Captive Bride (28 page)

He looked so angry, so disapproving. She couldn’t bear it.

“I wish to help,” he said between tight teeth
.

“Well, you don’t sound like it.” Her cheeks felt damp. “Or even look like it.” She dashed the tears away with the back of her hand and whirled toward the door.

He grasped her arm, staying her. His eyes were
overbright
.

“Have I done this? Have I made you cry?” He sounded horrified.

“No. Yes. I don’t know!”

He took the side of her face in one large hand and brushed a tear from her cheek with his thumb. He bent to her mouth.

His kiss was sweet and hot, shimmering into her raw senses. She leaned into him, welcoming his arm cinching her waist and drawing her against him. She opened her lips and drank in his warmth, his comfort and desire.

It amazed her that he still wanted her, just as she had always wanted him. His hands holding her were so strong and certain, filling her with that fire she couldn’t escape now. He had awakened the spark of it in her so many years ago, stoked it to a blaze the night before, and now it could only be fed by him.

A murmur of voices came through the thick wooden door at her back. Tip drew away from her mouth, but he did not release her from his arms.

“She has already gone to find her brother,” her father said, his boots scuffing on the corridor’s stone floor.

“She ought to have remained here to assist me. No doubt Lord
Cheriot
would be better off without her making a nuisance of herself while he searches for our son.”

“You say he visits Hart House regularly?” They seemed to have paused at the base of the stairway.

“Three or four times a year. He comes to see Lord
Marke
, of course, and makes his bow to me when he is in the country, like a true gentleman,” she said in a slanted tone, as though she expected her husband to do the same. “
Marke
is collecting a fine stable and dear Lord
Cheriot
counsels him, you know. But of course you would know that if you had not abandoned me to my fate, all alone in the horrid wilds of Yorkshire.”

“He does not have any intentions toward Beatrice, does he?” He sounded skeptical.

“Lord
Cheriot
? Heavens, no! He used to be so fond of
Georgianna
, of course, before
Kievan
returned from Ireland.
But Beatrice?
Whatever would a gentleman such as he
see
of interest in her?”

“She’s pretty, Harriet.
Doesn’t have Sylvia’s beauty, naturally, or
Georgie’s
mind.
But she looks something like my Aunt Mabel did in her youth.”

“And now Mabel is eighteen stone if she is an ounce,” Lady Harriet tittered. “But there is no point in refining upon it. Our third daughter is regrettably very foolish, entirely unable to appreciate the attentions of fine gentlemen. Even when several did court her during her first seasons, she never showed any interest.”
A pause.
“Do you know, Alfred, I have long suspected that she developed a
tendre
for some inappropriate man while I lived in town, before you exiled me.
Perhaps a footman or a groom.”

“And you failed to mention this to me at the time?” His voice rose.

“What would it have mattered? Beatrice is too much of a mouse to act on that sort of infatuation. And since then, she has showed such little enthusiasm over any gentleman, it simply never crosses my mind to worry about it.”

“You must have the right of it.”

“A compliment?
Dear me, Alfred, it must be years since we have agreed on anything.”

“No doubt it will be years again before the next occasion.”

“Now where is that wretched Claude with my bandboxes? I will ring a peal over Beatrice’s head for abandoning me to my fate with these careless servants. It was horrid enough on the road.”

Their voices receded within the stairwell.

Bea’s heart beat so swiftly she could barely breathe, a thick knot clamping her belly. She drew out of Tip’s loosened hold and turned to the door.

“You must make yourself plain to them.” His tone brooked no argument.

“You don’t understand?
Even now?”

“I understand that the sooner you get yourself clear of them, the better off you will be.”

Tears trickled down her cheeks again. “I don’t want your pity.”

“You may not want what I have to offer, but you need it now.”

Choking back a sob, Bea dragged the door open and fled.

CHAPTER
TWENTY

Bea hid in her bedchamber until her tears subsided and the puffiness receded from her face. With heavy limbs, she dragged herself to the great-aunts’ chambers, avoiding the area of the castle in which her parents had taken substantial residence.

Lady
Marstowe
ushered her in. Her maid, Peg, sat in a chair by the bed. The curtains were still drawn.

“You look as though you have been crying, Beatrice,” the dowager stated with her customary bluntness. “Have you allowed your mother’s inanities to depress you?”

“I am well enough, Aunt Grace. How is Aunt Julia?”

“She has not yet awakened and I am terribly concerned. I don’t know where
Dibin
could be with that physician.”

“Milord has ridden off to hurry them along, ma’am,” Peg spoke up.

“Perhaps we will see someone before sundown, then.” Lady
Marstowe
gestured to the maid. “You may go for a time, Peg.”

Peg nodded and left the chamber. Lady
Marstowe
closed the door behind her, locked it, and fixed Bea with a hard stare.

“Is it
Iversly
, Beatrice?”

“Aunt Julia’s illness?”

Lady
Marstowe
nodded her silvery head.

“Honestly, Aunt Grace, I don’t know. He has not spoken to me today. Perhaps he is doing this. But I don’t believe so.”

“My thanks for your confidence, my dear.”
The deep voice echoed peculiarly hollow in the
close
space.

“
Iversly
, what are you doing to my sister?” the dowager demanded.

“Not a thing, madam. I am a mere spectator to this unfortunate event.”

“Are you telling the truth?”

“Almost always.”

“Lord
Iversly
,” Bea said, staring at her folded hands. Speaking with him without being able to see the dark loneliness in his eyes or the harsh slash of his mouth seemed wrong. “Does Aunt Julia’s illness have anything to do with the curse?”

“I do not know. We must all await the conclusion of this trouble together. But . . .”

“But what, man?”
Lady
Marstowe’s
voice was clipped. “Tell us at once.”

The chamber remained silent.

“Please, my lord,” Bea said gently. “I know you wish to help us, despite the façade you affect.”

“I wished to help you alone, my dear. But as you seem fond of your kin, I will do what I can to assist you in this matter as well.”

“What can we do?” Bea pressed.

“Nothing, I suspect. But I will seek answers where I may.”

“What do you mean?
In the library?
I know you can manipulate objects, as you did with my garments. Can you read books in that manner?”

He scoffed. “What good would books do you? We are in need of counsel.”

“Counsel?
Whose?”

“The warlock who began this whole game, mayhap,” he
said,
his tone like a rumbling threat of storm.
“Mayhap another of similar powers.
I know it not. I must be off, however, if I am to do any good in this matter.”

“How are you able to speak to them now, after four hundred years?”

Silence met Bea’s question.

“He has departed, it seems,” Lady
Marstowe
said.

“It was much less disconcerting when I could see him come and go.”

“But then you were in danger from him.”

“I never really felt it.
At least not very seriously.
I do not think he intends to hurt people.”

“He hurt that idiot woman Minturn.
Though no doubt she deserved it, as he said.”

“Well, I don’t know if I agree with that,” Bea mumbled. “No one deserves shabby treatment.”

“Especially not my dear Beatrice.”
Aunt Julia’s wispy voice came from within the draped bed.

Bea leapt toward the bed and drew back the curtain.

“Oh, Aunt Julia.”
She breathed a sigh of relief. “You slept for so long. Did you hear
Iversly
?”

“Was the dear fellow here?” Her normally twinkling eyes shone dull, her cheeks two round spots of crimson.

“For a bit,” the dowager said. “Do you feel feverish, Julia?”

“Yes, dear.”

“Will you take some water?” Bea moved behind her aunt and propped her slight form off the pillow. The dowager held a cup to Julia’s mouth and water dribbled out the corners of her slack lips as she sipped. Bea came away damp from her great-aunt’s perspiration. “We should change you into a dry
nightrail
, Aunt Julia.”

“I will ring for Peg.”

Once they had changed Aunt Julia’s clothing and sheets, she lapsed into sleep again.

“See to your mother now, gel,” Lady
Marstowe
said. “And do not allow her to come near here. She is useless in the sickroom.”

Bea went to her bedchamber to change her gown. As she pulled off the mussed one, her gaze strayed to the bed she had made up two mornings ago and had not slept in since. An eternity ago, it seemed.

She walked to it, lay down upon the musty mattress, and for the first time since her childhood, slept through the afternoon.

Bea dressed for dinner in her most becoming gown and arranged her hair in a fashion she had once seen Sylvia adopt. Her straight brown tresses did not take to the style as did her eldest sister’s golden curls, but it looked well enough. She pinched her cheeks and fastened a pearl-drop pendant on a filigree gold chain about her neck. When she looked in the mirror, a pretty girl with sad eyes stared back at her.

She stopped at the great-aunts’ chambers before going downstairs. Aunt Julia’s temperature was still high, and she was mostly sleeping, but the doctor had come and examined her, leaving fever powders and various instructions. The dowager looked exhausted, and Bea promised she would sit up with Julia tonight to allow Aunt Grace and Peg the opportunity to rest.

She went to the kitchen and ordered dinner for Lady
Marstowe
and her maid to be taken up, including a bowl of broth for Aunt Julia if she should wake.

Upon entering the parlor she saw Thomas first. He stood ramrod straight against the backdrop of the tapestry in front of which she had first noticed
Iversly
. He glanced across the chamber to her, then his brow crushed into lines and he looked to the floor.

“Beatrice, you are finally here.” Her mother yawned. “You have made us all wait an additional quarter hour for dinner, and I was famished at least twenty minutes before that. Why didn’t you assist me in unpacking this afternoon? Whatever were you doing?”

“Sleeping, Mama.”

“Good heavens, you have developed shockingly slatternly habits in so few days away from me, haven’t you?” Lady Harriet chided.

Bea’s father stood at the opposite side of the chamber. Lady Bronwyn perched uncomfortably upon a settle across from Lady Harriet, her entire lovely person silently screaming unease. The sparkle was gone from her blue eyes and her cherry lips were a thin line. Tip was nowhere to be seen.

Bea went to Bronwyn’s side. “I have just been in to see Miss Dews. She is sleeping, and Lady
Marstowe
will take dinner in their chambers.”

“I hope we do not all catch Julia’s horrid fever. How wretched it would be to come to Wales only to take sick and die,” Lady Harriet exclaimed.

Bronwyn’s eyes went wide. Bea grasped her fingers and drew her up.

“Let us go in to dinner then, shall we?” she said, tucking Bronwyn’s arm into hers. The girl looked momentarily grateful,
then
a glint lightened her gaze.

“Do we not wait for Lord
Cheriot
?” she
asked,
an unmistakable note of hope in her voice.

Bea glanced at Thomas, but he continued staring at his toes.