Margaret Moore (16 page)

“That sounds extreme.”

“He could be … extreme.”

“So I see.” Richard frowned studiously. “This looks familiar.”

“It should be. Part of the entrance is the main hall of the old house.”

“Then that is the original hearth?”

“Yes.”

“I am relieved something survived the destruction.”

He strolled toward it and she watched as he slowly, almost reverently touched the childishly carved initials that he found without a moment’s hesitation.

“It was the size and detailed decoration of the fireplace that saved this portion of the hall,” she ventured. “Otherwise, my late husband would have torn it down, too.”

Richard started as if he had forgotten she was there, then straightened. “He seems to favor an ornate style. I daresay that was why he saved the Banqueting House.”

“Yes, at least he left that,” she noted. Then she clasped her hands together. “I’m so very sorry, Richard.”

“Why should you be sorry,” he asked, turning to regard her with his dark, piercing eyes, “unless this razing and rebuilding was your fault?”

Her gaze faltered. “It was.”

R
ichard’s eyes narrowed slightly as his gaze intensified.
“You
are responsible?”

“William was easily offended, but I didn’t know that when I married him. We had been husband and wife for only a few days when I voiced a wish for new plaster in one of the chambers. Within a week, he had moved us to a cottage while he rebuilt Blythe Hall. He said he would not have his wife complaining all the time and telling people she was living in a hovel.”

It was in that small, cramped cottage that she had truly realized the nature of the man she had thought she loved.

“You called Blythe Hall a
hovel?”

She shook her head. “No. However, I fear your uncle had not maintained the property very well in your absence. The house was in need of several repairs.”

“I’m surprised he left this impromptu addition
to the hearth I made in a childish attempt to get back at my parents after they had upset me.”

He glanced back at his juvenile handiwork for another moment, his expression one of wry self-deprecation. “I wanted to make my mark upon the world even then, I suppose.”

“William did plan to have it repaired, until he was told how costly it would be. He decided that could wait.”

In view of Richard’s disappointment today, she was very glad he had.

“You did not have it done, either, although you seem to have prospered.”

“No, I thought it made the house more like a home.”

And in truth, she had been desperate for anything that gave her that sensation.

He left her to stroll around the hall, looking at the ornate plaster ceiling, the wide staircase that ran up the left side of the entrance hall, the balustrade, the polished floor.

“The house
is
more comfortable and modern.”

“Yes, so I see.”

His anger had disappeared, yet she was not sure what exactly had replaced it.

“William designed it so that the large withdrawing room is along that corridor to the right,” she explained, “with my closet where I keep the accounts off of it. The new dining room is to the left, closest to the kitchen. There
are two bedchambers on this floor for guests. The other bedchambers are upstairs, and servants’ quarters above that.”

He halted and sighed. “Well, so I am come home at last. I shall write to the king to express my gratitude, of course.” He cocked his head and regarded her gravely. “Where is our bedchamber?”

Her mouth suddenly very dry, she swallowed hard as his lips curved in a slow, seductive smile. “I sleep in the westernmost chamber upstairs.”

“Then that is where I shall sleep, too. Do you object?”

She didn’t trust her voice to be steady, so she merely shook her head.

His smile grew and his dark-eyed gaze intensified as he approached her. “I confess I am delighted you do not wish to see me banished to another bedroom. It would be like being sent into exile again, and a far worse one than I have already experienced.”

“I am glad you are not angry about the house anymore,” she murmured, wondering if he was going to kiss her right here in the entrance hall.

Although he came very close to her, he stopped short of embracing her. “Would you mind showing me the way to our bedchamber? Otherwise, I shall likely get lost. While it would be an adventure, I think I have had enough excitement for one morning.”

Stifling a surge of disappointment and reminding herself that she was a lady and should act with appropriate dignity, she led him up the stairs and down the corridor toward the bedchamber. She opened the door and waited for him to enter.

“After you, my sweet wife,” he said, bowing slightly.

As they entered, she watched as he studied the large, timber-framed chamber. The maids had kept it scrupulously clean and tidy. The wool bedcover was smooth as glass, and the table, chair, chest, and bed polished to mirrorlike perfection.

He looked at the large, curtained bed for what seemed a very long time. Her heart started to race and she began to hope that he had recovered sufficiently from the shock of seeing the new house to indulge in other excitement. “So, this is where young Will was conceived.”

She started. “No, it is not.”

His expression inscrutable, he looked at her. “Not here?”

“Not here, and not in that bed.”

“The cottage, was it? How bucolic.”

Tears started in her eyes and she hurried toward the window, embarrassed by her foolishly emotional response.

She was too slow.

“What’s this? A tear for the dear departed?” She would not answer. She would never tell
anyone about the night Will was conceived, when her husband had thrown her to the floor to roughly take his pleasure of her.

Yet in a way, she was glad he had reminded her of that night, and all the other horrible nights with William Longbourne. She needed to be reminded where her folly had led before, so that she would not tread that path again.

No matter how different Richard seemed from her first husband.

“I am touched by this evidence of your soft heart. Is there anything else I should know about Blythe Hall or the servants or the tenants, or do you intend to continue surprising me?”

“If you will excuse me, I have many things to attend to. I shall have Will show you the house.”

She hurried from the room as if pursued by hungry bears.

Richard muttered a curse. The notion of Elissa making love in that bed with another man had prompted him to speak without thinking, and he deeply regretted his remark about Will’s conception. While courtiers would have smiled and made jokes, it
was
in poor taste.

Her tears had been extremely disturbing, too. Somehow, he had come to think her somewhat invulnerable, as if, unlike most women, she had an almost masculine inner strength. It was surprising to find a chink in her armor
and unsettling to discover it was the obviously cherished memory of her late husband.

Richard wandered toward the window and looked outside. He had had a very different view from his childhood window, which had looked upon the Banqueting House.

Thank God he could not see that accursed building from here.

He leaned back against the sill and looked around the comfortable room. Instead of contemplating his long-anticipated return to his family’s estate, however, he was thinking about Elissa.

Only now did he truly appreciate the hope that had blossomed into being on their wedding night, that she would come to care for him. When he was making love with Elissa, it even seemed possible that they would come to live in harmony, perhaps even love, despite the unusual circumstances of their marriage.

Now, he was not nearly so sure.

What if his hopes were not unfounded? What if there was a chance that he could find happiness in a marriage forced upon him by the king?

Or was that the deluded aspiration of a fool blinded by passion and the seeming regard of a lovely, spirited woman?

He might do better to believe the latter, protecting his heart as he had always done.

Yet if he were wrong … if Elissa did offer him an opportunity for such happiness that he
had scarcely dared to dream of… surely only a greater fool would toss that chance aside.

Sighing, Richard pushed himself off the sill and went to find his stepson.

Later that evening, after an exhausted Will had gone to bed, Richard and Elissa sat across from each other on matching settles in the new withdrawing room. It had quickly become obvious to Richard that his wife was in no humor to talk as she sewed upon some kind of embroidery that looked large enough to outdo the Bayeux tapestry.

He reached for his wine, rather glad to have that beverage available. As a rule, he was not a man to rely on its relaxing ability; tonight, however, was an exception. “Perhaps tomorrow you would do me the honor of escorting me around the estate?”

“You grew up here, did you not? Surely you do not need to be shown anything.”

“So much has been changed. You wouldn’t have me fall down a well, would you?”

She shrugged her lovely shoulders.

“Does that mean you would? I know I have upset you, but how can I make amends if I am dead?”

The smallest of smiles lifted the corners of her lips, and Richard felt the same sense of triumph he did when an audience applauded.

He rose from the uncomfortably hard settle and sat beside her. She shifted slightly, but
didn’t move away—another cause for a triumphant thrill. “What is that you are making?”

“A tapestry for this room, to hang on the wall opposite us.”

He followed her gaze, then turned back to see her bent over her work.

“You sew very well.”

“Are you an expert in that, as well?”

“I am not an expert at much.”

“You always speak with such authority, I assumed you must be.”

“I am not the only one who makes assumptions.”

“My late husband only changed the house. The rest of the estate is unchanged—save for the northern portion. Your uncle sold the wood to Mr. Sedgemore.”

Sighing with resignation, he reached out and placed his hand over hers. When she looked at him, he softly said, “I believe I shall never be surprised by anything ever again where the sale or alteration of my family’s property is concerned. However, I promise I shall not complain to you about it anymore. What happened in the past was not your fault.

“Please try to understand,” he continued, regarding her gravely. “For a long time, I clung to the certain faith that one day, this estate would be mine. I was horrified when I learned that it had been sold while I was in Europe. My uncle had no right to do so, so when the
king was restored, I hoped he would ensure that it was returned to me.

“Now, under strange circumstances, I am back home—to what is not my home. I was shocked and angry. Forgive me for speaking hastily, without tact, and for causing you any hurt.”

She didn’t look at him as she laid aside her handiwork.

“Thank you,” she said softly, raising her eyes to regard him. “Thank you for your apology, Richard. It means a great deal to me. William never apologized for anything.” A smile tweaked her lovely lips. “I do not think you apologize often.”

He felt a surge of relief, followed quickly by happiness. “I confess you guess aright.”

“I assume you instead wield your wicked tongue or sword.”

“Alas, ‘tis true. Yet a man often slandered must have some defense.” He sighed. “Although I daresay you have cause for dread, given my scandalous reputation, rest assured, Elissa, that while I am no saint, I am not the black-hearted, lascivious rogue rumor and some verse attributed to me would imply. I write only a very little verse—none of it obscene. Anyone can use my name if they choose. There is no law to stop them.”

Understanding lit her serious mien, then her brow lowered ominously. “That is terrible! There should be a law!”

A little smile played about his face. “Such a passionate defender! It is a pity you are not a lawyer.”

“We have an excellent lawyer in Mr. Harding.”

Richard’s smile disappeared. “Ah, yes, Mr. Harding, champion of brides everywhere.”

“I am sorry the agreement was so severe, but I had to protect myself and my son.”

He rose and pulled her into a loose embrace. “I have another confession, Elissa.”

“You … you do?” she replied, breathless with anticipation.

“The more I am with you, the happier I am that the king made us marry, regardless of that dastardly agreement.”

Her fingers began to follow the pattern of the muscles of his back. “You have never been in charge of an estate, and I have,” she explained softly. “I was afraid you might destroy all I have worked so hard to build.”

“A justifiable dread,” he murmured as he nibbled on her earlobe.

She had never experienced anything like that. “It is not as easy as one might think to run an estate. I had a very difficult time after William died.”

Richard leaned back and put a finger to her lips. “I would rather not hear about him.”

Her brow furrowed again. “He was Will’s father. We cannot erase him completely.”

“I understand. However, as your
new
husband,
I order that we never speak of him in one particular room in this house.”

“Which room?”

“Our bedchamber.”

Elissa nodded. Then her delectable lips turned up in a small smile, too. “He never set foot in that room after this house was built, Richard. I began to sleep there after he died.”

“I cannot begin to tell you how delighted that makes me,” Richard replied, reaching for her hand. “Shall we?”

“What?”

“Shall we retire to that room where that man’s name is not to be mentioned?”

“Is that an order, my husband?”

“It is a request,” he answered, regarding her with desire burning in his dark eyes.

“Then I agree. But what shall we talk of?” she asked with a hint of mischief as she let him lead her out of the withdrawing room.

“I think we have talked enough.”

“What, then, shall we do?” she asked as they entered the spacious hall, her tone innocent, yet the smoldering yearning in her eyes telling him a different tale.