Dangerous Secrets (75 page)

Simon looked at her in confusion.
‶
What?″

She shook her head.
‶
And for a woman
with that kind of loyalty, Simon, you would abandon her with child?″

‶
I have taken your point,
Mother. You can be assured that there will be no future dukes coming from my
bastard line.″

‶
Simon, I beg you for the last
time to give up this foolish notion. Arthur is not a suitable
replacement.″

‶
He is the true heir.″

‶
Pish tosh. The true heir is the
son your father cherished and nurtured for the role. He made you as consciously
as he would have if he could have done so with his own body. You are his son,
much as I wish it were not so.″

‶
Arthur . . .″

‶
And if Arthur dies? Certainly
he has no more fortitude than a rosebud in winter.″

For a moment he wondered just how evil his
mother really was. He had never rid himself of the suspicion that some
malignant fate had played him for a fool, removing three of the scarce Watterly
direct descendants from the living before they could be named as his heirs. The
carefully researched document that enumerated remaining heirs had seriously
thinned of names.

Just as quickly as he had considered the
thought, he dismissed it. If his mother had had murder in her, she′d have
murdered the old duke years before he had died of old age and overindulgence.
And Arthur was here, and alive, if not the most suitable candidate for a
duke′s responsibilities. But Simon could change that, given a few months.
He had to.

‶
Did I hear my name
spoken?″ The man upon whom, in six months′ time, the dukedom would
devolve entered the room hesitantly.
‶
Did you require my assistance?

Simon noted the pale cheeks.
‶
Have
you been ill?″ he asked, intending to divert his mother.

‶
No,″ Arthur sniffled.
‶
Nothing
more than my usual rails.″

The dowager duchess smiled maliciously at her
son and he wished he could bring himself to toss her out bodily. But he had
promised the old duke. And Arthur′s rails were quite well-known. They
kept him up at night, they kept blue circles under his eyes. His valet often
spent the night providing steaming pails of water just so Arthur could breathe.

Simon refused to allow himself to consider
Arthur′s worthiness — or unworthiness. His extensive search for an heir,
a true heir, had dug up Arthur and that was all there was to it. If Simon
himself had been dead, there would have been nothing for it but for Arthur to
take up the title.

He could not bear to think of the dukedom
lapsing after so many years of vigorous and healthy service. Just as he could
not bear the thought that a man without a drop of the Watterly blood might
insinuate himself into the proudly unbroken lineage.

Unaware of the serious bent to his
cousin′s thoughts, Arthur beamed and clapped Simon on the back.
‶
I
hear you′ve brought a bride home, Simon. I hope that means that
I′ll soon be an unnecessary appendage and you′ll have a full
nursery.″

Simon bit back a sharp retort. His cousin was
nothing if not sincere. There was no hint of disappointment — in fact there
seemed to be a touch more relief than boded well for the future heir to a dukedom.
‶
Your
wishes show what quality of man you are.″ He stared at his mother in
challenge as he spoke. Arthur was a good man, sterling in character. It was his
force of will and his health that were easily destroyed. And he was damnably
accident-prone.

His mother nodded.
‶
Yes, you are a good
man, indeed, Cousin. And wouldn′t it be grand to have a houseful of
children who looked just like Simon or perhaps like his bride.″

She looked at Arthur as she spoke, but Simon
knew the words were meant to cut her son deeply. He wished that they
didn′t. He thought of Miranda, waiting upstairs for him. He thought of
his heedless rush to make love with her in the carriage, and realized with a
thread of exasperation that he would now be worrying that they had conceived a
child with his bastard blood had not the stay broken — or the carriage door
flown open.

He could not think how he had made such a
mistake. He was married now. He could not set Miranda aside. He would not. But
he must find a solution. He bowed slightly, wanting only to leave his
mother′s despicable company.
‶
I must bid you both good
night.″

‶
Ah, yes.″ His mother
smiled at Arthur.
‶
His bride awaits upstairs.″

‶
I have other matters to attend
to, Mother. Please excuse me if I do not see you off tomorrow. I regret that
you must leave so early in the morning, but it is for the best, is it
not?″

She nodded.
‶
Who can say what is for the
best, Simon? One must do what one must do.″

Fury gripped him as he realized that he was
trapped. He could not go up to Miranda; he could not trust himself not to make
love to her yet. And he must keep the fury from his face, from his action. He
must, in order to keep the truth from Arthur.

‶
I bid you a pleasant evening,
Cousin. I must make sure the horses have been taken care of after our long
journey.″ He turned on his heel and left Arthur speechless and his mother
smiling with smug triumph as he sought the solace of the stables.

His poor excuse rang in his own ears and he
could imagine what Arthur was thinking — he had never questioned the day to day
running of the stables before. Why start on his wedding night?

Miranda stood by the window in the vast bed
chamber that was now her own. Fairytales rarely went beyond this point. The
weight of her responsibilities as a duchess were emphasized in the very gleam
of the polished hardwood of the solid, centuries-old furniture and in the
tapestries that hung on the wall tapestries created by Simon′s ancestors.

Chapter 10

She ran her hand absently over the smoothly
carved bedrail, able to feel the grain of the wood with her fingertips. How old
was this bed? Had the first, newly-made earl had it commissioned to celebrate
his success? Or was it the first earl to be made duke? Her wedding night was
taking on more import.

If she could not find a cure for Simon′s
illness, they had little time to make sure there would be at least a chance for
a male heir to inherit. Instead of a bridge between two people, they held the
responsibility to create a bridge from the present to the future. She knew how
Simon valued his lineage. What if she failed him?

She smiled as she traced a golden thread
through its path in one of the tapestries. The historic significance of what
would pass between Simon and herself was not nearly enough to sober her. An
impatient joy bubbled in her. Simon would come to her tonight. She wondered why
she did not feel more sorrow, for if Simon was right, then he would be dead too
soon and her joy but fleeting.

Yet she had her plans — Katherine would arrive
soon. If her healing skills were as good as the villagers attested, Miranda had
hope that the village healer might succeed where Simon′s doctors had
failed. She must.

She held her impatience at bay until she had
finished tracing the golden thread. What could Simon be saying to his mother that
would take him away for so long? Surely he was not nervous, such vagaries of
the nerves were for the female on her wedding night, not the male.

She drifted toward the gilt-edged looking
glass. She had long since changed into her wedding nightgown, a frill of lace
and silk that made her blush, even after she had covered it with a robe of
silk.

Where was Simon? If he did not come to her
soon, she would be too nervous to ensure that things went smoothly between
them. As her mother had often lamented, Miranda was not by nature a person able
to wait quietly. She must do something. After a moment more staring at the bed
and its imposing grandeur, she looked down at her attire.

Impulsively, she chose a gown from her trunk
and dressed quickly. She found her way to the front hall with only a little
difficulty. There was light from under the drawing room door, but no sound of
conversation or argument. Hesitantly, she opened the door.

‵
′I′m glad to see
that you have recovered from your earlier indisposition,″ Simon′s
mother said calmly. Her steel gray eyes missed nothing as she examined Miranda
from head to toe.
‶
I wanted to meet the woman who could convince my son
to marry her considering his ... condition.″

Miranda was too distracted to do more than
blush lightly.
‶
I
am honored to meet you, Your Grace. I apologize for my earlier indisposition.
Our trip was long and exhausting, and neither Simon nor I expected a
guest.″

A true smile, with a bitter twist, softened the
dowagers′ features briefly.
‶
I hardly think I qualify as a
guest in the home I came to as a bride — or in which I raised my son.″
She looked directly at Miranda, as if issuing some challenge.

Feeling as if she was being ensnared by a
careful spider, Miranda decided that directness would be the best course.
‶
Where
is Simon?″ Astonished, she felt half embarrassed and half proud that she
was able to sound as condescending as the dowager.

‶
I should try the stables, my
dear. I don′t believe he trusts himself in the house at the
moment.″ She sounded almost amused.

Miranda searched the impassive face for a clue
as to how to take such a comment coming from Simon′s own mother. Was this
woman evil inside, as Snow White′s stepmother had been? Would Miranda be
safer refusing apples from the dowager, lest they be poisoned? Or was her
poison one of the soul rather than the body?

After a moment′s silent clash of gazes,
she bit her lip and turned to look out into the hallway. What was wrong with
Simon′s mother? Miranda, her sense of alarm aroused, had no time to find
out.
‶
I
shall try the stables, then.″

***

‶
Steady, boy,″ Simon
soothed as he brushed his skittish stallion. He knew that the stallion′s
ebony coat needed no more brushing; it shone in the dim lamplight from the hour
that Simon had already spent on it. Still, he could not face the end of the
task. What could come next to fill the hours between now and dawn?

He moved the brush slowly over the
horse′s coat.

He had trapped himself in an impossible
situation. He was a fool. Even the servants could see it.

Barcus, the head groom, had looked at him as if
he′d gone daft, coming into the stables when he had a new bride in his
bed. The man′s mouth had dropped open when Simon ordered his stallion
saddled.

Though Barcus had been reticent about refusing,
Simon recognized the behavior. All his servants exhibited it at inconvenient
times — just when he was most out of sorts. Barcus had acted as if he were
unsure how His Grace would react when told he could not ride his stallion into
the dark as he wished.

Would it make any difference to the man to
understand it was the tempting thought of his bride that had driven Simon to
make such an unreasonable request in the first place? But Miranda was exactly
what had kept Simon in the stables when informed that his stallion had turned up
with a stone in his shoe and needed rest more than a fierce ride across a
darkened landscape.

Thus, his stallion was receiving a brushing and
currying the likes of which he′d never known, and all of the stablemen
thought Simon had completely lost his wits. Simon himself wasn′t
absolutely sure that he hadn′t. He had planned everything very carefully,
or so he′d thought.

The idea of never making love to his wife was
unbearable. He had married her in order to take her to bed, to enjoy his last
days as duke with a semblance of what he might have had in other circumstances.
But could he risk a child? His mother′s revelation had driven the risk
home to him too well. With Miranda so near and so willing, how could he limit
himself, as he had intended at first?

And what if, despite everything, she got
pregnant? That was unthinkable. He would not have his plans turn to dust this
close to realization. In six short months he meant to be done with all his
false ties to the dukedom. A child would not be a complication. A child would
be a disaster.

The only answer was to remain celibate. He
could do it; the consequences of not doing it were too disastrous to dare. But
what would Miranda say?

As the stable doors swung slowly open and the
glow of a lantern appeared, Simon groaned softly to himself. He had forgotten
for a moment that the woman he had married not only had a passionate nature,
but a curious and persistent one as well.

When she came to the door of the stable, he was
surprised to see that she had taken the time to don one of the new walking
dresses he had chosen for her, of a deep gold hue that, just as he had
expected, brought out the golden highlights in her hair.

With a muttered oath, he sternly repressed the
image that he had enjoyed before, of himself slowly removing that gown from
her, her hair hanging loose.

‶
Simon?″ Her voice was a
whisper as she came down the length of the stalls until she saw him. She
smiled, but he was not fooled by the gesture. She was very aware that things
had gone seriously awry between them and this intelligence shone in her
brandy-dark eyes.

‶
I thought you would be asleep
by now,″ he lied, applying the brush as vigorously and unnecessarily as
he could to his stallion′s withers.
‶
Our traveling was most
exhausting.″

She looked at him in surprise, taking a moment
to respond.
‶
On
my wedding night?″ Her voice was soft and chiding, though he knew it must
cost her to keep her fear and uncertainty from him.

‶
What difference would it make
what night? The trip was long and ... wearying.″ He cursed himself the
moment he saw her eyes light with misunderstanding.
‶
Oh, Simon, why are
you currying your horse if you are tired? Come to bed and I shall rub your
back.″

‶
I referred to your exhaustion,
Miranda, not my own.″

‶
But I am ... ″ Her voice
trailed off.

She had meant to say that she was not the one
who was dying. His hatred focused on his mother and his black mood darkened.

He did not meet her eyes as he searched for a
reason that would make her turn and leave him in peace.
‶
I′ll not come
into that house until my mother has seen fit to depart.″

‶
Do not damage your health
because you are vexed with your mother, Simon.″ She moved toward him as
he spoke, and he carefully stepped away, keeping the horse between them.

Vexed? She thought him vexed? Leave it, a
cautious voice in his ear warned him. If he let even a scrap of his true
feelings for his mother surface, Miranda would not rest until she knew every
bit of the truth. And that he would not allow.

‶
I cannot sleep.″ That was
certainly the truth. He would be hard-pressed to stay in his own bed knowing
that Miranda was one door away and legally and willingly his.

She said nothing for a moment, but he could
feel her gaze burning on his back. He hoped she would turn and leave. Her voice
was gentle as she finally asked,
‶
Are you afraid of making love
with me?″

‶
Afraid?″ He strove to
hide his incredulity from her and his voice was a bark. How had she hit upon
that so quickly?

‶
Afraid for your health, I
mean,″ she amended hastily and he could see that she believed he was
angry for the affront to his manliness.
‶
It seems to require some
exertion … and … I did notice your heart beating violently when … when … in the
carriage.″ She smiled.
‶
I′m sorry for my missishness, but it is
difficult to find the appropriate words for our situation.″

‶
Had you any fear for yourself,
then?″ When she gave him a puzzled frown, he smiled.
‶
Your
own heartbeat was rapid, as I recall.″ With vivid clarity, he thought
ruefully. He would not soon forget the eagerness of her response to his touch.

She blushed.
‶
I presume, then, such a
reaction is natural?″

He nodded, and continued unwisely,
‶
It
is terribly natural although many proper ladies are said not to be able to
react so with their own husbands.″

‶
So I do have improper
feelings?″ She looked chastened.
‶
And I am too much for you, my
poor Simon? You require a proper, calm lady for your wife and I am too
wild?″

He suppressed the urge to laugh at her
suggestion. It offered him a surcease, for this evening at least. Hesitantly,
he nodded at the absurd idea that a night with her would be too much for him. A
thousand nights would be too little to satisfy him. He wanted forever. But it
did not matter what he wanted. He could not have it.

‶
Come to bed. I will not trouble
you. I will stay in my room. There is a door between us. I will not disturb
your rest.″

He was considering her offer when she
continued.
‶
And
when your health has recovered, I shall endeavor to be calm during our
encounters. After all, I will not have broken stays next time.″

He wondered how to convince her that there
would be no encounters.
‶
I do not need more than your company,
Miranda.″

‶
Of course you do. You must have
an heir. Why else would you have married when you believed yourself
dying?″

He looked at her, shocked. She had said nothing
to him about children and heirs before the marriage. Foolishly, he had assumed
that meant she did not consider it a possibility. Indeed, he had thought she
would not have wished it, as a child would put a halt to much of the coveted
freedom that her widowed status was to offer her. He didn′t know whether
to laugh or to curse.

Misinterpreting his silence, Miranda stepped
closer to him and laid her hand on his chest.
‶
I know I behave in an
unladylike way at times. But I promise I will do my best to remain calm and not
strain your health.″

The scent of her came to him, despite the
stronger odor of the stables that surrounded them. It triggered his anger.
‶
Miranda,
I do not require your coddling. And my cousin Arthur is all the heir I
need.″ Even as he said it, he vowed to see Arthur wed before he left. To
a strong young woman with broad hips.

‶
Please come to bed. Don′t
hurt your health because of this discord with your mother — or because you fear
I will endanger your health.″

He turned his back on her.
‶
I
will retire when I wish to.″

‶
Promise me you will come to bed
soon.″

He ignored her.

‶
I will not leave until —
″

He sighed.
‶
I will retire when I wish. Now,
go to your room and leave me in peace. I won′t last another hour, never
mind six months, with you nagging at me this way.″

His harsh words worked as reason had not. He
did not turn around to watch her defeat, but he heard the swish of her skirts
and the rapid beat of her feet that indicated that she nearly ran. For a
moment, when she spoke of being
‶
gentle″ with him, Simon
had seen true anguish in her eyes. She didn′t want to hurt him. Which
meant that he would have to hurt her. Often.