by Claudia Dain
“Take off your shoes, Caro, and I will let you walk in his blood,” George said. Ashdon turned to face this new challenge, but Caro kept walking toward the landau. George was always saying things of that sort. He had a rather tortured sense of humor.
“I am not going to walk around Hyde Park in my stockings, George,” she said. “It is quite bad enough that I am without a proper coat.”
“And a fichu. Try to keep them attached, will you?” Ashdon said. “I would hate to have to thrash everyone in town who has seen your fetching décolleté. As these are your cousins, I will allow some laxity.”
“How generous of you,” she said. “Now, shall we get in and get on? You are bleeding and might need a stitch or two.”
“Worried about me?” Ash asked.
“Only that you’ll bleed on my dress. I rather like this dress,” she said loftily. “I do suppose a proper introduction is in order.” She stopped at the door to the landau. Her cousins trailed her like hounds, Uncle John at the rear. She would not be surprised if they had some final blow against Ashdon in mind; it would not be unlike them. “Lord Ashdon, my cousins: George, John the Younger, which has been shortened to Young for the sake of simplicity, and Matthew. Cousins, my husband, Lord Ashdon.”
It was then that they did indeed thrash Ashdon. She supposed it was a point of honor for them, but whatever the cause, Ashdon gave as good as he got. At least there were no knives involved.
It was a quick scuffle, a few punches thrown, a few caught. They all kept their feet, which was the important thing in a fight. It was also important, perhaps of equal importance, that a woman watching men fight not react in any way that would cause a man embarrassment. They were rather particular about that she had learned, and so Caro watched Ashdon get a bit pummeled, do some pummeling in return, which would surely result in some rather nasty bruising, but little else. She held her tongue, her posture, and her composure. All in all, she was more than a little proud of her performance.
“All finished, then?” she said when the four men stood heaving in breath after breath, staring at each other in what she could only call amiable hostility. Men were so odd, so often, yet so charming in their oddity. Quite irresistible, really. The way Ash looked just now, his shirt torn, his hair mussed, his muscles taut and glistening with sweat . . . Caro’s own breath started to heave just looking at him. “I’m certain Mother must be twitching with worry over me having been gone so long. And without the proper shoes.”
“She’ll be twitching with something,” Uncle John said with a wry twist of his lip.
“Just out of curiosity,” Ash said, picking his cravat up from the ground and throwing it over his shoulder, “I understand the knife bit, just, but why the rest of you?”
“Two weeks ago, right before we left for France, none of us had heard of you,” George answered. “Now you’re married to Caro. You must have done something to have met and married that fast. Figured we owed you for that something.”
“Yes, well,” Ash said, throwing his waistcoat and coat over his left arm, “it was something, but perhaps not what you imagine.”
“Like what?” Matthew asked. Matthew was the youngest, a full year younger than Caro, but not so much a boy that he couldn’t imagine quite a bit. She didn’t like this conversation at all.
“I am not at liberty to say,” Ashdon said stiffly, offering Caro his arm.
“Then let Caro tell it,” Matthew said, stepping forward. Good lord, but he looked to have grown an inch in the past two weeks. His shirtsleeves didn’t quite cover his wrists, and she was certain that he’d been properly attired when he’d set out for France.
“What are you wearing, Matthew? That can’t be the right shirt,” Caro said.
“It’s the one you gave me,” Matthew said, “but that’s not what I’m waiting for you to say.”
“So sorry,” she said, climbing into the landau with Ashdon’s assistance. He was still bleeding. She was not going to say a word about it. She had her pride, too, and she was not going to be one of those women who fussed about every little thing. “That’s all I’m going to say.”
The cousins stared at her as she arranged her filthy skirts; really, she hadn’t dressed at all properly for a jaunt through the woods and fields of Hyde Park. Her shoes were going to have to be tossed out and she had always rather favored these shoes. Except for getting married, it had been a dismal sort of day. Being stared at by her cousins wasn’t helping. Now that she thought about it, they had the same sort of focused and intense stare that Ashdon was so fond of displaying. It was altogether unnerving and completely irritating. When her Uncle John joined in with his killing stare, she quite gave it up.
“Oh, all right!” she said. “The short version is that I made a bargain of sorts with Lord Ashdon and the result was that”—she coughed and looked out the landau window, which was ridiculous as there was absolutely nothing to see at this time of evening—“was that . . .”
It might have helped if just one of them had said something, some small thing to ease her into it. But they didn’t. They all sat, all five of them, as if they could not deduce what it was she was trying to say. Blast men for their blindness in the most obvious of situations.
“Well, to hear Lord Ashdon tell it,” she snapped, out of patience with the lot of them, “I attacked him with my breasts. Absurd, naturally, but there you are.”
To which they all shifted their stares to Ashdon. Upon which Ashdon nodded fractionally. And after which they all, every one of them, stared at her breasts.
Not at all what she had intended, but that was just the sort of day it was.
Twenty-eight
THEY arrived back at Dalby House without further conversation. Of course, that was likely because her breasts had captured what little attention a man had to begin with. Honestly. Uncle John seemed to find the whole thing far more amusing than it actually was, which is to say, it was not amusing in the least. Nevertheless, he kept nodding his dark head and grunting. Almost prostrate with laughter, he was.
Caro was never so glad to get out of a carriage in her life, and considering the past few days, that was saying quite a lot.
Ashdon followed her up the few steps to the front door and whispered as Freddy opened the door, “Now will you wear a fichu?”
Odious wretch.
Sophia came into the foyer as they entered and, upon seeing Ashdon in his dirt-smeared, bloodstained state, said sweetly, “Oh, I see you’ve met my brother.”
“Yes,” Ashdon said, handing his coat to Freddy while he buttoned his waistcoat, “always nice to meet the in-laws.”
“Isn’t it though?” Sophia said as Lord Westlin came into the foyer behind her, followed by Lord Staverton. Was there anyone who wasn’t going to come out of the white salon?
In point of fact, Markham came down the hall from the dining room, where she was quite certain the sideboard had yet to be repaired from the day’s earlier adventure. Her wedding day was now made complete.
Filth and inappropriate attire notwithstanding, Caro threw herself into Markham’s arms and lost herself there. It had been months since they’d seen each other and, as troublesome as he could often be, she adored him. She had known since the age of two that he returned the emotion entirely. As well he should. She was a wonderful sister to him.
“You set them on me, didn’t you?” Markham said into her hair. “I ought to thrash you, but you look like you’ve been thrashed already today.”
“I don’t wish to discuss it,” she said into his cravat. “And if I did wish to discuss it, I would say that you entirely deserved to be set upon as you should have been applying yourself at Oxford and not on the streets of Paris.”
“First one, then the other,” Markham said, pulling her back from him and searching the throng behind them. “No need to ask which one is Lord Ashdon. He looks even more thrashed than you. Uncle John’s work?”
“And the boys. He doesn’t appear to mind, though, so I shan’t mind either.�
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“Clever girl.”
“I like to think so.”
“And all this other I’ve been hearing about since I’ve been hauled back to hearth and home? Where is the logic in that, Caro? It doesn’t sound at all like you, and that’s just from what I could get out of Anne. Anne wouldn’t mouth a word against you and Mother wouldn’t speak of it at all, which only put me on the scent rather more vigorously, wouldn’t it?”
“Freddy, I suppose,” she said, sighing and straightening her hair.
“Naturally. But what’s to be done now? He’s married you, so that’s settled, but is he worthy of you?”
“Is anyone?” she said sarcastically.
“Probably not,” he said with a grin.
“You are such a brother,” she said, turning to look back into the heart of the foyer. Ashdon appeared rather more damaged in the light of a dozen candles, and more grim. Again. Where was the man who had teased her about her fichu?
Lord Westlin had taken one look at the assemblie in the foyer and retreated back into the white salon. Unsociable sot. It certainly wasn’t going to be pleasant having to deal with Lord Westlin on a regular basis; it was a good thing she was as levelheaded and unflappable as she was or things might come to a nasty head.
Uncle John and his sons did not look more civilized in the white candlelight. John’s features were hard and chiseled, his skin dark, his hair actually a dark brown where Sophia’s was black, but his was straight as a stick. He had a look to him that spoke of wildness and wilderness.
George, his eldest son, had John’s nose and mouth and brow, but softened. His black hair was waved, as hers was, and he had a long dimple in his left cheek that did nothing to detract from his raw masculinity.
John the Younger was the tallest and leanest of them all, his skin the fairest, his dark brown hair lit with faint gold lights. Young had the thick brows and long nose the boys all shared and looked, oddly enough, more like Markham than any of them, including her.
Matthew, still growing vigorously, had pale blue eyes. They were his grandmother’s eyes and he was the only one of all of them to get them. Paired with his olive skin and black hair, he was a boy growing rapidly into a strikingly handsome man.
Though at the moment they were all somewhat tumbled as a result of their tussle with Ashdon and because they had run in that peculiar long lope of theirs behind the landau on the way to Hyde Park. Markham, however, looked resplendent in his fawn breeches and dark blue coat. The coat was exquisitely cut and fit Markham to perfection.
“Did you get that coat in Paris?” she asked.
“I did,” he said proudly. “Won it in a game of whist, had to have it altered a bit, but isn’t it a fine bit of cloth?”
“Gambling,” she said on a huff of angry air. “Is there any reason to gamble for a coat when you have the funds to buy a perfectly lovely coat yourself? One that would be made to fit?”
“Of course there’s a reason,” he said, his dark eyes shining. “I always have a reason for what I do. It’s fun, that’s why. You must learn to find the fun in things, Caro.”
“Oh, must I? It’s a bit late for me now, isn’t it?”
“Because of Ashdon? ” Markham said, looking down the hall at his new brother by marriage. “Isn’t he any fun at all?”
“I wouldn’t exactly call him fun.” Though being thrown onto the sideboard like a trifle and being sampled for his pleasure had been . . . memorable. She could feel her nipples harden and her breasts grow heavy just thinking of it. Caro took few steps away from the dining room door, forcing Markham to keep step with her.
“Like his father, then? All growl and spittle?”
Caro reared her head back and pushed against his arm. “He is not like his father! That is not at all what I said.”
“No?” Markham said innocently. “What did you say, then? You don’t mean that you actually like him, do you, Caro? That could prove rather awkward, having a tendre for one’s husband. I know Mother did it, but she makes her own fashion, doesn’t she? I’m not at all certain you can pull it off.”
“Did I say I felt anything for Ashdon?”
“No,” he said softly, wrapping an arm about her waist, “but some things are so obvious they don’t need to be said.”
Oh, dear. This was bad, very bad. A sophisticated woman of her stature did not go about with her most vulnerable and private emotions on her face, or anywhere else for that matter. It simply wasn’t done.
“You make the most unwelcome comments, Mark. Did you know that?”
“Of course. It’s a good thing that I’m so handsome or no one would forgive me anything. But I am handsome, particularly in my new coat, and therefore I am forgiven everything. Mother has even given over being angry about my jaunt to Paris. I think the coat turned her head,” Markham whispered conspiratorially.
She barely heard him. Ashdon, rather the worse for wear, turned to stare at her from down the wide hallway that separated them. He was still bleeding, his shirt sporting a damp, red patch. He had a bruise coming up on his left eye and his knuckles were scraped raw. He looked absolutely horrible, and never more wonderful.
“Has Mother planned on dinner for all of us?” she asked, staring at Ash, filling her eyes with the sight of him. He looked uncommonly rugged, and her heart was doing strange things in her chest.
“Yes, including Lord Westlin, if he’ll stay. She’s more than a little determined to bring him into the family fold, which I suppose is appropriate now that he’s family. I don’t know that I like having him about, given their history. You have no idea what it’s like to have a mother who, well . . . who . . .”
“Oh, don’t I? ” she said, watching as Ashdon took his coat from Freddy and slipped it on, covering the bloody patch on his shirt, as well as covering the line of his shoulders and chest and arms.
“It’s different for a man, a son,” Markham said, flicking a piece of lint off his sleeve.
“Different does not mean worse. Believe me,” she said. “So, I suppose I shall need to change for dinner. And Ashdon can’t go into a meal looking as he does.” Even though he looked slightly more irresistible than usual. “Could he borrow something of yours, Mark? You’re of a size.”
Markham sighed heavily. “I suppose I must. Where are you staying, by the by? Not here.”
“It hasn’t been decided yet,” she said, moving down the hallway toward Ashdon, drawn almost magnetically, as it were. Her heart was doing very strange things as she studied the open line of his linen shirt and the taut flesh revealed in the gap. Very strange things, indeed. “We really haven’t had the time to discuss it.”
“Really? You’ve had all day.”
“Yes, well,” she said, fussing with her sleeve. “It’s been a busy day. Naturally.”
“Naturally,” Markham said, looking down at her altogether too curiously. Anyone would think he was trying to read her thoughts. It was a good thing he couldn’t because her thoughts were all of Ashdon and the broken sideboard in the dining room. “I couldn’t help notice that the sideboard has lost a leg, torn clean off by the look of it. Two footmen were hauling it out of the room just as you arrived home. What happened to it?”
Caro sniffed regally and said, “Something landed on it rather awkwardly, I was told.”
“What sort of something?” Markham said.
The answer came to her instantly. She really did think that she was making vast strides in becoming sophisticated as measured by the ease with which she could tell a profitable lie.
“One of the cats. That fat tiger cat that’s always in the kitchen. Horrid thing was after the ham.”
Markham’s dark eyebrows lifted. “He must be fat if he can break a solid mahogany leg.”
“He’s not fat!” Caro said. “He just . . . landed awkwardly.”
“So you’ve said,” Markham answered, studying her rather more closely than she liked.
“Then I presume there’s nothing more to say on the matter,”
she said. “I must dress for dinner, Markham. Would you care to meet Ashdon now or after he’s wearing your clothes?”
“Since you put it that way, I should think now would be best.”
“Then behave yourself, Mark. Don’t make a fuss. He’s only my husband.”
“Only your husband,” Markham said. “Yes, that has a calming effect.”
Sophia was talking to Ash as they approached. “We simply must convince your father to stay to dine with us. A simple family affair, obviously, with the most simple of foods. It would appear most peculiar if he did not stay, don’t you agree, Lord Ashdon? You’ll talk to him, of course.”
“Of course,” Ash answered, looking not at all agreeable to the idea. In fact, he looked a trifle pale.
