Ten
Beatrice was perfectly aware that Gabriel was teasing her. Even across the room she could see the devilish glint in the hazel eyes. But after the desperate panic of the day before, followed by the sheer relief of realizing Gabriel would soon recover, she discovered her icy composure decidedly absent.
Instead, she felt a flustered heat fill her cheeks.
“Really, Gabriel.”
He lifted his brows. Lying against the pillows with his hands tucked behind his head and an indecent amount of his bare chest exposed, he appeared utterly at ease. Quite unlike herself. She was stiff and wary as the prickly awareness became more pronounced.
“What, Beatrice?” he demanded in low tones.
She licked her lips, belatedly wishing she had pretended to misunderstand his words. She possessed no talent for this dangerous banter.
“You are injured.” She blurted out the first words that came to mind.
His low laugh seemed to reach out and stroke over her skin.
“The blow to my head did not damage my memories. I can still clearly recall the feel of you in my arms. And the fact that nothing has ever felt so wonderful before.”
She attempted to appear stern, although she feared that she more closely resembled an awkward schoolgirl.
“I am quite certain such thoughts cannot be good for you in your condition.”
“I will admit that my condition is a painful one,” he agreed, allowing his gaze to run a warm path over her curves. “But you are the cause of that, not some wayward branch.”
Her breath caught. He was not the only one with poignant memories of their embrace. She could vividly recall each kiss, each warm caress of his hands. She could also recall how she had seemed to melt with burning need. The faint ache still remained deep within her.
“You are attempting to embarrass me.”
“Not at all.” His eyes narrowed. “Why should you be embarrassed by a perfectly natural emotion? We are man and wife.”
“Yes, but . . .”
“But you believe that I am merely plotting the means of producing my heirs without resorting to actual force?”
Beatrice shifted uneasily.
Saints above. Why had she ever confessed her inner doubts? It was obvious that he was overreacting to her distrust. She had never thought him a monster.
“Of course not.”
“It is what you accused me of only yesterday.”
She could hardly deny the words that had come from her own lips. Instead, she gave a restless shrug.
“I have had reason to distrust your motives in regard to me.”
He slowly lowered his arms and regarded her with a somber expression.
“Beatrice, I might have concealed my need for wealth, but I never pretended my true regard for you. It is as genuine as my desire to build Falcon Park into an estate you will be proud to call home. And I certainly never pretended when I promised to be a good husband to you. All I wish is to see you happy again.”
It was so tempting to accept his low words. In truth, Beatrice was weary of being angry. And since Vicar Humbly’s arrival, she had begun to wonder if she was indeed indulging in a fit of spiteful retaliation just as the older man had accused.
After all, Gabriel had done his best to be a good husband since they had arrived in Derbyshire. Unlike most gentlemen, he had been extraordinarily patient with her. Not only by not insisting upon his rights to her bed, but by giving her full control of restoring the household, and, of course, encouraging her interest in inventions. What other man would have been so generous?
Still, she discovered herself unable to wholly dismiss her lingering distrust.
Her heart was too tender to risk another blow. She simply could not bear it.
“I wish to be happy,” she grudgingly confessed.
His features abruptly softened. “Then allow me to be your husband, Beatrice.”
“You mean to welcome you to my bed?” she demanded warily.
He smiled in a rueful fashion. “I will not lie, my sweet, I certainly desire to be in your bed. But that is only a small portion of being a proper husband. I wish a share in your life.”
“A share in my life?”
“I wish to know about your inventions, your frustrations in restoring the house, your visits to the tenants. I wish to know what has made you laugh during the day and if something has made you sad. I want you to turn to me if there is something you need.”
His words touched a vulnerable place deep within her. A place that had always longed for such closeness with another. Instinctively she found herself retreating.
“I would bore you senseless,” she quipped lightly.
“Do not, Beatrice,” he said sternly. “This is too important to be dismissed.”
She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. He was right. This was too important. Their very future hung in the balance.
“I do not know if I am yet prepared, Gabriel.”
He smiled kindly and held out his hand. “Come here, my dear.”
She hesitated only a moment before crossing the room and placing her hand in his warm fingers.
“Yes?”
He gave her hand a small squeeze, but when she gasped suddenly, he turned her palm upward to regard the raw wounds she had nearly forgotten.
“Good God, what have you done to yourself?” he demanded in shock.
“I . . . nothing.”
He stabbed her with a frown. “This is not nothing.”
“I suppose it is from pulling the oars,” she reluctantly confessed.
“Of course.” He heaved a harsh sigh. “Do you have any further injuries that you have attempted to hide from me?”
“My shoulders are a trifle sore, but nothing else.”
“My poor Beatrice.” He tenderly lifted her hand to place a kiss upon her palm. The flare of warmth arced all the way to the pit of her stomach. “I had intended to sweep you off your feet and instead I nearly got you killed.”
“You are hardly responsible for the storm, nor the branch that crashed upon us. It was a simple matter of ill luck.”
“Forgive me,” he muttered, kissing her fingers, then stroking a path back down to the sensitive skin of her wrist.
Quite certain she was about to collapse onto the bed as heat flooded through her body, Beatrice struggled to focus her wayward thoughts.
“You are being absurd, Gabriel, there is nothing to forgive.”
“At the very least, I should be forgiven for making such a botch of our picnic.”
“There will be other picnics.”
“I do hope so.” Those tantalizing lips skillfully circled her wrist, sending a searing path of excitement up her arm. “There are some parts that I remember quite fondly.”
“Gabriel,” she breathed.
He lightly nibbled at her knuckles. “Yes, my dear?”
“You must take care.”
“I am attempting to take great care.” He lifted his head to reveal the wicked glint in his eye. “Do you approve?”
Oh, she approved, she inwardly acknowledged. How could she not? His soft caresses had set her entire body alight with shimmering pleasure.
But this was hardly the time for such intimate advances, she reluctantly lectured herself. Not only was Gabriel wounded, there was no predicting when a servant might suddenly enter the chambers.
She hardly wished to be caught being made love to by her husband in the middle of the morning. It was surely indecent.
With a determination she was far from feeling, Beatrice pulled her hand free.
“I must meet with the workmen.”
His gaze searched her guarded features. “It cannot wait?”
“No ... I . . . there is some question as to the exact layout of the rose garden.”
There was a moment’s pause before Gabriel settled back upon the pillows with a wry smile.
“Well, I should not wish our rose garden to be askew. Will you return and share lunch with me?”
Beatrice’s first instinct was to refuse. She had always avoided Gabriel’s presence, perhaps sensing she would never be proof against his potent charm.
Then, meeting the steady hazel gaze, she discovered herself giving a slow nod of her head.
It would hardly be proper to abandon him when he was wounded and confined to his bed, she swiftly reassured herself.
It was her duty to be at his side.
“If you wish.”
“I wish it very much.” His smile widened, a teasing glint returning to his eye. “Do not bully the workers too fiercely, my dear.”
She placed her hands upon her hips. “I never bully the workmen.”
He gave a sudden laugh. “You are an outrageous bully, but Falcon Park will be a spectacular success for your efforts. Our children will someday thank you.”
Our children.
A dangerous warmth threatened to fill her heart.
Gabriel’s children.
“I shall return later,” she muttered, and fled the room with considerably more haste than elegance.
* * *
Gabriel watched his wife’s awkward retreat with a combination of amusement and regret.
He did not believe he would ever tire of her flustered confusion whenever he touched her or whispered words of desire.
On the other hand, he was becoming desperately weary of longing for a woman who refused to belong fully to him.
His body ached with frustration. A frustration made only worse by the knowledge that he could stir Beatrice’s passions if she would but put the past behind them.
Before his marriage, he might have made a trip to the local village to discover a willing barmaid. Or even sought the company of the lovely Widow Alton, who had been more than forward in her attentions.
Now, however, the mere thought made him shudder.
He had made a commitment when he married Beatrice. He promised her fidelity when he placed his ring upon her finger. He would not deceive her yet again.
And in truth, he had no desire for a swift, meaningless coupling. He wanted his wife. The woman he could hold in his arms throughout the night. The woman who would someday bear his children.
He drew in a deep breath, willing his stiff body to relax.
It appeared he was in the damnable position of desiring the only woman he could not have.
Damnable, indeed.
Heaving a sigh, Gabriel reached up to lightly finger the plaster upon his forehead. And now to add to his ill luck, he was commanded to his bed by a demented doctor who was clearly determined to torture him beyond all bearing.
“Well, my lord, that was quite a scare you gave us.”
Gabriel turned toward the vicar, standing in the door. He smiled at the welcome interruption to his brooding thoughts.
“Ah, Humbly, come in.”
The man waddled happily forward, his hair sticking out in a dozen different directions.
“How are you feeling?”
“Like every sort of a fool,” Gabriel admitted with a grimace. “I did warn you that I was hopeless at such nonsense. Instead of winning my lady’s favor, I very nearly got us both killed.”
Taking a chair beside the bed, the vicar smiled with a hint of complacency
“Perhaps it did not all turn out according to your plan, but I assure you that Beatrice was most distressed when she arrived at the house. She was genuinely concerned for your welfare.”
The reminder of precisely how Beatrice had returned to the house sent a fresh flare of anger through Gabriel.
The very thought that she had so recklessly risked her life made him wish to slam his fist into something very hard.
“She should have been throttled,” he muttered.
The older gentleman lifted his brows in surprise. “Pardon me?”
“She took a boat onto a storm-tossed lake that even I would hesitate to attempt without the barest ability to swim. One errant wave and she would now be—” He gave a deep shudder. “Gads, I cannot even bear to think of it.”
Astonishingly, the vicar merely shrugged. “Beatrice is a woman of tremendous courage and resourcefulness. You surely did not suppose she would be content to weakly await rescue after you had been injured?”
Well, of course he knew his wife was a woman of courage and resourcefulness, for goodness’ sake. She was also far more intelligent than any other person he had ever encountered. Unfortunately, she had failed to use her God-given wits when she had climbed into that boat.
“I thought she possessed more sense than to so absurdly risk her life,” he growled.
“She was quite desperate.”
“She had no right to expose herself to such danger, no matter how desperate she was.”
A vaguely disturbing smile touched the round countenance. “Yes, well, it is done and all is well,” he soothed.
Gabriel forced himself to thrust aside the horrid image of Beatrice upon the raging lake. He had no doubt it would haunt him for years.
“I suppose.”
“And you cannot deny the incident revealed that Beatrice is still very attached to you.”
“Perhaps,” he slowly agreed.
“It is a very good omen.”
Gabriel was not nearly so optimistic.
“But she no longer trusts me. And without trust our marriage is doomed.”
“You must have patience, my son.”
Patience? Gabriel ground his teeth. He was beginning to detest that word.
“Easy enough for you to say.”
Humbly chuckled. “Yes, I suppose it is.”
Rather sheepishly realizing he was being deliberately contrary, Gabriel summoned a lopsided grin.
“Forgive me. I am told that I am a very petulant invalid.”
A twinkle entered the sherry eyes. “Yes, I did hear as much from the good doctor.”
“Gads, the man was fortunate that I was too weak to have him tossed out on his ear. Do you know that wretched fool poked me from head to toe and then threatened to have me bled when I complained?”
“No one enjoys the attentions of a doctor, especially when it means being confined to bed.”
“I shall no doubt go mad,” Gabriel readily agreed.
“Why do I not find a chessboard and we can have a game or two?”
Despite his reluctance to be left to his own devices, Gabriel knew he should protest. The poor gentleman had not come all the way to Derbyshire to entertain an invalid.
“Surely you would prefer to be exploring the countryside or visiting your friend?”
“Not at all,” the vicar stoutly denied. “There is nothing I enjoy more than a rousing game of chess.”
“Well, I cannot promise a rousing game,” Gabriel warned. “It has been years since I have attempted my skill at chess, but I would appreciate the company.”
Humbly promptly rose to his feet. “Good. I shall return in a few moments with the board.”
* * *
The vicar left the room with a decided spring in his step.
Things were coming along quite nicely, he decided with a knowing smile.
Perhaps Gabriel and Beatrice had not yet fully comprehended the depths of their true feelings for each other, but they had made decided progress.
Beatrice had willingly risked her life to save her husband. And Gabriel had suddenly been forced to think of a world without Beatrice.
Both had been badly shaken by the incident. And both were now forced to genuinely confront the emotions that had been so unexpectedly exposed.
With a bit more prodding, he would surely have the two of them happily settled.
Busily congratulating his fine work, Humbly made his way toward the distant kitchens. He would ask Cook where to find the chessboard, he told himself, and at the same time perhaps discover a tasty snack to tide him until luncheon.
A lovely lemon tart would certainly still the grumbling in his stomach. Or perhaps a scone fresh from the oven.
Lost in his thoughts of delicate pastries, Humbly had no sense of impending doom. In fact, it was not until a shrill voice split the peaceful silence that he realized his danger.
“Mr. Humbly.”
Muttering a less than devout curse, Humbly came to a halt and watched Mrs. Quarry hurry in his direction.
“Oh, Mr. Humbly,” she cried. “At last I have found you.”
He gave a stiff bow. “Mrs. Quarry.”
“Naughty man.” She waved a bony finger directly in his face. “Have you been hiding from me?”
Rather childishly, Humbly stuck his hands behind his back and crossed his fingers.
“Of course not.”
“But I have not seen you about at all,” she complained.
Humbly knew he should feel a measure of guilt at having so assiduously avoided the widow. But he had not managed to remain a content bachelor for nearly sixty years by being a ready target for desperate females. A gentleman had to be swift upon his feet to avoid the numerous traps they could lay.
“Yes, well, I have been rather busy visiting my friend and, of course, becoming better acquainted with Lord Faulconer.”
“I see.” Astonishingly, the thin lips managed a well-rehearsed quiver. “I suppose it was too much to hope you would have time for a foolish old widow.”
Humbly nervously cleared his throat. “I . . . that is . . .”
“No, no. I understand.” The woman magically produced a handkerchief to dab at her thin nose. “You mustn’t change your schedule to worry over me. I assure you I am quite accustomed to being ignored. It is the lot of the poor relative, you know. And I would never presume to push myself where I was not wanted.”
Despite the realization that the woman was blatantly attempting to stir his pity, Humbly found himself weakening.
Whatever her annoying tendencies, she was still one of God’s creatures, he reminded himself reluctantly. It was his duty to provide what comfort he could.
“Perhaps we could share tea later this afternoon,” he grudgingly offered.
She patted her nose again. “Well, I shouldn’t wish to be a bother.”
“It is no bother.”
“You are quite certain?”
He swallowed a sigh. “Quite certain.”
Within the blink of an eye the downtrodden martyr had been replaced by a smugly confident female. The handkerchief disappeared and a predatory glint entered the pale eyes.
“Then, I must meet with Cook,” she chattered as she tapped her finger to her narrow chin. “Do not think I haven’t noticed how well you enjoy those lovely lemon tarts. And, of course, plenty of cucumber sandwiches.”
Humbly shuddered. Mrs. Quarry and cucumber sandwiches? Dear heavens, what had he done to deserve such a wretched fate?
“Cucumber sandwiches?” he said weakly.
The widow smiled coyly. “A gentleman of your age must think of his health.”
“You are not related to Mrs. Stalwart, are you?”
She batted her stubby lashes in confusion. “Mrs. Stalwart? No, I do not believe so. Is she an acquaintance of yours?”
“Never mind.” He performed a resigned bow. “I shall see you later.”
“Do not forget me,” she warned.
“I do not believe it is even a possibility,” he muttered.
She gave a shrill giggle. “Oh, Vicar, what a tease you are.”
Turning on his heel, Humbly made his way back to Gabriel’s chambers. He would have one of the endless footmen go in search of the deuced chessboard.
And on the next occasion he would not allow the rumblings of his stomach to put him off his guard, he told himself.
The temptation of lemon tarts was not worth the torture of an afternoon in the company of Mrs. Quarry.
Not unless there also happened to be one of those nice muffins or a tasty sponge cake.