Patrica Rice (33 page)

Lifting her chin, she answered for him. “You cannot come in yet. I can’t find a dressing gown.”

The curse coming through the door was oddly muffled. Michael had anticipated a splendid explosion rather than this ominous silence. “Why don’t you send for breakfast, Your Grace? The lady hasn’t eaten yet.” Michael wanted to add, “The lady is eating for two,” but he thought it best not to push his luck.

Blanche’s glare confirmed that decision. She tugged at ribbons and buttons in her hurry to make herself decent. He could tell her that the flush on her cheeks, the sparkle in her eyes, and the tousled chaos of her hair would reveal all she wished to conceal, but he refrained from teasing.

He heard the duke barking a few commands outside the door, the rush of booted feet, and what sounded oddly like a childish voice asking a question. Then Neville shouted at the door once more. “Two minutes, Blanche. I’ll not linger in this hallway longer than that.”

“You could go away and come back some other time,” Michael called helpfully. Blanche frowned at him, grabbed a brush, and tried pulling the knots from her hair. “Who is our visitor?”

“It’s me, my lady,” a childish voice piped. “Are you a real lady? Mr. Neville says so.”

He watched with interest as she threw open the door.

Outside stood the immaculately tailored, immensely powerful Duke of Anglesey with a small child in his arms, her thin arms wrapped around his neck, her crippled leg dangling over his once neatly-pressed sleeve.

His Grace’s grimace of chagrin disappeared immediately as the child cried out at sight of Michael, “My hero! Can I kiss you?”

Still chortling, Michael allowed Blanche to fuss over him as they prepared for bed. Neville hadn’t been able to argue legalities while Blanche was in raptures over the child they’d saved.

Just watching his wife tug the covers around him warmed an empty place in Michael’s heart. He couldn’t remember anyone tucking him into bed.

“Neville will never forgive the poor lamb,” he said, wishing Blanche would settle down and crawl into bed beside him. The nuisance of not having hands for touching her irritated him, but he had too many things to be happy about to dwell on it.

“He won’t have to,” Blanche replied. “I’ve talked to Mary’s mother and she claims Mary belongs to her late sister and is none of her own. That’s a lie, of course, but I made her sign a paper giving up her rights to the child. Mary has been hidden away for so long, she knows nothing except the fairy tales she’s been told.”

Michael watched her fret over the window curtains, arranging them so a breeze circulated in the stuffy room. “I cannot think where you will place a crippled child. I have difficulty enough finding homes for healthy ones.”

The bed shifted as she slid in beside him. “I will take her back to Dorset with me. If I remember correctly, the house there is in need of extensive renovation. I’ll hire an architect and have an addition built. I don’t believe there is a separate nursery wing there now.”

A separate nursery wing. Michael’s mouth grew dry as he eased up on his elbow and stared at his remarkable wife. He sensed her tension and wished he could see her face more clearly. “You will stay in Dorset with Mary? It’s a far distance from London.”

“There’s the farm in Gloucester, I suppose,” she said. “It’s more centrally located between the mines and mills. I thought perhaps of selling both mines and mills, but that would not guarantee the laborers a fair treatment.”

“Gloucester is just as far from London, you’ll remember.”

“Children don’t belong in London,” she announced firmly.

Before he could put his agreement into words, a noise at the window prompted him to sit up and reach for the nearest weapon.
Damn
, he couldn’t use his hands to grasp anything.

“Save your magic tricks for another day,” came a mellow voice scarred with sarcasm from the window sill. “I’m not here to harm you or your lady. I’m here to return the favor for rescuing young Seamus and that foolish uncle of his.”

Eamon
. Michael freed his legs from the sheets, and pressed Blanche behind him. “O’Connor,” he acknowledged. “I’ve meant to ask, are you some relation to Fiona’s Uncle William?”

A snort emanated from the tall shadow blending into the curtains. “Somewhere back among our grandfaithers, I suppose. My mother is the O’Connor. I’ve not come to discuss family relations with you, although I’ve a few questions of me own if we had the time.”

“Anglesey’s in the next room. You’re in trouble enough if he finds you. Blowing up the lady’s carriage and the inn will see you hanged, even if you waited for her to leave.”

“That’s what I’ve come to tell you. We’re working men, not murderers of innocents. We don’t harm women and children. The carriage was a warning, but we never meant the lady harm. The inn is another matter. That fire destroyed a man’s livelihood and endangered dozens of innocents besides the lady. We didn’t do it. You’d best look to your mines and the ones who know the power of explosives. The lads say a fat Englishman has skulked about these last weeks, one that once worked for the lady. I’d take care, if I were you.”

The curtains blew in the breeze from the open window. The shadow had disappeared.

“Where did he go?” Blanche whispered, wrapping her fingers around Michael’s arm and hugging him close. “Are you sure he isn’t some relation? Or do all the Irish perform disappearing acts?”

Seeing no purpose in pursuing O’Connor, Michael wrapped his arms around his wife, pulling her down on the pillows with him. “You may wish it, but I’ll not disappear so easily, my lady. I’m here to stay.”

* * *

Blanche refused to leave Cornwall while the men scoured the area in search of Barnaby. Neville suggested she return to London in his yacht, but she reminded him she would only go as far as Dorset. He snapped his mouth shut and went off to yell at Michael.

Calmly combing and plaiting Mary’s lovely hair, Blanche listened as her husband ordered a duke and a marquess about in the next room. She couldn’t imagine why she had once considered Michael a harmless fool. He’d proved himself more commanding than any general. Even Wellington hadn’t led an army from a sickbed.

The escape she had planned in her more innocent days she now knew as naive. Her husband had not yet taken claim of her wealth and power, but she could see that day coming unless she learned to speak up. Michael would have to grow used to argument.

Leaving Mary playing with a doll, Blanche slipped into the next room. She’d heard Neville and Effingham leave and knew a delegation of miners waited their turn. Her husband paced the sitting room they’d taken as the miners explained how they could reopen the mine.

“You’ll need to prove there’s enough coal in there to pay the cost of reopening,” Michael reminded them. “If we cut the number of man hours and raise wages, operating costs will soar. Malcolm, can you do the figures? I’ve asked Sir Bryant’s man to show you how he does his. I want honest numbers. If we go broke reopening the mine, there won’t be funds for a new one. It’s in your own interest to make the best decision.”

Blanche understood that. So did the miners. They entered an animated discussion on coal prices, labor costs, and equipment that left her exceedingly bored. Michael’s bandaged hands twitched at his sides. He really should rest more. His burns must plague him unmercifully, she knew from bitter experience.

As the miners consulted among themselves, she slipped along the edge of the room to stand behind Michael. Gently, she caught one bandaged hand, massaging the exposed fingertips.

Michael looked startled, then relaxed. “I’m pacing again, aren’t I?”

“You’ll have to replace the innkeeper’s carpet,” she agreed.

He brushed a strand of hair from her face. “It’s better when you’re touching me,” he whispered so no other could hear. “Having a woman in my bed has diverted my energy.”

“I came to warn you that Neville has sent our solicitor to verify the truth of our marriage. But I don’t doubt you in the least. Is that very cynical or very naive of me?”

He grinned. “It’s very Blanche of you. And tonight, we should continue this interesting discussion. Right now, I had best cool off a few tempers.”

Voices rose loud in argument. She could not do much as yet, but she could handle this minor situation. With a smile, she sailed across the room, calling, “Gentlemen! Shall I ring for tea? Perhaps we could all think more clearly after a bite to eat.”

The miners instantly quieted, and she sensed Michael’s approval. She would make their unusual marriage work.

* * *

“We cannot find any trace of Barnaby or Weatherton. It’s possible they took their own transportation to Portsmouth and sailed out using assumed names. We have men questioning along the docks, but this is Cornwall. They’re a closed mouth lot. We’re not likely to learn much.” Gavin sprawled his lanky frame in an armchair.

In frustration, Michael wished he could make three of himself. He didn’t like Barnaby running loose. The man had to be a Bedlamite. But he couldn’t leave Blanche, and he couldn’t leave the situation at the mine just yet. Blanche wanted to be in Dorset, and he didn’t want her going alone. Not even three of him would be enough, he thought gloomily.

“They’re undoubtedly long gone,” His Grace said confidently. “Blanche, it’s time you went home where you belong. You cannot continue living under these conditions.”

“Blanche belongs with me,” Michael retorted. “Whenever she is ready to leave, I will take her.”

“I’ve no proof of the legality of your marriage yet,” Neville pointed out. “And there’s some chance it can yet be undone. I’d suggest you stay here with your pet miners until these things are straightened out.”

“Like bloody hell, I will!” Michael exploded. “That’s my child she’s carrying. You can deny me everything you like, but you cannot deny me that child! So I suggest you accustom yourself to the idea of my being Blanche’s husband.”

Blanche gasped and Michael knew he’d let the cat out of the bag, as well as losing his temper. But he no longer had the option of releasing his frustrations by wandering down the road to the next adventure. He needed to learn new skills, like hammering dukes with blunt honesty.

Neville reddened with rage, spun to Blanche for confirmation, then slammed his fist into the wall.

Clasping his hands over his chest, Gavin eyed Michael and Blanche with interest. “You’re both mad. A child won’t make things easier. You should have waited.”

Reaching for Blanche’s hand, he answered without waiting for her response. “What we want of our marriage is none of your concern, Gavin.”

Neville cursed while nursing his bruised fist. “You don’t even have a name to give a wife. You have no breeding, no home, and no idea of the enormous responsibility of supporting the hundreds of tenants and servants under Blanche’s welfare. I’ve watched you these last days. You’ve sacrificed enormous sums from this mine just to keep those whining miners happy. If you do that with all Blanche’s properties, she’ll be reduced to a pauper. How will you support her then? Do you have any idea how much just running Anglesey costs?”

Gavin halted both Michael’s and Blanche’s reply with a curt growl. “His name is Lawrence. He’s my brother. That should be enough name and family for anyone. Deny it again and I’ll beat you until your pretty face looks like mine.”

“We married under the name of Lawrence,” Blanche argued. “If means must be found to ensure that name, then send for your solicitors. If we must marry again, we will. Do what you like, but nothing will change the fact that we’ve exchanged vows and created a child. The hour grows late, gentlemen. If you’ve had enough debate, I’ll ask that you leave so we may rest.”

Both Neville and Gavin shut up and turned their glares on Michael. Neville, having the greater grievance, jumped in first. “If you care anything at all for my cousin, you will send her home. It’s unforgivable housing her in this hovel any longer.”

“I’m not going to Anglesey,” Blanche finally spoke. “When I leave here, I go to Dorset.”

“You cannot go to that godforsaken cottage unaccompanied! You have no servants there. I’ll take you back to Anglesey while your so-called husband handles the situation here. Let him earn his keep.”

Michael contemplated flinging the noble duke out the window, but his grasp simply wouldn’t manage the act. “If Blanche wishes to go to Dorset, she goes to Dorset. If I wish to accompany her, I will accompany her. No amount of insult will change the fact that you’ve lost her and I haven’t. I suggest that you speak to her very nicely if you wish to keep the money flowing into Anglesey’s coffers.”

Neville sputtered. Gavin spoke for him.

“The situation here must be resolved, and I trust you haven’t forgotten, Michael, that your Fiona and her felonious relations are still hiding in my house with warrants over their heads. And my lady, I don’t know where or how you keep your personal books and papers, but I take it they’re not in Dorset. If you are expecting Michael’s help in any way with the managing of your estates, he will need access to them. I will gladly accompany you to Dorset, if that is your desire, but Michael must take care of business.”

“I would stay with Michael,” she answered defiantly.

Both men turned to Michael, and he sat beside her, taking up her hand as best as he could. “You cannot travel with Mary, my love. And you must protect the child you carry. Sailing on Neville’s yacht will be much more comfortable for you than taking those rutted roads. Go to Dorset and plan our new home while I finish here and see to Fiona and her family. Tell me what papers you require, and I’ll bring those with me when I return. I promise I will come as soon as possible.”

Her soft lips puckered in disapproval. Michael understood her doubts. She thought he would neglect her as her entire family had done. But she would have to trust in him. He could not play stool for her feet. In the long run, that would never work. He held his breath and waited for her to see it, too.

“And if I say no and go elsewhere?” she whispered.

“Then I’ll hunt you down. Don’t make it like this between us, Blanche. Trust me. You asked that I tell you when I leave, and I’m telling you now. And I’m telling you I’ll return to your side as soon as possible. I don’t know how to make it any more fair than that.”