Supper was perfect, as usual. He would not have stood for less—but it all tasted of sawdust to him.
She looked so beautiful, seated across from him, bathed in candlelight. Her hair was different, softer. She’d pulled back the front, but the rest poured down her back like a waterfall of summer light. There was something softer in her eyes as well—as if she might be thinking more kindly of him this evening.
Heat flooded his body at the thought of what a fellow might expect from more kindly thoughts. Forcing down that sudden disquieting lust, he spent so long trying not to stare at her that the meat course was served before he realized that she wore the same gown she’d had on earlier, a simple muslin fit for receiving a cousin in a parlor but nothing fine enough for supper.
“You didn’t think it necessary to dress for supper?”
His abrupt question cut the silence too harshly. She visibly flinched, making him feel like the ogre he’d denied being earlier.
She swallowed the bite of beef she’d been chewing delicately. “I did not know you wished it.”
He was surprised. So simple a response? Where was the fiery defiance? Where was the bristling pride?
She leaned forward and inhaled deeply to say something else, but the roaring in his ears blotted out every word. A long fair curl fell forward over her shoulder only to become tightly lodged between her full breasts. Didn’t she realize it? Didn’t she know that his hands were shaking with the desire to reach across the table and free it for her?
Deirdre smiled to herself. It’s working. He couldn’t take his eyes from her. Unfortunately, when his eyes darkened hungrily and fixed upon her bosom, she ought to have been satisfied with her victory—but satisfaction was not to be had when his hot gaze only ignited a new heat within her. Her thighs dampened and her nipples tightened. It ought to have been mortifying.
It wasn’t.
Men had wanted her before, both obviously and subtlety, and it had had no effect at all. This man with his flaming gaze and his silent slow burn was about to turn her into a bonfire without so much as touching her!
She had said something, hadn’t she? She couldn’t remember. He had not replied anyway. There was no point in attempting conversation anyway, not when her mouth had gone dry with need and her throat tightened with aching anticipation. He might come to her tonight, if she unlocked the door …
“Dee!”
Abruptly Deirdre realized that Meggie had been trying to get her attention for several minutes with a very obvious stage whisper—and of course, the little vulgarian had picked up on Graham’s ridiculous nickname for her.
“Dee!”
She tore her gaze from Brookhaven’s. “For pity’s sake, what is it?”
“My kitten’s gone missing!”
Brookhaven cleared his throat. “I ordered Fortescue to give it to Cook.”
Deirdre turned to gaze at him with concern. If he tried to get rid of poor Meggie’s only friend, she was prepared to—
“Kitty for supper?”
The volume was deafening and the shrill pitch made one want to crawl under the table. Meggie’s rising wails drowned out any attempt of Brookhaven’s to correct the impression that he had served her pet to her topped with gravy and roast potatoes.
At first Deirdre was concerned at the hysterics—until Meggie flashed her an evil grin from behind her napkin. They’d planned on doing something upsetting at supper tonight, but this far outshone their debated plate-in-his-lap scheme. Deirdre had to grant silent applause. Such thoroughness and dedication to duty in one so young! Heavens, the child was quite professional!
Then, grabbing up her own napkin, Deirdre pretended to gag into it. “Oh, how could you?” she cried at her husband’s confused scowl.
Finally, the man hit his limit. He threw back his head. “Enough!”
Despite her worst intentions, Deirdre found herself silenced by the male authority in his bellow. She’d never heard him raise his voice before, however, so perhaps she ought to count some sort of triumph.
Meggie halted with a last damp wail and a muffled hiccup. Deirdre shot her a sympathetic glance. She had worked herself into quite a state, however deliberately.
He placed both palms on the table and stood very slowly and deliberately. “Since neither of you seem to have any appreciation for Cook’s fine meal, you will both go to bed without any supper,” he growled.
Deirdre might have bristled under such a childish punishment, but after all, she richly deserved it. On the whole, she’d had enormous fun. She rose with complete composure. “Off we go, Lady Margaret.”
Meggie sniffed and complied. At the door, she turned back. “I want to sleep with my kitten.”
No one had ever said the child lacked fortitude. Outmanned, Brookhaven sank back into his seat and dropped his head into his hands. “We’ll discuss the kitten’s future tomorrow, Lady Margaret. Cook will take care of him well enough until then.”
At which point they beat a wise retreat from the ground of battle, considering themselves the victors of the day.
“HAVE YOU EVER tasted bonbons?”
Deirdre and Meggie had fallen back to regroup in her ladyship’s bedchamber. They lolled dully before the fire, their stomachs rumbling in earnest now. The last thing Deirdre wanted to think about was food. “Of course.”
Her tone must have been a bit too offhand, for Meggie went silent, her gaze on the coals. Deirdre set down the book she’d been reading aloud. “You’ve never tasted sweets, have you?”
Meggie shook her head without looking away from the fire. “Papa ordered that I wasn’t to have any.”
“Ever?” Wasn’t that just like the man, to ban sweets entirely with no thought to simple moderation? “One would think we were prisoners in the Tower,” she grumbled.
Meg turned to her. “What did you say?”
Deirdre slid her feet off the settee and leaned forward. “I said, ‘I have a special power.’” She grinned. “I know how to make toffee!”
Meg’s eyes widened. “You do?”
Deirdre strode to the bellpull and gave it a decisive yank. “My father taught me. We used to make it on snowy days.”
Fortescue, with his usual speed, tapped at the door, then entered. “My ladies?”
Deirdre waved her hand grandly, playing the great lady for Meggie’s amusement. “Fortescue, I require two small pots, butter, sugar, chocolate and walnuts—immediately!”
Fortescue glanced at Meg. “His lordship has ordered that Lady Margaret not be given sweets.”
Deirdre crossed her arms and raised a brow. “And has his lordship also ordered that I be so deprived?”
Fortescue’s lips twitched. “Indeed not, my lady. I shall send a tray up directly.”
As he departed, Meg sat up straighter. “We’re going to eat sweets?”
Deirdre flung herself down onto the settee with a laugh. “Lady Margaret, we are going to get revoltingly sick on sweets!”
The tray arrived, nuts already chopped and chocolate shaved to precise tiny bits, perfect for melting. There was even a pitcher of milk and two glasses. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one who thought it was high time his lordship eased the reins a bit.
They sprawled on their stomachs before the coals and Deirdre showed Meg how to melt the butter and stir in the sugar until the mixture turned the perfect color of brown. Then while that cooled on the windowsill, they melted the chocolate and sweetened it to smooth perfection.
“Can we just eat this?”
Deirdre laughed at Meg’s eagerness. “I used to say that, too. And my father would say, ‘Patience, dear heart. It will be rewarded.’”
She poured the chocolate over the cooled butter mixture, sprinkled the nuts and set the pot back on the windowsill to cool again. “One really needs snow to cool it quickly—” She turned to see Meg’s face filled with sadness, her gaze lost again in the coals. “Lady Margaret?”
“Papa doesn’t like me at all.” Her eyes were wide and glossy in her l
ittle face.
Deirdre couldn’t very well deny it, when she’d seen no sign of any such affection. “How do you know that?”
“Your papa called you ‘dear heart.’ Papa never—He used to call me ‘Meggie’ and pat me on the head when he came to Brookhaven. Now he calls me ‘Lady Margaret’ and he never—he never pets me at all.”
Deirdre shut her eyes briefly. Damn you, Brookhaven. Then she slid to her knees next to the child and put an awkward arm about her bony shoulders. “Your father loves you. He—he went out and found me, didn’t he, just for you!” Which was something she hadn’t wanted to admit to herself, but Meg’s pain was larger and older than hers.
Meggie hesitantly leaned her head upon Deirdre’s shoulder and together they gazed into the coals, but therein lay no answer to the mysteries of Lord Brookhaven’s heart.
Then the toffee was ready. Meggie’s expression at her first bite was priceless. For a while, contented silence reigned. Deirdre did see Meggie secrete a large chunk in the pocket of her grubby pinafore but said nothing. Little children deserved silly treats once in a while.
Chapter Sixteen
From outside the bedchamber, in the darkened sitting room, Calder watched them lying side by side on their stomachs, heels waving in the air. He might tell himself that he was upset at their lack of deportment earlier—
Is it that or the fact that they’re in there and you’re out here?
Then Deirdre smiled, and although it was quite clearly not at him, his heart thudded. She was so beautiful this way, uncomplicated and relaxed, the poised lady stripped away to reveal the playful imp beneath.
What was that like? To be able to be easy with others—it had always been a mystery to him.
He’d never understood women in particular, for they made even less sense to him. Men were rather closer to machines. They had a limited number of responses—aggression, cowardice, aggression to mask cowardice—and one simply ran the possibilities through one’s mind to calculate what response one ought to make. Calder had found that an attitude of arrogant dismissal covered any number of possible expectations with men.
But not for Deirdre. She swept aside any intimidating pose of his to reveal the emptiness behind it. She forced him to reach deeper than anyone had ever done—even Rafe.
He forced himself to raise a hand to knock, knowing that his appearance would kill the candid mood. It usually did. He entered at Deirdre’s word to find that Meggie had hidden herself. No matter. After all, he wanted the two of them to be company for each other.
Deirdre rose from her casual lolling, smoothly stepping before the dismembered dish of something probably forbidden. Calder had intended to politely request that she join him for breakfast.
“You will rise early tomorrow. One does not spend the day in meaningful pursuit if one spends the day in bend” He halted abruptly. Had he truly just uttered those words?
Of course, her chin rose and defiance flashed in her eyes. “Indeed? And why is that?”
“You will come to breakfast,” he said gruffly.
Oh, very nice, you ass.
Damn it, he couldn’t think straight with her standing there, golden-haired goddess of disdain that she was, reigning over his beastly hulk with a superior derision.
“I’ll do precisely as I please,” she said, “for you won’t be here to see anyway. Aren’t you vastly overdue at one of your factories?”
He was as a matter of fact. The requests for his presence were growing more urgent by the day. “I will be breaking fast at home. You and Lady Margaret will join met.”
She raised a golden brow. “I don’t take orders, my lord.”
He gazed at her without easing his intensity a jot. “You will rise and come down to breakfast tomorrow, after which you will spend every moment of the day with Lady Margaret. I’ve told Fortescue to make sure of it.”
She folded her arms. “Poor Fortescue. Do you always make him play the enforcer? A braver man would do it himself.” She smirked. “Or at least try to.”
He refused to be baited. “You will rise early and come to breakfast with Lady Margaret and myself. You will dine with me every evening and you will dress for supper.” He narrowed his eyes at her, stopping her retort. “You will do these things, my lady, or you will find there are a great many more things to lose than a few gowns and parties. I need not allow you to come to London at all.”
She paled then. It did not satisfy him to see it, but Society-bred that she was, it was the worst threat he could muster. He would never lay a cruel hand on her, nor would he lie to frighten her. He did not want her afraid, he wanted her to grow up. He wanted an adult to share his life with, not a petulant child. He already had one of those.
“You don’t seem a cruel man, my lord,” she said calmly, though her eyes shot sparks. “So it must be that you don’t truly realize what you are saying. To banish a wife to the country would only cause endless gossip. I would be reputed as mad or deathly ill. You would be accused of making me so, or even of killing me off—you know how tongues wag on.”
She was quite right, damn it. He’d not thought it through. She had that effect on him, making him erupt in impulsive ultimatums.
Deirdre clasped her hands behind her back to hide the fact that they were shaking. She’d run from Tessa so that she could be free of oppression and tyranny. Damn Brookhaven. “Unfortunately, my lord, I know you to be a man of your word. Even now that I have pointed out your mistake, you will feel compelled to do precisely as you have threatened should I disobey.
“Since I am not a cruel woman, I will not force you to go through with such a scandalous mistake.” Her slight smile was as cold as ice. “I shall see you at breakfast, my lord.”
He bowed shortly, then turned on his heel and left without another word. Only when the door was closed behind him did Deirdre ease her aching fingers apart.
Meggie crawled out from under the bed. “If he thinks I’m coming to bloody breakfast, he really is mad,” she announced furiously.
“Perhaps …” Heavens, it was becoming quite clear to Deirdre now. He didn’t want to eat alone. This insight broke her heart just a tiny bit, but she could not allow him to jump off the hook quite so easily. She matched Meggie’s earlier smile at supper. “That is too bad,” she said, “for it should be most amusing.”
OUTSIDE HER LADYSHIP’S bedchamber, Calder stopped to run a hand over his face. As he had thought so many times in the last two days …
That did not go well.
Except of course for the fact that he’d won. Hadn’t he? She’d agreed to do as she was told, this once, anyway. So why the shamed ball in his gut? It was a simple enough request, to breakfast and dine like a family.
But you didn’t request.
He blew out a frustrated breath. He didn’t have the time or inclination to wrap every damned sentence in pretty words. He was a very busy man. He’d spent many years now accustomed to issuing—
Barking.
He felt a growl rise in his throat. Issuing commands and having them carried out forthwith. There was no reason to change his ways just because some female decided it dented her tender sensibilities.
He retreated to the masculine haven of his study. He had matters, important matters, waiting for him to arrange. He could not allow this madwoman to deflect any more of his attention from them.
A short time later, Calder looked up from his papers when he heard something slide under his study door. He saw a quickly moving shadow against the light in the hall and heard light running steps. He crossed the room and knelt to retrieve a small paper-wrapped package from the floor.
On the outside were scrawled the words “For Papa.” He quelled a sigh at the deplorable penmanship and unfolded the scrap. Inside was a chunk of something brown with … were those nuts? And a bit of lint, apparently. It looked like something his groom might clean out of a hoof, but it smelled … wonderful.
He considered the possibility of poison, then decided that Meggie, being
Meggie, would never be so obvious. Then it occurred to him that Meggie, being Meggie, might realize he would think that and therefore would—
He shook his head against the cascade of suspicions and decided to take the gift as a gift. If Meggie wanted to harm him, all she had to do was to continue in her current rebellion.
He took a tiny, careful—he wasn’t a fool, after all—bite of the concoction. Buttery chocolate pleasure filled his senses. It was only the best toffee he’d ever had, not that he’d indulged often. It tasted like it came from London’s finest confectioners—yet he knew that none of the staff would defy his rules to buy such a thing for Meggie.
But she would.
He tossed the package onto his desk and stalked back to his seat. The bloody-minded females in this house were going to be the death of him, poison or no! He forced his attention back to the matter at hand, refusing to waste one more moment on those fomenting rebellion right under his nose.
After a long moment and several unread pages, he allowed his gaze to slide back to where the toffee sat so innocently in its crude wrapping. His fingers twitched. No. He would not be sweet-talked by sweets! He would not be manipulated. She had obviously put Meggie up to such an endearing act in hopes of wheedling something from him. He could not encourage such behavior.
The scent of decadent pleasure teased at him. Abruptly, he snatched the toffee up, blew off the lint, and popped it into his mouth. Leaning back in his chair with a sigh of ecstasy, he let the delicacy dissolve slowly on his tongue.
After all, he was a man who despised waste.
Chapter Seventeen
Calder sat down to his breakfast at precisely the same time he always did. And, as always, despite the specific instructions he’d given his bride last night, he sat down alone.
He drew a deep breath. “Fortescue, where is her ladyship?”
Celeste Bradley - [Heiress Brides 02] Page 8
