A groan was Brenna’s answer.
* * *
From across the room, Richard watched Brenna flush at something her mother said. He suspected they were talking about him by the frequency of glances cast in his direction.
If Brenna did not hold up his story, he’d need to prepare for Walter’s displeasure. Walter was not the sort of man who’d let his daughter be ignored or mistreated by her husband, and he was no exception. He suspected Walter would spend the next week looking for any infraction on his part so that he could express his disapproval.
The pain in his face was his penance for his sins. He’d not defended himself, as he deserved no less.
Walter’s voice faded as Richard watched the charming flush grow on Brenna’s cheeks. She was as lovely as she was the day he stopped her coach. Carrying his child had not taken away her appeal, nor did it lessen his interest in her. In fact, if not for the deep seat of the chair, everyone would be privy to his obvious desire for his wife.
“Am I boring you?” Walter’s voice broke his musing. “Or is there something more interesting here than a discussion of horse breeding?”
Tearing his attention away from his wife, he let Walter think him besotted with Brenna. In some regards he was. She was a seductive woman, beautiful and passionate. If only she could accept a loveless marriage, they could share a bed, and a life, without complications.
Sadly, that was not Brenna. She’d said as much. She would be miserable with a husband who did not cherish and love her.
“I wonder what sort of mischief they are plotting,” he said to Walter, taking on a lighter tone.
“Knowing Kathleen, it could be anything.” Walter frowned. “Hang on to your purse and watch your wife. Once Kathleen gets a notion in her head, she plows forward, and there is no changing her course. And if she involves Brenna in her scheme, disaster could loom on the horizon.”
Richard hoped the two women were only plotting to spend loads of his money. He suspected otherwise.
There were dark forces at work, in the form of a pair of lovely Harrington women. He sensed it to his bones.
How much longer can we play this game?” Brenna grumbled two days later, when Richard came through the sitting room to collect her for breakfast. “I grow weary of acting as if nothing is amiss.”
The strain of keeping Father from knowing their secret mixed up her emotions. Pretending to be a loving wife was easy enough. Keeping her father content while fending off snide little comments from Bethany made her long to shriek from the rafters. The woman was horrid. If not for Richard’s friendship with Miriam, Brenna would have already chased her off the property.
She peered in the mirror from her seat at the dressing table. Dark smudges rimmed her lower lids.
“I admire your fortitude.” He kissed the top of her head. “I know you can hold up for a few more days.”
“If only I had your confidence,” she muttered. Restless sleep left her fatigued and cranky. She stood and smoothed her yellow dress. “Agnes, where is that shawl?”
“The white shawl is not here, Milady,” Agnes said, turning from the wardrobe. “Perhaps one of the maids took it down to clean?”
Brenna walked over and peered inside. After inspecting the contents and looking on the floor, in case it had fallen there, she came to the same conclusion. No shawl.
“It was there last evening,” she said softly, confused. I returned it myself.” Glancing back at Richard, she said, “I shall wear the cream shawl. I’m sure the other will turn up.”
Agnes collected the item and settled it around her shoulders. Richard took her arm and led her into the hallway. “Is there something amiss? You look unsettled, Brenna.”
How do you tell the father of your child that you suspect you are losing your mind, that for three days this week your possessions have vanished, only to reappear later, as if nothing had happened? And there was no sign anyone had been in her room, other than the maids, her mother, and Lucy. And Mother had not arrived until after the first incident.
“It is nothing to worry over,” she assured him. She could not admit the truth. “I’m certain the shawl will be found.”
At first she’d thought it was simple forgetfulness. Then she’d suspected someone was up to mischief. Now she wasn’t certain that it wasn’t the pregnancy at work.
During the last few weeks she’d been ill, quick to tears, and was now misplacing things. None of these symptoms were an issue before the pregnancy. Could there be any other explanation?
She slid a hand over her belly. There was a slight curve now. Soon even strangers would know her condition. “The babe must enjoy the fuss he puts me through.”
Richard stared at her hand. He reached out to touch her stomach, paused, and pulled back. He cleared his throat. “He has already inherited your spirit and love of mischief.”
Brenna smiled. “It is the Irish in me. We do enjoy a good bit of trickery.”
His brows went up. “Truly?”
The teasing in his voice deepened her smile. “You may find that surprising, I know. I am usually quite subdued and retiring. In fact, I find devilry most distressing.”
Her quip softened his bruised face. Oddly, as much as she found Father’s presence stressful, Richard seemed to enjoy having her father near. He smiled more often, and she’d heard his laughter several times over the last two days—a rare treat indeed. The two men had rediscovered some of the closeness they’d once shared.
The pair were slowly rebuilding their friendship. This pleased both wives immensely. Still, it would take Walter some time to regain his full trust of Richard.
“I have decided to visit the Cooksons today,” Richard said, changing the topic. “Mister Cookson is one of my tenants and was burned in a fire. He is yet struggling to recover. I would like to see if his sons require any assistance with the farm.”
“How horrible,” Brenna said. “I have a cousin who burned her arm badly as a child, when a pot of heated water tipped over onto her. It was awful to see her suffer through the lengthy recovery. She still bares scars that never faded.”
“It is tragic.” Richard agreed. “I check on them at least twice a week to see how they are managing.”
“I would like to join you. I shall ask Cook to prepare a basket for the family.”
Richard stared at her for a moment and nodded. “I know they will appreciate your kindness.”
Warming under his soft expression, she held his gaze. “It is my place to know the tenants and their families. They are now under my care, too.”
A slow smile spread across his face. “Most women do not want to know the names of anyone below their notice. You are a puzzle, Lady Ashwood.”
“I was born to a mother who as a child wore patched gowns and worked for her meals. If not for fate, she would never have met and married my wealthy father.” Brenna shrugged. “She raised us to appreciate what we have and to be respectful of those not as fortunate.”
“Your mother is a treasure,” Richard said. “Walter is a very lucky man.”
“My brothers and I believe so. I am lucky to have come from a close and loving family.”
Richard had no comment, and instead took her hand and led her down to breakfast. She wondered if he missed his parents. They had died, several years apart, when he was still quite young. She hoped their child would be the beginning of building a new family, together.
Her parents were seated for breakfast when they arrived. The servants hurried over to offer Brenna their assistance. Since learning about the baby, they were overly eager to help her with even the smallest tasks, much to the amusement of her parents.
“If you asked, I think one or more of them would spoon-feed you, dearest,” Mother jested, and Brenna took her seat. “Perhaps you would enjoy a foot rub later?”
Brenna laughed softly. “Mother, be kind. There hasn’t been an heir born here for ages. They cannot help their excitement.”
Mother leaned close and whispered, “Then
perhaps you can ask one of your handsome footmen to give me a foot rub. My toes ache something terrible.”
“You are scandalous, Mother.” Brenna, laughing, shook her head. “You saw what Father did to Richard. I would hate to see him pummel a footman for touching your bare feet.”
Brenna watched as her mother’s bright laughter drew eyes from family and staff alike. Though well into her forties, Kathleen was as stunningly beautiful as she ever was, and entirely devoted to her husband. The footmen were safe from a pummeling.
Settling in to eat, Brenna devoured two plates of food before deciding she’d better stop. She’d already given up her corsets. Soon she’d have to ask a seamstress to take out her gowns.
“I’ve decided to have Walter drive me into your village today,” Mother said. “We passed a quaint little dress shop on the way here. I’d like to see what the proprietress offers by way of fashion.”
Father rolled up his eyes. “Watching your mother fuss over gowns and fripperies is how I like to spend my mornings.”
“Posh,” Mother scolded. “You know I would have asked Brenna to accompany me, but she and Richard have plans.” She winked at him. “If you behave, I will give you a private showing of my purchases.”
Dear lord. “Mother, really.” Brenna glanced at Richard, who was clearly amused.
“Are your parents always so openly affectionate?” he asked.
“Always.” Brenna dropped her napkin on the table. “Not even the presence of my friends kept them from their flirtations. It was highly humiliating, to say the least.”
Mother laughed. “It is the curse of being married to such a virile man.”
Brenna placed her hands over her ears. “Husband, if you wish to keep me from throwing myself from the roof, I ask you to take me away. Now.”
Richard chuckled and pulled out her chair. Brenna mumbled a cross good-bye to her parents, collected the basket, and left the manor with Richard.
The fall day was crisp, and Brenna tucked the shawl around her. The sun shone through white clouds, against a backdrop of blue sky. It was a perfect morning for driving and calling on the Cooksons.
“There may not be many more days like this,” she said, lifting her face to the sun. “Soon we will have snow.”
Richard clucked his tongue to the horse, and they were off. “Summer seems to want to linger this year, though I hope it will get cooler soon. I do appreciate a bit of snow.”
Brenna tucked her hands under the shawl. “My beastly brothers used to throw snowballs at me whenever our nanny wasn’t looking. No matter how much she scolded them, I always returned to the house with snow down the back of my dress.”
Richard turned to her, his expression guilty. “I used to do the same to Anne. All boys do like to torment their sisters.”
She shot him a mock-scathing glare. “I think boys are born mischief makers.” She thought about the babe and suspected that if it were a boy, he’d keep her, and his nanny, exhausted while trying to keep up with his antics. “Tell me about her. Anne. You speak so seldom of her. What is she like?”
He turned the horse onto a side lane. “Anne is much like you. She’s headstrong and stubborn, pretty, and taller than you. I thought her intelligence admirable until she ran off with Lockley. Now I am not certain I ever knew her.”
“Does she also like sheep?” Brenna asked, one brow up.
Her teasing was rewarded with a frown. “There is nothing wrong with sheep. They keep us in food and comfort.”
As if on cue, they passed a field with what seemed like a hundred of the woolly creatures scattered about the grass. Brenna smiled. “They do paint a pretty picture, with all that white against the green field. I have decided I like sheep, too. We are lord and lady of the sheep.”
There was a brief silence, until his laughter startled the horse. The beast quickly settled with his firm grip on the reins. He stopped the carriage and peered down at her. “What am I to do with you, Wife? You do try my patience.”
Brenna joined his laughter. “But I do amuse you. You will keep me around if for nothing more than my jests.”
His mouth twisted, yet there was humor in his eyes. “You do have your uses.” His attention flicked to her mouth, and Brenna held her breath. She desperately wanted him to kiss her.
Sobering, he cleared his throat. Brenna was not about to lose the opportunity to steal a kiss. She pushed up, leaned toward him, and quickly brushed her mouth over his, startling him. Then she dropped back down on the seat, tucked her shawl back around her, and stared straight forward.
“Onward, Richard. The Cooksons are waiting.”
A moment passed, then he clicked his tongue, and the horse continued on. If a simple kiss unsettled him, what would he do if she asked him to pull into the nearest field and have his way with her in the grass?
Mischief welled as she remembered Mother’s advice. If she wanted a happy marriage, she’d have to reintroduce him to seduction.
By this time next year, she hoped to have Richard so besotted that he’d not refuse her no matter where she asked him to take her, be it bed, floor, or open field.
Chapter Twenty-one
What to do about his wife? Richard sighed. Brenna had agreed to keep their relationship friendly and out of bed. However, she’d just kissed him without invitation. It was clear that she had no intention of keeping her word.
Staring down at her, with an unobstructed view of her lovely breasts where the shawl gaped away, he knew the next few months would be torture. If she did not adhere to the bargain, he wasn’t certain he could keep from pushing her down on the bed and burying himself into her sweet body.
“You cannot kiss me, Brenna,” he scolded. “Kissing leads to other things, and we have a bargain.”
“I like the other things, and I hate bargains.”
As he suspected, she wasn’t a bit contrite. He grumbled under his breath. “I should send you back to London with your parents when they leave.”
“You won’t,” she replied. “In spite of everything, you want me here. I have brought light into your musty and cobweb-filled old manor, and you would be lonely if I was gone.”
“The manor does not have cobwebs.”
He felt her silent laughter as she shook beside him. She was a minx. All he could think about when she was near was the way her body responded to his when he made love to her. Hell, she only had to come into his thoughts and he suffered the same malady.
He shifted on the seat, hardening beneath his breeches. His wife was torture in its purest form.
Perhaps the solution to his torment was cold baths. When they returned to the hall, he’d instruct Miles to begin new bathing procedures. If icy water could not cool his ardor, nothing could.
“I should pull over and paddle you for teasing me,” he ground out, his hands tightening on the reins.
“I would not protest.”
This was becoming an argument he could not win, and his erection was becoming an uncomfortable distraction. Thankfully, relief came in the form of a tidy stone cottage. “Ah, there is the Cookson home.” Grateful for the interruption, he eased the horse up the narrow lane to the cottage.
Smoke rose in a thin gray plume from the chimney and dissipated on the light breeze. Richard slowed the carriage, and a pair of little girls with matching gold hair hurried from the house to welcome the visitors.
Molly and Mary were bright girls who took lessons with the children of his staff in a small schoolhouse on the property. Richard believed all children should know how to read and write and had hired the best instructor available to take over the school, after the last man retired.
“They are adorable,” Brenna said. The girls ran over, a pair of matching smiles on their faces. They jumped around like excited puppies as Richard helped Brenna down from the carriage.
“Did you bring us a treat, Lord Ashwood?” Mary asked. One year older than her sister, at eight, she was also the more outspoken of the two.
“Let me see wh
at I can find.” He patted one pocket, then another. His brows came together. “Hmm. I was certain the candy fairy visited last evening.”
The girls giggled. “There is no candy fairy,” Mary said.
“Oh, there is a candy fairy,” Richard assured her. “You have to believe, or she won’t visit.”
“I believe, Your Lordship,” Molly replied, around the thumb in her mouth.
“Then I should keep looking, for surely she would not deprive little girls of candy.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a bag of maple candy that the kitchen staff had made the day before. He handed it to Mary.
“See!” Molly cried. “There is a candy fairy!”
The girls squealed with delight and darted off toward the house. He shouted after them, “Make certain you share with your brothers!”
“Yes, Milord!”
He chuckled. When he turned back to Brenna, she was staring at him with a soft expression.
“Those girls worship you,” she said, blinking as if she had dust in her eye. She appeared on the verge of tears. “You are a kind man, Lord Ashwood.”
“It was just candy,” he replied. Brenna’s emotions swung wildly back and forth like the wind. “Please don’t cry.”
“I cannot help myself. It is part of my condition.” She sniffed and dabbed at her eyes with her gloved knuckles. “You will make a fine father,” she said, and held his gaze.
He removed his glove and brushed a tear off her cheek. “You are not planning to kiss me again, are you?”
“I may. You have certainly earned a kiss.”
Richard knew he should step away but discovered his feet would not move. Her sweet expression held him enraptured. Truthfully, he wanted to taste her mouth.
Her sneeze broke the moment. A second sneeze caused him to reach for his handkerchief. A third brought her laughter.
“Sometimes when I am outside, my nose tickles,” she explained, and waved away the handkerchief. She scrunched up her face and paused. No more sneezes. “There, I believe I am finished.”
A Convenient Bride Page 18
