Reckless Viscount (38 page)

“What are you doin’ here?”

A reluctant smile of amusement tickled the corner of his mouth. “Your father invited me.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Well,
I
dinna.” Bursting back into motion, she swept past him and continued her determined march across the field.

Catching up to her again, Leif asked, “Should you be keeping such a furious pace in your condition? I cannot imagine you should be walking about the countryside like this.”

“And why not?” she retorted, her gaze unrelentingly forward and her head held high. “I am no invalid. I am capable of judgin’ for myself what I can and canna do.”

“You must think of the child.”

Abbigael rounded on him. He was instantly alert as her expression for once was unreadable. There was anger there, yes, but something else as well.

“I have barely thought of anything but the babe since I knew of her existence,” she stated in a matter-of-fact tone that belied the emotion swirling in the depths of her eyes. “Are you going to come dancing into my life after months of no word, thinking you can dictate to me how I live it?”

“I am your husband,” he countered with a stern set to his jaw.

It felt awkward to pull that trick. As her husband, he had every right to dictate every aspect of her life, but that was not how he wanted things to be. He never had any intention of exerting that kind of dominance. But her confrontational attitude rubbed him on the raw. She was the one who left yet she would put him at fault.

Clearly, she didn’t feel it was a very good argument either, as she narrowed her gaze and pulled her basket from his hand. Swinging it into the crook of her elbow, she turned away.

“You cannot claim that role only when it suits you, Leif. Either you are a husband all the time or never. You declared your choice quite clearly. Go back to Dunwood Park and leave me be.”

The finality of her words hit Leif low in the gut, pushing the air from his lungs.

She was refusing him. The force of that realization was more painful than he expected. Painful and infuriating. She wouldn’t give him a chance. He was here now, wasn’t he? Didn’t that count for something?

By the time he caught his breath, she was far ahead of him again and nearly to the line of trees that marked the beginning of a thick forest. She appeared intent on entering the dark wood.

Leif rushed to catch her once again and fell into step beside her. She did her best to ignore him.

“You should have told me, Irish. You should have sent word as soon as you knew you carried my child.” A creeping kind of fear hardened his words though he spoke quietly, keeping his gaze trained forward.

She didn’t answer.

“Or did you already know before you even left? Was it your intention to keep the child from me?”

“Of course not,” Abbigael denied vehemently, breaking her momentary silence.

She hadn’t turned to look at him, but even without seeing her face he believed her.

Then why had she held silent for so many months? Why had it taken her father’s persistence to bring him here? He felt like there was an important point he just wasn’t getting.

They both lapsed into silence as they entered the forest along a footpath that cut through the thick underbrush and lush foliage. The path was too narrow for them to walk abreast and Leif took the basket from her, ignoring her stifled sound of protest, before falling into step behind her.

She was so very resistant. He should have expected that, but his thoughts had been so consumed by the thought of having a child that he hadn’t considered much what her reception might be.

She shouldn’t have run away. She shouldn’t have stayed away so long.

And he shouldn’t have let her. A proper husband would have gone after her long ago, demanded that she return to her rightful place by his side.

Hell, a proper husband wouldn’t have pushed her away in the first place.

He was an ass. Had been from the moment she arrived in Sussex. And probably before even that. He had intentionally tried to crush the one thing that had brought any kind of joy and peace to his life since he had been a young boy unaware of the realities of the world. Before he had learned that superficial, momentary pleasure could get him what he needed, but would never give him what he truly desired.

And now he had to make it right.

The forest, for how thick and dark it was, was not as large as Leif thought, and after only about twenty minutes, they emerged from the trees into a small pasture dotted with sheep. Directly in front of them rose the edifice of a large manor house. They had cut a few miles off the route he would have taken by way of the road and had come upon the house from the rear.

Abbigael continued confidently through the throngs of bleating sheep, over the ancient stone footbridge that spanned the deep but narrow stream that separated the pasture from the estate lawns. Still fully ignoring his presence, she cut through a large plotted vegetable and herb garden and entered the house via the kitchen.

Leif was left to follow, feeling a bit like a desperate little puppy craving a scrap of attention. Swallowing his discomfort, he decided a bit of humility would probably do him good at the moment.

Three women glanced at Abbigael as she entered the kitchen, none of them seemed surprised that the daughter of the house was using a servants’ entrance. They would have gone back about their business if Leif hadn’t been noticed coming tight on her heels. His presence sparked their curiosity and all three women turned from their tasks to stare at him with wide eyes.

Abbigael’s frown darkened at the reaction of the kitchen maids, but she did not comment. She set the basket atop the large worktable in the center of the room, barely slowing her steps.

“Mr. Byrne said the mutton will be ready this afternoon. Timothy will bring it by in plenty of time for dinner tonight. The other items we needed are in the basket. Margaret, would you please have some tea brought up to my room. Chamomile, I think.” Abbigael gave her instructions as she passed unstopping through the room. A fair young maid with a riot of freckles across her face, presumably Margaret, nodded and dipped a swift curtsy in acknowledgement. “Thank you,” Abbigael added over her shoulder as she left the kitchen and started down a whitewashed hallway.

Leif gave a cheerful grin to the kitchen maids as he jogged after Abbigael. He had no intention of losing her in the turning length of servants’ hallways and planned to dog her heels until she decided to confront him again. He much preferred her biting Irish temper over this uncharacteristic silent treatment.

Perhaps he needed to get her really mad at him. The idea had some merit, he decided, considering how easily he had always been able to use her passionate nature to his advantage. But it was that kind of manipulation he wished to avoid. He didn’t want to use tricks on her. He wanted a genuine response, preferably one that didn’t have him chasing her all about the estate.

Marching across the front hall of the manor house, Abbigael moved with surprising speed in spite of the added bulk that forced her to take smaller steps than her usual graceful stride.

A stoic man, obviously the butler, stepped forward from some hidden shadow by the front door with impeccable timing.

“Harrison, do you know where I can find my father?”

“In the library, my lady.”

“Thank you, Harrison.” Abbigael took an abrupt turn and ascended the stairs to the next floor and went straight through a set of open double doors. She stopped a few steps into the room and Leif came to stand beside her.

“Father, your guest has arrived.”

Then she turned on her heel and before Leif could anticipate her actions, she pulled the doors shut behind her, effectively shutting Leif in the library with Sir Felix.

Realizing he couldn’t exactly follow her now without looking a bit more ridiculous than he had planned, Leif turned back to see Sir Felix standing from the large leather sofa set before the fireplace.

“Father,” Leif exclaimed with exaggerated exuberance, coming forward with his arms spread wide, “how wonderful to see you again.”

Sir Felix frowned in an expression that was an exact match to what Abbigael’s had been before she made her escape.

“What the bloody hell took you so long?”

Leif dropped his arms to his sides and his expression cooled to a cynical smirk. “Why such a hurry to get rid of her?”

“Do not stand in judgment upon me,” Sir Felix growled. “You have no idea what she has been like the last few months.”

Leif waved off the comment and strode to the liquor-service set near the sofa. “I was just with her. She was rather irritable, but not so terrible.”

Sir Felix shook his head mournfully. “Just you wait. She is likely saving up her sharpest barbs for when they will cause the most damage. I speak from experience. I still have scars from the tongue lashings her mother gave me during her confinement.”

He came to stand beside Leif and waited for him to pour his drink, then took the decanter of brandy from Leif’s hand to pour one for himself.

He caught and held Leif’s gaze with measured sincerity.

“Don’t get me wrong. I would welcome a visit from my daughter under any other circumstances. But this delicate time should be spent with her husband.” He narrowed his eyes critically. “I don’t know what occurred between the two of you, but you
are
responsible for her and the babe she carries. I trust you are here to take her home.”

Leif did not like Sir Felix’s censorious tone, nor did it escape him how determined the man was to send his daughter off with a husband she clearly had no desire to be with. “That is my intention,” he replied stiffly, wishing nothing more than to finish the interview quickly and go in search of his wife.

“Good.” Sir Felix downed his brandy and turned away with his head lowered, muttering under his breath, “I expect she would fare far better with you than in the company of her inept father.”

Leif considered Sir Felix’s last murmured comment as he finished his own drink at a pace only slightly more leisurely. Then, with his father-in-law’s focus fully returned to the papers he had been reviewing, he left the library without another word.

Once out in the hall, he glanced about, uncertain which direction was most likely to lead to Abbigael’s bedroom. The subtle clink of porcelain drew his attention down the stairway where he saw the freckled Margaret carrying Abbigael’s tea on a broad serving tray.

With a winning smile, Leif descended a few steps to meet the maid and reached for the tray. Realizing that he intended to take the tray from her hands, the poor girl tightened her grip on the handles and looked at him as if he had lost his mind.

“Pardon me. A favor, miss, if you please. May I take this to Lady Neville myself?” He lowered his gaze with modest sheepishness. “You see, I am on the outs with her at the moment and am in need of some way to ingratiate myself. Perhaps she will see the tea as a peace offering.”

Margaret hesitated as she considered his request. It was highly unconventional that a lord would take over such a menial task.

Leif affected his most innocent expression. It was not one he used very often and he hoped it would have the desired effect. “I would be in your debt.”

The maid’s eyes glanced up toward the landing and her expression had softened as she returned her attention to Leif.

“Peace offering you say, my lord?”

“Exactly.” His smile brightened.

The girl relinquished the tray to him. “If you don’t mind me saying, it is good you have come.” At Leif’s questioning glance, she continued, “Oh, she has been well enough in the physical sense, but my mum says illness in a mother’s heart can pass to a babe in the womb.”

Leif frowned. “I see.”

Margaret blushed furiously and gave a swift curtsy. “So sorry, my lord. I overstep my bounds. Please let me know if the lady is in need of anything else. Thank you, my lord.” She dipped another hasty curtsy, then turned and hurried down the stairs.

“Ah, Margaret,” Leif called and she turned back to him, alarm clear on her face. “Would you be so kind as to direct me to my wife’s bedchamber.”

Her relief was clear as she likely thought she was about to be called to the carpet for her impudence. “Of course, my lord. Take the hall to the left and continue to the second door on the right.”

Leif nodded his thanks and turned to take the rest of the stairs two at a time.

Chapter Thirty-Three

“Come in,” Abbigael called in response to the knock at her door.

She sat at her vanity table, absently staring into the mirror as she released her braid from the coil atop her head. The walk to the village and back was a long one, and although she did not suffer any undo discomfort from her pregnancy even now in the last months, she was careful to balance activity with rest. She had already changed out of the walking dress into a light and simple day dress. Typically she tried to nap in midday, but today she doubted she would be able to relax enough to sleep.

Leif was here.

For all the months she had thought about him in waking hours and dreamt of him at night, the reality of seeing him atop that horse as he came upon her in the road was unexpected. She did not welcome the breathless gambol of her heart or the way her stomach flipped with dizzying excitement at the sight of him. She needed time to determine how she truly felt about his sudden appearance without his penetrating gaze stripping away her meager defenses.