by Bella Bowen
She stood, as prim and proper as you please. He thought she would storm out—Jez would have stormed out. But instead, his strange, unpredictable wife came to stand at the foot of the bed, and widened her stance, kind of like a boxer preparing to fight. Only she didn’t raise her mitts.
“All right,” she said. “Go on, then.”
“Go on, what?”
“Take it out on me. Let me have it. Don’t underestimate me, Lord Beauregard. I am made of sterner stuff than you might think.”
“Let you have it?” Ridiculous.
She shook her head in obvious disappointment. “Don’t dare throw the first punch, do you? Because I’m a lady?”
He chuckled. “You’re suggesting I strike you?”
She put her chin in the air. “I wouldn’t advise it, my lord. But I have no doubt that one day I will drive you to it.” She lowered her brow again. “But I see I’ll have to start this fight.”
He laughed again. “I don’t want to fight—”
“How dare you leave me alone on our wedding night?”
The blow took him by surprise and knocked the wind from his lungs as if she’d actually struck him. “I apologize—”
“Come now, my lord. I thought you wanted to fight, not apologize.” It was like a taunting tap on the chin. She might as well have been bouncing on her toes, circling him in the ring.
He didn’t want to hurt her, of course, but the idea of sparring cheered him up. So he dealt a jab himself. “You were relieved when I left you alone.”
“Believe you me, sir, that relief did not last long.”
Again, he wanted to apologize. But a sharp pang in his leg had him cursing.
She laughed like a school yard bully. And he imagined her going toe to toe with Harrigan. But he would never allow that to happen. Which reminded him…
“How dare you go nosing around in the most dangerous parts of the city? When I sent word that I would return when I could, you should have stayed here, not gone looking for me.”
“A wife’s duty, sir, is to care for her husband.”
“No. A wife’s duty, madam, is to obey her husband. So from now on, I suggest you keep to the role I hired you to play.”
He’d struck a blow there. In her eyes there was a flash of pain, or maybe anger. And for a heartbeat or two, he worried. But that chin went back into the air and she laughed. With her hands on her hips, head thrown back, she laughed at him.
“It’s not a role,” she said when she finally wound down again. “It’s a partnership. And I own half.”
It was his turn to bark with laughter. “A partnership?” He narrowed his eyes and pointed to her hand. “There is no partnership, Lady Beauregard, until you put on the ring.”
She had no quick retort for him then. Her chest heaved slightly and her face was flushed, but he suspected it was more from their argument than from his reference to her wifely duties. But he noticed something else too.
His own chest heaved as if they’d truly been dancing together in the ring. And the throb in his leg had eased. He gingerly rested back against his pile of pillows, careful not to move, not to wake the pain again.
Darby’s brow was pinched with worry as she hurried around the bed to lay her cool fingers on his brow, and a dozen misty dreams teased just beyond his reach…
“Forgive me,” she said quietly.
“Don’t be silly,” he said. “You gave me just what I needed, and the pain eased.”
“You swear it?”
“I swear it. I guess all I needed was a good fight. Thank you.”
She blessed him with a beautiful smile. “Anytime.” Her smile fell when she realized she was sitting beside him on the bed, and she flushed even darker than before. She jumped to her feet. “Rest now. The doctor will come soon.”
Before she could get away, he caught her hand and pulled her close again, then kissed the back of her fingers. “You are a puzzle, Lady Beauregard. And I look forward to discovering all your pieces.”
Hovering so close, face to face, he watched a parade of emotions flit across her features. But there was one emotion that both intrigued him and worried him—the woman was honestly afraid of something, and he didn’t think it had anything to do with his grandmother’s ring.
Yes. She was a puzzle. And he could hardly wait to get started.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Her husband would kill her. She knew it.
Darby actually crawled inside the wardrobe to search the floor of it with her bare hands. But she found nothing more than a little dust, and not much of that. Jenny and the other maids were very thorough. And they seemed genuinely interested in pleasing her, so if one of them would have happened upon the blasted ring, they surely would have brought it to her at once. Or left it on her vanity table.
She took the opportunity to say a few choice words in Gaelic. After all, she hadn’t lost her temper for days, and if she didn’t let a bit of steam out her ears, she’d pop for certain.
Again, she checked the wee table. Nothing but the usual hair combs, pins, and her brush and hand mirror set, all placed just where she’d left them. Nothing extra.
She checked her pockets again, and every pocket in the closet.
Her memory insisted that the last time she’d touched the ring, she’d placed it back into the little box and returned the it to the top drawer of the bureau. But the box was empty!
After a quick knock on the door, it opened. Her heart jumped into her throat.
“Letter for you, mum.” Jenny hurried to her with the envelope.
Darby thanked her and bit her tongue while the maid left. There was no use rousing the house and risking the chance of word getting to Rand—that she’d lost the one truly precious thing he’d given her.
When she could think clearly again, she would do another search. Until then…
She hurried to her writing desk and perched on the chair. The return address on the back of the envelope read North Dakota. She knew only one person who could be writing her from there.
Violet!
Just what she needed to calm her racing mind—a note from a friend who knew her for who she truly was, a Scottish lass with good intentions.
She could nearly hear Violet’s voice as if her friend were standing at her shoulder, reading the letter aloud. She’d arrived safely in North Dakota—the letter was dated nearly two weeks before. And she planned to send the letter to Haver House and hoped it would be forwarded if necessary. But the letter changed after the pleasantries. She no longer sounded like Violet at all. And though she claimed everything was to her satisfaction, and that she had no complaints, she failed to say she was happy. In fact, the letter hinted at many things but never said them.
Something was wrong. But what could Darby do? It would be ridiculous to assume her friend was in some sort of danger, but something was amiss. She only wished Violet would trust her with the truth.
Perhaps, if she knew that everything was not so rosy in her own new marriage, the girl could at least feel as though she wasn’t the only one to be worried.
Darby pulled out a page of stationary and began to write. And, like Violet’s letter, after the pleasantries, she explained that her marriage was not yet consummated, and indeed, may never be if she failed to find the wee ring! She ended the letter with an exhortation that secrets were incredibly dangerous, and that Violet should avoid them at all costs.
By the time she finished the letter, Darby was breathing fast, as if she’d just hurried up the stairs. But she also felt relieved to be able to share her worries with someone she knew cared for her. Perhaps, if she did find the ring, and everything worked out well enough between Rand and her, one day she would be able to share her burdens with him instead of a friend from halfway across the country.
She carefully addressed the letter and asked Jenny to post it for her. But long after the letter left her hands, her own words repeated in her mind.
Avoid secrets at all costs…
And yet
, she couldn’t bring herself to tell Rand her latest secret, that his grandmother’s ring might be lost forever.
~ ~ ~
For two weeks, the entire staff enjoyed the game of pretending that the man and woman of the house were out of town. Only a small staff stayed on hand, which made it seem as if they really were alone on a honeymoon, at least, according the Jenny.
Darby was able to put the ring out of her mind for the better part of the day. But every once in a while, she would remember, panic, then say a hasty prayer that the blasted thing would come out of hiding. Then she would work on the speech she was preparing for when her husband insisted she put it on so they could get on with it.
To his credit, however, she never caught him glancing at her empty finger. And she was too busy being grateful to worry about what that meant.
There was no more fighting between them. They agreed it might be better for them both if she simply read to him when he needed a distraction from the pain. When it grew unbearable at times, he sent her from the room. And later on, she would return with a bite of something tasty and they would act like nothing had happened.
The doctor came twice a week to check his progress, and one evening, when he insisted the leg was improving by leaps and bounds, she finally had to vent her frustration, though careful not to lose her practiced English accent.
“Please, Doctor. How can you possibly claim such a thing?” She gave Rand an apologetic look, then pressed on. “He is not improving. In fact, his pain seems to worsen every day.”
Rand laughed. “I beg your pardon?”
She ignored him and set a hand on the doctor’s arm, urging him to listen. “When he’s in great pain, he asks to be left alone. Two or three times a day now. And it lasts longer and long—”
The truth hit her in the chest like a physical blow. He wasn’t sending her away because he was in pain. He was simply sending her away from him.
The doctor seemed to realize the same thing and patted her arm. But she recoiled, embarrassed. She found it difficult to swallow and could only whisper. “Won’t you excuse me?” Holding her head high was impossible, but she managed to walk a straight line, at least until she was out the door. In the hallway, however, she hurried to her own room and shut herself in, not daring to take a breath until the door was locked behind her.
Then she fell to pieces.
She tried to contain the sound with her hands, and then with a pillow. But she suspected the whole house would soon know how heartbroken she was, since she couldn’t see any end in sight.
And no matter how she tried to be reasonable, the voice in her head kept on insisting that Rand Beauregard didn’t really need her, or want her, after all.
“You’ve ruined my surprise.” Rand’s voice came from the door that adjoined their rooms. A door that, until that moment, had never been opened.
She turned her face away, though he probably couldn’t help knowing why she’d flung herself across the bed. “I think I should be alone for a while,” she said, throwing his usual phrase back at him.
“Are you sure?”
She could hear a hint of laughter in his voice and turned to glare at him.
He stood, grinning in the doorway, with one shoulder resting against the casing. His thumbs hung on his belt, and he looked like an unshaven cowboy waiting at the bar for his shot of whisky.
The doctor laughed gleefully behind him and poked his head around Rand’s shoulder. “I’ll be going now. I’ll leave you two kids alone to work things out.” Then he laughed again and went away.
Through angry, tear-filled eyes, she finally understood why the old fool had been laughing. And why her husband stood grinning like an idiot.
“You’re standing!” She pushed up off the bed, her shame forgotten. “No cane or anything?”
Rand lifted his bad leg out in front of him and wiggled it around. “No cane or anything.”
She was happy enough to jump for joy—if only her heart wasn’t weighing her down. “That’s wonderful,” she managed, then turned to look out of the window.
“Darby?”
She couldn’t face him. She couldn’t! “Yes?”
“I’m in the mood for a fight.”
“You’re just saying that.”
He laughed. “Darby Beauregard. I’ve been sending you away so I could practice walking. I wasn’t in pain. I wanted to surprise you.” She heard him stepping across the floor but stood her ground. “I wanted to be able to walk up to you, like this.” Still she didn’t turn. “And look into your eyes.” She turned then and lifted her chin. Surely he meant to kiss her.
“And help you slip the ring on your finger.”
New tears washed down her face at the mention of the missing ring. She could barely see his features for the water in her eyes. But when her vision cleared, she clearly caught the sparkle of the precious little ring in his grasp.
“Forgive me,” he whispered. “I saw the box sitting on your bureau and the idea came to me. I hope you hadn’t noticed it was missing.”
“No,” she lied.
She pulled her handkerchief from where she’d tucked it into the sleeve at her wrist. She wiped her cheeks and covered her mouth while she watched him slide the ring onto her finger. Before she’d lost it, she’d carried it for days, studying it, trying it on. She’d known every curve and angle. But at that moment it became a new thing altogether. It felt like—a puzzle piece she hadn’t realized was meant to be a part of her.
And now she was complete and made more so when he bent his head toward her and gently pressed his lips to hers. She’d felt so close to him the past few days, but it all meant so little when compared to sharing the same space, with their bodies so close together. It was like they’d stepped into a tiny room, filled it up, and never wanted to leave.
When Rand finally straightened, she felt alone and awkward. So she tried to make conversation to hide her nerves.
“You said I’d ruined your surprise,” she said. “Just when had you planned to surprise me?”
“Tomorrow. For your birthday.”
He remembered!
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, though she wasn’t.
“Don’t be. I’m very glad I won’t have to wait another day.”
She nodded. “You mean, keep your secret another day?”
One side of his mouth rose in a slight smile. “No.” He looked at her finger again, and when she followed his gaze, she finally understood.
“Oh.” She could think of nothing else to say.
“Yes. Oh.”
Her hands suddenly felt damp, so she slid them over her handkerchief, first the left, then the right. The feel of the delicate lace felt good against her skin and she repeated the motion over and over again.
She looked up to see him still watching her. Still amused.
“I… I should go speak to Cookie about supper,” she said, but Rand put a hand on her shoulder to stop her.
“No. I’ll go. I need more practice on the stairs.”
She worried he thought her a coward, and she couldn’t have that. So she suggested they have supper brought to his room.
“I’ll arrange it then, Lady Beauregard.”
She shook her head. “Mrs. Beauregard.”
His smile deepened. “Soon…”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Darby took her time in the bathing room while a table was set in the master bedroom. She’d had enough putting on of brave faces, and she wasn’t about to put on another for the maids. So, only after it was very quiet on the other side of the door did she venture out again.
She willed her hand not to shake when she reached for the door that separated their two rooms, but it ignored her. She willed her body to step through the door, but it ignored her too. Instead, she stood on the threshold and waited for Rand to help.
He laughed lightly and started to stand. She remembered what a chore it would be for him and hurried forward. “Don’t get up.”
He checked her expre
ssion, then nodded and resumed his seat behind the impromptu dinner table. “At least I got you through the door.”
The joking helped more than she could have hoped. And for the second time since arriving in Portland, she sat down with her husband to enjoy a wedding supper, of sorts. But this time, when the meal was finished and the plates cleared away, neither of them left the room, let alone the house.
The night unfolded quite differently than she’d expected, and all her fears were chased away by a gentle and tender champion. In the morning, she was shocked to find how rested one could feel without having much real sleep at all. And though she’d avoided meeting Rand’s eye when first they woke, a few kisses chased away her embarrassment. And she reveled in the sense that she was no longer alone in the world.
Thankfully, he seemed to have a hard time letting her out of his reach, let alone his sight. In fact, when Shadow and Jezebel arrived that afternoon, in disguise, for their daily update of the Phantom’s movements the previous night, he invited her to join them.
For the past weeks, his men had taken turns wearing his costume and making their presence known while everyone in the city believed Rand and his bride to be were out of town. And since Harrigan had insisted he’d mortally wounded the Phantom, it only added to the rumor that the devil might not be mortal to begin with.
Darby prepared a tray of tea and small sandwiches and carried them into the library. It was a dark room that seemed to suit their guests and their topic better than the brighter rooms of the house.
Jezebel held one hand to her temple and claimed a headache. But when she moved her hand away to pick up her tea, Darby could see a slight lump. The woman gave her a sharp look that warned her to keep her thoughts to herself. Darby nodded discreetly and reached for her own tea.
The other woman gasped and dropped her cup carelessly on her saucer as she reached over and snatched Darby’s fingers. She looked long and hard at the ring, then sent a pointed look at Rand.
He met her gaze with a calm face, then tilted his head as if daring her to say something. Or warning her not to.
