Five
Gabriel watched with a jaundiced gaze as his aunt Sarah excused herself from the table. Under the best of circumstances, the woman’s constant prattle was annoying. When he was in a foul mood, it was nearly impossible to bear.
Sipping deeply of the port that had been silently placed upon the table, he scowled at the closing door. It did not help that he knew precisely what had affected his mood, he acknowledged sourly. It was what affected his mood every day.
Beatrice.
His teeth clenched as he thought of his exasperating wife.
He had been so certain that they had made progress on this day.
Not only had they managed a conversation free of the usual barbs and heated accusations, but he had actually held her in his arms.
A shaft of blazing need shot through him as he remembered the feel of her soft curves pressed to his own. He had told himself that it was mere imagination that made him recall her kisses with such a deep longing. Surely kisses were kisses no matter who the woman? But the moment his mouth had touched her own, he realized it had not been his imagination. There was something utterly enchanting in her sweet innocence. Something that made him tremble with the mad desire to drown in that sweetness. To stir to life the ready passion he could sense just below the surface.
And yet, even as he felt her tentative response, she was pulling away from him and fleeing to the sanctuary of her chambers.
His first instinct had been to pursue her and force her to admit that she did still desire him. His aching body practically demanded that he put an end to the unnatural lack of physical relations between them.
But he had forced himself to deny the fierce impulse. He had to be patient, he told himself. He did not want to push Beatrice into a relationship she was not yet prepared to accept. When he did make her his wife, he wanted her eager and thoroughly prepared for the moment.
All very noble, he thought with a stab of self-mockery. Unfortunately his good intentions had accomplished nothing more than allowing Beatrice to retreat even further behind her prickly defenses. He had not so much as caught a glimpse of her the rest of the day, and even this evening she had sent down a polite message claiming she did not feel well enough to join them for dinner.
Clearly she deeply regretted her momentary lapse and had retreated to reinforce her icy composure.
Gabriel swallowed another mouthful of the port, wanting nothing more than to charge upstairs and pummel down her door. It was that or drink himself into a stupor, he acknowledged wryly.
Perhaps sensing Gabriel’s brooding annoyance, the silent vicar seated across the table gently cleared his throat.
“It is unfortunate that Beatrice was not feeling well enough to come down to dinner,” he said in cautious tones. “I hope it is nothing serious. She seemed to be quite well earlier today.”
Gabriel could not prevent his wry smile. “Oh, I doubt that it is anything life-threatening.”
As if disturbed by Gabriel’s overt lack of sympathy for his ailing wife, Humbly offered a slight frown. “Have you called for a doctor?”
Gabriel shrugged. “There is no need.”
“Are you certain?”
“Quite certain.” Gabriel set his glass on the table with a distinct bang. “I am the reason Beatrice refused to come down to dinner.”
“Oh.” Humbly paused to digest the abrupt confession, then, hesitantly, he leaned forward. “Forgive me for being an interfering busybody, but was there an argument?”
Gabriel instinctively stiffened at the bold intrusion into a very private matter between a husband and wife. But the genuine sympathy that glittered in the sherry eyes eased his initial irritation.
The old gentleman truly seemed to care about Beatrice. Perhaps he could be the one to talk some sense into her.
“On the contrary,” he forced himself to admit slowly. “We actually managed to share a pleasant conversation. And then . . .”
“Yes?” the vicar prompted.
“Beatrice momentarily forgot to hate me.”
“But that is wonderful.”
“So I thought at the time.” His fingers tightened on the glass until the delicate crystal threatened to shatter. “Unfortunately she has obviously had second thoughts and now regrets her brief lapse. I have no doubt she is in her room, grimly restoring her walls of forbidding ice.”
Humbly heaved a faint sigh. “It is not easy for Beatrice.”
Gabriel frowned in exasperation. “I realize that, Humbly. But she is making this far more difficult than it has to be. We could do better.”
“Yes, indeed,” Humbly was swift to agree. “Beatrice must be made to see that she is only hurting herself.”
“I do not suppose you have a brilliant notion as to how I could accomplish that amazing feat?” he inquired in dry tones.
There was a moment’s pause before Humbly gave an offhand shrug. “You should woo her.”
“What?”
The older man smiled at Gabriel’s sharp confusion. “Beatrice feels as if she has been tricked into this marriage. You must now give her a desire to be your wife.”
Lucifer’s teeth. Did the vicar believe he had not tried for weeks to convince Beatrice that he could bring her happiness if only she would allow him to?
“What would you have me do?” he demanded in a disgruntled voice. “Buy her gifts with her own money?”
Humbly gave a chastising click of his tongue. “Certainly not. Beatrice has no interest in lavish gifts.”
“Then what?”
“What does she prefer?”
Gabriel considered a moment before giving a shrug. “Those damnable machines.”
“Yes.”
Gabriel regarded the vicar with a measure of suspicion. “You do not propose that I try my hand at inventions? I should no doubt burn the house down or explode us all to the netherworld.”
Humbly gave a soft chuckle. “I was thinking more in terms of helping in her hobby.”
“I know nothing of such things.”
“Surely there is some means to be of service?” Humbly persisted.
“How?” Gabriel threw himself back in his seat with a display of impatience. “I warned you that I was hopeless at such things.”
“You managed well enough before you were wed. Beatrice did, after all, choose you as her husband over any of her other suitors.”
Gabriel gave a short, humorless laugh. “Much to her disgust.”
“Her pride and heart are wounded at the moment. You must restore her faith in you. And more important, in herself.”
His odd choice of words caught Gabriel off guard. He narrowed his gaze as he regarded the round countenance.
“In herself?”
Humbly appeared startled by his seeming stupidity.
“Surely you realize that Beatrice has never possessed much belief in her own worth beyond her fortune?”
Gabriel was instantly offended by the condemning description of his bride.
“Ridiculous,” he retorted in dangerous tones. Not even this harmless vicar would be allowed to insult Beatrice. Not within his hearing. “She is an extraordinarily intelligent woman with an endless number of talents. Beyond that she is kind and loyal and utterly without artifice.”
Perhaps unable to sense he was very close to having his cork drawn, Humbly stabbed Gabriel with a stern gaze.
“However, she has never possessed the conventional attractions desired in a maiden. Unlike most young women, she has never been a beauty or especially charming. And not even I can claim she is anything but a wretched musician. Instead, she possesses a fascinating mind and the heart of an inventor. Is it any wonder she has been taught to doubt her desirability for a gentleman?”
Gabriel opened his mouth to deny the ridiculous words only to hesitate as he realized there was more than a bit of truth to the vicar’s description of Beatrice.
He had witnessed for himself the numerous members of the ton who had laughed behind Beatrice’s back at her eccentric notions and unpolished manners. Certainly no more than a handful of notorious fortune hunters ever sought her company.
A sharp, nearly unbearable ache filled his heart.
How alone she must have felt among the glittering society. As alone as he had felt after his mother’s death.
His features twisted with a rueful regret. “And I only ensured her belief that she is unworthy,” he said roughly.
Humbly smiled sadly. “I fear so.”
“Bloody hell.” Gabriel banged his hand on the table with enough force to make the vicar nearly tumble from his chair in surprise. “Forgive me, Humbly. What a tangle this all is. I truly did not mean to bring her harm.”
“I believe you, my son,” the older man said gently.
“But will Beatrice?”
“That is in your hands.”
“So you say.” Gabriel grimaced, thinking of his wife’s icy composure. It was a wonder he did not go about with a permanent case of frostbite. “I would rather face an entire French regiment than my own wife. They were much less terrifying.”
“It is not Beatrice that terrifies you,” Humbly corrected Gabriel in firm tones.
For a moment Gabriel thought he must have misunderstood the vicar. “What?”
He gave a lift of his plump hands. “I fear it is your own sense of guilt that troubles you. When you look upon Beatrice, you worry you have sacrificed her happiness to save your estate.”
Gabriel’s hands clenched at the accusation. He did not have the luxury of possessing a guilty conscience. His heavy duty ensured that.
“I did what I had to do,” he said harshly.
“What you believed you must do,” Humbly corrected him.
Gabriel gritted his teeth. “Yes.”
“And you have no regrets?”
“Of course I do,” he rasped, feeling unbearably harassed. What did this man want from him? “As I said, I never wished to hurt Beatrice. When I wed her, it was with every intention of being a kind and devoted husband.”
“And there was no guilt for having deceived her in the first place?”
Gabriel slowly narrowed his gaze. He sensed the vicar was attempting to force him to examine the complex emotions he had determinedly kept hidden deep in his heart. Emotions he was uncertain that he wanted examined.
“I believe you are a rather dangerous opponent, Vicar.”
Humbly gave a flustered wave of his hands. “No, no. Merely an old and rather foolish man.”
Gabriel smiled with wry amusement, not deceived for a moment.
“You are correct, of course,” he admitted reluctantly. “I did sacrifice Beatrice for my own selfish purposes. And I did so in a cold-blooded, methodical manner. Like the villain she has named me, I chose her deliberately because she was vulnerable and appeared to possess the qualities necessary for my countess, most important her very large dowry.”
Humbly raised his shaggy brows. “You found nothing to attract you to her beyond her money?”
Gabriel gave a restless shrug, not wishing to discuss the odd sense of awareness he had experienced when he had first been introduced to Beatrice. The vicar would think he was daft if he revealed that he had felt as if he and Beatrice were destined to be together by some mystical fate.
“I admire her intelligence, of course,” he said in carefully controlled tones. “And she has proven to be very good with the tenants and villagers. I cannot walk out the door without being told of her generosity and concern for the people of Falcon Park.” An unwittingly fond smile curved his lips. “You claim that she possesses no charm, but she has won the hearts and loyalty of the neighborhood with astonishing swiftness.”
“This pleases you?” Humbly demanded.
“Of course.” Gabriel regarded his guest with a faint frown. “It is very important that the Countess of Faulconer be respected by those who are vital to the future of our estate.”
“So, you have a beginning,” Humbly announced with a complacent smile. “You have Falcon Park between you.”
Gabriel was unimpressed with the man’s logic. “She is not likely to offer more.”
“Not without a measure of proper wooing.”
An exasperated sigh was wrenched from Gabriel’s throat. “We are back to that, eh? Gads, I feel like a raw recruit again, bumbling about with no notion of how to go on.”
The round countenance abruptly hardened. “You thought of your needs when you wed Beatrice. Now it is time to consider her needs. I believe you to be a good man, my lord. Look into your heart and you will find a means of reaching your wife.”
Gabriel silently considered the chastising words.
Could it be possible?
Could Beatrice’s distant heart be won?
He drew in a deep, fortifying breath. He had hoped time would heal Beatrice’s wounds. That eventually, with enough patience, she would be able to put the past behind her and she would come to accept her role as his wife.
But perhaps Humbly was correct. It could be that beneath Beatrice’s practical nature was the heart of a romantic. Maybe she desired to be swept off her feet rather than being left to brood upon her ill treatment.
One thing was for certain, he wryly conceded, he could not make more of a hash of his marriage than he already had.
* * *
Rising early, Gabriel made his daily tour of his lands and spoke with his tenants before returning to the house and making his way to the busy kitchen. Less than a quarter of an hour later he had a large tray that he carefully carried toward Beatrice’s chambers.
He hesitated more than once as he made his way through the vast corridors. He was far from certain that he was not making a complete ass of himself. Beatrice had never indicated a desire to be wooed by her husband. Indeed, she had been wretchedly clear that she wished to be left in peace.
Still, he continued his march to her distant chambers.
He had to at least know that he had tried his best to make Beatrice happy. She deserved that much.
And besides, what was the worst that could happen?
A plate of eggs dumped upon his head?
A blackened eye?
He had survived worse indignities before.
Almost reassured, Gabriel halted in front of the door to Beatrice’s rooms and with as much luck as skill managed to push it open without spilling the tray onto the floor.
Relieved to have passed the first barrier, Gabriel angled his way toward the vast canopy bed that dominated the room.
He perched on the edge of the mattress, watching his wife as she stirred beneath the covers.
A smile curved his lips at her flushed features and tumble of honey curls. She looked softly feminine in her sleep. Almost vulnerable without the driving energy that crackled about her when she was awake.
The urge to lean down and kiss the satin softness of her lips was halted as her thick lashes fluttered upward and the amber eyes regarded him in a dazed fashion.
“Good morning, my dear,” he said softly.
With awkward motions she struggled to a seated position, careful to keep the covers tucked to her chin.
“Gabriel, what are you doing?”
“Since you are not feeling well, I thought I would bring you your breakfast in bed.”
With a flourish he placed the tray across her knees. Glancing at the numerous plates, she possessed the grace to blush.
“Oh. I—I am much improved this morning.”
“I am happy to hear that, but there is no reason to waste a perfectly good breakfast. I have brought your favorites. Fresh strawberries, eggs, a bit of ham, and plenty of buttered toast.”
Obviously flustered and caught off guard by his unexpected appearance, she struggled to hide her unease.
“Thank you.”
“Here.” Scooting until his hip pressed intimately against the curve of her thigh, Gabriel reached out to pluck the napkin from the tray and carefully tucked it beneath her chin.
Her tongue peeked out to dampen her lips. Gabriel caught his breath as sweet heat spread through him.
“Are you not needed in the fields?” she demanded warily.
“I have already been to ensure the hay is being properly turned and the dykes cleared. I believe they are capable of surviving a few hours without me.” He smiled gently. “Are you not going to eat?”
“Of course.” With jerky motions she reached for a strawberry and stuffed it into her mouth. Gabriel hid a smile. At least she had not tossed the tray at his head or toppled him off the bed.
It was a start.
“I presume that you managed to halt Chalfrey from creating a mutiny in our garden?”
“Barely.” She absently toyed with a slice of toast. “He is quite adamant that the least amount of change is near sacrilege.”
Gabriel regarded her steadily. “He could easily be replaced.”
As expected, Beatrice shook her head firmly. For all her brisk competency, she possessed a surprisingly tender heart.
At least for all but him, he acknowledged wryly.
“No. For all his grumbling, I believe he is a good gardener, and no one could possibly devote themselves to Falcon Park more fiercely than he does.”
“True enough.” He gave an approving nod. “And I do not doubt that he will soon be as loyal to you as he was to my mother.” He paused as he studied her bluntly carved features. “You remind me a great deal of her, you know.”
“Your mother?” She gave a sudden frown. “Impossible.”
He lifted his brows at her adamant tone. “Why?”
“I have seen her portrait. She was very lovely and very elegant. Not at all like me.”
He smiled wryly at her stiff tone. Had her parents never forced her to realize the beauty of those amazing amber eyes? Or the temptation of her lush curves?
“You are lovely as well, Beatrice,” he insisted. “But I was speaking more of her concern for the staff and tenants. Unlike my father, she devoted herself to improving the lives of those who depended upon my family. I still recall how the children in the village would gather about her the moment she stepped down from the carriage. They quite simply adored her. It made me very proud that she was my mother.”
Although Beatrice made a valiant effort, she could not entirely hide her pleasure at his words.
“I should have liked to have met her,” she at last murmured.
Gabriel felt the familiar pang of loss at the thought of his mother. He too wished she were alive to meet Beatrice. He did not doubt for a moment that the two would have gotten along famously.
“You would have loved her.” He slowly smiled. “And she would have considered you a very fine countess.”
A faint hint of color bloomed beneath her fair skin. “How old were you when she died?”
“Nine.” He thought back to that horrible time. “It was quite unexpected. She had gone to help a tenant, when she was caught in a sudden storm. Two days later she was dead.”
The amber eyes softened with sympathy. “That must have been very difficult for you.”
“It took me a long time to realize she was never coming back.” His lips twisted. “I would creep into this room in the middle of the night and sleep in her bed just in case she suddenly came home. I wanted to be the first to greet her. At last my father began locking the door so I could not enter.”
An odd expression rippled over her countenance. “This is her room?”
“Of course. And the door still stays locked. Rather ironic, is it not?”
He instantly regretted the unthinking words as Beatrice stiffened.
“Gabriel.”
“No, forgive me, Beatrice.” He reached out to gently brush a honey curl from her cheek. “I was only teasing you.”
For a moment he thought he had ruined what measure of progress he had made, then much to his relief, her tension eased.
“Does it bother you that I have had the chambers refurbished?”
“Gads, no.” He glanced about the cheerful room that was so very different from the gloomy squalor that had dominated it for far too long. “I loved my mother, not these chambers. Besides, even as a child I found this room drafty and the furnishings shabby. Now it is a room fit for a countess. My countess.”
Their gazes tangled and Gabriel was suddenly aware that they were very much alone and very conveniently situated upon a comfortable bed.
He wanted to lean forward and claim those lips that haunted his dreams. He wanted to cover her body with his own and lose himself in the passion he knew smoldered within her. He wanted to hear her cry out in pleasure as he made her his own.
His body stirred to aching life, but as if sensing the quicksilver heat in the air, Beatrice shifted uneasily upon the pillows.
“I should be rising. I have an appointment soon,” she abruptly announced.
Gabriel reluctantly reined in his straining desire.
At least Beatrice was speaking to him again, he attempted to ease his frustration. And they had managed a conversation that did not include the usual bickering and bitter accusations.
It was progress, even if his body did protest at being denied the full pleasure of possessing a wife.
Perhaps this business of wooing his bride was not so noddy after all.
“Of course.” Rising to his feet, he offered her a gentle smile. “I shall see you later.”