Ryan's Bride (32 page)

“Nothing,” she said with a straight face. “And I never lied about not speaking English. You never asked me if I could. You just assumed I
couldn’t
.”

He turned away, fingers kneading his forehead in frustration. “This is no time to be capricious.”

“And I’m not trying to be. I’m just stating a fact. Besides,” she added with a twitch of a smile, “I found out many things by pretending I didn’t understand.”

“I imagine you did.” He might have been amused to think about it had he not been so concerned that her deceit might go much deeper. “So how did you learn?”

She had her explanation ready. “I had distant relatives living in London. I stayed with them awhile. They taught me. Actually, I didn’t tell you because you were so damned insistent that everything about me be French, I was afraid you’d be resentful.”

“That’s ridiculous, and you know it. And I thought you didn’t like cursing,” he added. “Now listen to you!”

“It’s blasphemy I can’t abide, and I never use profanity unless I’m really annoyed—like now,” she said hotly. “You and your entire family are such snobs about your precious French heritage that I was afraid I’d be treated like a leper for even visiting England.”

“We aren’t snobs, Angele. My father just wants to preserve the lineage. I told you that when I asked you to marry me.”

“All I am saying—”

He sighed to interrupt. “I hope you realize that you’ve made me look like a fool. When a man doesn’t know his own wife can speak English…” He shook his head in disgust.

Actually, she was relieved the secret was out, and she wasn’t worried about him being angry. He would get over it, and to hasten him along, she pointed out, “You know, you haven’t even thanked me for saving your colt.”

Curtly, he said, “Thank you.” Then, “Now would you mind telling me how you knew what to do? And don’t say you overheard someone talking about it once upon a time.”

She shrugged as though it were nothing. “I learned in England. My relatives raised horses. I was around them a lot. They let me help around the stables, and I enjoyed it.”

“And I suppose you can ride.”

“Of course.”

“And you didn’t tell me that, either.”

“I didn’t want to
tell
you,” she said petulantly, “I wanted to show you, only you never have time for me. You’re at the stables or out riding from daylight till dark, and then you sit in your study and drink with Corbett.”

He frowned. “Don’t nag, Angele.”

She frowned right back. “Then treat me like your wife instead of chattel.”

He was tempted to laugh at her unusual show of audacity, but her expression stopped him.

She pressed on. “Now that I’ve told you I can ride, will you give me a horse and go with me?”

“I don’t know.” He went to the sideboard. Taking the stopper from a crystal decanter, he poured himself a brandy. “It’s understood I want you to have a baby as soon as possible. If you were pregnant and didn’t know it, you could get hurt.”

“No, I wouldn’t. I happen to be an expert rider, probably even better than you if the truth be known,” she added with an airy sniff.

“I doubt that.”

“All I want to do is ride, for heaven’s sake. I don’t enjoy being cooped up in the house all day.”

“That’s where ladies belong, Angele, and I’m trying my best to turn you into one.”

“I don’t need your help. I’m very much a lady.”

“Being down on your hands and knees delivering a colt isn’t exactly ladylike in my opinion.”

Their gazes locked.

Angele put her hands on her hips and stood with feet slightly apart. She was not about to be intimidated by either his glare or his harsh tone. “I got the job done,
Master
Tremayne, and I saved the colt, and maybe the mare, too. But you don’t care about that. All you
do
care about is what other people think, and as far as I’m concerned, if it comes down to saving an animal’s life, they can all go spit.”

He blinked, stunned by her outburst, then, slowly, he broke into a wide grin. “My God, woman, you do have grit, don’t you?”

She relaxed a little. His anger appeared to be on the wane. “I just like to think for myself, which means I don’t like being told what to do every minute of the day.”

His grin faded. “There’s such a thing as decorum, and you’re going to have to learn that. As my wife, certain things are expected of you from society, and delivering colts isn’t one of them. You could have told Jasper what to do.”

“His hands are crippled with rheumatism, in case you haven’t noticed,” she snapped. “He couldn’t have reached inside and turned the foal.”

Anger rolled back. “I’ve noticed. I notice
everything
about my people.”

“Your
people
, “she spat the word. “
Slaves
, I believe is the word more commonly used.”

He let the remark pass, instead saying, “Toby could have followed your instructions.”

“I was in a hurry. It was quicker to do it myself. Now I’m tired, and I’m going to bed.”

He tossed down the brandy, and before she got to her door quietly said, “You will sleep in my room tonight.”

“No. I won’t.” She kept on going, head held high, back ramrod straight. He had made her angry, and she was not about to give in to him this night. He would soon learn she was not in servitude like his
people
.

She locked the door, making sure the key clicked loud enough for him to hear.

Actually, she would have liked nothing better than to throw herself in his arms and taste his brandy-sweet kisses and feel him deep, deep inside her. But pride overrode desire. He had chastised her and tried to make her feel ashamed of what she had done, and that she could not abide.

She undressed and put on a nightgown, then got into bed. She left the lamp beside it burning low, because she liked to watch shadows flickering, dancing, on the walls.

Her mind wandered back to the afternoon when Ryan had taken her for a walk along the edge of the cotton fields. It was only a few days after they had arrived at BelleRose. He had told her how cotton was grown, harvested, and then baled and taken to Richmond to be sold.

That day she had felt so close to him, for he had made her feel he truly wanted her to be a part of his world. Since then, however, he had shut her out more and more.

And now, rather than be grateful for what she had done, he was more worried about what people would say when they heard about it.

But she also knew he was chafed over how she had concealed her understanding of English. She blamed herself for not telling him earlier, but somehow the opportunity never came—till tonight—and she was glad it had happened like it had. Otherwise, she might never have had the nerve. Instead, she would have struggled through lessons and been thought a diligent student.

As she lay there, other worries needled, such as whether he had seen Denise while in Richmond and if he regretted not repeating his proposal to see if she would change her mind.

Rolling over, she pounded the pillow with her fists and cursed herself for not going to him when he’d wanted her.

Maybe she couldn’t bring herself to use words to let him know how she really felt about him.

But she could use her body.

Only it was too late.

If she went to him now, he would think she was groveling and weak.

Ryan had one more brandy. He knew he was drinking too much lately, but the woman was driving him crazy, and drinking dulled his senses to where he didn’t worry about it so much.

He took off his coat and threw it across the room. Likewise he yanked off his shirt and sent it sailing. Then, bare chested, he went to the window to stare out into the night, hands on his hips.

Damn it to hell, he had lost his heart to a woman who might not fit into his world after all. Her past was still an enigma. He still worried she would run away once she got her hands on enough money. Yet, he had been amazed, at how she had finally responded to his lovemaking, actually being quite bold about it lately.

Had she also, he frowned to think, been hiding the fact that she knew how to please a man?

Just what was in her past that she sought to hide?

Or was there really anything at all—except his imagination?

He never should have let himself care about her, but he had, and now he wanted her to stay. And the only way he could ensure that happening was to make her pregnant. Then she couldn’t leave unless she abandoned her own child, because she had sense enough to know he would use all his wealth and power to keep her from taking it with her.

He thought of the last time they had made love, when she had friskily got down on her knees, turning her bottom up to him and inviting him to penetrate her from behind. He had reached around her to put his fingers between her and massage her hot little bud as he had ridden her. When she climaxed, she had bucked like an unbroken pony, and he had laughed out loud with delight…then moaned with ecstasy because never had he climaxed so powerfully. It had left him shaken.

And thinking about it now made him hard.

He wanted her.

And why shouldn’t he have her? She was his wife, damn it. Besides, if he allowed her to get away with pouting because he dared chastise her, then she’d never get pregnant.

Unbuckling his belt, he loosened his trousers and took them off.

He went to her door and tried to open it.

It was locked.

“Angele?” he called softly.

There was no response.

He jiggled the handle again. “Unlock this door.”

“Go away. I told you I’m tired.”

He drew a deep, ragged breath, then drew back his foot and smashed the door in with one mighty kick.

He reached inside and turned the lock, swinging what was left of the door open.

She was sitting up in bed, the sheet pulled to her chin, her face pale with fear.

“You are my wife,” he said with a husky growl from deep in his throat, “and when I want you, I’ll have you.”

As he started toward her, she reached quickly to extinguish the light.

She didn’t want him to see how glad she was that he did want her.

She intended to show him instead.

Roussel was delighted when he learned that Angele understood English, and summoned her to his quarters the very next day to tell her so.

She gave him the same explanation she had given Ryan, but guilt was a cold knife to her heart when he said all that mattered was that she was pure-blooded French. Dear Lord, she prayed the truth about that would never come out.

They went for a carriage ride that lasted all afternoon. She was thrilled as he showed her all around the plantation, something Ryan had not taken the time to do so extensively.

He had also heard about her delivering the colt and seemed not in the least concerned over what others might say.

She had offered the same contrived explanation she had given Ryan—that she had lived in England around relatives who had horses. She admitted it had been her first delivery.

“Then you have extra reason to be proud,” Roussel had praised.

He also had said how much he was looking forward to the festivities planned for the coming weekend. There would be a ball on Saturday night. An orchestra was coming from Richmond to play. Then, on Sunday, a picnic would be held in the yard beneath the shading oaks, and later the men would jump their horses in competition on a track to be set up on the lawn.

“It’s something we do at the end of every summer,” he had explained. “All the men contribute to buying a fine saddle trimmed in silver, made by one of the best leather craftsmen in Virginia. The winner of the contest gets the saddle.”

When she asked if Ryan had ever won, he said no, because Ryan liked to ride for pleasure, not competition.

She had truly enjoyed the outing, and that night Roussel had come downstairs and joined everyone for dinner. It was the first time he had done so in months, and he carried on a running conversation with Angele after asking that she be seated to his right.

She loved talking to him and didn’t miss how pleased Ryan looked. Neither did she fail to see how Clarice flashed with annoyance to give up her usual seat next to the master of the house.

The night before the ball, Ryan retired to his study right after dinner. He said he had to go over BelleRose’s books and might be up late.

Bored, Angele wandered out to the stable to look at the horses. Just as she was leaving, Roscoe Fordham came around the corner.

Tipping his hat, he said, “Evenin’ Miz Tremayne. Your husband’s got himself some nice horses. I guess you’re proud, too, since the really fine ones came from your country.”

He had never spoken to her before the few times she was around him, but then he’d not known she would understand.

“Yes, I certainly am,” she responded, impulsively adding, “And I can’t wait to ride one of them, especially the mare. I healed her leg from a bee sting, so I can’t help feeling she’s mine.”