What had once been a bachelor domain positively reeked of feminine influence. Fresh-cut flowers cluttered a table. The scent of beeswax and lemon permeated the air. Embroidered cushions overflowed the sofa beside the hearth. Clearly the Marquess of Beauworth was firmly beneath the cat’s paw.
As Alistair was fast becoming. There had been a bouquet in the middle of his breakfast table, he now recalled.
Beauworth’s piercing gaze levelled on his face. ‘Now the ladies are otherwise occupied, have a seat and tell me your concerns about my employment of your half-brother.’
Thank the deities for a man who got straight to the point. Alistair took the armchair. Beauworth, shoving a couple of floral cushions out of the way, sprawled on the sofa.
‘I don’t trust him,’ Alistair said. ‘To have him within a hundred miles of me or mine is a hundred miles too close.’
The Marquess frowned. ‘You have evidence that he means you ill?’
Ah, hell, what did one say? Old wounds knotted his gut. He had no proof that his brother had tried to kill him. Or that he was in any way involved with his mother’s schemes. ‘He’s my heir.’ It was as far as he would go, but too many things had happened in the past to make him comfortable with members of his family living close by. Or visiting.
Beauworth leaned back and rested one long arm along the back of the sofa with a grimace. ‘You think he wants the title.’
‘If I die first it is his.’ Whatever happened, the title would ultimately go to Alistair’s supposed nephew. In the meantime, he was keeping the estate safe from his stepmother’s tendency to pillage. Something Luke would never manage. The woman was his mother, after all.
Beauworth scowled. ‘You would do well to follow my maxim. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. In the meantime get yourself a son and solve the issue.’
Simple for Beauworth to say. That would never happen. Not that he was going to air his family’s dirty laundry to his neighbour. ‘Running into him is awkward in the extreme given our past disagreements.’ As was meeting his nephew, who looked nothing like his legal father. The last thing he wanted was for Julia to put two and two together. And seeing the boy himself was always a wrench. A reminder of what he could never have. ‘I can only presume he feels the same way.’
It was not stated as a question, but Beauworth got the point and shook his head. ‘Not that I know of. I did ask him why you did not make use of his talent. He intimated that you did not work well together.’ The Marquess shot him another of those piercing glances. ‘And thus your loss is my gain.’
‘You will keep him on, then? Over my reservations?’
‘Why would I not? I haven’t come close to finding anyone with his expertise. The man is an excellent steward. And also a friend.’
Alistair bit back the temptation to demand. He was Duke after all. But Beauworth would not take kindly to orders. Nor did he wish to arouse the Marquess’s curiosity any more than he had. ‘Very well. We shall not speak of it again, but I do not want to find him wandering on Dunstan property at any time, day or night. I assume you will make these wishes known.’
Beauworth’s eyes narrowed. ‘If you could give me one good reason—’
Alistair raised a hand. ‘My brother is not worth us falling out.’ He had few enough friends as it was. He would simply keep Julia and Luke apart. He put down his cup and saucer on the tray and rose to his feet. ‘Perhaps we should go and find my Duchess. I praised your gardens to the skies and she was looking forward to seeking your advice on some horticultural matters.’
For a moment, Beauworth looked as if he might press Alistair further, but he must have thought better of it. He stood up. ‘It will be my very great pleasure, Duke.’
* * *
‘Lord and Lady Beauworth are a lovely couple,’ Julia said, as they passed the last of Boxted’s cottages on the Sackfield side of the village. A woman working in her patch of garden straightened to watch them pass. She hesitated, not sure how he would react to what she had to say. Dash it, she was not a mouse to shiver in a corner waiting for the cat to pounce. ‘Lady Beauworth invited me to join a committee raising funds for a new church bell. It meets once a week.’
‘Is that something you would like to do?’ Alistair sounded non-committal.
‘I would. It will help me to get to know our neighbours.’ She waited, breath held. Her first husband had rarely let her go out of the house.
‘There are great many who would like to get to know you.’
Again he gave her no clue as to whether he deemed this a good or bad thing. She decided to take his lack of opinion as approval.
‘We should invite the Beauworths to dine with us before the end of the summer,’ she said. ‘His lordship gave me a great many ideas with regard to the gardens and I would like to show him the results.’
‘Good idea.’
‘Their children are delightful.’ She smiled brightly.
‘I will take your word for it.’
She wanted to shake him. He responded politely, but he did not converse. He had withdrawn again. It was most annoying. And worrisome.
A sigh escaped her when she had sworn she would not let him see how much his reserve troubled her. It was his nature. She could not expect him to change to make her happy. It was she who had to suit him. That was the way things were.
A little beyond the village, Alistair gazed around him. ‘I suggest we take a shortcut across that field,’ he said. ‘Thor needs to run.’
The meadow to their right did indeed look inviting, nearly as inviting as the apple-tree house. Alistair opened the gate, when she knew he and his horse could easily have jumped it. And would have, had he been alone. Jumping in a lady’s saddle was always a risk, so she could appreciate his gentlemanly consideration, even if she did not appreciate his cool nature.
The field rose in a gentle incline and the horses, once given their heads, did indeed show their eagerness to be stretching their legs in a full-out gallop to the top of the hill and over a log in the break in the wall that Thor hopped with ease. Beneath her, Bella gathered for the jump. Julia relaxed and the little mare took it easily. When she lifted her gaze to see which way Alistair had gone, she was shocked to see him crumpled on his side on the grass. Thor stood a little way off, trembling, his saddle slipped around beneath his belly.
Julia kicked free of her stirrup and slid carefully down. ‘Alistair?’
She ran and knelt at his side, touching her fingertips to his neck to find his pulse a strong, steady beat. With some effort, she pushed him onto his back. He remained pale and unconscious with a trickle of blood running down his forehead.
Gently, she ran her fingers over his scalp, sifted through the thick silk of his golden hair and found a lump sticky with blood just above his hairline. She parted his hair to see a still-swelling bump already turning blue. His head must have hit a rock when he’d landed. ‘Alistair.’ She shook his shoulder and wildly looked around for help. Not a soul in sight.
Now what was she to do? She could not carry him, nor could she leave him here alone. She sat down beside him cross-legged and eased his head into her lap, gently stroking her fingers across his forehead, praying he would wake up, praying someone would pass by and see them.
He groaned. Brought a hand to his head.
Relieved he was coming to his senses, she captured his hand in her own. ‘Careful, you might make it worse.’
His eyes fluttered and opened. ‘Gads, that hurts.’
He blinked several times, then squeezed his eyes shut. ‘Everything is blurry.’
She glanced over at Thor. ‘You came off your horse. Bumped your head.’
He frowned. ‘Where?’
‘We were taking a shortcut.’
He pressed his fingers to his temple. ‘We were going to Beauworth, last I recall.’ His voice trailed off. ‘No, we were there.’ He squeezed his eyes shut. ‘What happened?’
‘You showed me a clean pair of heels and jumped a log. By the time I reached the other side you were down. Your saddle slipped.’
‘My saddle?’ He made as if to sit up, groaned and lay back down in her lap. ‘Devil take it, I feel dizzy.’
‘You hit your head. Lay still for a moment or two.’
‘Thor?’ He tried to turn his head, but closed his eyes immediately.
‘I told you, lay still.’
‘Bossy little thing, aren’t you.’
Only a man as large as Alistair would call her little. ‘It is for your own good.’
He gazed up into her face, the grey eyes not cold any more, but the frown creasing his brow speaking of pain. ‘Do that thing with your fingers in my hair. It felt nice.’
‘Close your eyes, then.’
He did as she bid and she combed her fingers slowly through his hair, careful not to touch his scalp near the bump. His sigh was long and soft through parted lips that looked softer and fuller than usual. Her heart gave a little clench. Why couldn’t he always be this open? He was so handsome. And protective. But so aloof.
He was not aloof now. He was permitting her to care for him. A feeling of great tenderness filled her chest. She closed her eyes briefly, not wishing to admit how much she also wished he could care for her.
‘Better?’ she asked.
‘Much.’ Eyes squinting, he peered around. ‘Thor?’
‘He is all right. A bit twitchy about the saddle being almost below his belly, but calm enough.’
He frowned as if trying to make sense of her words. With a groan he came up on one elbow. He shook his head. ‘Hades, if only the ground would stop heaving.’ He rolled on to his knees and pushed up. ‘I must see to Thor.’
Even in pain, he worried about a creature unable to care for itself.
‘I will see to him. Lay back.’
He collapsed on his side with a soft moan. ‘I feel as if I have drunk a gallon of brandy.’
Sick and dizzy and his words were slurred. Worry gnawed at her stomach. How on earth was she to get him back to the house? ‘Wait here. I will not be long.’
He rolled over on his back and flung his forearm over his eyes, huffing out a breath through his nose. ‘Not going anywhere.’
Fortunately, Thor was a gentleman and after only a bit of a struggle she got his saddle off. The horse eyed her in puzzlement as she removed his bridle. There was only one way she could think of getting help that did not involve leaving Alistair. She whacked Thor on the rump and he took off at a gallop.
Hopefully heading back to his stable. With a bit of luck someone would realise there was something wrong and come looking for them, though it might take a while.
Bella, who had tossed her head when Thor took off, fortunately didn’t attempt to follow her equine friend. Julia made her comfortable, too. If only there was a stream nearby, she could give her and Alistair a drink of water.
She went back to where Alistair was stretched out on the grass to tell him she was going looking for water.
He didn’t move at her approach or open his eyes. ‘Alistair?’
No answer. He was lying so very still. And so very white.
Her heart missed a beat. ‘Alistair?’
* * *
Alistair’s head was pounding fit to burst. He risked cracking an eyelid and squeezed it shut at the glare. What the devil had he done? Drunk a barrel full of brandy? And if so, why?
Or was it something worse? An old haunting nightmare of his past?
Something cool and damp glided across his forehead.
‘You are awake.’
His wife’s voice. Full of relief.
The acid of dread eating at his gut faded. ‘Close the curtains. Please,’ he added in afterthought. No need to get her back up when he couldn’t raise a hand in his own defence.
There was the sound of dragging fabric. The light on the other side of his eyelids dimmed.
Again the cool damp cloth caressed his face.
He licked his lips. Found them parched.
‘Would you like some water?’
‘Thank you,’ he croaked. He swallowed against the dryness. He peeked from beneath his lashes, glad to discover opening his eyes was not nearly as painful as the last time.
A luscious pair of breasts appeared inches from his face and a hand curled around his nape, propping him up, while pillows were pushed behind his head and shoulders. Despite the delicious view, he closed his eyes against the odd way the room distorted.
The glass pressed to his lips was cool, the water cooler and sweet to his gravelly throat. He leaned back against the pillows and once more braved fully opening his eyes. This time the room remained steady, if a little blurry.
‘What happened?’ Damn, he sounded like a whiny child.
Julia’s face came into focus, smiling uncertainly. Worried, then. He waited for her explanation.
‘You fell from your horse.’
That sounded unlikely. He frowned, trying to recollect the event. He remembered a field and his head resting in her lap and something about his horse. ‘Thor?’
She tutted. ‘What is it about you and that horse? He is fine. Indeed, we can thank him for our rescue.’
‘How so?’
‘Well, I am not sure I believe it, but I scared him off, hoping he’d run for his nice comfortable stall, and Jaimie swears he led them back to where you had fallen and he, being a very smart stable lad, brought a wagon along.’
‘Did I misjudge a jump?’ It would be the first time he had been thrown since the age of eight, when Isobel had put him up on a half-broken colt.
She smoothed the pillows each side of his head, bringing those deliciously plump breasts close enough to kiss. Beneath the sheets his body hardened. Well, even if his head was unusable, one part of him was in perfect working order. Unfortunately, that was the part he would rather went to sleep.
She straightened, her face serious. ‘Your girth gave way.’
He stared at her blankly. He would never ride out with a loose girth. ‘Gave way?’
She gave a little grimace. ‘One broke and the other slipped. You were lucky it did not happen during the jump.’
The jump would have likely been the cause of the break, yet his equipment had been in perfect condition. He’d checked it himself before they rode out. His and hers. ‘I see.’
‘More water?’
‘Thank you, but I must get up—’
A hand flattened on his chest, a light touch but commanding. He froze, hauling back on the reins of a surge of anger.
‘The doctor said you are to remain in bed until the dizziness passes.’ she said. ‘It might be a day or so.’
‘The doctor came? When?’
‘Yesterday afternoon.’
He glanced toward the now covered window. ‘What time is it?’
‘My, what a great many questions. It is late afternoon. Almost dinner time. Are you hungry?’
He grinned. ‘I’m not the only one with questions.’ Much as it went against the grain, and he certainly was not going to admit it, he was enjoying her fussing. He had no memory of anyone fussing over him in quite this way. Ever.
Reality came rushing in. Recollections. ‘How are you?’
‘I am well. No sign of any illness.’ The relief in her voice was odd. Too intense. ‘I took afternoon tea with Miss Digby, by the way. She was worried about you.’
‘I hope you set her mind at rest.’ He did not like to worry Digger.
‘As much as I was able.’
A scratch at the door and Grindle entered, his face anxious. His lips twitched in what might be described as his version of a smile when his gaze rested upon Alistair. ‘You are awake, Your Grace.’
‘It would seem so,’ Alistair replied.
‘McPherson begs a word, if you feel so inclined.’
‘I expect he wants to apologise about the broken girth,’ Alistair said. ‘Show him up.’
Julia rose to her feet. ‘While you lecture Jaimie, I am going to see about some broth since you haven’t eaten since yesterday.’
Lecturing was also a wife’s privilege. ‘I would prefer bread and a few slices of roast beef.’
‘Broth first. Doctor’s orders. You do not want to be ill again.’
He vaguely remembered casting up his accounts. ‘I apologise if—’
‘No apology required. After all, you were exceedingly kind to me when I was ill. But we do not know if your stomach can handle anything more than broth, especially if you continue to feel dizzy.’
When he made as if to argue she raised a brow. ‘Now you wouldn’t want to set me a bad example, would you?’
He let go a sigh. ‘Broth it is. Show Jaimie up, will you, Grindle?’
Julia slipped out and the butler closed the door behind them both. Alistair pushed up a little higher on the pillows and cursed as the room took a slow circle around his head.
A moment or two later, Jaimie entered the room with a collection of leather straps. ‘How are you feeling, Your Grace?’
‘As if I fell off a horse.’
Jaimie grinned. ‘Excellent. You’ll soon be up on your feet. Quite a blow to the noggin, the doctor said. It is a good thing you are a hard-headed man.’
Those were likely the most words he had ever heard Jaimie McPherson utter at one time in the year since he’d come to work for Alistair. He dropped his gaze to the tack. ‘What happened?’
The grin faded to grimness. ‘The girth was cut.’
Was this an excuse for bad management of his stable? Oiling a girth would result in stretching, which would result in it slipping. But Julia had said it broke. ‘Cut, you say?’
‘Cut.’ Jaimie lay the straps on the bed and showed Alistair a clean break on one girth and how the other was holding by little more than a fraction of leather. ‘If this one had torn through. I am thinking you would have landed far harder than you did. Someone intended you should be badly injured or worse.’
‘Someone did not place the rock right where my head landed.’
‘You might have broken your neck.’
Jaimie was right. The damage to the saddle was too clean to be normal wear and tear. A deliberate act that must have happened while the horses were at Beauworth. There was only one person who benefitted from his death and that person was now employed by the Marquess. Something about the thought stirred a memory. It slipped away again. ‘It might have caught on something right before being placed on Thor.’
The eye Jaimie gave him was none too complimentary. ‘You did bang your head, didn’t you? I am riding over to Beauworth—’
‘No.’
Jaimie’s eyes widened. ‘Surely—’
‘No.’ This required careful handling if it was deliberate. Perhaps Luke and Isobel had decided they’d waited long enough. Or had heard about Alistair’s attempt to have him removed from his position. Or something else entirely.
Julia entered with a tray which brought with it the scent of beef tea.
Alistair nodded at Jaimie, who instantly understood their discussion was over and gathered up the tack.
‘I’ll be out to take a look at Thor as soon as I am able,’ Alistair said.
‘Dinna worry. The lad is feasting on oats and feeling very much the hero.’ He neatly bowed to Julia and her tray and left the room. There was more to Jaimie than a stable master. Occasionally, he forgot his lowland brogue and sounded more like a landed gentleman. And his manners were far too nice. He bore watching. After all, who had more contacts among stable hands at the other estates than he?
And then there was the matter of his wife. She was looking as pale as a sheet, when she’d seemed perfectly calm before she left.
‘Is something the matter?’
She bit her lip, her gaze dropping to the contents of the tray. ‘No, nothing.’
Once more he had the feeling she wasn’t telling him the truth. He thought of asking her to trust him with whatever was causing her worry. How could he, when he honestly didn’t trust her?
Or he shouldn’t.
* * *
‘Now,’ Julia said, hoping the rapid beating of her heart caused by yet another pot of laudanum-doctored tea was not obvious, ‘drink this broth and we will see how you do.’ She had intended to tell him about the laudanum the moment they returned, but now she was not sure she should bother him at a time when he should be resting.
He made a face, but took the tray on his lap and sipped cautiously at the soup. She watched for any signs that his stomach might be rebelling. All seemed to go well.
She rubbed at her aching back. She had sat all night in the chair by the window and it had left her sore.
‘May I pour you some tea?’ she asked, hoping he would not take a pet and throw it at her head in the way of a wilful child. Men were like that when they were ill. Her last husband had been anyway. ‘It is a tisane recommended by the doctor to settle your stomach.’
He eyed the teapot suspiciously.
‘It will do you good. I made it myself.’
Alistair frowned.
‘You don’t believe me?’
He leaned back against the pillows. ‘Of course I believe you. What is in it?’
‘Herbs, mostly,’ she said. ‘Something for the pain. I will drink some, too, to ease my aching muscles. I haven’t ridden so much for years.’
The wary look on her husband’s face eased, but still he waited until she had taken more than one sip before he tried his.
‘Gads,’ he said, finally putting down his empty cup. ‘I am exhausted. And the d—I beg your pardon, the blasted room is still lurching about like a drunken pig at a party.’
She giggled. His surprised look caused her to put a muffling hand over her mouth. ‘I beg your pardon. The image took me by surprise.’
He grinned at her. ‘You don’t suppose it is the tea making us silly.’
‘No. I think it is the relief.’ She was extraordinarily relieved that her husband hadn’t died out there in that field. ‘You need to sleep.’
‘As do you, I think. Go. Seek your bed.’
His words were a kindness she had not looked for. The idea was tempting. ‘The doctor said you must not be left alone.’
‘Ask one of the footmen or my valet to—’
She shook her head. ‘I am your wife. It is my responsibility.’
A smile touched his lips. ‘You are a very dutiful duchess, are you not?’
‘As is right, Your Grace.’ After all, he had taken her in out of the goodness of his heart. She kept telling herself that, because having done so, why would he then turn around and try to harm her? If only she could be sure. It seemed odd that only the tea or chocolate she drank alone was ever touched. Except for that one day when he had changed his mind about joining her. He had definitely intended to drink that tea. She was sure. Almost sure.
If only she could stop her thoughts from going around and around and out and say what was on her mind. ‘Jaimie looked upset when he left.’
‘He was angry about the ruin of a good saddle.’
She blinked. ‘He surely did not blame you?’
‘Wear and tear,’ he said, but his voice was harsh.
‘You blamed him?’
‘Julia, let it go.’
She inhaled a sharp breath, then let it go with a nod. She would not argue with a man whose head must be aching.
‘Let us get you comfortable for sleep, Your Grace. You are sure to feel better in the morning.’
He gave a long-suffering sigh. ‘So, we are back to your gracing each other to death. You, too, need to rest. You spent last night sitting up with me, did you not?’
Back to that argument. A smile escaped from her at his tenacity. ‘Do not worry about me. I will lie down on the chaise over there by the window.’
His bark of laughter came as a surprise. ‘Good try. You will climb up here and lie beside me in comfort.’
Shock rippled through her. ‘You cannot think to...’
Pinpricks of light danced in his eyes. ‘Think to what? Importune you? When I am completely at your mercy, drinking all manner of nasty concoctions?’ He huffed out an irritable breath. ‘Hardly. But if you insist, sleep on the chaise...’ He eyed it. ‘Be uncomfortable, for I swear it isn’t long enough to permit you to stretch out.’
It wasn’t. It was more chair than bed, she had discovered last night. And for some reason he seemed to be insulted. ‘As long as you don’t think I will disturb you, I am more than content to join you on the bed.’
She picked up his tray and busied herself putting it outside the door and ringing for a servant to collect it, quite undone by his teasing.
‘Turn the key in the lock, Julia.’ His voice had hardened. ‘If anyone should come at us, I doubt I could stand, let alone mount any sort of meaningful defence.’
Her heart stilled. Was that why he wanted her close? ‘Come at us?’
‘Put it down to a ducal thing. Pull up the drawbridge, down with the portcullis and all that rot. I do not like feeling helpless.’
She could understand that, having been helpless more times than she liked to think about. The idea that he wanted to protect her made her feel cherished.
Having locked the door, she climbed the steps up on to the bed which was more than large enough for two. She lay down on the dark blue counterpane sporting the ducal crest embroidered in gold thread.
‘You will be warmer under the covers,’ he commented wryly. ‘And more comfortable out of your gown and stays.’
Unable to face any sort of battle in her present state of exhaustion, she undid the tapes at the neck and waist of her gown and wriggled out of it. He made short work of her stays when presented with her back. It felt intimate and comfortably familiar. Something she had never expected to feel with this man.
She dived beneath the covers in her shift and lay on her side. ‘Happy now?’
He rolled over to face her. ‘Not quite. Lay on your front and I will massage your poor aching back.’
He’d noticed? ‘Your head,’ she protested.
‘I’m not going to be using my head.’ He rose up on one elbow.
She knew better to argue with a duke, and his strong skilful touch on her lower back was heavenly. She groaned her pleasure. But then the man was a renowned seducer of women.
‘Alistair?’
‘Relax, love.’
Love. So casually spoken. It could mean nothing. It could also be a sign of growing affection. A sign he was not the one she should fear. She wanted to believe it. With all her heart.
Her head warned her to be careful.