Julia London (91 page)

Her heart leapt to her throat. It was Alex, riding hard toward the manor house. A silly grin spread her lips, which she quickly covered with her hand. As rider and horse neared, her heart pounded against her ribs with every thud of the hooves. He flew onto the drive, reining up hard, his eyes locked on her. Then slowly, the green orbs flicked to the men behind her.

“I see Madgoose has returned after all,” he said jovially and gracefully alighted. Lauren did not turn around, but clutched her hands nervously in front of her, clinging to a thin thread of control as Alex tethered his horse and walked briskly to where she stood. Her pounding heart would break free of her breast at any moment, she was certain of it.

“Sutherland,” Magnus said very gruffly, coming to stand beside Lauren. “What are you doing here?”

Alex grinned unabashedly. “Wishing the happy couple well, Bergen,” he quipped, then turned to Lauren. “Good day.”

“Good day, your grace.” Oh,
God
, were her cheeks as flaming red as they felt? Judging by Alex’s widening grin, apparently they were. Magnus flustered her further by suddenly hauling her to his side in an iron grip.

Alex merely chuckled at his possessive display. “I could hardly let you sail to Bohemia—”

“Bavaria,” Magnus growled.

“Whatever,” Alex said flippantly, “without saying good-bye. It has been such a …
challenge
… knowing you, Bergen.”

“Sutherland!” Ethan boomed, waddling out onto the front steps. “Unless you’ve come to up the ante, be gone with you now!”

“Yes, go,” Magnus said quietly. He was gripping Lauren’s waist tightly, so tightly, she was having trouble catching her breath.

“In due time, my lord,” Alex responded, undeterred. “I
brought your angel a gift,” he said, and pivoting on his heel, marched toward Jupiter.

“Angel?” Magnus echoed, peering sharply at Lauren.

“Lydia … he means Lydia,” she hastily responded. Alex reached inside his saddlebag, and returned to the front steps, where Paul, Ethan, and Magnus now surrounded Lauren.

“Miss Hill,” he said, and held out a perfect, single gardenia to her. “Would you be so kind? To, ah, give it to Lydia, that is.”

Hesitantly, she glanced up at him and saw the warmth in his eyes. Her heart fluttered wildly. Magnus’s grip tightened painfully. She coughed uncomfortably and slowly reached for the flower. Alex put it in her hand, his fingertips brazenly brushing her palm.

“I, ah … what shall I say?” she asked, mortified that her voice trembled.

He smiled, his eyes fixed on hers, seemingly oblivious to the others. “Tell her, ‘
the heaven such grace did lend her, that she might admired be.
’ ”

A tendril of sweet desire coiled around her heart, and Lauren exhaled softly. No one could touch her as deeply as Alex, she thought, and looked at the gardenia in her palm, blurred through a haze of tears. She heard the guttural growl from Magnus and Ethan’s angry bluster. Slowly, she lifted her gaze to Alex and returned his warm smile.

“You are not welcome here, Sutherland,” Magnus said suddenly, his voice dipping dangerously low. “Get on your horse and go.”

Alex reluctantly shifted his gaze to Magnus and actually smirked. “Haven’t taken your vows yet, have you, Bergen? I think your presumption of owning the place is a bit premature.”

Magnus suddenly let go of Lauren and took a large step forward. A good two inches taller than Alex, he stood only inches from him, arms akimbo, a threatening expression on
his face. “I said leave. You are not welcome here any longer.”

Alex chuckled and casually shifted his weight onto one hip as he regarded Magnus with a hint of amusement. “I suppose in Bavaria it is impolite to wish a couple well, then. Is that right, Bergen? You Germans prefer the civility of the pagans?”

“Pagan?”
Magnus breathed.

“My apologies. What is the word in a language he can understand, Lauren?”

Magnus suddenly lunged for Alex, grabbing for his throat. But Alex was too quick; he whirled around, neatly sidestepping him, and chuckled at Magnus’s fluster. “You’ll have to be a damn sight quicker than that if you want to harm me, my friend. But in England, we have other ways of settling our differences if you care to explore them.”

“Here now!” Ethan called nervously, and Paul hastily limped toward the two men, shoving his cane between them. “There is no cause for that! Bergen, he has come to wish you well, nothing more! And Sutherland, your kind wishes are graciously received. But the count has only just arrived from Portsmouth; perhaps it is best if you call another time. If you don’t mind…”

“Not,” Alex drawled, “any more than usual.” He glanced at Lauren, who was paralyzed by what was quickly unfolding in front of her. His eyes quickly flicked the length of her, then landed on her face again. “Good day, Lauren,” he said quietly. With a curt nod to Paul, he pivoted and swung onto Jupiter’s back, and galloped away in a cloud of dust.

Magnus watched him go, then jerked around to face Lauren, his face mottled with rage. “What in the hell was he doing here?” he demanded angrily in German.

Lauren shrugged weakly. “As he said. To wish us well. If you will excuse me, I should give this flower to Lydia before it wilts.” She fairly flew inside, just as Paul clapped Magnus
on the shoulder and remarked that it did seem a very kind thing for the duke to do.

   Supper was a horrid affair for Magnus. He could not stop staring at her, watching her blue eyes dip to her plate as she pushed her peas about, one by one. Paul was unusually animated, talking incessantly about the blasted duke. And the uncle was orally spending the trust Magnus had given Rosewood as a betrothal gift. He thought the blasted meal would never end, and when it did, he stood abruptly, announcing that he would retire. To the village.

He stalked silently outside, Lauren close behind. Thankful to find that the simpleton Rupert had brought his horse around, he tossed his saddlebags on the mare’s back then turned sharply to face Lauren. She stood with her hands clasped behind her back, rocking gently on her feet. The light spilling from the house cast shadows on her face that made her allure even more profound. For the sake of propriety, he had chosen to stay in Pemberheath. But looking at her now, he wished he had decided to stay at Rosewood. Perhaps he might have visited her room. Perhaps he could have removed any thought of the Goddamn duke from her head.

He folded his arms across his chest, growing angrier with each passing moment. He deserved an explanation for the duke’s presence, but she said nothing—absolutely
nothing.
Not only did she make no effort to soothe his ruffled feathers, she did not even attempt to send him off with a warm good-bye. And that, he realized, was not a very auspicious beginning for two people about to be married.

“You seemed preoccupied this evening, Lauren. Is there something on your mind?” he asked at last, struck by how harsh his native tongue suddenly sounded.

“Have I? I was not aware. I apologize,” she said, and averted her gaze, across the lawn.

“You did not answer me. Is there something on your
mind?” he asked again, silently willing her to assure him that all was well.

“Why no!” she said sweetly, still looking across the lawn.

“How long has he been here?” he asked abruptly.

Lauren stopped rocking and looked at him from the corner of her eye. “Paul and Ethan arrived yesterday,” she said softly.

Magnus’s hands clenched at his sides. “I am not referring to your
kin.
How long has
he
been here?” he asked angrily.

Lauren drew her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment. “I gather you mean the duke?”

“What in the bloody hell is going on here?” he breathed, his pulse beginning to beat soundly at his temples.

“Nothing, Magnus,” she said soothingly, and for a moment, he hoped. “He came to wish us well,” she added gently.

He knew he should accept her explanation, but he just could not leave it alone. “We had an agreement, you and I. You promised to honor me.”

She looked surprised. “I
do
honor you.”

“You do not honor me when you look at him with eyes as big as moons and blush like a maid when he smiles at you!”

Lauren blinked, then slowly raised her chin. “I honor you, Magnus. I respect you. I will do so until my dying day. But there can be nothing more,” she said quietly. “
That
was our agreement.”

His breathing was suddenly constricted. It was their agreement, all right,
his
Goddammed agreement. Enraged, he suddenly vaulted to the mare’s back, yanking the reins hard to keep her from bolting at the sudden impact. He glared down at Lauren, his mind and heart racing. She looked at him so serenely, for a moment he wondered if he had misjudged the situation.

But he knew he had judged it perfectly well, and abruptly spurred the mare into the night. She could sleep soundly tonight, knowing that she lived up to her end of the agreement. But not him. His promise was starting to strangle him.

Lauren had every intention of apologizing. Magnus was right; she did not honor him by practically fainting over Alex’s gift of a gardenia. When he had ridden away last night so furious and wounded, guilt had overcome her with a vengeance. She felt so badly about it that she had not slept well at all, and had awakened Rupert at daybreak to hitch one of the old grays to the wagon. Dressed in one of her best walking dresses, she left a note for Mrs. Peterman and started for Pemberheath to make amends. Beginning with an apology to the man she would marry.

A dense morning fog blanketed the earth and it was impossible to discern the landscape; weather that exactly matched her mood. It seemed of late she had no idea which way was up or down. Every day was a kaleidoscope of confusion, her emotions turning and twisting in her heart and mind. She had had enough, she thought, as the gray trotted briskly along the road. She had selected her fate, had signed all necessary documents, and would honor her commitment. Magnus had been a model of patience, very kind in his own
unique way, and had asked for nothing in return but that she respect him. She had promised him that much. She
owed
him that much.

She urged the old gray faster.

Horse and wagon rattled across a small bridge that marked the halfway point between Pemberheath and Rosewood. A screeching noise suddenly rent the air, coming from the wagon, and Lauren frantically drew up on the reins. Sighing impatiently, she climbed down, and hands on hips, surveyed the old conveyance. The working of the thing baffled her, other than that the four wheels were required to turn. She walked to the horse and led her forward. The horrendous sound occurred again, and looking back, she saw the front wheels did not move.

“Oh
honestly
!” she exclaimed, marched back to the heap of old lumber, and impetuously kicked it. She immediately grabbed her foot, wincing in pain. “Damned slippers!” she muttered, and glared hatefully at the dainty emerald footwear that matched her dress. Wonderful. She could hope to walk all of ten feet in the flimsy things! And so exactly what was she to do now? In exasperation, she glanced at the sky. Was it her imagination, or were the clouds thickening?

It was not her imagination, she discovered a few moments later, when the first fat raindrop hit her hand. She moaned, hastening her attempts to free the gray from the contraption. Rupert had fashioned a strange, oddly fixed sort of harness, and she could not see how to unlatch the horse in any conceivable way. The drops turned to a light rain, soaking her bonnet.

It was all suddenly more than she could bear. The rain, the old wagon,
everything.
The last two weeks had been the most turbulent of her life and her nerves were frayed to their very ends. She had no idea what to do about
anything
, let alone a horse hitched to a wagon by some homemade harness! God in heaven, was nothing
simple
anymore? She began
to sob uncontrollably. Throwing her arms around the old gray, she sobbed pitifully into her neck, too tired and too confused to think of what else to do.

She shrieked when a pair of strong hands grabbed her shoulders and jerked her away from the horse.

“What are you doing?” Alex asked, pivoting her roughly around to face him.

Relief, exhaustion, and plain frustration with the universe devoured her, and her sobs grew more frantic.

“My God, are you hurt?” he asked, a deep frown lining his eyes as they swept her body, searching for an injury.

“It
broke
!” she wailed, and motioned helplessly toward the wheel.

Alex glanced at the thing, then the horse, and let her go. He tried to move the old gray, but the front wheels locked. He walked to the wagon and squatted, peering beneath. “Ah, there is the culprit,” he muttered. He came quickly to his feet, strode to the gray and, to Lauren’s amazement, easily unlatched her. Yanking on her bridle, he led her to stand under a copse of trees. Sobbing helplessly, Lauren watched him return to the wagon and pick up the contraption that harnessed the horse. With a mighty shove, he pushed the wagon backward, unlocking the front wheels, and steered it off the road. Then he strode back to her and grabbed her hand. She struggled to keep up as he dragged her with him and fairly tossed her onto Jupiter’s back, quickly sweeping up behind her.

“Why did you not seek shelter? There is an abandoned cottage not one hundred yards from here,” he said gruffly, pointing toward the stand of trees. Lauren glanced in the direction he indicated. The falling structure had a thatched roof, which she had not noticed through the trees and fog until this very moment. It was a cottage she had played in as a child but had forgotten. It was the final blow to her fragile state of mind, and she sagged against him, sobs racking her body.

She had the sensation of moving, then being lifted. The moment her feet touched the ground, she stumbled toward the crumbling structure, bending low to enter. Just a single room, there was nothing inside except a few bales of hay. The floor was mud; an elaborate cobweb covered one corner, a fireplace held the remnants of some long ago fire, and the place smelled of cattle.