Must Have Been The Moonlight (36 page)

He tilted her chin. “I guarantee, no one here will mistake you for a mounted beast. Mounted perhaps. But not a beast.”

Brianna gasped, and as if for the first time smelled the ale on his breath. “You’re…intoxicated.”

“I can’t vouch for my state. But I can for my passions.”

Lowering his mouth, he stilled her head with his hand at her nape, and tenderly kissed the soft yielding lips. “Maybe I haven’t made it clear how I feel. But my heart beats in my chest for you.”

He loved her.

He loved her laughter. Her stubbornness. The melodrama of her emotions. Even with all the complicated facets and flaws of her personality, she’d proven herself tactile as his duchess, in more ways superior to his own adjustment here because she was enduring his family and his friends, her greatest strength her singularity. She tamed wild little girls with the same capacity for love that she gave all things, no
matter how blighted. She was like a bright blue flame that he cradled in his palm that gave color to his existence.

And now she was going to have his baby.

“I’ve been remiss in not fitting you with my ring.” He rubbed his thumb over the delicate bones of her fingers. “One that will match the Ravenspur gem you’ll receive on our first anniversary.” Michael cleared away the screen of dark hair that had fallen over her shoulder. “It’s purple…” he admitted, wishing it was a sapphire. “Amethyst.”

“I’ve never had a purple wedding ring. Or imagined that there
was
such a thing.”

He smiled into her eyes. “Are you insulting my family’s colors?”

“Your family’s colors are purple?”

“And black,” he declared. “A very indubitable banner at medieval tournaments where the Ravenspur liege spent many an hour trying not to get knocked onto his arse. Legend claims that the realm feared the purple and black, for its representatives never lost a challenge.”

“And to think that my ancestors beat yours up with sticks.”

He laughed aloud, his response unexpected, even to him. His fingers wandered lightly over her waist and he traced his thumb over her navel, meanwhile looking around him at the walls filled with the faces of his ancestors. How many times as a boy had he walked this corridor in awe of those who looked down at him from the centuries? Now, by some twist of fate, his legacy would be Aldbury’s future, and even he had to appreciate the capricious twist of fate handed down to the black sheep of the family. He wanted to be a better man than his father or his brother.

“I love you,
amîri
.”

His lips leisurely caressed hers, contrasting to the harsh tempo in his chest. Brianna caught his face in her hands and kissed him fiercely.

He missed very few things from his old life.

But he did miss the moonlight on desert sand, the
jasmine-scented sunlight in Brianna’s hair. He only knew that he’d been too long alone in his life, and found that he never wanted to go there again.

“Aye.” He chuckled. “Worse has happened to us both.”

B
rianna found Chamberlain at breakfast the next morning studying his copy of the
London Times
. He was engaged in an article and didn’t hear her enter. Having deliberately sought him out for many reasons this morning, she drew in a deep breath. “Lord Chamberlain?”

“Your Grace.” His gaze went over her attire.

She was wearing a bright apple-green gown trimmed with gold cording. The gown was neither shy nor demure. The color and style was simply who she’d always been. Brushing at the velvet on her skirt, she sat across from him and removed her gloves, her face serious.

“Would you care for java, your Grace?” the footman asked.

“Yes, please.” Brianna eagerly accepted a cup, noting with surprise that someone had made her favorite white brew. Astonishment lifted her gaze.

“I hope we got it right, your Grace,” the uniformed butler standing next to the sideboard replied.

Brianna dropped her nose to the cup. “I haven’t had a cup of white java since leaving Cairo.” She drank as if it were heaven.

“You have a letter, your Grace.” A footman interrupted. He bowed over her with a silver tray. “It arrived special courier just now.”

Noting at once that the seal belonged to Alex, she quickly opened the letter. Heart racing, she read the hastily written petition. “My sister-in-law has gone into her confinement early. She’s sent for me. This is from Lady Alexandra’s physician.”

Brianna looked outside the glass doors at the rain. Darker clouds sat on the distant horizon.

“Is everything all right, your Grace?” Lord Chamberlain set down his fork.

“I don’t know,” she whispered, turning the letter over in her hand. Why didn’t Alex write her? “I need to get a message to my husband at once,” she said after a moment.

“I believe he returned to Wendover, your Grace,” Chamberlain said. “He’s due back tomorrow. But I’ll send a rider.”

Michael had left before she’d awakened that morning. They had spent all night in perpetual bliss, making love, alternating moods of teasing and seriousness as they talked. She only knew that no matter what lay between them, they would climb the hills and survive the gullies together.

“Perhaps you can ask that he meet me at Lady Alexandra’s home.”

“I can do that.” He ordered the carriage brought around.

Brianna started to stand, but hesitated. The carriage would not be out front for at least an hour. “I’m aware that I’ve been stubbornly resistant toward you,” she said, her eyes brilliant on him. “Tell me that I need something, and I’ll prove that I don’t. Truly, it’s one of my worst traits. That, and my ability to ostracize myself by my own thoughtless actions. It was the reason my family threw me out of England.”

He buttered his toast. “Ah, yes. Something to do with a book on the plight of—” Clearing his throat, he set down the knife. “I believe you know the piece to which I am referring. The dowager told me,” he explained, to her horrified look. “She has a copy in her library. Naturally, I consider it dis
graceful that you young aristocrats manage to find little else to do with your time than turn your noses up at propriety.”

“I’m hardly an aristocrat, my lord,” she said, very nearly insulted, yet not so much so that she sniffed in disgust. “I certainly wasn’t one when I wrote that book, anyway.”

“What is it you wanted my help with, your Grace?”

“I have some mail that I wish to be detained.” Brianna folded her hands around the cup. “Or shall I say handled.”

“Does this have anything to do with your visits to the village on Thursdays?” He sat forward and observed her with keen eyes. “It seems the roof to the school will be repaired by midsummer. You are a preponderant supporter of education, I see.”

A flush stole over Brianna. “I do what I can.”

Chamberlain withdrew an envelope from his pocket. “Lord Ravenspur has not insisted on seeing the mail that comes into this house. But I kept this one aside.” He slid the envelope across the table. “This estate has had a recent influx of cash from a banking investment.”

Brianna knew the letter was from the Bank of England. Flicking the corner of the envelope, she lifted her gaze. Her entire life, she had always wanted to make a difference to those she loved. Perhaps she couldn’t on their same scale. Her brothers built worlds. Stephan Williams served to uphold the bastion of democratic ideals. And Michael would soon take his seat in the House of Lords. Her contribution was to motherhood…and Aldbury.

“It’s my dowry,” she said.

“It’s more than your dowry. You sold your shares of Donally and Bailey Engineering. He would never have allowed you to do that.”

“This estate needs working capital for what my husband wishes to do. Legally, it’s his money anyway. Aldbury Park needs it.”

“He’s not naive, your Grace. He knows that you’ve been working with the vicar. Eventually he’ll learn how you’ve been funding everything.”

“Then let it be a surprise.”

Sipping his brew consideringly, Chamberlain regarded her bouncy feathered hat. Clearly, she was a jarring impact to the sterile grandeur of Aldbury. But she liked it here. Michael’s world was like a splash of sunlight on a blank canvas, and the possibilities for a finished masterpiece had become endless, if she could just learn how to paint with the correct brush.

Brianna’s gaze dropped to the envelope in her hand. “My maid has gout,” she stood. “I don’t want her trapped in a carriage all day. Besides, the countess has become somewhat dependent on Gracie.”

Gracie always did want a patient who appreciated her medicinal potions.

“I will send Louisa with you. She has never been to London. Perhaps she will consider this an adventure.”

“And one more thing, my lord.” Brianna pressed an impulsive kiss on his whiskered cheek, flustering him with her exuberant display of emotions. “My staff will be returning to the cottage house to finish the job I paid them to do. The countess can learn to share.”

Chamberlain’s brow lifted in subdued astonishment. “I’m quite positive that will be an education for you both.”

She smiled. “On that fact, we can both agree.”

He looked out the tall window at the slate gray sky and churning clouds, and mild panic stirred Brianna. It had been raining heavily since early that morning. “If you’re going to get to your sister-in-law, you best be leaving soon.”

“Please see that his grace gets this message.”

Michael closed the missive and looked up at the boy who had delivered it. “How long ago did you get this?”

“It came to the dowager’s this afternoon, your grace. We didn’t know fer sure where you were. Then her grace, the dowager, said to try the Boar’s Inn since ye fancy taking your meals here on occasion when you are out.”

Lord Bedford entered the inn and doffed his rain-soaked
jacket and hat. Michael excused the boy and watched as Bedford sat across from him. Water dripped from the man’s hair and eyelashes. Michael didn’t intend to stay long.

“Why the cloak and dagger routine of a clandestine meeting, Ravenspur?” Bedford demanded.

“I want you to call the wolf off my wife.”

“The wolf?” Amused, Bedford flagged the barmaid for ale. “No one has ever referred to my sweet Amy as the wolf.”

“No doubt their adjectives are far more descriptive and less fit for mixed company.” Michael leaned back in the chair. It creaked in protest to his weight. Long riding boots hugged his calves.

“There have always been rumors surrounding me. Most have no basis in fact and don’t even dignify a response. The one about Amber is new and is as low as anyone could get to hurt innocent people, including
your
niece. You were good friends with my brother. What would Edward think about having his daughter’s parentage questioned?”

“Amy was always loyal to Edward.” Bedford contemplated the ring on his finger. “What can I say? I love her.”

Michael paid the barmaid for the ale and ordered coffee. Behind him the sky had darkened, and most of the common room remained lit only by the fire in the hearth. He leaned forward on his elbows. “She’s having a difficult time. I’m asking for a reprieve until she can get her feet beneath her.”

Bedford’s chair creaked as he shifted weight. “All right,” he said, and removed an envelope from inside his waistcoat.

“I wasn’t able to get into Charles Cross’s files,” Bedford said.

“Secret?”

“Closed.” Bedford sat back in his chair. “You’ll have to wait until next week when I can find a clerk who can navigate the basement. Do you want to explain your interest?”

“I don’t like him. Is that reason enough?”

Michael accepted coffee from the barmaid and waited until she took the meal away. Turning his attention back to Bedford, he regarded the man over the cup rim. “I have an
emergency to attend to in London. While I’m there, I need your office to find someone else for me. Sir Christopher Donally is or was the Public Works minister in Egypt. He resigned his position four weeks ago and hasn’t been heard from since—”

“He arrived in Southampton two days ago. Had a deuced tough time getting back this time of year.”

Michael’s coffee cup clinked in its saucer. “You just happen to know this?”

“The foreign secretary has a vested interest in Donally, considering the man is his son-in-law. They hate each other, but the arrogant bastard is ecstatic that his daughter is well on her way to delivering him a grandchild. She’s been living in her father’s Denmark Hill residence for the past three weeks completing some book about Coptic temples. Though I prefer
The Plight and Prejudice of London’s Poor
a more fascinating read. I understand your wife is the author of that titillating piece.”

“Where did you say Lady Alexandra was living?”

“With her father. Somewhere near the university district. Leave it to Ware to be obtuse about his place of residence.”

Michael was sure that Brianna had not known that Alexandra was not living at home. Her message had stated that she would be going to Epping. He turned in his chair and looked out the window at the growing green and black sky.

“London is getting pounded,” Bedford said, looking out the window. “The approaching night promises to be black as hell.”

“Are you sure Lady Alexandra is staying with her father?”

“I just left London.” Bedford stood and shrugged into his coat. “He’s been leaving Downing Street early every night.”

“Because she’s ill?”

“Hell no.” Bedford finished his ale and shrugged into his coat. “Because she’s home.”

“The bridge is under water, guv’na.” A man hunched in a black slicker shouted over the rain as Michael reached the
crossing three hours later. A lantern swayed in the man’s hand as he checked the railroad trestle. “No one is getting through to London tonight. Leastways not from this place.” Behind him, the train stood huffing in the pouring rain, an occasional blast of steam sounding akin to Michael’s black temper.

“I need to get to the High Beach area,” he yelled over his shoulder. Still atop his horse, Michael held the reins clutched in his gloved hands. The stallion did an impatient turn. His calves wrapped the barrel of the horse in an unforgiving vice. “How far is the next crossing?”

“There ain’t no guarantee the bridge in Watford is in better shape.” The railroad conductor raised the lantern. In the hours since the rain had begun, the waters were still rising. “Either way, you ain’t getting to London, guv’na. You’re better off sitting tight here.”

Michael stared at the torrent of rushing water that had breached its banks in an ugly surge of swollen, muddy water. Swinging the bay south, he didn’t make it far before the sullen waterway again blocked his path. “You’ll have to go to St. Anne’s abbey,” someone yelled out from the darkness. Michael had been desperate enough to cross.

He slammed his hand against the edge of the saddle and stared in fury at the sky. The rain blinded him. He knew he’d kill his horse if he continued on to find another crossing. Or he’d kill himself in the dark. Though she didn’t know it, Finley’s men were with her, and he had to trust that they would guard his wife with their lives.

The roads were dark and flooded when Brianna reached the outskirts of London. Turning down the lamp, she raised the curtain in the carriage and looked outside. There was something ominous in the road’s emptiness. She heard the driver’s whip crack. The carriage picked up speed. Louisa was curled inside her cloak on the opposite seat, asleep.

The carriage had pulled out of a way-station what seemed hours ago. She’d learned the bridge behind her had been
closed. The men outside needed to find shelter. Brianna laid her head against the velvet squabs. She thought of Michael, and wondered if it was raining where he was as well. Had he gotten her message?

Or had he already returned to Aldbury?

Something smacked against the roof, and Brianna awakened with a start, looking around her. For a moment she’d forgotten where she was. Sheets of water cascaded down the window. The carriage had stopped.

Brianna pulled aside the curtains, to see trees bent and swayed. They were on Christopher’s long drive; her brother’s Elizabethan manor house loomed in the shadows, a distant light in the back marking the late hour of her arrival. Across from her, Louisa remained asleep. The driver had not set down the step. How long had she been here?