Angel In My Bed (7 page)

“She's my mother,” the girl finally said, clutching her cloak.

“My apologies.” He stepped off the mound. “It is not my intent to frighten you. I saw the church steeple from the bluff.”

“Who are you?”

“A new resident.” He shrugged a shoulder. “I just paid the taxes on Rose Briar before it went on the block. I was told the owner lived around here.”

“Grandfather?”

“Is your grandfather Sir Henry Munro?”

The girl walked beneath the arch and approached. “You must be the Most Noble Baron Donally of Chadwick?” The breathy title came from her lips in a foggy mist. “Victoria told us about you in her missive. You are her cousin.”

Her hood had fallen around her shoulders. She was pretty, with long blond hair that framed a heart-shaped face. “You must be Miss Bethany Munro,” he said as if he and Meg were remotely close and that he hadn't wrenched what little knowledge of her family from her as he could.

She smiled. “I am Miss Munro. We had no idea that Victoria had a family, much less a baron in the family.”

“I've only just returned to England after some time away.”

“Her note said you've been on an adventure across the world. That until your surprising return, she thought you had met an untimely and tragic end.”

“Did she?”

“How very exciting to go on an adventure. But not one that would find me eaten by cannibals, mind you. One day I wish to cross the channel and visit France.”

Smiling to himself, David refrained from replying.

“When Victoria wrote that you might be able to help against Cousin Nellis…” She paused. “You have to understand. We were so worried until we received the note. Peepaw hurt his foot three weeks ago in a fall. I fear I am no use to him, not like Victoria. My mother passed away when I was very young,” she said, then nodded to the grave where he stood. “Victoria brings me up here weekly. We help the groundskeeper keep the site clean and bring him victuals. Mr. Doyle lives in the woods behind the rectory.”

David looked around the grounds, curious that someone lived here.

“Not exactly in the woods. He lives in a cottage that is in the woods. Though I don't know where he is. I was supposed to leave this basket.” She looked around the cemetery as if expecting him to appear out of the ground. “Victoria has taken over Peepaw's responsibilities with the tenants. I've been trying to do everything she would want me to do. But I don't like this place.”

“Cemeteries make me nervous, too.”

“They do?” She beamed. “Peepaw used to come here to visit Father. But not much anymore, since he has difficulty moving.”

The girl knelt and cleared away the dead leaves that had blown against the second headstone. “I never knew my father. He was a brave soldier in India. Victoria married him a few weeks before he passed away. She practically adopted me when she came here.”

“Your father's remains were returned from India?” David dropped his gaze to the headstone, every sense on alert as he read the name carved in the stone.

 

Sir Scott Davis Munro
September 24, 1828–November 28, 1863

Cherished Son of Sir Henry
and Lady Matilda Munro

 

Meg had left India December of 1863.

“My father is Sir Henry's only son,” Bethany continued. “Father must have been wonderful for someone like Victoria never to marry again. One day I'll find a man to love as much.”

David frowned at her romantic nonsense. “That's my cousin, the poetic troubadour of romantic causes.”

Bethany lifted her gaze and he quickly asked, “Do you live alone with your stepmother and grandfather?”

“Oh no, I have a brother as well. He is visiting family in Salehurst. My mother's side of the family grows hops. We used to, but our last crop failed three years ago.”

His gaze still on Sir Scott's headstone, David wasn't listening as she spoke of bad weather cycles and lack of tenants to help with the land. He wanted to ask her questions about her father's military unit. Mostly, he wanted to know why Munro's casket hadn't been on the same steamer that left Bombay as Meg.

“If you drink ale in these parts, I guarantee it is my family's brand,” she was saying. “Victoria wants Nathanial to learn to manage these lands. Unfortunately, as you can see, he may not have land to manage by the time he comes of age.” Her blue gaze lifted to the church, and she sighed. “Not much remains anymore. Most everyone has left. Including many of the servants. Except for Mr. Doyle. He works these grounds.”

David looked past her, through the thicket of trees. Higher on the bluff, the yellow stone manor peered out over the countryside from a throne of brambling roses and crowning oaks.

“I'm afraid it will be difficult for you to move in tonight,” she said. “Will you come to the cottage and meet Grandfather?” she asked, the top of her blond head barely reaching his chest as he stood. “Besides, it is getting late and you must be famished. Sir Henry will be pleased to meet you, especially since you've paid the taxes on the land. We can wait for Victoria together.”

Turning away to release the reins of his horse, David won
dered what Meg would think walking into the cottage and finding him present. He was suddenly quite famished.

“Are you always this friendly to strangers?”

“You're no stranger to Victoria.” The brisk chill brought apples to her cheeks. “And I do see a family resemblance. You have dark hair and you're tall.”

 

A rainstorm was pummeling the ground by the time Victoria arrived at the cottage after dark. The back door flew open and Bethany appeared like a silhouette against the light. Mr. Rockwell sat on the front seat of the buggy, his face hidden beneath a wide floppy hat. A black slicker swallowed him.

“Someone is here,” he yelled over the rain.

Victoria tightened the hood around her face and looked toward the barn where she saw a beautiful black horse pulled out of the rain. A stiff wind whipped up her skirt and cloak, and she captured its length with her hand. “Mr. Shelby is in the barn. He'll see that you get dry clothes. When you're finished, Mrs. Shelby will feed you and give you a bed for the night. Tomorrow we will see to your permanent lodgings.”

She directed him to the barn, then to the smaller cottage behind. A steady rain had softened the ground into mud. Victoria lifted her skirts as she ran across the yard and over the cobblestones that marked the path to the back door. The former hunter's cottage was an unassuming two-story, gray stone thatched cottage. A century's growth of ivy twined through the crevices in the stone. She could smell smoke from the chimney.

“Victoria!” Bethany launched into her arms as she entered the mudroom. “I was in the kitchen and heard the buggy. Look at you. I was beginning to get worried. Are you all right? You said little in your note. You must be freezing.”

Water dripped into a puddle at her feet. Bethany helped her remove the sodden cloak she had stolen from David's closet. “I'm sorry I couldn't get back sooner. How is your grandfather? Has he been soaking his foot?”

“He's playing cards.”

Victoria remembered the horse in the stable. “Who is here?”

“I've got the most wonderful surprise for you.”

Bethany took her hand and led her down the long corridor to the back of the cottage. Men's voices sounded from Sir Henry's bedroom.

David was sitting beside the bed, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, cards in hand, as he finished the shuffle. A fire crackling in the hearth radiated warmth in the room. Beside him, lying on the bed, his left foot bandaged, sat Sir Henry, his craggy face split into a wide grin. Victoria had not seen the elder so animated in weeks.

David turned his head and saw her standing in the doorway. The light from the lamp cast a shine over his dark hair and accentuated his classic features. She couldn't ignore the strange flutter she felt inside her chest. “What are you doing here?”

“I met His Lordship today near the church,” Bethany said.

Victoria had momentarily forgotten David was a baron, or that he was supposed to be her long-lost relative returning from the jungles of some continent. “The church?”

“He cheats at cards, I'm sure of it.” The man she loved liked a father chuckled with glee. “Victoria? You've finally introduced me to someone worthy of my time.”

She looked at David, confused by the camaraderie between the two. He gave her a wink. “Sir Henry drives a hard bargain.”

“Well, I say if His Lordship can swindle the swindler at rummy, then he deserves to win, Peepaw,” Bethany said, lifting that evening's dinner tray from the nightstand. “You should not have behaved so ornery in the first place. He is our guest.”

“Pish posh,” Sir Henry snorted. “I'll not be signing over Rose Briar to any man lest he can prove himself up to a challenge. Nellis never could play cards worth an owl's hoot.”

“What did you say?” Victoria moved into the room. And David dared call
her
a thief? “What papers have been signed?”

“The agreement I've made is with Chadwick. Men's business, if you will. Now, help me out of bed and let me look at you. Bethany, make Victoria a hot toddy.”

“Yes, Grandfather,” Bethany murmured obediently, and with the tray departed.

“Where have you been?” Sir Henry demanded after Bethany left. “We've missed our appointments for three days. What madness possessed you to fall off your horse?”

“Tommy Stillings's wife is with child,” Victoria said, telling Sir Henry the truth at least on that account. “He was worried about Annie.”

“Worried, my bum.” Sir Henry raised his gaze to David. “Watch out for Stillings,” he warned David. “He's my nephew's puppet. Run most of the decent folk away from these parts. He came here the other night and scared my granddaughter senseless. We thought he'd dragged Victoria away. He and Nellis—”

“Really, Sir Henry.” Pulling her skirt aside so as not to touch any part of David, Victoria inserted herself between her husband and the bed. “I'm sure my
cousin
isn't interested in our problems. Your foot is not healed,” she warned the
older man when he moved to the edge of the bed. “Have you been soaking it in hot water and salts?”

“Yes, yes.” He waved an impatient hand. “Now let me look at your head. Bethany said you had a concussion. Though why you should suddenly grow clumsy—”

“I'm fine, Sir Henry.”

“I'll decide that for myself, young lady. A concussion isn't to be taken lightly.”

Victoria obediently bent her head for his examination, wincing as he tenderly probed her skull. “Nellis has decided he wants Victoria,” Sir Henry said.

“I'm sure Lord Chadwick isn't interested…ouch.”

“Nonsense. You can't allow a man to walk blind into the middle of a family feud.” He held up two fingers. “How many?”

Frustrated, she glared. “Four.”

“You'll live.” He patted her cheek. “Now help me out of bed.”

“May I look at your foot first?”

“See what I have to deal with?” Sir Henry said to David as he eased off the bed. “The girl insists on hovering over me.”

Victoria followed Sir Henry's hobble across the room. “I don't hover.”

“I wish I was still sailing those balmy West Indian waters. At least I never had a case of aches as I do in this chill.” He fumbled through the vials and bottles on the shelf. “Ah, here 'tis,” Sir Henry murmured. “My medicine.”

“What is it?” Victoria stepped forward with every intention off sniffing the contents.

“It's mine, that's what it is,” he said, taking a swig. “The finest Irish whiskey ever made. Now off with ye, girl. Go
fetch your toddy and change your clothes. Your dress is damp, and I'm to bed. That young man over there has exhausted me.”

She stood in front of Sir Henry, suddenly wishing David was out of earshot. The past few days had made her emotional, and, as she pressed an affectionate kiss against his whiskers, she wanted to throw her arms around him. “Thank you, Sir Henry.”

“For what,” he murmured.

How would she ever explain the truth to him? “For worrying about me.”

He huffed a great show, but she knew he'd missed her, and in his roundabout way was trying not to show that he'd been worried. “Off with ye, Victoria.” He patted her arm, and she watched him limp back to his bed before she realized David was watching her.

Feeling exposed, she straightened. “I'll see you in the morning, Sir Henry.”

D
avid stood aside, allowing Meg to pass into the corridor first. “Truly, I cannot believe what you did,” she whispered, sweeping past him and affording him a glimpse of her uptilted breasts impressed against the damp fabric of her bodice.

At once, he became interested in the rest of her attire and stepped back to look just as she swung around to face him, hand outstretched, dragging his gaze to her face.

“May I see the paper Sir Henry signed and gave to you?”

He withdrew the folded document from inside his waistcoat pocket. “As you wish.”

“Maybe you should have tried harder to lose at cards, David.”

“Me?” He laughed, astounded by the conclusion she'd drawn. “Sir Henry is a shark.”

He had not come here today to take an old man's property from him, and as Victoria read the contract of sale Sir Henry
had signed, David found he easily traded the direction of his thoughts for another. His glance dipped from her full lower lip to the damp blue gown Meg wore, settling on the sensual flair of her hips.

While in captivity these past days, she had washed in his soap, and he could smell himself all over her. When he again contemplated those violet eyes that could say so much to a man, he found them narrowed on him.

“What can I say?” He shrugged off the carnal intrusion with the same lack of self-reproach as he did any other vice someone caught him committing. “You look nice all wet.”

“You're a cad, David.” She refolded the document and tossed it at him. “I've not only allowed you to steal back into my life, but now I've abetted you into taking Sir Henry's ancestral home. You were only supposed to pay the taxes. Now you own Rose Briar and all three thousand acres that surround it?”

“Meg—”

“How dare you charm yourself into the bosom of my family.”

David lowered his voice. “Do you think this is the proper place for this conversation? We're supposed to like one another.”

“Oh dear. Have I been remiss in welcoming you into this family, Cousin David, Baron Donally of Chadwick just back from the jungles of central Africa?” She planted a dutiful kiss on his cheek and whispered against the shell of his ear. “Admittedly I was disappointed to learn that you had not been devoured by cannibals. My loss, dear cousin.”

He wrapped an arm around her back. “And yet I was saved the fate of countless others in my hunting party. Your loss is my gain.”

Her palms caught against his chest. “Let go of me, David.”

He smiled, reading her reaction to him in the rapid beat of her pulse at her neck. He liked that he could make her uncomfortable and agitated after she'd so effortlessly sucked his libido through every pore in his flesh. “I should show you my scars, colleen.”

“You're still a tyrant,” she managed between clenched teeth. “You and your fake title go well together.”

“So does yours, Lady Munro,” he said against her hair.

Except that she did wear her title well, he realized. He loosened his hold on her. She fell away from him, her eyes wide, and he was aware of the confusion his words caused her. She retreated a step, then turned in a slide of damp fabric. Adjusting his trousers, his eyes narrowing on the swing of her skirts, he waited a moment before following her down the corridor.

In the kitchen, Bethany had made two hot toddies and handed one to Meg. “I made them strong,” she said with a smile.

“Where is Lord Chadwick's cloak?” his wife demanded with the clear intent of throwing him out into the storm.

Bethany handed David the second toddy. “Oh, but you mustn't think about leaving us tonight, my lord. We have room here.”

“Oh, for goodness sakes, Bethany—”

“He could ride off a cliff, Victoria.”

Content to allow Bethany to fight his battle, David fixed his eyes on Meg from over the rim of his glass. She stood in front of the fire blazing in the hearth. “I'm sure His Lordship knows the way quite well. The storm isn't that bad.”

Thunder rattled the eaves. She took a swallow of her
toddy, and switched her gaze to him as if to blame him for the weather. His eyes continued to hold hers above the pewter. “I think my cousin still hasn't forgiven me for tying her pigtails in knots when she was younger,” David said to Bethany, but he spoke to Meg.

“He did that?” The girl laughed.

His eyes smiling into Meg's, he reminded her that he had done far more than loop her hair around the bedstead. He had stripped her naked and put his mouth on places the memory of which even now brought a heated blush on her cheeks.

His mouth edged up. “She never could beat me on a horse, either. Methinks she holds a grudge,” he said behind his hand in a mock whisper.

Rain began to pound the cottage. Bethany turned to Meg. “No one should be out on a night like this. We have room here.” She smiled at David. “As long as you don't mind Zeus, Lord Chadwick.”

“Zeus?”

“My brother's cat. It sleeps on the bed in Nathanial's room.”

David looked at Meg, who, clearly flustered, had found solace in her toddy. He felt a twinge of guilt to see her so outnumbered and outmaneuvered, first by him, then by Sir Henry, and now by Bethany. “Only if it's acceptable to Lady Munro.” He set his toddy aside. The last thing he wanted to be inside was warm and cozy.

“Of course it's acceptable.” Bethany turned her eyes on Meg. “Isn't it?”

“I've not changed the bedding.”

“I don't mind,” he said.

“He doesn't mind,” Bethany echoed.

Meg's mouth went flat. “You haven't any clothes.”

He opened his arms, willing himself to be humble in the wake of her defeat. “I'm wearing them.”

“Wonderful!” Bethany clapped her hands together as if that decided the matter. “I'll show him to his room.”

“You'll do no such thing, Bethany Munro,” Meg snapped. “I believe it is time for you to retire.” She added on a softer note. “His Lordship and I have some catching up to do. Family matters, as it were.”

Bethany turned to David. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Count on it, Miss Munro.”

“I think it's wonderful that you're here.”

“Good night, Bethany,” Meg said, hurrying her on.

Bethany dipped into a curtsy. “Good night, my lord.”

Recognizing a crush when he saw one, David watched Bethany flounce from the room. Clearing his throat, he turned and glimpsed the cloudy expression on Meg's face as she also watched her stepdaughter, probably pondering the same thing.

David wondered if Meg had ever been as young as Bethany or as vulnerable. He had met her when she was only a little older than Bethany was now. His eyes moved over Meg. Firelight from the hearth rippled through her long ebony hair damp from rain.

It was madness to be so absorbed, yet he could not force himself to look away. And as if his thoughts somehow transcended the distance separating them, she turned her head and he suddenly found himself staring at the most beguiling enigma of all.

His wife.

“That was interesting,” he said.

“Don't be too flattered. Bethany falls in love with someone new every month. Clearly she's picked you for October.”

Duly cut down to size, he quirked his mouth. “I'll not let it go to my head.”

Looking away, she seemed to grapple for thought. A flash illuminated the window behind her, and he saw that she was not as indifferent to him as she appeared.

“Be sure that you don't. It's just that she's enthusiastic…and young. She hasn't had to face true hardship, yet.” Meg set the empty toddy mug in the wash tub behind her. “I have no desire to pretend that anything is somehow different than what it is with you, David.”

He stopped her from sidestepping around him. “You and I made a bargain about the house. I won't go back on my word.”

She snatched up the lamp sitting on the trestle table. “I fear we haven't any servants to help with your toilette.” Ignoring him, she stepped around the table. “There is a cistern pump in the sink if you want water. Linens for a bath are in the closet off this kitchen.”

“Paying the taxes on Rose Briar isn't enough to secure the property.”

“Esma serves breakfast early.”

Again, he stopped her. “I know what you think of me…”

“You cannot possibly understand what I think!” She shook her head, and then looked at him directly, pain in her eyes. “This family isn't yours. These people aren't yours. I don't want them hurt. The only thing you are here to do is catch Colonel Faraday.”

“I may not be particular about the fate of a known traitor and murderer, but I do keep my word, Meg.” Why was he
even defending himself? In frustration he looked at the ceiling, then outside at the storm. “Where is Rockwell sleeping tonight?”

“In the gardener's cottage.” Her voice hesitated, and he saw that she had marked his mood. “After tonight, I will see that he is moved to one of the linen closets off the kitchen.”

“No doubt he will appreciate the accommodations.”

“It's a big closet.” In the dim light, her eyes shone softly. “If he is here to protect this family, he'll need to be inside.”

David agreed. They stood for a moment longer, suddenly awkward in the warm silence of the kitchen.

“I should show you to your room.”

She walked him past a well-appointed drawing room and up the wooden stairs, a creak marking their every step. “The Shelby family lives in the bigger cottage out back. Mr. Shelby and his son tend to the stables. Esma and her daughter cook and help with the chores. But if you want anything to eat tonight, you are on your own.”

“I already dined with your family. Have you eaten?”

“Mr. Rockwell and I stopped at an inn on the way.”

He followed her to a room tucked at the end of the hallway. The ceiling slanted low enough that David could not walk three feet into the room and stand straight. Stopping just inside the doorway, he looked around the walls filled with charcoal drawings of trains before glimpsing the simple iron bedstead big enough to fit two people. Meg set the lantern on the maple dresser and struck a match to another lamp. The room was free of dust, and he guessed that someone spent a lot of time in here.

“Is Nathanial very much like Bethany?” he asked as more light filled the dark interior, curious about the two children she had inherited upon her arrival from India all those years ago. She would have been nineteen, he realized.

Meg blew out the match. The scent of sulphur drifted in the air. She replaced the glass bulb on the lamp. “They are very close.” With her dark hair spilling over her shoulders, she folded her arms and turned. “Sir Henry is dying, David. He thinks he's found a way to protect this family from Nellis when he is gone.”

“What are you talking about?”

“He has a cancer inside him. He doesn't want me to know but from what I can tell, he has been drinking more to hide the pain.”

“Hence, Nellis has decided to move in on all of you.”

“Nellis is the son of Sir Henry's oldest brother and the chief magistrate for this entire region. He is a middle-aged widower married some years before I returned to England. He fancies himself this family's guardian. Six months ago, for whatever reason, he became interested in Sir Henry's land.”

“You mean he became interested in you.”

She plowed her fingers through her dampened hair. “Sir Henry thinks by giving you the estate, he has somehow secured our future, and for some reason because of your alleged relationship to me, he trusts you to protect all of us.” She laughed. “The irony is brilliant, don't you think?”

“Except if Sir Henry should die before Nathanial and Bethany come of age, as the closest male relative, Nellis would still become their guardian regardless of Rose Briar. My owning the estate means nothing in that regard.”

Her attention returned to the dresser. “That won't happen,” she said, her voice a whisper. She opened a drawer and replaced the box of matches. “Sir Henry won't die.”

Aware that he was feeling proprietary in his intentions toward her, David knew he couldn't allow her to suck him into
her life. He'd already done enough by seeing that Nellis did not receive the estate—at great cost to him. Outside rain sheeted against the glass. All around him the scent of myrrh and quince drifting from her made her smell like an exotic houri girl who should be in some sheik's harem.

“Your feet are going to hang over the bed,” she said.

David peered at the bed. A flash of lightning brightened the red squares in the quilted comforter. “Is that quilt one of yours?”

She gave him a brief glimpse of a rare smile, and he found himself lost between the logic and lust that began to war inside him. “My first and only quilt,” she answered cheerfully. “Patience is its own reward, so I was promised. It's a lie.”

He touched a length of her hair and looked into her eyes. “Is it?” The contact was an error in judgment, and he knew it the instant he touched her.

She reclaimed the captured curl. “This isn't part of our arrangement. I agreed to help you catch my father, not to sleep beneath the same roof with you.”

Hell, he wanted to sleep in the same bed with her, do more than sleep, and he had the nerve to laugh at his own weakness. “Don't make the arrangement sound so intimate. I'm not asking you to share my sheets.”

“It doesn't matter.” She tucked the strand of hair behind her ear. “I mean it doesn't matter in the sense that it will never happen.”

He followed her retreat. “What will never happen?”

“It…intimacy between us will never happen.”

“Because you don't want intimacy?” he asked, annoyed that she was doing everything in her power to avoid touching him. “Or because you forgot how to be intimate?”