She started. Her eyes were wide open now, still sleeping, and she was scrambling away, up the bed to wedge herself against the headboard, clinging to the curtain as though it was a shield. ‘Not Polly,’ she insisted. ‘Not Polly. Who is she?’
It was him. In her nightmares, she was back in Dover. And she’d awakened to find him looming over her, just as she had that night.
He backed away. ‘I’m sorry. So very sorry. I heard you cry out. I meant no harm.’
‘Not Polly,’ she gasped one more time, her eyes still sightless, trapped in a dream. ‘It is me, Richard. Don’t you remember?’
‘You are having a nightmare,’ he said, feeling more helpless than any other time in his life. ‘You are safe here.’ Safe from him. How odd that he should need to say it.
‘Richard?’ she said hopefully. Her eyes were closing again and there was the slightest hopeful smile on her face. ‘You are not dead after all.’
‘Yes, love. It is Richard. I am here.’
‘Then take me away from here. So unhappy.’
He could give her everything but the one thing she truly wanted. He must remember that he was not the only one in this marriage who had known disappointment. Michael wet his lips and lied again. ‘Of course, love. We will go back to where we were happiest.’ Wherever that was. The words seemed to help. She settled back into the pillows with a sigh, her features relaxing.
He stared down at her for a moment, unable to look away. Had he never seen her happy before? He had known she was attractive, but he had not seen the beauty of her smile. So soft, so sweet and welcoming. And not for him at all. It was for a man who had not been there to protect her, when she’d needed it most.
Then he noticed the tears drying on her face. He had caused those. He ran the tip of a finger over her skin, smoothing them away.
She leaned her cheek into his hand, her lips grazing his fingertips in a kiss.
He froze, afraid to move. If she woke and caught him in her bedchamber, there would be no hope of gaining her trust. But dear God, it was sweet. Though he had more power, rank and money than any sane man might need, he envied this Richard, who once had the devotion of his little Madeline.
Very carefully, he pulled the covers back up and tucked them around her, gently wiping away a curl that was stuck to her damp face. ‘Sleep well, darling. Everything is all right now.’
And it would be all right. He would see to it.
* * *
Maddie blinked awake to find the morning sunlight shining bright through the crack in the bed curtains. She had been dreaming again, she was sure. Her arms and legs felt heavy and tired as though, in her sleep, she had walked a great way.
At least she was not tangled in the sheets today. Some mornings she awoke paralysed in body as well as mind, so sad that she could hardly fight herself free of her own blankets.
Last night’s dream, as she’d remembered it, had been different from what it had been in the past. She was at the inn in Dover, of course, but she had not lain with a stranger. There had been no shame. No embarrassment. Once again she had felt young, innocent and in love. It had been so real that she was sure she had been awake. To find a man standing over the bed should have frightened her, but strangely it did not. For though she could not see his face, she had been sure it was Richard. He spoke softly to her, calming her, and she’d wondered whether he’d finally returned, just as he had in the dream.
Then she noticed the change in him. She had kissed his hand, but he had not joined her on the bed. Instead, he’d stood over her for a moment, then arranged the blankets and eased her back to sleep as though she were a frightened child.
It was not the Richard she had known. It had been an angel. She could not see the wings, but she was sure they must have been present. Before he had gone, he’d promised to protect her and she’d believed him. He would always be here for her, guarding over her.
If dreams had meaning, this one said she must stop waiting. She was married now. Her true love was not coming home as anything but a sweet memory. It should have upset her, to have the last hope dashed. But he had told her, in the dream, that she had nothing to fear. She must trust him, just as she had when they were together. And with that knowledge, she had made peace with his absence and drifted deeper into sleep, waking refreshed.
It was odd that she should have the first restful night in so long while in the very house of the man whom she least wanted to see. But as he had promised, he had not bothered her in the night. There was the security of the locked door between them. Before she had climbed into bed, she had turned the key and set it aside. A few minutes later she had checked the door. And then she’d checked it again. Then, finally, she had crawled into bed, pulled the curtains and rolled away from it, vowing that she would not touch it again until morning.
It was foolish to doubt herself about such small things. Perhaps it was the life growing inside her, urging her to check and double-check each thing she did, as though testing her abilities to keep the young one safe. It was nonsense. The door was locked and the key was still on the dresser.
But who was to know if she assured herself that it was indeed locked, just as she’d left it? She climbed out of the bed and walked to it, took the knob in a firm grip and twisted slowly and silently, so as not to awake the duke. But instead of resisting, it turned easily, opening suddenly towards her because of the weight resting on the other side.
The Duke of St Aldric tumbled into the room.
She took a step back, clutching her wrapper in alarm and trying to disguise the ridiculously lacy nightgown that Peg had insisted she wear on her wedding night.
He was even more surprised than she. He looked up at her with sleep-dazed eyes, not quite sure of what he was doing on the floor.
‘What is the meaning of this?’ she demanded.
But the meaning was obvious, if still confusing. On his side of the door, a bench had been set to block the threshold and the duke had been using it as a bed. He had been sleeping sitting up, leaning against the door. When she’d opened it, he’d fallen backwards.
‘Bloody hell.’ He was rubbing the back of his head now, glanced up at her and glanced hurriedly away as though not sure where he could politely look. He struggled to disentangle himself from the bench so that he could regain his footing.
She should have done the same. For while her modesty was mostly preserved, his was not. The expanse of his chest was bared where the dressing gown fell open. As the skirt of it flapped in his movement, lengths of naked leg were exposed, clear to the groin. Long, well-shaped legs, with firm calves and thighs.
Dear lord. A trail of gold hair, curling down the centre of his body, well past his navel, disappearing beneath the belt and leading to the tiny bit of his body still obscured by his robe—and the fabric that did nothing to hide the bulge of morning beneath it.
Then the moment had passed and the man was on his feet in the doorway, adjusting his clothing and properly covered.
They stood for a moment in silence. His eyes were unwavering, locked to hers, cool and gentlemanly.
It took all her strength not to look down again, to see if any trace of that glorious male body was still visible. Lust, pure and simple, was added to the many curious feelings that seemed to rise and fall in her like the tide now she was with child. Despite what had passed between them, she had to admit that her new husband was a beautiful specimen and worthy of admiration.
And one who looked as though, if he had less than perfect poise, he would have been shuffling and stammering at the awkwardness of this encounter. ‘I heard you cry out in the night. You were clearly quite distressed.’ He gave the belt of his robe another tug. ‘When I had assured myself that there was no real danger, I returned to my room and remained there, against the door, in case the dream recurred.’
‘You. Entered my room?’
The angel that she had felt watching over her in the night was him? And then he’d returned to his side of the threshold to guard her as she’d slept.
‘I meant no harm.’
It had not been Richard at all. It had been St Aldric again. She had grown used to finding him in her nightmares. But must he invade the happy dreams, as well? She could feel her cheeks growing red, not just from embarrassment, but anger. ‘The door was locked.’
‘There is a second key.’
‘In your possession.’ What point had there been in giving her her own key, other than to create a false sense of security in her?
‘I will not be denied entrance to rooms in my own home,’ he said, his demeanour cooling by the minute. ‘You must trust, on my honour, that I will not use it but in the most dire emergencies.’
‘And you discovered such an emergency on our very first night of marriage?’
‘You were crying out loud enough to wake the household,’ he said almost in a whisper. ‘It was emergency enough for me.’
‘It was only a dream.’
His eyes refused to meet hers, for they both knew what the cause of her nightmares had been. ‘I will give you the key,’ he said, reaching into his pocket.
‘And how can I trust that there is not a third resting on your keychain?’
‘You have my word.’
‘Which you have already broken by hiding this from me. I demand that you move me to a different room immediately.’ Preferably one on a different continent. Then perhaps she could escape the warring feelings of anger, confusion and guilt. At least if she were far away, she could free herself of the desire to look at his body again. She forced herself to focus on his face, just as he did for her.
As she watched, a variety of emotions moved across the perfect features like clouds over a clear sky. He was embarrassed, ashamed of what he had done at Dover and the lie he’d just told her. He considered something for a moment, rejected it, considered something else and seemed to settle on something. When his eyes lifted to hers again, they were dark, but far from unreadable. He was angry. As though he was being forced into something disreputable that he wanted no part of.
‘It would be difficult to move you in this house, as the guest rooms, while lovely, would hardly suit the size of your wardrobe. But if we remove to Aldricshire, you will have the solitude you request. The lord’s and lady’s chambers there do not connect.’
How odd.
She’d very nearly said it. Or made some other foolish comment about the inconvenience that must cause. For while it was customary to have the nursery as far away from the adult rooms as it was possible to be, she had never heard of a husband and wife sleeping so obviously apart.
Until her own marriage, of course.
‘That would be most suitable,’ she said. It should be, for there was clearly something about the idea that upset him. That had been her object in marrying, had it not? To see to it that he was as miserable as she had been.
But why should sleeping apart from her make him unhappy? She’d made it clear from the first that there would be no communion between them. He was a fool if he expected he could change her mind by keeping her in London.
‘I would like to leave as soon as possible,’ she added, not wanting to tempt fate by the continued sight of him in the morning.
His mind calculated. ‘After breakfast, then. The trip can be made in less than a day. We will travel lightly. Our luggage will be sent after.’
As though expecting her to offer some devilish objection to this, he corrected, ‘My trunks, of course, can follow. You are likely about to tell me that you cannot be expected to travel without a wardrobe. I will have Scott bring up the cases and instruct your maid to begin packing immediately.’ He turned to the bell pull, ready to rearrange his life to suit her whims.
It seemed he was not inconvenienced in the least. He acted as if there was nothing in his schedule that could not be postponed or handled by another. It would be her fault if this trip broke her goodwill with the servants. After the work they’d put into the breakfast, the sudden move would create even more chaos.
* * *
If the servants had been surprised by this sudden upheaval, they had the grace not to show it. Footmen who had been pulling down the flowers in the ballroom were recommissioned to carry boxes from her room to one of two waiting carriages. They even smiled while lugging heavy trunks up and down the stairs. Apparently, if the duke requested something of one, it was treated as an honour to comply.
When she had enquired as to the need for two vehicles, she was informed that the second held her clothing. The first was for her and her maid.
And the duke?
Preferred, at least on this instance, to ride. As they set out, she saw him holding the bridle of a brute of an animal with eyes that flashed like the very devil. It was black and glossy, so different from the nag she had chosen on the previous day that one might even wonder if they shared a species.
St Aldric mounted without the help of a groom, swinging easily up into the saddle and then glancing to her where she sat in the carriage, so high that he had to look down to her, despite the height of the rig. Then he turned the horse and set off at an easy pace down the drive.
Though Peg seemed to think it an eternity, the trip was not to be particularly long. ‘Nearly forty miles,’ she breathed. ‘I have never been so far from home in my life.’
Maddie hid her smile. Changes in position had forced her to criss-cross the country on several occasions. Before that, she’d not had a true home to miss. ‘It is much easier this way than to travel in a mail coach,’ she said. ‘It is never nice to have one’s schedule set by others and to be chased in and out of highway inns with barely time for refreshment.’
‘If you need either, the duke says you must be sure to ask and we will stop immediately,’ Peg replied.
Maddie frowned. He had said so, had he? Not to her. Although it seemed that he’d had no problem relaying that concern for her comfort to the maid.
* * *
When she mentioned that it might be nice to stop for lunch, the caravan drew immediately to a halt and one of the outriders produced a cloth for the ground and a basket of dainties that was more like a feast than a picnic. She dined on potted pheasant and champagne, a nice Stilton and strawberries that she was assured came from the vines that grew right in Aldricshire and were shipped each week to London. There was even a small pot of the medicinal sauce that the duke had offered her, and it seemed to make each food more appetising. She even tried a bit on one of the strawberries when she was sure no one was looking, and was surprised to find them sweeter than usual.
The only thing absent from luncheon was the duke himself. He had lagged far enough behind that she was assured he must have stopped at one of the inns they had passed.
Maddie frowned. Perhaps his fine black horse was not so fine after all. It could not even manage to keep up with the carriages. Or perhaps he was not satisfied with light wine and a bird. Despite his insistence that he no longer drank to excess, he might be bloating on ale, or washing a joint down with brandy to a degree that would render him unsteady in the saddle. She would laugh if that had happened, for it would prove that all his fine talk of sobriety was another lie.
Or perhaps, said a small voice at the back of her mind, he does not wish to be with you.
That should make her happy, just as the thought of his drunkenness did. If she was riding like a princess, and he was willing to forgo luxury after only two days of marriage to keep apart from her, then she was succeeding in her plan to make him unhappy.
She had never meant to be the sort of person that could not be abided by others. When one was a servant, one could not afford to be disagreeable. Her maid seemed to like her and chattered endlessly as they travelled about the sights they passed. The drivers, grooms a
nd outriders treated her with kindness, as well. They all grinned, rushing over each other for the chance to serve the new duchess, plying her with treats and cushions as though she was fragile as a quail’s egg, to be packed in cotton wool and not to be jostled. She had been kind and polite to all of them in return, apologising for any trouble she caused and showing appreciation for their extra efforts.
She’d offered none of that kindness to her husband, who had been willing to sleep in a chair to assure himself that her dreams remained sweet. Of course, her rest would be easier had she never met him....
Try as she might to remind herself that she was justified in her anger with him, she could feel those little moments of sympathy sneaking in, nibbling away like mice in the wainscoting. With comfort and condiments and kindness, he was trying to make amends for what he had done.
And she remembered the look on his face that morning, before he’d turned and ridden away. I will not let it affect me in front of others. But see what you have forced me to do.
Yesterday, he had requested her company for that ridiculous trip to Tattersall’s and dinner, as well. Today, he did not seem to be bothered by holding apart from her. She had seen him smiling and chatting to the grooms before they’d set off. The few glimpses she’d got of him, when he’d been close enough to the carriage to see, he’d seemed quite content with both his method of transportation and the pace he’d set for himself.
It was only when he’d turned to her that a cloud had passed over his features. And that, only when there was no one else around who might see. As long as he kept away from her, he seemed his usual cheerful self.
It was possible that by tomorrow, she would not see him at all. He would settle her in his county seat and then disappear from her life. He would have all of the rest of England to be happy in. And she would have whatever ground she trod on to be bitter and miserable, even in the face of comfort that should have made a poor little governess jump for joy.
Without logic, the hurt she caused seemed to rebound on her. After she had lost Richard, she had understood that her chance for true happiness had passed. She would be alone until she died. To pass the years, she would keep busy and do good works. Her life would be solitary, but not empty. She had never imagined herself as abandoned, or avoided, until she had married the duke. But now she could picture her future as a very comfortable void.
The Fall of a Saint Page 8
