The Viscount and the Virgin (16 page)

‘So…he sent you away and can feel no warmth for you because you are the son of a woman who defied him,' she said, reaching out and tentatively touching his knee. She knew exactly what it felt like to be judged by who your mother was! ‘And the twins?'

‘Ah, yes, the twins,' he said, sitting forward and taking her hand between his own. ‘Piers never liked my father's third wife. He made her life as uncomfortable as only the spoiled heir to a fortune, who had the first place in his father's affections, could. Before long, rumours about her affairs began to cir cu late in the district. Then she died bringing those boys into the world. With the result that my father positively hated them from the very start! Not only did he suspect they were not his, but he blamed them for robbing him of a wife that I think, from what I can remember, he did feel some
genuine affection for. At least all he has ever felt for me is in difference. But those poor little beggars…hidden away here as though their very existence is shameful…' He shook his head ruefully. ‘If we cannot do some thing to help them, Midge, they are going to end up turning into complete savages!'

‘Is he blind?' Midge blurted. ‘I mean, it is perfectly obvious that they are his children. When I went through the portrait gallery I could see those green eyes and the dimpled determined chins they have on Claremonts going back centuries.'

‘Quite,' he said dryly. ‘But as I said, whenever he looks at them, he sees their mother.'

‘Well, it is quite wrong of him to punish the children for their mother's faults!'

The door opened then, and Pansy came in, leading a procession of maids with all the items they had re quested.

‘I-I had better go and get changed,' said Midge, standing up with regret. She resented the interruption to one of the most meaningful conversations she'd ever had with her husband. It had explained so much.

Pansy helped strip her out of her muddy habit, and as she settled into the warm, scented water, she thanked her lucky stars she had not complained about what she had perceived as his neglect of her so far that week. He had enough people making life hard for him without her pitching in!

‘What is taking you so long in there?'

She had heard Monty pacing up and down in the sitting room, but was startled to see him standing in the doorway, staring down at her. Her face flamed as
his eyes roved over what he could see of her protruding above the soapy water.

‘Towel!' she squeaked, flapping her hand in Pansy's direction.

But Monty got to it first.

‘I can take over from here,' he said, not taking his eyes from where Midge cowered, her hands now folded over her breasts.

With a giggle, Pansy scuttled from the room, pausing only to scoop up her mistress's dirty clothing.

‘Come on, out you get,' he said, invitingly spreading the towel out wide.

Somehow, without Pansy there, she felt less shy. Taking a deep breath, she stood up, her eyes drinking in the expression of naked desire on his face. He took a step forward, but rather than wrapping the towel round her, he pains takingly dried every inch of her. Then stooped, scooped up a handful of soapy water, and let it trickle over her breasts. So that he could dry them again.

Somehow his own clothes got wet and had to be removed too. By the time he tossed the towel to the floor and laid her down on it, Midge was on fire for him.

Afterwards, he rolled to one side and held her in his arms.

He had done that, once or twice, she observed drowsily. After making love with her, he some times held her until she fell asleep. Though he was never still with her in the morning.

‘What is that?' she asked, idly running the tips of her fingers over a mass of knotted scar tissue on his shoulder.

‘Bullet wound,' he replied, sitting up and reaching for his shirt.

She rolled onto her side, dragging the towel over herself. She felt shy again, now that he was finished with her. Especially since it was broad daylight! If she could see scars she had not been aware of before, what must he be able to see!

He glanced down at her, and seeing her concerned expression riveted on his scar, he said, ‘You knew I had been wounded. You sent me wishes for a speedy recovery.'

She sat up, and on a spurt of daring, kissed the scarred flesh just as he was thrusting his arms into his shirt sleeves.

‘Rick never told me how you got wounded. Or what the nature of your wounds were.'

‘Sniper,' he said tersely, pulling the shirt over his head. ‘Officers make easy targets, perched up on their horses.'

When she gasped in shock, he turned to her, explaining ruefully, ‘It is a good strategy—to shoot officers from their horses—to attempt to reduce the ranks to chaos. War is a dirty business. Each side does whatever is expedient to beat the other. Come on—' he grinned, getting to his feet ‘—our soup must be getting cold.'

He finished dressing, and strolled into the sitting room, where the table was now laid out with lunch for two.

It took Midge a few minutes to secure the towel success fully and stumble after him to the sitting room.

Monty looked up from dunking a wedge of fresh bread into a bowl of steaming soup and whistled in appreciation.

‘I shall make time to have lunch with you more often—' he grinned ‘—if you will promise to come to table dressed like that!'

A
fter he left, Midge got properly dressed, then went to her writing desk, which Cobbett had placed under the window in the green sitting room. But after trimming her pen and smothering a series of yawns, she had to accept she was in no state to write anything sensible.

And, though it went against the grain to lie down in broad daylight, Midge was too tired to do anything else.

It had been worth it, though, she thought drowsily, toeing off her shoes and tugging back the coverlet. That conversation had made her feel much closer to Monty than ever before. She hoped they would have more conversations of the same sort, even if she did end up like this.

Though it was not the talking that had worn her out, but what came after, she smiled sleepily to herself.

She was just nodding off, when the term ‘criminal conversation' popped into her head, and her whole body jerked awake. That was a term used to describe having
an adulterous affair. The kind which were probably carried out in snatched moments during the daytime. Like the affair her mother had with the Earl of Leybourne when things with her father went sour.

She came wide-awake. The earl must have made Amanda feel like this, ready to cast her modesty aside, and roll about the floor on a heap of wet towels, in broad daylight. Did she have the potential to behave even more scandalously than her mother? For at least her mother had believed she was in love with the Earl of Leybourne when she had taken him to her bed. And love had no part in the marriage she had entered into with Monty.

But then, what sort of woman enjoyed marital relations so much, without being in love with her husband?

She went hot all over, until she remembered that since she had taken a vow to obey him, it was positively her
duty
to let Monty have his way with her, whenever and wherever he wanted.

She had no call to feel guilty!

She told herself that, time and time again over the next week or so. Whenever Monty initiated snatched ‘conversations' during the daytime, which he did with increasing frequency. He tried to come back from wherever he had been to have ‘lunch' with her almost every day. And once, when he had spent the morning in the estate manager's office, he had watched out for her returning from her ride, and totally shocked her by tugging her into an empty stall and ‘conversing' with her swiftly in the hay.

And the worst of it was, it never occurred to her to refuse his advances. The moment he came striding towards her, that purposeful gleam in his eyes, her entire body melted into a pool of lust.

The passion that flared between them would have been easier for her to accept, if she could believe that they were growing closer in other ways. But Monty paid her so little attention, she could not help feeling a bit used. Oh, she knew he was busy during the daytime. But why was he so averse to spending a whole night in her bed?

She began to take a nap in the afternoons, so that she could stay awake after they had made love and prolong the time she could spend in his arms. Because she knew that the moment she fell asleep, he would leave her bed. At least he waited until she had fallen asleep before leaving, so that his departure was not like a slap in the face. But no matter how hard she fought to keep her eyes open, she would in variably fall asleep before he did. And he was never there when she woke in the morning.

But if, she reasoned, she could manage to stay awake after they had made love, she could at least coax him into having the kind of conversation which engaged their minds, as well as their bodies.

At first, they only talked about trivial things. But then one day in March, news reached England that Bonaparte had escaped his island prison and was advancing on Paris, recruiting support along the way. Both of them began to search the news papers daily after that, avidly following his progress.

Midge's concern was all for how Bonaparte's return would affect Rick, until Monty, who had lived and breathed the war with France for all his adult life, gave her a broader perspective on the situation. Before long she was entirely in accord with his view that there was
no point in trying to negotiate a peace treaty with the upstart Corsican.

‘The Prussians have got the right idea. Declare war on him now and stop him before he regains too much power,' he told her one night on the way back up to their rooms after dinner.

‘I wish it were possible for me to leave Shevington and…oh, I don't know,' he said moodily, opening the door for her. ‘I know I cannot rejoin my regiment, but if I went up to town, there might be some way I could be of use…'

‘Well, why don't you go?' she asked tentatively, kneeling down next to him as he crouched down on the hearthrug. Cook had developed some mysterious means of knowing how much she ate at dinner, and would send up a supper tray if she deemed it had been in sufficient. Tonight, it contained crumpets for them to toast over the fire.

‘What about you?' he asked, spearing one of the crumpets on a toasting fork. ‘I would not be able to spend much time with you.'

Midge bit back on the retort that she hardly saw him as it was. There always seemed to be some where more important for him to be.

Unless she was on her back, with her legs open.

She bit down on her the surge of resentment, re calling the advice her aunt had begun to slip into her letters lately. She knew she had been more than a little in discreet, but when she sat at her desk, in that empty room in the afternoons, the temptation to pour her heart out quite often over whelmed her. And her aunt's responses clearly came from years of learning to cope in a marriage that was far from perfect. Only the day before,
Lady Callandar had reminded her that it was essential to guard her heart. That it would be a grave error to think that the level of intimacy a man instigated in the early days of marriage was an indication he might be falling in love with her. No, she sighed, she ought to be grateful that Monty was taking great care, by distancing himself physically the moment he had got what he wanted from her, not to mislead her into thinking
that
!

She had also added,
‘Persons of quality have the luxury of enjoying privacy, not granted to the lower orders. Very few husbands and wives would share a room, let alone a bed, were they given a choice.'

It had been a shock to realize just how much in formation she must have relayed to her aunt. Although she was glad she had let slip that she was concerned about the ramifications of their sleeping arrangements. Because her aunt's reply had certainly made her look at that particular issue in another light. The fact that Hugh and Amanda had shared a bed certainly had more to do with lack of space at the Brambles than any desire they might have felt for each other. Her three step brothers had all had to share a room, and she had been tucked away in a tiny space under the eaves. And Amanda had been so scared by the Gypsy's curse that she would never have consented to remarrying if there had been any risk of getting pregnant again, only to see her baby die.

She pulled herself back to the present with an effort, smiled brightly and said, ‘I could visit my aunt.' She had no other female relative in whom to confide, and she was beginning to think there was much more she could learn from Lady Callandar, could she only discuss her concerns face to face. ‘We could do all that shopping you deprived her of before the wedding,' she joked. And
then added, more seriously, ‘Honestly, Monty, do you think I would expect you to dance attendance on me when the future of Europe is at stake?'

He set the loaded toasting fork onto the tray, pulled her into his arms and hugged her tightly. ‘It is useless even talking about it,' he breathed into her hair. ‘My duty lies here now.'

Midge's fleeting feelings of loneliness and resentment were swept aside by a surge of sympathy for him. He had done his duty all his life. But nothing he did ever seemed to satisfy his father.

‘I am not ready to give up yet.' He smiled sadly. ‘The tenants, at least, are beginning to believe that I am nothing like Piers and that I won't turn a blind eye to their petitions. And every day you spend with them, I see the twins becoming more like civilized human beings and less like savages.'

She reached up to smooth her hands over the bunched muscles of his shoulders, kissing his throat, his jaw, the corner of his mouth.

‘Tease,' he growled, turning his head to take control of the kiss.

Then, just when she was beginning to think they were going to make love in front of the fire, he surged to his feet, swept her into his arms and carried her into her bedroom where he disposed of her clothing with an efficiency born of much practice.

Midge had not had to send for Pansy to brush her hair, or unhook her gowns or untie her stay laces since the night she had got married. Monty was extremely keen to perform all these services for her. And get her into bed.

But not to stay there, once he had got what he wanted.

She knew she ought not to let his reluctance to spend an entire night with her bother her so much. She told herself that he was just not the kind of man who would want to hold anyone close all night. His mother, who her aunt had said was a cold, proud woman, had abandoned him at Shevington by all accounts. And then his father had packed him off to school, while keeping his older brother close. Experiencing that kind of rejection as a little boy must have made him harden himself.

Army life, too, must have made him become even more self-sufficient. A soft-hearted man would have been in agony watching friends and comrades dying all around.

But she just could not shake the yearning to get closer to him. To break through all those barriers he had built around himself, and become, well, if not the love of his life, then at least his bosom friend. He
was
beginning to open up to her, about his past and what had made him the way he was.

She had also heard, from Pansy, who'd got it from Cobbett, who had got it from a parlour maid who'd been just outside the door, that Monty had demanded that his father show her more respect. There had been a heated argument, apparently, but the outcome was that the earl did now accord her the common civilities any gentleman should extend to a lady.

All that had to mean some thing, did it not?

Summoning up every ounce of courage she possessed, she waited until Monty had stripped her completely naked, and was backing her towards the bed, before ducking out of his embrace.

‘Where are you going?' he asked, mystified, as she darted over to her bedroom door.

She looked at him coyly over one shoulder. ‘I should like to try some thing different, tonight.' She crooked her finger, beckoning him to follow her as she sashayed across the sitting room.

‘My God, Midge,' he croaked, tugging off his cravat and tossing it aside as he stalked after her. ‘What you do to me!'

She opened his bedroom door, and nervously entered his domain for the first time since their marriage. She could hardly believe she had brought herself to walk around stark naked, but she had been sure that only acting so brazenly would excite her husband to the point where he would not argue about the spot she had chosen for their coupling.

What happened after wards would be another matter. She knew that she might still be wanting more from him than he was willing to give. But she just missed him so much every second they were apart, waking or sleeping.

The worst that could happen would be that he would carry her back to her own bed once she had fallen asleep, and she would wake alone, as she had done every morning since she had married him, with the feeling that yet again, she was not quite good enough. That she was not the kind of woman a man would want to hold close to his heart all night.

He caught up with her, put his arms round her and drew her back against his chest. On the way through the sitting room, he had got rid of his shirt. She flexed her spine against the hair-roughened skin, butting her
head up against his chin like a cat, as she gazed round his room.

There were no candles lit, but an enormous fire blazed in the hearth.

‘It is—' she gasped, as he nuzzled the nape of her neck ‘—very warm in here.'

‘And it is about to get even hotter,' he promised, taking one breast in each hand and squeezing rhythmically.

For the next few minutes, she lost the power of rational thought entirely as she gave herself up to Monty's ministrations. And it was not until a long time later, when they lay, sated and panting on his bed, that she reflected, with great relief, that he had not seemed to mind her invading his sanctuary at all.

Perhaps all she had needed to do was ask. He was the product of a loveless marriage. Perhaps it had simply not occurred to him that a wife might want to sleep in her husband's bed.

‘May I stay?' she murmured drowsily, as he tucked her into the crook of his arm.

‘Hmm?' He was dozing himself, now.

She raised herself on one arm, propping herself on his chest so that she could look into his eyes.

‘All night. I want to stay here. With you. May I?'

‘Not a good idea,' he grunted, reaching up and twirling a strand of her hair round his forefinger. ‘I am bound to disturb you.'

‘What do you mean?'

He sighed, and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. When he opened them, his expression was defensive. ‘I do not sleep much these days. Not for more than a few minutes at a time, unless I have all the windows
wide-open. Which is why my valet insists on building up such an enormous fire every night.'

‘Oh,' said Midge thoughtfully. Whenever Rick had come home on furlough, he always wanted to keep the windows wide-open at night as well. It had caused no end of arguments with his brothers. Often, she would come down in the mornings to find him rolled up in his great coat, on the hearthrug in the parlour, with an empty brandy bottle at his side.

‘Do you have night mares?' she asked softly.

‘Not so much now, as when I first got back to En gland,' he admitted, looking down right uncomfortable.