Call Down the Moon (18 page)

In the meantime, he had to attend to stabling the blasted horses since there was no one else around to do it.

Meggie managed to fight back her tears, diligently taking Hadrian to the kitchen. “Would you mind feeding him and looking after him, Cookie?” she asked. “His lordship doesn’t want Hadrian upstairs, you see.” She made a feeble attempt at a smile. “I know Hadrian likes you, so I feel comfortable leaving him with you. If you really don’t mind, that is.”

Cookie patted her shoulder. “Owd doggie and I, we be fine. Leave Cookie to it. I’ll fix a nice suffin’ for his dinner, and make a bed by the stove. Go on, get along and look after yer man, as it should be.”

“Thank you, Cookie,” she said, giving Hadrian a hug and whispering instructions in his ear. He licked her cheek, so she supposed he didn’t mind being left in the kitchen
too
much with Cookie and all those nice smells.

Once she had reached the privacy of her room, though, she abandoned all pretense at composure and threw herself on her bed, crying her eyes out, her heart aching with hurt and humiliation.

How could Hugo be so changeable, dear and sweet one minute, and cold and curt the next? He really was awful. He said he loved her, and yet he treated her like—like a silly child who had no sense.

After a few minutes, Meggie sniffed. On the other hand, he’d treated her like that from the beginning, so what was she getting so upset about now? She thought that over for a minute. Really, she
was
being silly. She had only herself to blame for letting her feelings be hurt, only herself to blame for blurting out that piece of idiocy about reading minds.

It was just that Hugo had an uncanny way of cutting straight past her defenses to her very core. She supposed her inability to read him gave him an advantage she was unaccustomed to, for he forever caught her off-guard. And that wasn’t his fault, either.

Ashamed of herself, Meggie sat up and dried her eyes, blowing her nose hard. She’d just discovered the first drawback to loving Hugo. No one had made her cry in years, no matter how miserable she’d felt, but he could turn her inside out in moments.

She would have to get used to him, she told herself firmly, or she’d find herself watering everything in sight. Hugo did not mince his words or hide his displeasure. If she was going to love him, then she’d just have to develop a thicker skin. She couldn’t take everything he said to heart.

Still, she’d found him a great deal easier to cope with when she’d merely liked him.

A tap came at the door and she wiped her eyes and nose again and forced a smile to her lips. “Yes?” she called.

The door flew open and Dorelia and Ottoline skipped in, beaming. “Here you are, home at last, dearest,” Dorelia chirped. “We have a lovely treat for you, and you’re to … oh. What is this we have here? Tears, beloved?”

“Horsehair,” Meggie said, rubbing at her eyes.

“Absolute nonsense,” Ottoline said. “You’ve been crying, and I wonder why. That silly boy hasn’t done anything untoward, has he? If he bedded you in the sand, I shall wring his neck. A girl needs her first experience to be conducted in a considerate manner.”

Meggie gulped back a laugh. Ottoline and Dorelia had absolutely no shame about intruding on her privacy. “Nothing like that happened. We had a very nice time,” she said. “I’m just tired. I didn’t sleep much last night.”

“Ha!” Dorelia crowed, bending over to light a fire in the grate of the fireplace. “Don’t think you’ll make up the lack this night. Pull yourself together, girl. You have a husband to attend to, and I’ll tell you this much: He’ll expect some satisfaction, not a snoring bride in his bed, and no tears either, if that’s what this is all about.”

Meggie blushed. “I have no fear of Hugo,” she said, raising her chin, “and I have no intention of falling asleep. I just need a little time to myself.”

“Then you shall have it, you shall have it,” Ottoline said with a self-satisfied smile, clapping her hands. “Roberto, in you come,” she called through the open door. “Quickly, quickly, before the buckets go entirely cold.”

Roberto instantly appeared, dragging a huge copper hip bath that he placed in the middle of the room. He instantly dashed out again, returning with two buckets of steaming water that he splashed into the tub. Ottoline and Dorelia fetched two more each, and so they all continued until the bath was full.

Meggie stared speechlessly. This was for
her
? For her, Meggie Bloom, who had not experienced anything more than a sponge bath in more years than she could count, and those mostly in cold, if not freezing water?

“Well, child? What are you gaping at now? Clothes off.”

Meggie looked pointedly at Roberto who was going around the room lighting candles.

“Oh,” Dorelia said. “Yes, of course. All right, Roberto, thank you. You may go now. I will finish that.”

He bowed and vanished, closing the door behind him.

Within moments, Ottoline had Meggie stripped naked, while Dorelia took a bottle from her pocket and poured the contents into the tub. The most delicious fragrance drifted up from the water, making Meggie think of a flower garden in midsummer.

“My own decoction that I blended just for you,” Dorelia said, taking a deep sniff from the bottle. “It will relax you, dear. Pelargonium to steady the nerves, helichrysum for acceptance, lavender to calm apprehension, and rose, the queen of flowers, for purification—and of course love. In you get, child.”

Meggie slipped down into the silky water. “Oh,” she breathed, immersing herself up to her shoulders. “Oh, this is pure heaven.” She closed her eyes and exhaled, all of her muscles relaxing in the delicious warmth.

“Here’s the soap, dear. Rose-scented, naturally. I’ll put it just here on the side. Come along, Ottoline, let us leave the girl to her ablutions and her thoughts. She has a big night ahead of her.”

“Thank you so much, aunties. You are very dear.” She heard the rustle of their skirts as they tiptoed out, softly shutting the door behind them.

Meggie smiled, feeling infinitely better already. They really couldn’t be any sweeter to her, she thought, just the way she imagined proper aunts might behave toward a favorite niece. Or a great-great niece.

And my, weren’t they free with their advice? Although Meggie was beginning to think she was not only wanton, she was positively unnatural. From what she’d gathered from the aunties, all brides should be nervous wrecks on their wedding night.

She, on the other hand, couldn’t wait. Hardly surprising, she supposed, considering her tainted bloodline. That wasn’t all she looked forward to, either. She knew that afterward, when they had spent their passion, they would lie quietly in each other’s arms. She with her head resting against his chest, his heartbeat strong and steady against her ear, just as it had been earlier.

Meggie slipped down even farther in the bath and daydreamed about Hugo holding her tight against him, keeping her safe against the night.

Oh, it was nice not to be alone anymore…

D
eciding against chocolates after all, Hugo picked Meggie a bouquet of flowers from the garden. She liked gardens; she seemed to like anything to do with nature. His coat bore testimony to that.

He cursed as he pricked his finger on a particularly vicious rose thorn. The things he did for Meggie…

At least he felt sure that she’d be pleased with his offering. Bunching the flowers together, he carried them and the bundle that had once been a perfectly good jacket back to the house and marched upstairs. He managed to avoid the two old bats—fortunate, since he was in no mood to put up with any of their nonsense.

Roberto was still nowhere in sight, but at least a fresh pitcher of water stood next to the washbasin. He tested it with his finger. Lukewarm. What else had he expected?

Hugo blew out his cheeks in frustration, but decided there was no point in making a fuss. The chances of anything coming of it were slim to none. He quickly stripped before the water cooled altogether and gave himself as thorough a bath as he could manage in the small bowl.

When he’d finished washing and shaving and dressing, he stuck Meggie’s flowers in the pitcher, then fetched his coat, and deposited her treasures in the soapy bowl of water to soak. As an afterthought, he opened the French doors to the balcony and took the bowl outside so that his room wouldn’t be permeated with the smell of rotting fish.

The things he did for Meggie, he thought again, leaning his elbows on the balustrade and gazing down over the inky black expanse of lawn that ran down to the river. He glanced up at the indigo sky, streaked by fingers of vermilion. No moon yet, although it would certainly rise later and light up the water with silver, he thought idly. That would be nice.

Somewhere in the distance an owl hooted—a long, hollow series of notes that caused a chill to run up and down his spine.

He didn’t know why the call of the owl always disturbed him, only that it made him think of love and loss, of emptiness and regret.

Something rustled in the tangled vine of wisteria that climbed up the stone wall behind him. He turned to see a blue tit busily adjusting its nest, four tiny heads poking out of the weaving. He’d have to show Meggie, he thought with a smile.

Oh, it was nice not to be alone anymore…

The words came out of nowhere, as clear in his head as if they’d been spoken aloud.

“What the devil?” he muttered, spinning around to see if someone stood near the balcony doors. No one was there. Of course no one was there. He knew that.

Hugo scratched his head. He didn’t think lunacy was contagious, but Meggie seemed to be having all sorts of strange effects on him. It was just the sort of absurd thing she might say.

Meggie … what an idiot he’d been. Of course. Her room shared the same balcony. If he’d thought of that last night when the damned wolf had been keeping him from her door, he’d have saved himself a great deal of aggravation.

As he walked over to her own French doors, he realized that even if she had spoken, he wouldn’t have heard her. The doors were closed against the night.

He couldn’t resist peeking inside, since the draperies weren’t drawn. His eyes took a moment to adjust, for at first all he could make out was the flicker of candles and the soft golden glow they cast.

It was then that he saw her. She sat in a hip bath in front of a gently blazing fireplace, her head resting against the copper back, her knees drawn up, her eyes closed, her wet hair streaming down over her shoulders into the water and drifting about her sides like a mermaid’s.

Her mouth curved up in a half-smile as if she were dreaming something particularly lovely.

Hugo groaned. Whatever she dreamed about couldn’t possibly be as lovely as she was in that moment. If there was a heaven on earth, he was looking directly at it.

His fingertips reached out, pressing against the glass as if he might touch her through it. He might caress that creamy flesh, the delicate swell of her breasts that floated on the surface of the water—twin spheres of alabaster tipped by pale pink nipples. And oh, to move his hand over her flat belly down to the triangle of darker hair that he could just barely glimpse, to let his fingers slip through those silken curls to the heart of her feminine flesh.

Meggie. Unbelievably, perfectly feminine. Unbearably desirable.

His groin tightened painfully, his penis swelling and hardening with need. It strained against his trousers so powerfully that he thought the size and thrust of his erection might shred the material. He felt like an adolescent looking at his first woman.

He felt like a Peeping Tom.

Forcibly tearing his gaze away, he stared blindly down at the hand that had flattened against the windowpane, trying to control his desperate, ragged breathing. She was his
wife,
he told himself. He had every right to want her this much, every right to take her there and then if he so chose. Then why did he feel so guilty to be thinking about it at all? Why didn’t he simply walk in and have his way with her as he’d done countless times before with countless other women?

His hand came into focus, a sharp recollection forming in his brain of the last time he’d made that same gesture. The only time. It had been to Meggie then, too, through Sister Agnes’s window.

Meggie. He shook his head. Why did she cast such an unnerving spell over him, stir his hardened heart, and waken a conscience he’d never paid any attention to before? He’d married her for one reason and one reason only, hadn’t he?

Well, all right then, he conceded, gazing up at the sky where the first evening star had made its appearance. Two reasons. He desired her body as much as her money.

But now a different desire had entered the equation, a genuine wish to protect her, to ensure her happiness and her peace of mind. He couldn’t put his finger on the exact moment when tenderness had replaced cool pragmatism, when he’d started to put her needs above his own. He knew that their time on the beach had a great deal to do with it, but not everything. Not everything…

He had the most peculiar and unsettling sense that this had all begun long before and he was only now realizing it.

His brow knotted and he dropped his arm, turning away from the window and the disturbing direction of his thoughts, away from Meggie and temptation. He’d not take her like a rutting stallion with no mind to anything but his own lustful needs and a quick release from his torment. She deserved far better than that.

He’d take his time, slowly awaken the passion that he knew burned like a slow fire in her blood. He’d had a taste of it last night—oh, how he’d had a taste. She’d sent him reeling with a kiss alone.

But Meggie was a virgin. Untouched and inexperienced. His job as her husband was to introduce her to the pleasures of lovemaking as gently as possible. Later on in their marriage would come the wild lovemaking that he sensed her capable of.

With a regretful sigh, he walked back to his own room, wishing he’d kept the cold bowl of water to dunk his head in.

Finally forced by the cooling water to finish her blissful bath, Meggie stepped out of the tub. She discovered soft, large towels immediately at hand on a stool and tucked one around her torso, using a second towel to rub her freshly washed hair dry in front of the fire. Such unbelievable luxury … she might as well be a pampered princess in a castle.

But despite her contentment, she couldn’t escape the feeling that something very strange had just occurred. As hard as she tried, she couldn’t define the sensation better than that.

Meggie stared into the fire, concentrating fiercely. Still nothing came, not even a glimmer. If she couldn’t define the feeling, then surely it had to be connected to Hugo, since he was the only person she’d ever come across who eluded her so completely.

A slow smile crossed her face. Whatever the mystery, she knew no threat came from it. She would wait and see if it didn’t unfold by itself. Not knowing things had ceased to bother her and become yet another luxury she’d never experienced. She had every intention of savoring it.

As soon as her hair was dry, she loosely braided it, then went to the wardrobe and pulled out the green dinner dress she’d worn the night before. She noticed with amusement that the black dress she’d arrived in yesterday had disappeared, along with her two white work dresses. Dorelia and Ottoline really hadn’t approved.

Struggling with the back buttons, she finally managed to make herself look presentable. The clothes she’d worn in the orphanage or sanitarium had been designed to be put on without assistance, made of rough, serviceable materials such as nankeen or calico, shaped more like sacks with ties than dresses.

A tap came at the door, and she expected Ottoline or Dorelia had come to help her dress. Wouldn’t they be surprised to see that she’d coped all by herself? The way they treated her, anyone would think she was a helpless infant.

She ran over to the door. “Look, I’m clean and dry and dressed,” she crowed, pulling it open. “Oh! It’s you,” she finished lamely, looking up at Hugo. “I thought you were the aunties.”

“I am relieved I am not,” he said, producing a water pitcher stuffed full of flowers from behind his back. “I picked these for you, Meggie. As an apology of sorts.”

“An apology for what?” she asked, gazing at them in delight.

“For having been curt with you earlier. I’m sorry, sweetheart. I know I upset you, as much as you tried not to show it.”

“Oh, Hugo, I’d forgotten all about it,” she said with perfect truth. “Did you really pick them yourself? They’re beautiful! No one has ever given me flowers before.” She smiled at him blissfully. “I really do feel spoiled.”

“I told you, it is my mission in life to spoil you. Where would you like me to put them? If I may come in, that is.”

“Of course you may,” she said, standing back. “It is your house, you know.”

“It is your room,” he said with a queer expression in his eyes. “And it is your right to be private, if you wish.”

“Hugo—we are married now. Surely you should feel free to come and go as you please?”

He placed the pitcher on a side table and took her hands in his. “I will come and go as I am invited to,” he said, his voice very low. He bent and gently kissed her cheek. “Invite me again later. I think we’d best go down for dinner before we miss it altogether.”

“You don’t really think Cookie would deprive us of our dinner if we were late?” she asked, wishing he’d kiss her again and do it properly this time.

“That wasn’t what I meant,” he replied, looking down at her, his eyes flickering.

“Oh—I see,” she said, blushing, not from embarrassment, but from pure physical reaction to his heated expression. “How silly of me.”

“Not at all, but I have learned that you need regular feeding to keep up your strength.” He tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. “And you
will
need your strength.”

Meggie smiled happily. “Then feed me without delay, my lord. I am famished, and for more than mere food.”

“I am pleased to hear it,” he said with a soft chuckle. “You are refreshing in your lack of inhibition, my love. Later we will see how far it stretches.”

His love.

Meggie shivered at his gentle reminder that he felt more for her than mere desire. Perhaps this was how one expressed emotion in the aristocracy, couched in small endearments rather than declared in sweeping statements.

She would have to keep that in mind, she told herself as she descended the staircase at his side, just like a proper aristocratic wife.

“Then to top it all off, I had the loveliest bath,” Meggie continued in her exuberant recitation of the joys of the day, between mouthfuls of roast pigeon. “You must have seen the hip bath in front of the fire, though. It is too huge to miss.”

“Yes, I saw it,” Hugo managed to reply. Oh, indeed I saw it and a great deal more.

A cold sweat broke out on his brow as every last beautiful, erotic detail came back to him. He’d been having a hard enough time keeping himself under control without this ruthless reminder of what waited for him later.

“Aunt Dorelia scented the water with a mixture of flower essences. I thought I’d died and gone to heaven.”

So did I, he silently agreed, taking a long drink from his wineglass. “Did you?” he said out loud.

“I did—oh, Hugo, I haven’t had a proper bath in forever! I can’t tell you what a treat it was—and that after all the other treats today that I’ve just thanked you for. I should thank you again for my beautiful flowers, too.
That’s
how my bath smelled—just like your bouquet.”

“Meggie,” he said, baldly determined to head off any further discussion of Meggie and her bath. His nerves couldn’t take it any more than his groin could. “Instead of telling me about today, most of which I am aware of, why don’t you tell me about your previous life?”

He’d been meaning to ask her anyway, with the intention of getting as much background information as possible. Tomorrow he had to write to Messrs. Gostrain, Jenkins, and Waterville to announce his marriage, and it was imperative that he say all the right things. The more details about Meggie’s origins that he had, the better. This way he’d be ready when the solicitors inevitably put the pieces together and decided to inquire further about his wife’s pedigree—or lack thereof—before handing over her inheritance.

This morning he’d had no problem with the idea. Why, then, did he now feel so guilty, as if he were a thief stealing not only an inheritance he had no right to, but also a private part of her history?

“My previous life?” she echoed, the smile vanishing from her face to be replaced by a look of hesitation.

“Yes,” he said uncomfortably, feeling even worse that he’d wiped the happiness from her eyes. “I begin to think from the delight you take in the simplest, most commonplace things that you had an austere upbringing.”

“Orphanages are not meant to be places of luxury,” she said, shrugging. “Nor are asylums.”

Hugo sighed, remembering about her mental difficulty. “Yes, Meggie. I do realize. I meant before that. When you were with Emily Crewe.”