The Marriage Truce

by Ann Elizabeth Cree

  ‘Yes.’ His voice had a peculiar note. She glanced at him and was surprised to see he still looked embarrassed. ‘We’re nearly at the tower,’ he said, the relief evident in his voice.

  They had come to a pasture where a flock of sheep peacefully cropped the grass. The grey stones of the tower stood at the opposite end of the field. She was surprised to see there was a good portion of remaining wall attached to the tall structure.

  The sheep paid little heed as the horses cut across the green field, one or two lifting their heads to look at them curiously. As they drew closer, she could see the wall was actually part of a small building.

  They halted near the tower. Dev dismounted and came to Perceval’s side. He looked up at her. ‘Come down.’

  She gazed down into his dark green eyes with the sudden awareness they were completely alone. She hesitated and then slid off. Her skirt caught a little in the saddle and she fell against his chest. Her hat slipped to one side. His arms closed around her and, for a moment, she could hear the strong beat of his heart and smell his unique scent. And then it occurred to her he was making no effort to release her, nor was she making any effort to free herself.

  She yanked away, hot colour rising to her cheeks. ‘I…I beg your pardon.’

  ‘Not at all.’ His eyes were hooded, hiding his expression.

  But he’d retreated back behind his wall. He gathered the reins of both horses in his hand. ‘We can secure the horses at the back. And then eat.’

  He waited for her to fall into step beside him. ‘Eat?’ She still felt a little dazed.

  ‘Yes. There’s a picnic.’

  ‘A picnic?’

  He slanted an amused look at her. ‘Perhaps you’ve heard of them? Food and drink taken outside, often in a rural setting.’

  ‘I was merely inquiring how a picnic came to be here. But perhaps you have some exceptional sheep.’

  His mouth twitched. ‘Was that your question? I fear I misunderstood. And, no, my sheep are quite ordinary. The picnic was brought in a very unexceptional manner by my groom.’

  At least they were back on familiar ground. They skirted around the side of the building and came to a wall. A gate led into a small enclosed garden, which seemed to be surprisingly well tended. Dev secured the horses to a ring in the wall and they stepped through the gate. Dev turned to her. ‘There is a bench near the wall. You may sit while I see to the food.’

  ‘Do you need any assistance?’ she asked.

  ‘No. I’ll return in a moment.’

  She found the iron bench located next to the wall and by a small patch of fragrant lavender. She watched Dev cross the paved courtyard to speak to a groom who had appeared from the other side, while her thoughts returned to Mrs Dalton’s comment.

  She had been mortified, but her mortification was due to much more than the modesty of a new wife. The entire hypocrisy of their marriage had struck her with full force. The hypocrisy of pretending there was a marriage where none existed. Of allowing others to believe there might be a child when there never would be. And had Dev ever considered that, by marrying her under those terms, there would be no heir?

  She sighed and leaned against the wall. She could not see how this sham of a marriage had solved anything. They had both been thrust into a sort of purgatory with no possibility of redemption.

  Dev watched Sarah pick at her apricot tart. They sat on a cloth under a spreading tree, the remains of the lunch between them. She had appeared distracted during most of the meal, saying little. Not that he’d been much better, except his distraction had to do with her. Ever since Nancy Dalton’s unfortunate remark about setting up a nursery, he had thought of little else. The image of her holding a child, their child, was unexpectedly erotic.

  His eyes took in the soft curve of her cheek, the tendrils of auburn hair that escaped from under her hat, the delicate line of her nose. Her severely cut riding habit only emphasised her slender curves. He could still feel the way her delicate body felt against his when she fell against him. He’d wanted nothing more than to crush her to him, moulding her body to his, possessing her mouth until she surrendered to him.

  He stood abruptly, needing to move before he gave in to his unwelcome desire. ‘When you are finished we can return to the house.’

  She glanced up at him. ‘Very well.’ Her voice was as carefully civil as his, her expression schooled into indifference. Then she laid her napkin aside and rose. ‘Actually, I have finished. Shall we go?’

  ‘We could.’ His glance fell to a small orange speck near her mouth. ‘However, you are still wearing some of your tart.’

  ‘I am? Oh!’ She coloured and dabbed at her mouth with the back of her hand, missing the crumbs entirely.

  ‘Allow me.’ Without thinking, he reached over and with his thumb gently brushed the offending remainder of tart from her cheek. Her skin was as soft and silky smooth as that of a rose petal. His eyes fell to her slightly parted lips, which seemed to invite his kiss.

  Her breath caught, her brown eyes widening, but she didn’t move. ‘Is it gone?’

  ‘Not quite.’ He stepped closer, unable to stop himself. ‘There is a little more, just to the right.’ He lightly circled the spot with his thumb and forefinger, feeling as if he was playing with fire.

  ‘Is…is it gone now?’ Her voice was barely above a whisper. Her eyes were on him, almost as if she were mesmerised.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, his voice husky. He started to cup her cheek and then jerked his hand back. He would be violating the terms of their marriage. ‘We should go,’ he said curtly.

  When they returned to the house, he was astounded to find the entry hall filled with an assortment of trunks and portmanteaus. Before he could say anything, Jessica stepped out of his study, wearing a dark green carriage dress, a delighted smile brightening her face when she saw them. ‘I am so sorry I did not write that I was coming! It was rather impulsive, I fear. I suddenly had the most urgent need to return and see how you were getting on! I hope it is not too inconvenient!’

  ‘Oh, no!’ Surprise crossed Sarah’s face. ‘This is your home. It could never be inconvenient.’ She went forward and took Jessica’s outstretched hands. ‘I am so very glad to see you.’ Her voice shook a little with some emotion Dev could not quite identify. But he had no doubt she found Jessica’s arrival very welcome.

  And the damnable thing was, he had no idea if he felt the same way or not.

  Chapter Twelve

  Jessica had declared herself quite fit to dine at Kentwood that evening. Now, she smiled across at Dev from her place beside Sarah in the coach. Sarah was amazed she could look so pretty and fresh in her rose gown and not at all as if she had spent a good four hours in a coach. ‘It was not as difficult to escape from Aunt as I had feared,’ Jessica said. ‘I told her that Sarah undoubtedly needed me to instruct her on managing Ravensheed and Mrs Humphries. And when I said that Mrs Humphries was probably riding roughshod over Sarah, she insisted I must leave at once.’ She flashed a smile at Sarah. ‘She and Mrs Humphries quite dislike each other and Aunt could not bear the thought that she might get the upper hand over you. I hope Mrs Humphries has not been too difficult.’ Jessica had been chattering in an artless manner since they had left Ravensheed, something Sarah was grateful for as Dev had lapsed into one of his abstracted silences.

  ‘No, at least not yet,’ Sarah said. Probably because she had not yet interfered with Mrs Humphries much. She had no idea how Mrs Humphries would react when Dev told her she was to take orders from Sarah, although the housekeeper’s demeanour had softened a trifle towards her since being presented with the painting.

  The carriage halted in the drive in front of Kentwood Hall, a square red-bricked house. They alighted from the carriage and, after being admitted to the house, were shown to a pleasant drawing room. Several others were already present, Lady Coleridge among them. Charles Kenton broke away from the group and, after greeting them, turned to Sarah. ‘My mother and sister wish to make your
acquaintance.’

  She caught a quick glimpse of the frown on Dev’s brow before introductions were made to Mrs Kenton, a slender middle-aged woman with a pleasant air, and his sister Caroline, a pretty girl whose grey eyes and quick smile looked very much like her brother’s.

  Sarah liked both of them very much. She smiled at Mrs Kenton. ‘You have a lovely home.’

  Mrs Kenton looked pleased. ‘Why, thank you. ’Tis not as grand as Ravensheed, but we are very comfortable here. Do you like gardening? I have a conservatory of which I am very proud.’

  ‘Mama is always in there, her hands quite dirty while she tends to her plants. Sometimes I think she cares more for them than her pug,’ Caroline said teasingly. She smiled at Sarah. ‘She is hoping you will ask to see it.’

  ‘I would be delighted to do so,’ Sarah said.

  ‘Then perhaps after dinner.’ Charles smiled at her. She returned his smile, wondering why he should be so easy to talk to and her husband so difficult.

  She glanced over at Dev, who stood with a thin young man whose elaborately tied cravat and elegant dress proclaimed the dandy. Dev met her gaze, a look of displeasure on his face.

  Oh, dear. Now what was wrong? She hurriedly looked away. Did he really object to her conversing with Mr Kenton so much? But it made no sense unless he was jealous and that was hardly possible. Another, more disquieting, reason occurred to her. Did he mistrust her? Think that she, too, would seek solace in another man’s arms?

  The thought hurt. She turned away, trying to attend to what Mrs Kenton was saying.

  Mrs Kenton paused at the sound of footsteps outside the drawing room. She looked over expectantly. ‘That must be Mr Branley’s friend. He is staying with us tonight before he goes to a house party at Harrowood tomorrow. I think you will be glad to see him, Lady Huntington. He is from your neighbourhood.’

  Sarah turned so that she could see the new guest…then froze as Cedric Blanton entered the drawing room.

  Dev returned to the drawing room with the rest of the men. They had just finished a tedious discussion about the Prince Regent’s latest extravagances and then gone on to argue over the best shooting spots in the neighbourhood. Between Blanton’s presence and his impatience to see Sarah, Dev had paid scant heed to the conversation.

  He glanced around and spotted his wife standing with Mrs Kenton and Lady Coleridge. Sarah wore a sky blue gown that draped enticingly over her slender curves and he’d barely been able to keep his eyes off her during dinner. As he watched, her lips curved in her warm smile at something Mrs Kenton said.

  To the devil with his decision to stay away from her. He started across the room, only to see Kenton reach her first. He spoke to her and she nodded. And then the three of them left the drawing room.

  Jealousy, pure and hot, seared him. No matter that a third person was with them. Where the hell was she going with Kenton? And what the devil did he mean by making eyes at another man’s wife?

  Every instinct he possessed shouted he should go after them, shove Kenton up against a wall and yank Sarah to him, kissing her until she wanted nothing but him.

  The violence of his emotion brought him up short. What was wrong with him? He rubbed the back of his neck. He could hardly behave like a savage, thrashing his neighbours, forcing his lust upon his wife. She would grow to detest him even more than she probably did.

  Better to think of something else. Such as why Blanton was suddenly here. He shifted his attention to where the man stood with Caroline Kenton, smiling at her in his ingratiating way. With her usual good manners, Caroline listened to what he said, although it was clear from the glazed expression in her eyes she would prefer to be elsewhere.

  Dev frowned. Blanton had greeted Sarah in an overly polite manner, which Dev did not trust. More than once during dinner and in the dining room after the women had withdrawn, Dev had caught Blanton observing him with ill-concealed malice. He strongly suspected Blanton’s presence here was no mere coincidence.

  Lady Coleridge appeared at his side. ‘There is no need to look so grim. This is a social engagement, not a hanging.’

  ‘I beg your pardon,’ he said stiffly.

  She laid an elegantly gloved hand on his sleeve. ‘Come and walk with me for a moment. I thought perhaps the veranda.’

  A smile quirked his mouth. ‘If you wish, although I fear you have something of a serious nature to discuss.’

  She smiled back at him. ‘Yes, rather. But not a scolding,’ she added.

  ‘I am relieved to hear that.’

  They proceeded to the veranda overlooking the dark garden. She dropped her hand away and went to stand near the iron railing. He folded his arms and looked at her. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Your marriage.’ She smiled a little at his expression. ‘My dear Devin, I wish you all happiness, I always have. You have, indeed, been as a son to me.’

  He glanced at the garden for a moment. ‘You are far too kind. Particularly in light of all that has happened.’ He could not understand why she had not reproached him for Mary’s death, why she seemed to hold him blameless.

  She sighed. ‘No, I am not. I am actually quite selfish. If I knew you were happy, then I could perhaps forgive myself a little.’

  He looked at her, not understanding what she meant.

  She touched his arm. ‘I think, if you will allow it, your marriage could be your salvation.’

  ‘My salvation? I had no idea I was such a desperate case.’ He kept his voice light.

  ‘Not yet. But I don’t want you to retreat any more than you have. Or to drive Sarah away from you.’

  When he said nothing, she made an exasperated sound. ‘I can see you intend to be stubborn about this. Very well, I won’t press you now.’ She glanced toward the doors. ‘Shall we go in? Perhaps it is time we retrieve Sarah from Charles.’

  His mouth curled cynically. ‘I somehow doubt she wants that.’

  ‘I am quite certain she would rather be at your side. But I will give you a warning—you must be careful you do not inadvertently push her Charles’s way. He is offering her friendship and she is lonely. And that is dangerous.’

  ‘And this is the conservatory,’ Charles said. He stepped aside and allowed Sarah to proceed past him into the circular room attached to the rear of the house. They had looked at the library first and then Mrs Kenton had been called away to address a minor problem with the guest bedchambers. She had insisted that they go on to the conservatory without her.

  The conservatory was filled with potted trees and flowering shrubs, the air heavy with unfamiliar sweet, spicy scents. Although it was now dark, a few lamps had been lit and the room had the appearance of a moonlit garden. ‘How magical,’ Sarah said, gazing around.

  Charles smiled. ‘It is. And very romantic. At least that is what my sister tells me.’

  ‘Oh.’ Sarah felt a little uncomfortable, although his voice was light. Somehow it seemed rather improper to talk of such things with a man not her husband. And she felt a vague disappointment that it was not Dev with her in this lovely room.

  But that was ridiculous. Dev had no desire to spend any time with her in such a place. Even if he had touched her face in such an intimate way at the tower, his eyes darkening with some emotion that left her breathless. She shoved the thought away. It had undoubtedly been some sort of aberration on his part.

  She realised Charles had spoken. ‘I beg your pardon, I am afraid I was not attending.’

  ‘I merely asked if you want to see some of my mother’s more exotic plants?’

  She smiled at him and shook her head. ‘Perhaps another time. I think perhaps we should return to the others.’ As kind as he was, she did not feel comfortable alone with him for very long.

  ‘Of course.’ He looked down at her. ‘I have enjoyed your company very much.’ He hesitated. ‘Perhaps I should not speak, but I sense you are not all together happy.’

  Sarah attempted a smile. ‘I am fine.’

  His eyes searched her face.
‘If you need a friend, I am here.’

  ‘Thank you. You are more than kind.’ But his kindness only served to make her more aware of the enormous gulf between Dev and herself.

  She started and flushed at the sound of footsteps, feeling as if she’d been caught in an indecent act. And then her cheeks burned when she saw Lady Coleridge with Dev behind her. His face wore the same unreadable expression it had all evening.

  Lady Coleridge smiled as if nothing was amiss. ‘Prudence told us you had gone to view the conservatory, so we thought we’d join you as well.’ She laid a hand on Charles’s sleeve. ‘However, I must own I am rather fatigued. Charles, would you mind taking me back to the drawing room?’

  ‘Not at all,’ he said politely. He glanced at Sarah, but obediently held out his arm. They left the room.

  The silence was tangible. Sarah finally stole a look at Dev, half expecting him to take her to task over going away with Charles Kenton. Instead he asked, ‘Did you enjoy your tour with Kenton?’

  ‘Yes. We really only saw the library and then came here.’

  ‘I see.’ He paced away from her and then turned to look at her. ‘You seemed to get on well with him.’

  ‘I suppose so.’ She had no idea what he was getting at. ‘Although he is barely an acquaintance. I’ve only seen him but twice.’ She sighed. ‘Is there something you wish to say to me?’

  He frowned and folded his arms. ‘I suppose if you weren’t trapped in this marriage he would be the sort of man that would interest you.’ His voice was carelessly indifferent.

  Her mouth fell open. And a surge of pure hot anger shot through her. ‘If you must know, he is not.’ Her voice shook, but she looked squarely at him. ‘I would like, my lord, to return to the drawing room.’ And she whirled away, not caring if he followed or not.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Jessica smiled over at Sarah from across the breakfast table. ‘You did very well. Mrs Humphries is not too terribly difficult to manage if you just remember to always ask her advice on a matter while at the same time suggesting what you want. She will almost always agree with you. She merely wants to feel important!’