The Deception (40 page)

“Let me think about it for a while,” he said. “In the meantime, Charlie and I will load Charlwood into the coach and then we’ll get him home to Greystone.”

* * * *

Charlie drove the coach and Adrian and I followed in my uncle’s curricle. It seemed hardly the moment for a declaration of love—we were both exhausted and emotionally wrung out—but I was determined to delay no longer. The look on Adrian’s face when he had held his sword to Charlwood’s throat had convinced me that his feelings for me could not be lukewarm.

I pulled my buttonless pelisse closer around my shoulders and said, “Harry showed me the notice about Lady Mary and Mr. Bellerton this morning.”

“Um,” he said. One of the horses was throwing his head about restlessly, and Adrian spoke to him soothingly. My husband was clearly so uninterested in Lady Mary’s projected marriage that I had to smile.

“I saw you kiss her hand when you came in from the terrace with her,” I said. “I thought you were still in love with her, and I have hated the both of you for weeks.”

I had gained his attention. “Kissed her hand?” he said in bewilderment.

“At the Barburys’ dance. I saw you do it, Adrian.” I folded my arms across my chest and regarded him sternly. “In fact, that was the reason I was so upset that I did not think clearly when I received Stade’s note.”

He glanced at me out of the side of his eyes. “You were upset because you saw me kiss Lady Mary’s hand?”

“Wouldn’t you be upset if you saw me kissing the hand of the man I was supposed to have married instead of you!”

“I saw you kissing Harry on the mouth,” he said quietly.

It took me a moment to remember, and when I did I frowned direfully. “Harry had just saved my life, Adrian. You certainly could not be stupid enough to think that I was in love with
Harry.”

“Lady Mary had just told me that she and Bellerton would be announcing their engagement shortly,” he countered. “I kissed her hand because I was happy for her.”

We looked at each other.

“It seems, Kate, that we both have been wearing blinders,” he said softly.

I stared at him, my lips parted in hopeful wonder.

“I have loved you for so long, sweetheart,” he said. “I thought I would go mad sometimes, thinking that you did not love me back.”

By now the horses were ambling along the road at their own rate, their driver completely oblivious of their direction. I said in amazement, “Are you serious, Adrian? You really did not know that I loved you?”

He stopped the horses completely and turned to face me, sliding one arm along the back of the seat. “You married me to get away from your uncle,” he reminded me. “And I was not very kind to you, Kate. There was every reason in the world for me to think you did not love me.”

“Not kind to me?” I said. “You were magnificently kind to me!”

One long finger traced a gentle path along my cheekbone. He shook his head and a lock of hair slipped over his forehead. He said quietly, “You are the most generous person I have ever known, Kate. And the most gallant.”

I literally stopped breathing. To hear such a thing from Adrian! I inhaled shakily and blurted, ‘Oh, Adrian, I love you so much!” And I flung my arms around his neck and squeezed him so tightly that the poor man was in danger of being choked.

He didn’t complain, however. In fact, his own arms came around me in such a crushing grip that for a moment the air in my lungs was quite constricted.

We stayed like this for rather a long time, his mouth buried in my hair, my nose pressed against his neck, my mouth against his collarbone. Finally he said into my hair, “You would never confide in me. You always seemed to turn to Harry.”

“You were always so busy,” I said. “I thought it wouldn’t be fair to burden you with my affairs.”

“Stupid,” he said.

“Well, you never confided in me,” I defended myself.

“I didn’t think you would be interested.”

“Stupid.”

He chuckled.

I felt as if I were in heaven. I kissed his jawbone and felt the faint prickle of incipient whiskers. I buried my hand in the thick silver-gilt hair just above his nape. I sniffed the scent of him. It was heaven to be with him like this.

He said reluctantly, “We are embracing in the middle of a public road.”

I loosened my grip on him. “I know.” I kissed his jawbone once more and moved away. His hands opened slowly to let me go. We looked into each other’s eyes.

“I adore you,” I said.

“Sweetheart,” he said, “let’s finish this discussion later. Preferably in bed.”

“To do that, we have to get home first,” I pointed out.

“True.” He picked up the reins and started the horses moving forward again.

* * * *

I went upstairs as soon as we reached Greystone, but Adrian had to cope with the doctor and my uncle as well as give explanations to Harry and Louisa. Shamelessly, I let him do it alone. I had some supper sent to my room, and then I soaked for a half an hour in a deliciously hot tub.

Jeanette was scandalized when she saw my bruises. They were not a pretty sight. The worst was the bruise on the side of my face where my uncle had hit me.

“Someone tried to kidnap me,” I told Jeanette, “but Lord Greystone came to my rescue.”

Her eyes grew starry.
“Mon dieu,”
she said. “Monseigneur is all right?”

“Yes.”

She sighed.

“Where is my dressing gown, Jeanette? I am ready to come out of the tub.”

She emerged from dreams of her hero and went to collect my robe.

It was another hour before I heard Adrian come into the room next door. I sat up against the pillows, looked at the door through which he would come, and felt such excitement inside that I could scarcely contain it. The door finally opened and his tall, familiar figure came into the bedroom. My heart did a very satisfactory flip-flop.

“Did the doctor see Uncle Martin?” I asked.

“Yes. He didn’t have to dig for the bullet, Kate, it passed through his shoulder. Matthews says there is no reason why he shouldn’t make a full recovery.”

“Oh,” I said.

He had reached the bed, and now he touched the bruised side of my face with fingers so gentle that I scarcely felt them. His face did not look gentle at all when he asked, “Did Charlwood do this?”

I nodded.

“You should have let me kill him.”

“Adrian,” I said, “at the moment I am not terribly interested in Uncle Martin.”

He grinned.

“I love you,” I said.

He got into bed and gathered me close. “I was furious with you when I left you at Lambourn,” he said. “And then, when I was in France, I couldn’t stop thinking of you.”

It was so blissful to be lying here with him like this, to be hearing such wonderful things. “That kiss,” I said wisely.

“It packed a pretty potent punch,” he agreed.

“I didn’t really love you until you came home,” I offered. “It was seeing you with Elsa that did it. You were so gentle. And she nickered for you.”

I could feel the laughter rumbling in his chest. “I should have known a horse would figure in this somehow,” he said.

“Of course you should,” I replied.

He turned me over onto my back and looked down into my face. “Are you feeling too bruised and battered for this right now, sweetheart?” he said softly.

“No,” I said.

He gave me another flash of that irresistible grin, and my heart lit like an explosion of candles. “I love you,” I said. “I love you I love you I love you ....”

I didn’t stop saying it until his mouth stopped words altogether.

* * * *

We talked before we went to sleep, and the talking was as precious to me as the lovemaking had been. I told him how extraneous I had felt to his life in London, and he told me how he had felt left out of mine.

“You were always so busy, always being taken away from me,” I said tentatively. “We could never go anywhere without someone wanting to talk to you.”

“I know,” he said wearily.

I lay quietly beside him, trying to find the words that would make him understand how I felt about what had happened in London. How could I explain that it wasn’t just that I felt personally neglected. Yes, I had bitterly resented all those midget men who grabbed at him at every party and every dinner, but I resented them because they were trying to diminish him by making him a participant in their petty-minded policies.

I leaned up on my elbow and looked down at him. His tumbled hair framed his face and the eyes that looked back at me were dark and troubled.

I said, “Everyone seems to want a piece of you.”

He looked surprised. “That is exactly how it feels sometimes, Kate. As if everyone wants a piece of me.”

I lowered my head and kissed him lightly on the mouth. “Let’s not go back to London, Adrian. Let’s stay here at Greystone. You haven’t had any respite from the war and its aftermath, and you need one.”

He shook his head in disagreement. “I’m not the only one,” he said. “Look at Wellington. He’s still in France trying to administer the peace.”

“The Duke of Wellington’s wife can look after her husband,” I said, “and I will look after mine. I think you need a period of peace and quiet.”

He didn’t reply.

“They want you as a trophy, Adrian,” I said. “They want your honor, your reputation, your stature. But they don’t want your ideas.”

He looked up into my eyes. “You’re right,” he said. He reached up to draw me back down beside him. “I think we both could use some peace and quiet, sweetheart. We’ll stay here at Greystone until the baby is born.”

He had listened to me. I felt boneless and warm with contentment. He settled me in the curve of his body and said softly, “Go to sleep, sweetheart.”

It
took me perhaps one and a half minutes to obey.

* * * *

It was late in the morning when I finally awoke. My shoulder hurt, my wrist hurt, and the side of my face hurt as well. Adrian was gone.

Jeanette gave me a disapproving look when she came in response to my bell.

“Where is his lordship?” I asked her. Jeanette could usually be relied on to know Adrian’s whereabouts.

“He send for his attorney,” she informed me condescendingly. “He said for me to tell you when you wake up that they are in the library, my lady.”

His attorney?

“Do you wish tea in your room, my lady?” Jeanette asked.

In fact, I was starving—my morning sickness had quite disappeared this last week—but I was too anxious to find out what Adrian was doing with an attorney to waste time with food.

“No,” I said. “Help me to dress, Jeanette, and be quick.”

When I entered the library twenty minutes later, I found Adrian and his attorney from Newbury, Mr. Marley, with their heads bent over a piece of paper that was reposing on Adrian’s desk. They both looked up when they heard the door open.

“Kate.” Adrian smiled at me and my insides melted.

“I’ve confided our problem to Marley here, and he has come up with a confession for Charlwood to sign.”

“A confession?” I crossed the room to my husband’s side. “I thought we had agreed to keep this affair quiet.”

Adrian nodded at Mr. Marley, who was a man of about thirty-five with a sharp, intelligent-looking face. “It will be kept quiet, Lady Greystone, for as long as Charlwood agrees to remain out of the country,” the lawyer said.

Understanding began to dawn. “Ah ...” I said.

“Read it, Kate, and tell us what you think.” Adrian put the paper into my hands.

It was as he had said, a complete confession, not only of Charlwood’s designs upon me, but of his desire for revenge against Adrian. It was comprehensive, couched in all sorts of legal terminology, and it was utterly damning.

I looked up and found Adrian’s eyes waiting for me. I nodded my agreement.

“Is
Lord
Charlwood in good enough condition to sign this document?” Mr. Marley asked.

“We can pay him a visit and see,” Adrian replied. “Matthews dressed his wound last night, and when I looked in on him this morning he didn’t seem to be feverish.”

I frowned, remembering how ill his wound had made Harry. “You haven’t left him alone, have you, Adrian?”

He shook his head. “I left one of the footmen sitting with him.” He turned to the lawyer. “Come along, Marley, and we’ll see what sort of state he’s in,” Adrian said.

“I am coming, too.”

Mr. Marley looked at Adrian, obviously expecting him to forbid me to accompany them.

Adrian said, “Come if you want to.”

Mr. Marley picked up the unsigned confession, held it carefully so the ink wouldn’t smudge, and the three of us left the library together. We walked through the Roman splendor of the anteroom and went up the magnificent staircase to the cozier ambience of the bedroom floor.

“He’s in the yellow room,” Adrian murmured to me, and I nodded and accompanied the two men to the door at the very end of the passageway.

Adrian was in front of me, and I watched as he put his hand on the knob and pushed open the door. Then, before I had a chance to receive anything more than a fleeting glimpse of the bedroom, he spun around and pulled me into his arms, pressing my face hard into his shoulder. I could feel the bandage he wore under the blue superfine. Still pressing my face to him, he moved me a few feet down the passageway. I heard Mr. Marley’s steps as he ran into my uncle’s room.

“Don’t look, Kate,” Adrian said. “Go on back to your bedroom and wait for me there.”

But I had received a shadowy impression of what was in that room. “Adrian?” I faltered. “Is Uncle Martin ....”

“He’s dead, Kate,” Adrian said. “He’s hanged himself.”

Epilogue

I stood in the middle of the riding ring at Greystone and watched Adrian and Euclide perform the
passage.
This is a light, elevated trot in which the horse swings himself from one diagonal pair of legs to the other, hovering in the air for a moment without touching the ground. It is a beautiful movement, proud and solemn, and Euclide was performing it with wonderful energy and softness.