Sally MacKenzie Bundle (137 page)

David snickered.

Grace frowned. “What’s so funny?”

“Oh, nothing.” He pressed his lips together, but that didn’t quite contain his mirth. “N-nothing at all.”

“You should not be laughing. Aunt Kate is very sick.”

He nodded. “I’m n-not l-laughing.”

Grace gave him a very nasty look and went back to help Lady Oxbury. Thank God.

He walked carefully to the other side of the carriage and then collapsed against it, howling with laughter—as quietly as he could—until tears ran down his cheeks.

He could hardly wait to see Alex.

Chapter 13

Alex let Lear choose his own path up the drive to Lakeland, Motton’s manor house.

He was tired, but satisfied. It had been worth leaving home before daybreak; he’d already had time to take a preliminary look at Motton’s cultivation techniques and chat with Watkins, Motton’s estate manager. The man was a genius. There were definitely a number of improvements he’d seen that he could implement at Clifton Hall. Hopefully he would have time during this house party for some rational conversation with Motton on the topic.

Lear’s ears twitched. Yes, he heard it, too. Carriages were approaching from behind. He reined up, glanced back, and frowned. The man accompanying the coaches looked familiar. He was too far away to be certain…

His eyes dropped to the man’s horse. Damn. He’d recognize that stallion anywhere. What the hell was David doing here—and, more to the point, who was he escorting?

Only one possibility came to mind. Alex jerked, causing Lear to back and toss his head in protest.

“Sorry, boy.” He patted his horse’s neck. David must have caught sight of him then, because Zeus broke into a canter, covering the ground between them in minutes.

“Alex! Well met!”

“Is it?” He could be wrong. Please, God, let him be wrong. But the person—or persons—in the carriage must be female, and the only females he could think might be in David’s company were Ka—Lady Oxbury and Lady Grace.

Perhaps Lady Oxbury had stayed in Town. Lakeland was only a short trip from London. A maid would suffice as Lady Grace’s companion for such a brief journey; perhaps the girl was meeting a suitable duenna here.

Right. And perhaps he would sprout wings and fly.

He wished he could fly, if not through the air, then on Lear’s back. Ride like the wind home to Clifton Hall and hide behind a locked door.

He blew out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He was being absurd. He was not a frightened little boy, and Lady Oxbury wasn’t some hobgoblin. They were two adults. They could behave as adults, surely, and get through this damn house party politely.

And he could manufacture an excuse to run—
head
—for home tomorrow morning.

“Who’s in the carriage?” He braced himself for the answer. The vehicle was traveling very slowly, as if its contents were exceptionally fragile.

“Lady Grace.” David paused and gave him an odd look. “And Lady Oxbury.”

Did David think he was communicating something significant with his bobbing eyebrows? It was not a secret Alex had made a fool of himself over the woman.

“I see.” He sounded nonchalant, if he said so himself. He was surprised Motton knew Ka—Lady Oxbury.

Did
Motton know her? It would be somewhat unusual. She had been out of society for a long time, and Motton was around David’s age…He frowned. “You didn’t happen to have anything to do with the invitations to this gathering, did you, David?”

David grinned. “Perhaps.”

“Damn it, you know I parted on less than cordial terms with Lady Oxbury.”

“Actually, the last time I saw you with the lady—at Alvord’s ball—you looked to be on exceedingly cordial terms with her. I could only speculate as to why you left London so precipitously.”

The coaches were getting closer.
Why
were they moving so slowly—to prolong his agony? “You aren’t an idiot, David. You might have put two and two together.”

“I might have.” David gave him another odd look. “If we are doing sums, you might wish to do a few calculations of your own.”

Alex tore his eyes away from his approaching doom to glare at his nephew. “What the devil are you talking about?”

“You haven’t had any communication with Lady Oxbury since the morning after Alvord’s ball?”

“No. Of course not.”

“Then you might wish to have some communication with her in the next day or so.”

“Why?”

There went David’s damn eyebrows again. “Lady Oxbury is not feeling at all the thing. We had to stop frequently on our trip from London.”

“I’m sorry for her indisposition, but what does that have to do with me?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it?”

What was wrong with David? “Are you suggesting I gave her this illness?”

David choked. “I’m not certain Lady Oxbury is ill precisely.” The man was laughing!

Had the world gone mad? Alex glanced at the carriage again. In just a few moments,
he
would go mad. “I’m as healthy as a horse, and, more to the point, I haven’t been in London for weeks.”

David nodded. “Lady Oxbury’s stomach was most unsettled the entire trip. Fortunately her maid had come prepared—nausea is not unusual for someone in Lady Oxbury’s condition.”

“Lady Oxbury’s condition?” The coach was only twenty yards away. “What condition? Why the hell are you talking in riddles—”

Good God! Alex gaped at David. David shrugged.

“As I say, you might wish to have a serious conversation with Lady Oxbury. In fact, I strongly recommend it.” David smirked. “I imagine you might find it life-changing.” With that the blasted man turned and rode back to the coaches.

Alex stayed rooted to his spot. Condition. Nausea. Not ill…

But she had said she was barren. She had been married to Oxbury for twenty-three years and had had no children. She was forty years old. She couldn’t be…

He couldn’t be…

Damn. He stared like a complete cods-head as the coach lumbered by, Kate’s pale face visible in the window.

She couldn’t be pregnant with his child, could she?

A surprising possessiveness surged through him. He could barely breathe. Lear shifted under him, uncertain what his frozen body meant.

He had dreamt of having a child with Kate. Of being a father…

But what if she still wanted to live the life of the merry widow, inviting man after bloody man into her bed?

Lear jumped under him as his knees tightened with rage. He forced himself to relax his body, but he would not relax his resolve. If Kate did not want him, so be it. But he would have his child.

He took a calming breath.
If
there was a child. He must not leap to conclusions. David could be wrong—most probably was wrong.

In any event, it looked as though he’d be staying for the whole damn gathering.

He turned Lear toward the house and urged him into a gallop. He might as well catch up with the carriage; there was no point in putting off his meeting with Kate.

He rode up just as the footman was letting down the steps. David helped Lady Grace from the coach and then a smaller woman—by her dress, the maid.

Lady Grace looked over as he approached. “Mr. Wilton,”—they both heard a gasp from the carriage—“how nice to see you.”

The maid gave him a hard look that promised serious repercussions—drawing and quartering at the least—if he did anything to harm her mistress. He stepped cautiously past her, and she, David, and Lady Grace continued toward the house, leaving him alone with Kate.

He looked into the coach—he’d swear his heart lurched.

Kate was so beautiful, sitting in the shadows, staring down at her lap—so pale and delicate. So prim—but she had been anything but prim in her bedchamber that night.

A rush of desire swamped him. He wanted her. No matter what she said to him, how she felt about him—he wanted her. But he wanted her love, too. And if she were indeed enceinte…

“Kate.” He extended a hand.

She pressed her lips together while she looked at his gloved fingers. Then she emitted a little sigh and laid her hand in his. “M-Mr. Wilton.” There was a slight catch in her voice. She kept her eyes lowered.

He helped her down. When her feet reached the drive, she glanced up at him briefly. Her color fluctuated from white to red to white again. Was she going to faint? He put a hand under her elbow.

“Kate,” he said, his voice low so none of the servants could hear, “are you all right?”

She nodded. Her tongue slipped out to moisten her lips. “Yes.” She swallowed. “Yes, I am all—all right.” She looked up at him again. “Alex—Mr. Wilton—I—” She stopped and smiled weakly. “I had better go lie down. I find I don’t travel well these days.”

She was a coward. She should speak to him now. Tell him she needed to have a private word with him at his earliest convenience. There was no point in putting it off.

But she
was
a coward. And she was bone tired. She had not realized how exhausting travel would be. And how mortifying! How many times had they been forced to stop the carriage on her account? After the first few times, she’d had nothing left in her stomach to lose.

A growl emerged from the coach.

“Oh, poor Hermes.” She turned back. Hermes was glaring at her from the carriage seat. He expected to be lifted out, not forced to scramble down the steep stairs.

“Let me get him for you.” Alex’s broad hands reached for the dog. Hermes yelped once, sniffed Alex’s gloves, and then consented to being picked up. “Does he have a leash?”

“Oh, yes, I—” She looked inside the carriage. Where had she put the leash? She had been in and out of the coach so many times on this dreadful trip. “I—I don’t know…”

Alex smiled at her and she wanted to melt into a puddle at his feet or throw herself into his arms. Fortunately his arms were already occupied by Hermes. She clasped her hands together so they couldn’t misbehave.

“Don’t worry,” Alex said. “I can carry him for you if you think he’ll stray on his own.”

“That might be best, if you don’t mind, it being a strange house, you know. I don’t usually take Hermes about, but I couldn’t leave him behind with the Weasel in residence.”

Alex raised an eyebrow as he tucked Hermes under his arm. “The Weasel?”

“The current Lord Oxbury.” She flushed. Her stomach was fluttering, but she didn’t feel as though she would be sick again. “I know I shouldn’t call him that. I don’t usually, in public, that is. It just slipped out.”

He was frowning now. “He is not kind to you? I had heard rumors, but I’d hoped they were unfounded.”

Now she felt as if she would burst into tears. Heavens, she wasn’t usually such a watering pot. All this emotional turmoil must be related to her condition.

Dear God, her “condition”! She had to tell Alex—but how on earth was she going to do it? She couldn’t just blurt it out here. He might drop Hermes in shock. Or fury.

Should she tell him when there were people around to defend her should he turn ugly?

She was being ridiculous. Alex wouldn’t harm her.

“Lady Oxbury,
are
you all right?” Alex was scowling now. “You know you can call on me if that blackguard shows you any disrespect.”

“Oh, no, I’m fine. Well, I’m not fine, but…” She smiled weakly up at him. “I’m so sorry. I’m not making any sense. I’m just tired.”

“And here I am, making you stand and converse when all you must want is to find your b-bed”—Did Alex blush? If so, he recovered immediately—“and rest. Take my arm.” He smiled. “The arm that is not already full of dog, of course.”

She loved him. Oh, God, how she loved him.

She was in serious trouble. She took his arm, repressing a slightly hysterical giggle. Her feelings for Alex were the least of it. She was unmarried and increasing, carrying the child of a man her brother detested, a man she had misled into believing she was barren.

She glanced up; Alex smiled reassuringly down at her.

But perhaps a man who didn’t hate her—yet. His feelings might change when she revealed her secret.

She bit her lip, swallowing more tears. She
must
get her emotions under better control.

Lord Dawson and Grace had waited for them. As soon as they approached, the footman rapped on the front door. It swung open on his second knock; his fist almost collided with a large, gray parrot.

The parrot emitted a loud squawk. “Hey, mate, watch wot yer doin’!”

The poor footman jumped back, tripping over his own feet. Hermes, taking instant exception to the bird, struggled to get free of Alex’s grasp. He barked vehemently.

The parrot leaned forward and barked back.

Hermes yelped and gazed up at Alex. Alex shrugged.

“Theo, your manners!” The gray-haired woman on whose shoulder the parrot was sitting looked sternly at her pet. “Apologize immediately.”

Theo bobbed his head. “Aw, Theo’s sorry, Theo’s sorry.”

“I apologize as well,” the woman said. “Theo was raised on a sailing ship. Sometimes his conduct is not all one would wish.” She smiled and stepped back. “And where are
my
manners you may ask? Please, come in. I am Edmund’s—Lord Motton’s—Aunt Winifred, Miss Winifred Smyth. This, as I’m sure you’ve surmised, is Theo. I inherited him when my uncle Theo, God rest his soul, passed on.”

“Your uncle named his pet after himself?” Grace asked as they stepped into the grand marble entranceway.

Miss Smyth laughed. “Oh, no, I did that. Theo’s original name was quite inappropriate.”

“Heh, heh,” Theo said, “name was—”

“Theo!”

“Aw, Theo’s sorry, Theo’s sorry.”

“And you must be…?”

“Baron Dawson,” David said, “Lady Oxbury, Lady Grace, and my uncle, Mr. Alex Wilton.”

“I am so delighted you could come. Edmund would be here to greet you, too, but he is, unfortunately, dealing with an…issue in the rose parlor.”

A loud crash emanated from a room down the hall, followed by a man’s voice.

“Damn it, you hairy little—”

Miss Smyth raised her own voice. “I’m certain you are tired from your travels and would like to rest, so if you will just come this way?”