transactions where, if he lost, he would lose little. Salem, calculating as carefully as his brother, would always risk more.
Was that it? He wondered about it as Kingdom was brought to him by one of the grooms. Deep in thought he took the reins and led the stallion outside, only partially aware of the horse's recalcitrant manner. Idly he patted Kingdom's chest, beginning to think aloud. "That's why Gareth's married, fellow. He took a careful look at Darlene, reasoned he couldn't do much better, and snatched her up before she realized she could." Grinning, his dimple deepened. "And I'm still the wandering rogue, willing to risk old age alone rather than set up house with any less than my true love. My brother's happily settled with his lovely filly, and the only woman in my life right now is the Caroline. Doesn't seem quite fair, does it, King?"
Kingdom wasn't particularly interested in conversation. When Salem threw his leg over the horse's back and mounted, the stallion reared, unused to any riders save his mistress, who had neglected him for some weeks, and one of the young grooms. Salem lost his seat and while flying through the air he remembered another difference between himself and Gareth: His brother would have found a way to preserve his dignity while airborne.
"Dignity be damned, Kingdom," he said, brushing himself off and refusing to glance at the stable entrance where he knew the grooms were laying bets. "You and I are going to discuss bruising riders."
* * *
"Where is the captain now?" Davinia asked petulantly. "Talking with the tenants, no doubt. Have you noticed that he is extraordinarily interested in your estate management?"
"I've noticed a great deal about Salem McClellan, including his curiosity." Nigel did not look up from the work on his desk as he answered but continued to attend to his correspondence. "I don't find his interest as offensive as you seem to. Are you afraid he may sail off with my lands in his pockets?"
"Hardly. But you have permitted him an astonishing amount of freedom to poke his nose in your affairs."
"Perhaps I have allowed it in order to satisfy my own curiosity."
"What curiosity? I didn't know you were—really, Nigel, must you continue to work while I am talking to you? Can't you do that some other time?"
Smiling patiently Nigel put down his quill and slid the foolscap to one side. "Feeling neglected again, are we?"
Any other time Davinia would have responded to the duke's teasing with good humor, but she was feeling increasingly uneasy about Salem McClellan's presence at Linfield—especially since Nigel had made no effort to follow through with his plans for Ashley. Davinia wondered if he still intended to go through with it. Jealousy combined with a certain wariness more accurately described Davinia's present state of agitation. She fingered the ruffle of one sleeve nervously.
"Don't be patronizing, Nigel. I think since I brought the captain here in the first place with a certain strategy in mind, you might tell what has happened since the first night at dinner to alter your plans."
"My plans haven't altered in any significant way. I still intend that Captain McClellan have Ashley. I wouldn't have gone to the trouble of chaining her to her bed if I had planned anything else. Indeed, since meeting Salem, I want their union more than ever."
"But why is that?"
Nigel left his place at the Queen Anne desk to stand behind Davinia. He rested his hands on her shoulders and squeezed lightly. "Trust me for now. I'm afraid I can't tell you the answer. Just believe that in choosing the captain for Ashley you have exceeded all my expectations."
Davinia lifted one hand and placed it over the duke's. "Then Ashley will still marry Bosworth?"
"Of course. Never say you thought otherwise."
She tried to shrug it off as unimportant. "I wasn't certain. The way you've catered to Salem, I thought—"
"Hardly compares to the way I've catered to you. Or have you forgotten last night so easily?"
Davinia smiled. "No, I haven't forgotten." Her hand left Nigel's and searched behind her chair to stroke the duke's velvet-covered thigh. "Perhaps we could retire to your chambers for an hour or so and I could show you how much I remember."
Nigel sighed, reluctantly pulling away from Davinia, and returned to his desk. "Would that we could. However, I expect our guest to return from his ride at any moment, and I would hate to think that in my absence he may turn to exploring this house on his own."
"He's been out riding then?"
"For most of the afternoon. I believe he's taken Kingdom. I may sell the stallion to him."
"But that's Ashley's mount."
The duke's pale brows knitted. "Kingdom is my animal. I permit Ashley to ride him. I decide if he's to be sold."
"She's not going to like it." The thought actually pleased Davinia.
"She doesn't have anything to say about it."
"Tell me something, Nigel," she asked, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle from her teal blue satin gown. "Why is it that you've kept Ashley all these years?"
The duke pretended astonishment. "What? You're questioning my generous spirit?"
"I know you."
"Naughty."
"You hate her, yet you've kept her with you. Why?"
"As a reminder, m'dear. As a reminder."
"Of what?"
Nigel became very still, his face seemed carved of granite. Then a muscle in his cheek throbbed, a sign that he was, after all, flesh and blood. "Of the importance of taking charge of a situation from beginning to end," he replied softly, enigmatically, talking more to himself than to his companion. "Of never leaving things to chance."
"Then she's served you well, hasn't she?" Davinia said in a lighter tone, anxious to erase the pained look that had come to her lover's eyes. "Your strategies, political or personal, are minutely detailed. You employ the cleverest people to carry out your schemes. You never leave anything to chance."
Nigel smiled, willing to be humored. "That's correct. And keeping that in mind, I intend this night to be my ward's introduction into womanhood."
"Why tonight?"
"Because the captain is going to be called away on business tomorrow. The man he left in charge of the Caroline will have had an accident. Two broken legs, I believe. You see, Davinia, I also grow weary of the captain's company, but rather than complain, I am doing something about it."
"And will I be able to assist?"
"I would not have it any other way."
* * *
Following dinner and a lively political discussion which had bored Davinia to distraction, Salem joined the duke in his study for a glass of port while his mistress pleaded fatigue and begged off.
"I understand you took Kingdom out today," Nigel said idly, rolling his glass between his palms. He was sitting opposite Salem near the fireplace, giving every appearance of complete relaxation with his feet propped on a stool in front of him. His head rested against one wing of the chair and his eyes were closed. "Are you still interested in the stallion?"
Salem grinned ruefully. "You're being kind, Your Grace, by avoiding all you probably heard. Kingdom proved to be qu
ite a handful. Tell me, is he ridden often? He objected most strenuously to my trying to do so."
"He is used to a lighter seat. I rarely ride him myself. He can be a belligerent cuss."
"An understatement. Still, I enjoyed myself once he learned I intended to ride him, regardless of the blow to my dignity. I'm very much interested in him. Are you prepared to sell?"
Nigel nodded and named his price.
Salem did not even blink at the duke's terms. He had been prepared to pay nearly twice what was asked for the stallion and quadruple the amount for the filly. He could only wonder why the duke was being so generous. "Agreed."
"Fine. I'll have the papers drawn up for you before you leave." He lifted his eyes a shade and observed his guest quietly contemplating his wine. "Is your drink satisfactory? Perhaps you'd care for something a little stronger? Scotch whiskey?"
"No, this is fine." There was a hint of something in the port he could not identify. "French?"
"Yes. Wine is what the Frogs do best. Even a wine original to Portugal, the French take it and make it peculiarly their own."
"It's different, a little less sweet than I am used to. Not bitter exactly. Tangy."
"Exactly," the duke answered calmly, then changed the subject. "Were you able to see those parts of the estate you missed on your first tour?"
"Yes. As I said, in the end King proved cooperative and took me where I wanted to go. I even went over to Edenton. Pity the house is unoccupied. It's magnificent."
"I keep a small staff there, and of course the lands are farmed. Sentimental, I suppose, but I can't bring myself to sell the manor. I admired the earl."
"I also looked for the place where my father grew up. I couldn't find any evidence of the fire."
The duke shrugged. "It was over thirty years ago. New tenant residences have been built since then on that site. Some more wine?"
Salem held out his glass as Nigel leaned forward to top it off. "I know I should have realized it, yet I wanted it otherwise. A tie with my father's past." He yawned. "Pardon me. Battling with Kingdom must have worn me out more than I realized. I find myself unusually tired." Salem's lashes hovered at half-mast, shading eyes that had lost their normally sharp silver definition and softened to something like pewter. "When I gave King the lead he took me to a little clearing near the creek," he went on, his voice soft with the pleasant reminiscence. "Quite picturesque. Do you know it? I had a feeling it was visited with some frequency. There's a small dam there that allows for some swimming."
