by Bree Wolf
Ignoring her comments, Derek cleared his throat. “I apologise, my lady. However, I wished to set out early and thought it rude to wake you at such an hour.”
With a twinkle in her eyes, she stepped forward. “And you didn’t think it rude to leave without bidding me farewell?”
Beside him, Tristan chuckled. “She got you now, old friend.”
Shooting a warning glance at his friend, Derek inclined his head to Beth in apology. “You have my sincerest regrets for not considering your sensibilities, my lady.”
Now, it was Beth who chuckled. “I do not want them,” she said, a teasing tone to her voice as she slipped her arm through her husband’s. “What I want is your assurance that we will see you again soon.”
Derek tensed. “At present, I have no intention of returning to London any time soon.”
“I see,” his friend’s wife continued. “In that case, we shall be the ones to pay you a visit.”
“As soon as I’ve been able to finish the repairs at Huntington House,” Derek agreed as a looming suspicion crawled up his bones, “you shall be the first ones to see it. However, it will probably be a while.”
As expected, Beth shook her head. “I’m afraid I cannot agree to this,” she objected in a stern voice, and yet, her eyes sparkled with mischief. “From what you told us of the estate’s condition, that could take years.”
Derek inhaled a deep breath as his friend intercepted his wife’s suggestion. “As we are to travel to Scotland for Christmas, I suggest we stop at Huntington House on our way.” Raising his eyebrows in question, Tristan looked from his wife to Derek. “Only for a few days.”
Knowing when he was defeated, Derek nodded. “It will be my pleasure.”
Beth smiled. “I doubt it, but it will be mine.”
Once more, Tristan chuckled, and Derek noticed his arm tightening around his wife’s as she leaned against him. Those subtle intimacies spoke of great trust and devotion. And yet, it had not developed over night. It had taken time. Their start into marriage had been rocky as well.
Maybe there was still hope for his own marriage. Maybe…
Derek shook his head, determinedly pushing all thoughts of his wife away. After all, he had more important matters to think of now.
And so, bidding his friends goodbye, he strode out of the house, mounted his trusted horse and turned northward…toward home and family. And although he did his utmost to think of the work ahead and nothing else, deep down Derek knew that it was an exercise in futility.
Even if he tried, he would not be able to forget Lady Madeline.
Especially now that she was his wife.
***
All the confusion that had seized her heart the night before was still there when Madeline opened her eyes the next morning. Reminding herself that she was a guest in someone else’s home, she found herself wondering what today would bring. Her husband would travel to his estate and as his wife she ought to go with him. However, he had made it clear the night before that he did not desire her company. Had he not all but told her to stay in London?
Leaving her room, Madeline ventured down the large staircase, trying to remember the location of the breakfast parlour. As her wedding day had passed in a blur, she had paid little attention to her surroundings. However, as her feet reached the ground floor, her hostess’ voice called out to her.
“Lady Ainsworth, I hope you slept well.”
Turning to face the golden-haired viscountess, Madeline nodded, trying her best to hide the uncertainty that held her rigid. “Yes, I did. Thank you. It is very kind of you to allow us to stay here.”
A deep smile came to the woman’s face as she grasped Madeline’s hand. “Oh, it is our pleasure. Derek…Lord Ainsworth is a very good friend of ours. You’re welcome to stay as long as you like.”
Surprised at the viscountess’ familiarity, Madeline tried to remember what she knew about the woman who had opened up her home to her. However, apart from the scandal that had led to her marriage to the viscount−not unlike the scandal that had led to Madeline’s own marriage−she could not recall any details. After all, before today the viscountess had been of no concern to her. “Thank you,” she finally said, displeased with the need for gratitude because of her new situation forced upon her. “However, I do believe my husband is intent on returning to his estate sometime today and−”
“He already left,” the viscountess interrupted, her clear blue eyes watching Madeline openly…and yet, without any sign of judgement.
“He already left?” Madeline echoed stupidly, unable to wrap her mind around the enigma that was her husband. Why had he not bid her farewell? Had he been afraid she would have insisted on accompanying him? Had he been that desperate to rid himself of her?
Madeline sighed, trying her best to hide her disappointment. He truly did not want her, did he?
“He left this letter for you,” the viscountess said, her voice gentle, as she placed a small envelop in Madeline’s hands. Then she looked up, and her gaze came to rest on Madeline’s. “He is a good man, one of the very few I’ve met,” she said, her voice full of confidence as though she were whispering secrets to a dear friend. “I have no doubt that he had a very good reason for what he did at Lord Kingsley’s ball.”
Madeline tensed, her fingers curling around the paper in her hands.
“He is a most honourable man,” the viscountess continued, her eyes imploring, and for a moment, Madeline thought the woman knew more than she let on. “He is too proud to force a woman into marriage only for his own desires.” Gently squeezing Madeline’s hand, the viscountess nodded to her. “Go and read the letter. I shall hold breakfast for you.”
“Thank you,” was all Madeline could say in that moment as her heart and mind ran rampant. As she all but fled the foyer, the viscountess’ words echoed in her head: …for his own desires.
Thoroughly confused, Madeline pushed open the door to the library and then closed it firmly behind her, momentarily resting her back against the hard wood as her breath came in panting gasps.
At every turn, her new husband seemed to push her away, and yet, there had been moments the night before when Madeline had thought to see desire in his eyes. Was there a part of him that felt for her? Or was it only her body that tempted him on occasion?
Staggering across the floor, Madeline sank into a large cushioned armchair and broke the seal. Then she hesitated, staring at the small, simple crest, trying to picture the man who now bore it. Where had he penned this letter? And when? Late last night in a state of anger? Or this morning with a clear head?
Knowing that there was no other way to find out, Madeline unfolded the parchment. Her eyes were met with a simple, clear handwriting.
Lady Ainsworth,
I offer you my renewed apologies for the circumstances of our nuptials. I assure you I had no intention of forcing your hand, nor was it the thought of your dowry that bade me follow you that night.
Madeline frowned. If not her dowry, what reason could he have possibly had? Judging from his rejection the night before, neither had it been desire that had led him down the dark hallway to the moonlit drawing room to find her alone.
I meant what I said last night. I give you free rein over your life. Live it the way you choose. I will not stand in your way. However, should you ever have need of anything, please do not hesitate to call on me and know that you’re always welcome at Huntington House.
My sincerest regards,
Lord Ainsworth
Suddenly feeling utterly exhausted, Madeline slumped back in her chair and closed her eyes. Her hand fell to her side, and the letter floated to the floor. How had her life ever become this entangled that she could not tell up from down?
Still, her husband had not given her a reason for his actions at Lord Kingsley’s ball. And while it appears he did not care in the least how she conducted herself, he still offered his assistance should she have need of it. Did he care about her well-being or not? Was it mer
ely his duty as her husband that forced him to make such an offer?
Again, Madeline’s thoughts returned to Lord Townsend and her own hopes for that night, which had been so cruelly dashed. Again, she remembered her new husband’s reaction whenever Lord Townsend’s name had fallen between them last night. Again, she wondered why a husband would grant his wife leave to have an affair…and with a man he despised no less.
Why?
Chapter Eight − Huntington House
Leaving behind the noise and crowded streets of London, Derek found his body relax as he sat astride his trusted gelding Arion as the bay carried him swiftly across the fields toward a small forest clustered at the horizon. With his few belongings strapped to the back of his saddle, they made good time, and Derek could feel a soft pull as each step of his horse carried him closer to home…and his family.
It had been too long since he had last seen them, and he could only hope that they were all well. However, his sister’s last letter had reached him weeks ago. Who knew what had happened since then?
For the past few years, Derek had reluctantly spent his time in Town, watching over his friend Tristan as an unknown enemy had lain in wait, wanting to end his life. Derek had considered it his duty to protect Tristan after what he had done for his sister. It had been a debt that he needed to repay. And yet, over time a deep friendship had developed between them, so that today Derek would without hesitation name Tristan his best, most trusted friend.
Whether it had been duty or friendship keeping Derek in town did not matter any longer. The threat had been eliminated, and Tristan was safe now, thereby freeing Derek from his obligation and allowing him to return to the life he had neglected for too long.
And yet, he did not feel liberated, did he?
A new obligation had caught him in its snare; he was a married man now.
Try as he might, Derek could not empty his head when it came to thoughts of Lady Madeline…Lady Ainsworth, his wife.
Madeline.
Whether he turned his gaze to the far horizon or the hard ground beneath his horse’s hooves, he could not escape the memory of her long ebony hair and her sparkling green eyes. He saw her shake with anger as she lashed out at him, her eyes ablaze in the darkening glow of her bedchamber. He felt her body tremble beneath his hands as he had kissed her…as she had kissed him back with such passion.
As his mind replayed all that had happened before his inner eye, Derek felt himself torn between the different emotions these images evoked. Although he knew that she despised him for the life he had forced on her−and with good reason, he had to admit for he knew he would have felt the same−there had been moments when his hopeful heart had seen something else in those intense green eyes. There had been moments when she had allowed herself to be vulnerable. Despite her unyielding pride and dignity, she had pleaded for a kiss, offering herself up for rejection.
Derek understood the need to be strong−or if that was not possible, at the very least, the need to appear strong. Revealing a weakness could−and often would−be one’s downfall for the world only favoured those who looked out for themselves. That was a lesson he had learnt from the ton. Had his wife learnt a similar lesson? How could she? After all, had she not grown up among the very people he so despised? Had she not been raised with the same principles that demanded a man of no importance like himself be stomped into the ground should he dare to aspire to more than his assigned miserable lot in life?
Their lives, their expectations, their outlooks on life were so very different as much as they were themselves; Derek knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that their marriage was doomed. And yet, he had felt a certain kinship to the woman he had married but knew very little about. Had he been wrong to think so? Had his emotions deceived him?
Shaking his head, Derek swallowed as his bay carried him out of the small forest.
A frown drew down his brows and he glanced around, taking in the wide expanse of fields and meadows. When had he entered the forest? He wondered, once more glancing behind himself at the tall standing trees now slowly falling behind.
Closing his eyes, he sighed. His wife proved to be a powerful distraction…even when she was nowhere around. He would do well to push all thoughts of her from his mind for likely he would not see her again…or at least not often. Although he had felt compelled to offer his home to her, Derek was certain she would never accept his offer.
After all, she had other options.
As an image of Townsend rose before his eyes, Derek groaned loudly, his fingers curling around the leather reins in his hands. “Don’t! Forget him! Forget her!” he snapped at himself, momentarily startling his bay. However, Arion had seen him through the darkest moments of his life and was not worried by his master’s outburst.
Drawing in a deep breath, Derek closed his eyes, conjuring an image of his sister, her auburn hair falling beyond her shoulders, framing her gentle face, her deep blue eyes looking into his with such kindness and devotion that Derek felt his throat close. “Home,” he whispered and spurred on Arion, who immediately leapt forward. “Home.”
As though the devil was behind him, Derek raced his trusted steed across the country toward the small barony he had been awarded after the war. It had been a long time since he had last seen it; however, when the main building finally came into view, he could not help but groan at the sight of its rather decrepit condition. Even from a distance, Derek could see splintering wood, crumbling bricks and missing shingles on the roof. The gardens grew wild and untamed, conveying the impression that the property had long since been abandoned.
Abandoned by its new master…
…and left in the hands of a kind, young woman and her husband, a man Derek knew to be of upstanding character as well as abysmal manual skills. As Tristan’s former valet, Sean Brewer, knew nothing about life in the country, about taking care of an estate with no help but those of his own two hands.
And then there was Derek’s mother: a good and honest soul with a knack for cooking and baking.
Spurring on his bay, Derek cursed himself for leaving them to fend for themselves for too long. They had needed him, and he had not been there. Despite his obligation to Tristan, he should have found a way to help his family. Maybe he should have accepted Tristan’s offer for financial support.
Cringing inwardly at the mere thought of accepting charity, Derek shook his head. Pride had kept him from allowing Tristan to help, and yet, even now seeing the condition of the house, Derek knew he would not be able to bring himself to send word to Tristan, asking for his support.
Of course, his friend would not hesitate to grant it.
However, Derek could not. Accepting money without offering something of equal value was something his pride would not allow him to do. He would work from sunrise to sundown for the years to come without rest, without complaint, to see his family well-settled.
But he would not accept charity.
Not from his friend.
Not from his wife.
Her accusation that he had only married her for her dowry flitted through his mind, and Derek knew that whether she believed his words did not matter. He was the one who needed to live with his deeds, his intentions. He was the one he would have to face in the mirror every morning. His conscience needed to be clear.
He would find a way.
He always had.
As he guided his bay through the overgrown gate and up the drive toward the manor house, Derek’s eyes slid over the property. Aside from the gardens and the main house, he spotted a barn as well as two other wooden constructions, sheds of some kind. His mind took stock of every loose board, every crumpling brick and missing shingle and began to work out a plan to put it all back the way it ought to be.
It would take time.
A lot of time.
But he would manage.
He had to.
He would not fail his family.
Not again.
“Derek!”
At th
e sound of his sister’s voice, Derek’s head snapped up, his eyes drawn to her laughing face as she raced down the front steps of the manor house like a young girl, one hand gently resting on the soft swelling of her belly.
Bringing his horse to a halt, Derek jumped to the ground as relief flooded his being at the sight of his sister’s happy face. “Kara,” he called and caught her as she flung herself at him, wrapping her in his arms and holding her tight. “Are you all right?” he whispered into her hair, reluctant to let go of her. “Is everyone all right?”
Standing back, Kara looked at his face, her watchful eyes taking in every line, every frown, every worry. “We’re fine,” she finally said, her hand gently squeezing his as she nodded, her gaze imploring him to believe her. “You worry too much, Brother.”
“I know,” Derek replied as his gaze travelled lower to her protruding belly. “Are you happy?” he asked then, unable to keep silent. Then his gaze sought hers, hoping she would not give him any reason to doubt her words. Would she lie to spare his feelings? To protect him from the guilt that would no doubt claim him whole?
Shaking her head, Kara sighed, her arms resting on her sides, a rather exasperated look in her blue eyes. “You may be a high and fancy baron now,” she told him, her voice completely unimpressed, “but you will not look at me with pity in your eyes, do you hear me?” Her gaze widened in challenge, and Derek nodded, his heart suddenly lighter. “Good. Then come inside and greet your family. You’ve been gone too long.”
Inwardly, Derek cringed.
“Don’t!” his sister snapped, her eyes narrowing as she fixed him with a determined glare. “It was not meant as an accusation, and you will not make me feel guilty by understanding it as such.” Again, she grasped his hands, and her eyes softened as she looked at him. “We missed you. You. Not your capable hands. Do you hear me?”
A soft smile tugged at the corner of Derek’s mouth. “Where is Mother? And your husband?”
