Return of the Viscount (20 page)

Michael grinned as Talbot took his mother's bonnet and shawl and his brother's hat, then swept them both into his big embrace. Cecilia saw Lady Blackthorne wipe away happy tears, and Cecilia felt the sting of her own. She well knew what it was like not to see someone you loved for months if not years at a time. After Gabriel's death, when she and her mother brought Oliver back to attend Eton, there were long stretches where she never saw her father at all. And now, so many of her family were gone. Perhaps that was why she clung so tightly to Oliver.

And now she was the wife of a soldier, she reminded herself bleakly.

Then Michael turned and gestured toward her. She came forward and let him take her hand.

“Mother, this is Lady Blackthorne, my wife, and her brother, Oliver Mallory, the Earl of Appertan.”

Oliver bowed as Cecilia curtsied, and when she rose, she was surprised when Lady Blackthorne sank into her own deep curtsy, then smiled up at Cecilia with spry amusement.

“I never imagined this pleasure,” Lady Blackthorne said, her voice deep and rich.

Cecilia smiled, surprised to find herself blushing. “Does that mean you never thought your son would marry?”

“We doubted it,” her other son said wryly.

Michael sighed. “This is my brother, Mr. Allen Blackthorne.”

Mr. Blackthorne bowed over her hand. “The pleasure is mine, Lady Cecilia. If I had known one could marry such beautiful women in India, I would have enlisted myself.”

“But I did not meet him in India,” Cecilia said without thinking.

Michael only looked amused as his mother's smile faltered with curiosity.

“Lady Cecilia and I had known each other through letters, and the gracious words of her father,” Michael explained.

Cecilia led the way toward the drawing room, noticing that although Mr. Blackthorne looked around appreciatively, Lady Blackthorne was focused on her.

“So . . . you decided to marry without having met each other?” Lady Blackthorne said in bewilderment.

“We married by proxy six months ago,” Michael explained.

“No wonder you didn't tell us.” Mr. Blackthorne grinned and shook his head.

Lady Blackthorne was not smiling, her concern for her son very obvious. She looked from Michael to Cecilia and back again. Cecilia wanted to cause no damage to the Blackthorne family's harmony, so she walked to Michael's side and took his hand.

He glanced at her swiftly, but if he was surprised, he didn't show it, only squeezed her hand and looked down at her with a tender smile, the smile he'd first gifted her with last night, the one that made her realize that only she would ever see a certain side of him.

Whatever showed in her and Michael's expressions, apparently it was enough for Lady Blackthorne, who let out a sigh and gave a tentative smile.

“Well, I have no right to worry,” she began, “and never would I judge. You both seem happy. And Lady Blackthorne, thank you for writing, because it looks like my son is a bit too distracted to remember his mother.”

Michael squeezed Cecilia's hand, as if bracing her against the teasing, and she looked up with a reassuring smile.

For a few minutes, they discussed Michael's injury, and he played down its severity, but Cecilia had seen the scars, and knew he might have come close to bleeding to death. She shivered. When Talbot announced luncheon, Cecilia led them all to the conservatory, with its trees and ferns and climbing ivy making the glassed-in room seem like a jungle.

“I thought it would be a nice treat to eat under the autumn sun,” Cecilia explained, when her brother rolled his eyes at her. There was nothing wrong with trying to impress one's mother-in-law.

A cloth-covered table and wrought-iron chairs had been placed before the fountain, and the gurgling of the water was a soothing background to their conversation.

Lady Blackthorne openly stared at Cecilia as they began to eat their breast of veal, and finally said, “Please do excuse my curiosity, but I cannot miss the bruise on your cheek. I hope the injury wasn't more severe.”

The whole neighborhood knew of the “poaching accident,” so Cecilia explained it as such.

“How terrifying!” Lady Blackthorne gasped, her hand to her chest.

“It was, but I truly didn't fear for long. Your son rescued me within an hour.”

Oliver continued to eat, not even raising his gaze. She told herself that he might still feel guilty for assuming she'd merely been avoiding the weather.

Lady Blackthorne cleared her throat delicately. “There was a time when I thought Michael would marry a young lady who lived near our home. Now that I've met you, I'm so very glad he waited.”

Cecilia straightened and eyed Michael in surprise, even as she thanked his mother for the compliment. She thought he would be embarrassed, but, instead, his jaw worked for a moment as if he clenched it.

“Mother, you know that was never serious,” Mr. Blackthorne began, eyeing his brother.

At last, Michael met his mother's confused gaze. “Did you not realize what Father was doing?”

“I don't understand what you're saying or why you're angry with me.” She blushed madly and looked at Cecilia with embarrassed regret.

Michael sighed and reached to touch her hand. “I'm not angry with you. I assumed you knew what Father was up to but were helpless to prevent it.”

Cecilia stared at each Blackthorne with curiosity, and knew that Oliver did the same.

Michael turned to Cecilia. “My ancestors married for money.”

Lady Blackthorne blanched, as if she didn't like the words said aloud.

“My father was manipulating me into the same. He lied about our circumstances to our neighbor, leading him to believe having his daughter marry me would increase their wealth and connections.”

Lady Blackthorne gave a soft gasp. “I never heard this,” she whispered.

“It's one of the reasons I had to leave,” Michael said, a note of apology in his voice. “I couldn't let him do that to another woman. I didn't want her to grow even more attached to me.”

Cecilia stared at Michael, wondering if he'd liked the young lady and regretted that they couldn't marry. And what had it cost his pride to marry her, a wealthy woman? No wonder he'd gladly refused her dowry.

Lady Blackthorne's eyes briefly glistened, but she didn't cry. “Your father had his flaws, but in his own misguided way, he was trying to help you.”

Cecilia could see that Michael didn't quite believe that, but he didn't contradict his mother. He kept his fingers linked with his mother's, even as he answered Mr. Blackthorne's questions about where his regiment had recently been stationed. Everyone seemed glad for the distraction except Oliver, who rolled his eyes.

At last, Michael sat back to eye his brother. “So what have you been doing this past year? Your letters were filled with neighborhood doings or estate business, but I felt you were conspicuously leaving things out.”

Cecilia was surprised when Mr. Blackthorne received an encouraging look from his mother.

Mr. Blackthorne gave a crooked grin. “I just established my own law practice in St. Albans.”

Michael stiffened, and even Oliver stopped eating in surprise. It was not every day that a gentleman went into trade. Oliver gave Cecilia a smug “I told you they were poor” look. Cecilia ignored him, for she knew how personally Michael would take this. He was a proud man, working hard to finance his estate on his own.

“You could have told me what you were doing,” Michael said without emotion. “Doesn't it take several years of apprenticeship?”

“I recently finished articling with a well-established solicitor.” Mr. Blackthorne hesitated. “I wanted to tell you in person. I've been fascinated by the legal work for the estate, and I decided it was something I wished to pursue.”

“So you're enjoying it?” Michael asked doubtfully.

Mr. Blackthorne's grin widened. “I'm enjoying the challenge of it and the work involved. It seems I prefer to be busy most of the day.” He glanced at Oliver. “You must understand that, my lord, with the breadth of the earldom you've inherited.”

“It's important to surround yourself with knowledgeable people,” Oliver answered neutrally.

Mr. Blackthorne nodded. “I've found that to be very true.”

Cecilia didn't mind that Oliver avoided mention of the duties she performed. She'd never wanted to embarrass him, only to help him until he was prepared. Michael was right—she hadn't been preparing him well enough, only coddling him.

Lady Blackthorne turned to Cecilia, as if she was anxious to change the conversation from her son's legal practice. “Regardless of things that have been said, I want you to truly believe how glad I am that my son has chosen a bride. I will admit that my marriage was not a happy one, and I lived in fear that my experiences soured Michael on the institution itself. He was always such a sensitive child.”

Michael rolled his eyes as Mr. Blackthorne guffawed, and even Oliver grinned. Cecilia knew her bright eyes must betray her, but she struggled to stay serious for her husband's sake.

“Sensitive, Lady Blackthorne? I would be so pleased to hear stories of what my husband was like then.”

“Oh, he was very sensitive,” Mr. Blackthorne said, struggling to keep from smiling. “So sensitive that he thrashed me when we were pretending to fence with long sticks, so sensitive that he swam in the pond or rowed until exhaustion so he could defeat every other boy in the parish.”

Michael calmly continued eating as if he was used to being teased and had long since lost that sort of sensitivity. Cecilia was surprised how much she enjoyed this glimpse into his past, and how relaxed she was becoming among his family. Her family now. When Michael returned to India, she would at least have family to visit, his brother's children to spoil, along with Oliver's children.

After luncheon, she suggested a walk in the garden to see the grounds. Lady Blackthorne fussed over Michael's leg. His face reddened with exasperation, and he overruled his mother's concern. Oliver escaped the outing with “a pressing matter,” and she gave him a warning look. He should be there that evening for Michael's family.

When Michael opened the conservatory doors that led to the terrace, he paused on the threshold and eyed Cecilia, saying in a voice meant only for her, “Stay by my side at all times.”

“Do you think someone would actually shoot at us?” she whispered in disbelief. “Every attack has looked so . . . accidental.”

“Do you know how many people ‘accidental' hunting mishaps kill?”

Her eyes widened, and she swallowed. “Oh.”

He glanced back at the house, even as they led his family outside. “I wish your brother had come with us.”

She stiffened, and said coolly, “Nonsense. I have nothing to fear from him, and I wish you'd stop saying so.”

She noticed Lady Blackthorne watching them and gave her a pleasant smile, even as she slid her hand into Michael's arm and briefly leaned her head against his solid shoulder.

“I don't wish to argue, not today,” she begged quietly.

He patted her hand. “Of course.”

But he didn't smile, and it took everything in her to keep a pleasant expression. Luckily, Mr. Blackthorne began to ask her questions about the estate, and she appreciated the distraction. Forgetting herself, she discussed the mill expansion, the state of the stables, and how many tenants their country seat held versus the other properties.

When, at last, they paused at the gazebo overlooking the pond, Lady Blackthorne said, “My lady, you have incredible knowledge of your brother's property.”

“It . . . is a fascination of mine,” Cecilia said, blushing. “I try to help Lord Appertan whenever he needs it. Now let's continue walking this path, so you can see the Roman temple my ancestor envisioned.”

Michael's mouth twitched as he contained his laughter, while Cecilia simply ignored him and began to point out the landscaping. She was relieved he was over his pique with her, but was beginning to imagine the evening ahead, and what he'd expect of her, now that they were permanently married.

Chapter 18

T
hat night, Cecilia relaxed in her bathing tub, trying to think of nothing at all. But that seldom worked for her, and it didn't now. She had to deliberately call to mind farming chores so she wouldn't think about Michael in the next room.

Which fields would lie fallow during the next spring planting?

Michael, naked, leaning over her in bed, inside her, surrounding her.

She groaned aloud, slapped her hands on the surface of the water, and sank beneath. When she came up, she heard the door to the dressing room slam open.

Michael demanded, “What was that sound?”

And then he came up short as he stared at her.

Nell giggled from somewhere behind her. “Shall I leave you for the evenin', milord?”

“It's not his decision,” Cecilia said sternly.

“Please do, Nell, and thank you,” Michael answered as if she hadn't spoken.

Frowning, Cecilia sank even lower in the water as Nell's laughter could be heard in the corridor as she closed the door.

And then there was silence. She couldn't look at Michael, only at the soap on the surface of the water. The room was dark, lit only with candles. She prayed he couldn't see beneath the surface.

But he'd already seen everything—kissed her breasts, entered her body, for heaven's sake!
Now
she was being shy?

Michael limped slowly toward her, that tender smile softening his face, the one that melted her insides, tempted her to forget all her promises about how she wanted to live her life.

And in that moment, she realized how easy it would be to agree to anything he wanted, to make him happy. And she might be happy, too—at first. And then the regrets would come.

“I like your mother,” she said a bit breathlessly.

He blinked at her, and she realized the introduction of his family as a topic was hardly conducive to romance. She decided to jump right in.

“Can you tell me why your parents' marriage was so unhappy?”

With a sigh, he pulled up a chair next to her and sank into it. She felt like she'd temporarily won, but, of course, she'd have to leave the tub sometime, and he'd be waiting.

Michael sighed. “I've already told you much of the truth—or you've guessed. I vowed never to marry for money, and it was because of my father's and grandfather's decisions where their wives were concerned. They foolishly pursued wealth rather than happiness, and when the money was gone, there was no foundation on which to base a marriage. Everyone was miserable, and when I realized that my father was trying to lead me the same way, I decided that I would seek my fortune in the Far East, beginning with the army, and using the meager earnings left after supporting the estate to invest in shipping and exports.”

“And you're so proud of that, I imagine it shocked you that your brother became a lawyer.”

“It had nothing to do with pride,” he insisted, leaning toward her fervently. “I was worried that if he felt the need to supplement the estate's income, then I'd let them down, that I'd taken too long—ten years now—trying to improve our situation. He deserved better. I remember having to make our own bullets as boys, share the same horse. He never complained.”

Cecilia suspected that Michael never did either.

“But he seems happy with his choices,” he continued, “and who am I, an army ranker, to tell him what he can or can't do? But it will limit his ability to marry well.”

“So did enlisting in the army, but it doesn't seem to have hurt you,” she said dryly. She tried to decide what part of her body would best be covered by the facecloth.

When he gave a crooked smile, she hastily said, “But back to your mother. Did she know she'd been used for her dowry?”

“Surely you have friends who worried about such things, and perhaps even you. I believe a woman would know if there was no love involved, don't you?”

She nodded, remembering more than one friend who had accepted a marriage arranged by parents. “I never thought that would happen to me, of course,” she said wryly. “I knew my father would never force me into such an arrangement—and yet just by praising you, it was as if he deliberately led me right to you.” She shook her head even as she smiled.

“Isn't that a good thing?” he asked softly, pulling his chair a bit closer.

She sank deeper into the tub, and the water sloshed near the rim. “You're certain you don't think of that young lady your father chose for you?”

“I don't even remember her name.” His expression sly, he murmured, “You have gooseflesh. It must be getting cold in there.”

“Oh, no, I am quite content and relaxed,” she said, too quickly. “So your mother accepted the marriage, even though she knew your father didn't love her?”

Michael grinned, but his amusement faded. “She was one of the women with no choice. Once, when he was drunk, my father told me even he didn't want to marry her, but for the money.”

She stared at him in bewilderment. “But she seems like a wonderful woman, and you obviously were raised well by her.”

“She is wonderful, but from what my father accidentally told me, I think she was considered fast.”

Cecilia caught her breath.

“I understand that it's shocking. You'd never know it to meet her. Her father wanted to be rid of her, thought she encouraged young men, and there were whispers that she'd done even more than that.”

“Oh, Michael, how terrible for you to hear such things. I don't like your father very much for repeating them.”

“He'd never been a man who could be satisfied with a decent life. He always wanted more—more excitement, more money, more respect. You don't achieve respect behaving as he did. As for my mother . . . I don't know how immature she was as a young woman. But she became a wonderful mother, and tolerant of my father, at least in front of us.”

He seemed as if he might say more but simply thinned his lips and stared unseeing across the room. Cecilia could only be amazed at how serene and uncomplaining his mother was compared to her own, when the lady had obviously come down in the world.

“I know I wanted all my inheritance for my control of the earldom,” she began slowly, “and I understand that you don't want my dowry because of the things your family has been through. But, Michael, what if you used some of the dowry to purchase an officer's commission?” When he frowned, she went on quickly. “You would earn more money for your family, and I'm sure the connections would help the various enterprises you've begun investing in.”

“Thank you, but no. I am content with the life I've made for myself.”

She nodded, hoping that making the offer would help her feel better about what she owed him and his family. And also, she almost hoped the whole conversation would put him in a bad mood.

But apparently not, for suddenly he braced his weight on the rim of the tub behind her, then dipped the fingers of his other hand in the soap bubbles floating before her.

She inhaled swiftly. “Michael, surely you can have a bathing tub sent to your bedchamber.”

“But there's one right here.”

She couldn't stop staring at his hand as if mesmerized. He made slow circles in the bubbles, coming ever closer to her breasts.

“I could scrub your back,” he whispered.

She tipped her head back and stared up at him, feeling like she couldn't breathe deeply enough the way his eyes gleamed down upon her. Her body seemed to be coming awake, as if the memories of his lovemaking had lain dormant all day and were now fanned hotly to life by the sight of his eagerness to have her.

He suddenly stood up and pulled his shirt over his head. “What the hell; I could just get in with you.”

Shocked and panicky, she surged to her feet without thinking, “No, no, I'm done, it's all yours.”

As water sluiced down her body, he laughed and wrapped her in a towel, swinging her into her arms and toward the bed.

“I see how eager you are,” he whispered even as he nuzzled her neck and kissed her there. “I'll have my bath later, and maybe I can persuade you to join me.”

He set her down on the edge of the bed and began to pat her dry. She felt silly and embarrassed and hot with the desire she felt for him, the desire she could no longer deny.

And then he kissed her, tipping her backward and coming down over her body, exploring her mouth deeply, luring her tongue into his own. With a moan, she gave up trying to pretend she could keep him away from her. He was a man, with a man's needs, and she was his wife. She wrapped her arms about him and kissed him back with a fierce urgency. She moaned as he began to lick the water from her skin, trailing down her body. She cried out when his tongue teased her nipples, and she could have gloried in that forever, but he kept moving down her body, exploring her belly, spreading her thighs.

She stiffened as he knelt at the edge of the bed, staring right at her—there. She came up on her elbows. “Michael, what are you—”

“Relax,” he interrupted. “I was in such a rush to have you last night, I didn't explore.”

“Oh, that's all right. It's not necessary.” She heard herself babbling, even as she trembled with expectation and curiosity and desperation. “In fact, it's been a long day. You must be tired.”

He chuckled against her belly, then he said nothing as he moved lower and pressed an intimate kiss between her thighs.

Her hips jolted beneath him, and she covered her mouth to stop her cries. She should stop
him,
but she was overwhelmed and stunned, shocked by the fierce pleasure of his tongue licking her, even
inside
her. She existed in a haze of rising pleasure, shuddering, desperate for the joy she knew awaited her. And it came so suddenly, pouring over her, leaving her gasping and languid beneath him.

He straightened up and leaned over her, grinning.

“You look proud of yourself,” she whispered.

“Oh, I am. There's nothing to compare to pleasing one's wife.”

She couldn't help smiling at his silliness, even as a secret place in her heart thrummed with a hint of sadness.

He removed the rest of his clothing as she scooted back into the center of the bed. Crawling on all fours above her, he kissed her over and over until she almost begged him to come inside her. He eased between her thighs and gently claimed her. She gasped in awe at how wonderful it felt to have him deep inside her, as if he could be a part of her forever.

“No pain?” he whispered against her mouth.

She shook her head. “None.”

“Good,” he breathed in obvious relief.

And then he began to move, sometimes sweeping her away in his urgency and power, other times moving so slowly that she lifted her hips off the bed to capture him. Everything made her ache in new and wondrous ways, and she reveled in it all, even as she knew it could only be temporary.

W
hen Michael awoke before dawn, he tensed, waiting for his wife to flee their bed as she had the day before. But she was still asleep, and he was able to prop himself up on his elbow and study her. Her complexion was not as pale as other English beauties because she preferred to walk the land rather than remain indoors. But he liked that. He lifted a strand of golden hair and inhaled, smelling the elusive, floral scent that he would forever associate with her.

She blinked drowsily and opened her eyes, and he relaxed when she didn't seem surprised to see him. In that moment, as he yearned for her to smile at him, he knew he was falling in love with her, and it had nothing to do with a debt to his past. It was all about the woman she was and how he could no longer imagine his life without her. But what should be a joyous feeling was instead brimming with uncertainty, for although she tolerated him, even desired him, all of it was still very reluctant. Even if she had tender feelings for him, she would never admit it, and it would scare her away if he admitted his own.

She wasn't ready to share thoughts and hopes. He found himself wanting to talk about his brother's law practice, and his concern that Allen would have less time for managing the Blackthorne estate. Cecilia would be the perfect one to take over the work—but she wasn't ready to hear that. She was too focused on her brother.

So he smiled and saved the discussion for a later time. “Good morning, my sweet.”

He waited for her to object to the endearment, but instead, she gave him a faint frown.

“You dreamed in the night,” she murmured, looking troubled.

He silently cursed the dreams of his fallen comrades, over which he had no control. “I am sorry I disturbed you.”

“No, please, you didn't call out or toss around—much. I'm . . . simply not used to someone else being in my bed.”

She blushed and briefly looked away, pulling the counterpane closer to her chin like one of the shields on the drawing-room wall that used to guard her ancestors.

“What were you dreaming about?” she asked.

He shrugged and sat up as if to stretch out his back. He couldn't look at her as he misled her. “I don't really remember. Battles, I think. Nothing to speak of.”

“It must be terrible to risk your life every day.”

She laid her palm low on his back, comforting him. For the first time, he realized he didn't want to tell her about his part in her father's death. But . . . if he was so certain he'd made an honest mistake, and didn't feel guilty, why didn't he wish to tell her? He'd never considered that before.

“Skill and training help a man reduce his risk,” Michael said almost absently.

“And you seem a very dedicated sort of man.”

Now he heard amusement in her voice, and turned back to study her. She was staring at his torso, at the muscles she probably wasn't used to seeing if her smile was any indication. But then that faded, and he knew she was seeing the scars.