Secrets of Midnight (21 page)

Just she and Donovan, and she was still well ahead of
him, a quick glance telling her that he had nonetheless gained some ground no
matter that she could barely see him. But she could hear him, his stallion's
hooves pounding the ground while her heart began to beat faster and faster.
With a whoop of triumph she burst through a line of elms and onto the drive and
pulled up tight on the reins,
mud
and stones spraying
behind them as she brought the heaving gelding to a halt.

Right in front of the entrance door.

Donovan stood waiting for her in the lamplight, his
swarthy face truly ominous to behold.

Wholly stunned, Corisande glanced behind her but there
was no rider in sight. None.

She gulped.

Oh, Lord.

Chapter 18

"Looking for someone?"

Breathless, Corisande spun to face Donovan, not really
sure what to say. "Yes . . . well, I mean, no, no, I'm not. Of course not.
There's no one there." She glanced behind her again, staring into the
darkness, hearing nothing, no pounding hooves—for heaven's sake, she hadn't
imagined it!—and looked back at Donovan. He couldn't have
beat
her to the house, that was bloody impossible, so who . . . ? "Is . . . is
Henry Gilbert here?"

"He went home five minutes ago." Donovan
nodded brusquely in the opposite direction. "He lives
that
way."

"Yes, yes, of course. I knew that." So much
for Henry following her, she thought, growing more confused than ever and a
mite alarmed. Should she tell Donovan what had happened? He didn't look very
happy; in fact, she hadn't seen him look or sound anything but surly since last
night when she'd come out from behind that screen. She doubted he was in any mood
at all to hear her incredible story—

"Are you planning to just sit atop that horse or
come in for supper?"

"Of course I don't intend to sit out here all
night!" she snapped, only to catch herself when she spied Ogden walking
stiffly to the door. The happiest marriage in Britain, remember?

It was more for her family than anything else. If
Linette was so distressed just to have her gone from the parsonage, she could
imagine how her sister might feel if she believed Corisande was unhappy.
Marguerite too. It would crush her. She truly thought Corisande was in love. So
for now she would play the part, however difficult—and the way this night was
going, she was clearly in for a chore.

"Oh, hello, Ogden," she began breezily, very
much aware that Donovan had stiffened. "My husband says that supper is
ready."

"Yes, my lady, so it is. I've come to tell you
that Grace is ready for me to serve."

"How wonderful! I'm simply famished." She
glanced back at Donovan to find him scowling at her but,
unperturbed,
she gifted him with the most contrite smile she could muster. "I'll be in
shortly, my love, as soon as I return my horse to the stable. I know you can't
be happy that I didn't use the carriage today, but I so enjoy riding. And this
gelding is so much faster than Biscuit. Surely you can forgive me."

He said nothing, which didn't surprise her. The visible
tension in his body was enough to tell her that he wasn't amused at all by her
remorseful performance, although she didn't care what the man thought! Actually
she was quite beginning to enjoy herself. Suddenly the tables had been turned,
and now
she
had become the bold
charmer. But it was no more than he deserved for all the false smiles he'd
given her and, to that end, she gave him another grin of her own.

"You're much too serious, Donovan," she
playfully chided him. "It's really no large matter. I know you'll be a
dear and understand. I'll be right back—"

"I'll take the horse."

Donovan had come down the steps and reached up to lift
her from her mount almost before she could blink, but Corisande wasn't going to
let this golden opportunity escape as her feet touched the ground. She flung
her arms around his neck before he could blink, saying innocently, "There,
you see? I knew you'd forgive me. Oh, Donovan, I've missed you so much! Did you
and Henry have a good day at the mine?"

Donovan was so startled, he found himself leaning
toward her, his eyes upon her smiling lips, his arms going around her, but he
stopped himself just in time. The wily chit! What new game was she playing now?

"We had a fine day," he muttered, disengaging
himself but not too abruptly. Ogden was standing there watching them like a
somber-eyed hound, after all. Even if the servants thought he'd married for
monetary reasons, he couldn't just shove her away like an indifferent cad. Good
God, he wasn't his bloody father! "You'd best go inside," he added
gruffly, not liking at all the tempting pressure of Corisande's hands upon his
chest. "It's starting to rain."

"Ah, so it is. You're such a dear to think of me.
Don't be gone too long, darling."

Gone too long,
darling
?
Clenching his teeth as Corisande ran up the steps and hurried inside, Donovan
vowed in that moment to hire extra help before tomorrow was done. If there were
only footmen around the place, he could follow her right now and take her aside
and demand what she was up to, but first he had to go to the damned stable.
That is, unless . . .

"Ogden, you take the horse to the stable."

The butler's eyes nearly bugged from his head, and he
backed up inside the door. "Me—me, my lord? But I don't know anything at
all about horse—"

"It's simple, man! You hold these reins and lead
the way. He'll follow you, nothing more to it than that. And when you get to
the stable, just call for Will the coachman. He'll handle things from there."

"Oh, oh, but I—"

"Go to it, man." Donovan cut him off, having
sprinted up the steps. "Don't worry about supper being served late. We'll
await you in the dining room."

At least that's where he believed he might find
Corisande, Donovan thought darkly to himself, leaving Ogden shaking his head as
the man disappeared outside. Donovan strode across the entry hall past the
drawing room, but he stopped suddenly and retraced his steps, intuition
striking him. Good God, if Corisande was emptying the sherry decanter again. .
.

Donovan was nearly tempted to kick in the door to catch
her red-handed, but somehow he restrained himself and entered the room quietly,
deciding that might be just as effective as he soundlessly closed the door
behind him. Yes, Corisande was there, standing with her back to him in front of
the fire, and she looked as if she were lifting something to her mouth, her head
tilting as she made to drink—

"Dammit, woman, stop right there!"

Corisande spun, so startled she nearly dropped the
small bottle of perfume she had just pulled from her cloak pocket. Her heart
hammering, she stared at Donovan, who was staring right back at her, although
he looked somewhat confused as he glanced from her to the sideboard and then
back again.

"What . . . what is that you're holding?"

Corisande felt a wave of irritation as she realized
what he must have been thinking, but she made herself answer sweetly as she
held up the bottle in one hand and the cork stopper in the other. "This?"

"Of course,
that
.
What else could I have meant?"

"Oh, a glass of sherry, perhaps? Maybe the whole
decanter?"

He stiffened, scowling, while Corisande merely smiled,
her aggravation all but forgotten as she felt immense enjoyment in teasing him.
"It's perfume, my love. Something I found today in Porthleven. I've never
really worn any before, but now that I'm Lady Donovan, well, it seemed the
thing to do." She took a quick moment to dab some at her throat, which was
exactly what she'd been about to do before Donovan had startled her, then held
out the bottle. "Would you like to smell for yourself . . . ?"

When Donovan shook his head, obstinately holding his
ground, Corisande shrugged. "As you wish. It's a lovely scent, I assure
you, though probably not as fine as perfume you'd find in London. But it was
the best I could afford." She closed the bottle and slipped it into her
pocket, then turned back to the fire and swept off her cloak, shaking it free
of moisture before folding the garment over a chair. "It didn't take you
very long at the stable. I thought I'd wait for you in here. The fire looked so
inviting, and that dining room is so huge and drafty—"

"I didn't go to the stable, Corie."

Corisande whirled around, Donovan having come up so
close behind her that she nearly fell into him, his big hands locking around
her upper arms to catch her. But he didn't let her go, instead jerking her
against him.

"I had Ogden take your horse to the stable so I
could come and find you. What game are you playing now, woman? I thought we'd dispensed
with the happy bride."

Donovan's harsh grip was hurting her, but she refused
to show her pain. She also refused to give in to the anger threatening to
overflow, instead remembering her sisters as she said evenly, "You may be
done with your charade, my lord—and it seems from your recent churlish behavior
that you are, but I'm not comfortable playing the martyr. I don't want to
appear the wronged bride, the miserable bride, the spiteful bride. Besides, I
heard no whiff of any gossip about us today in Porthleven, so there's simply no
sense in acting as if something is wrong. I'd prefer to go on just as we were
before, if you don't mind—"

"Dammit, woman, I do mind!"

His outburst was so vehement that Corisande could only
stare, but in the next instant Donovan looked almost angry with himself as he
abruptly released her and went to sink into a wing chair.

"Ah, do what you will."

"That's what you told me earlier, and I fully
intend to."

"Like wearing that damned lavender perfume?"

Corisande almost smiled, for he sounded so much like a
sulky young boy. But he didn't look like a boy, oh, no, her spending a full day
away from him making her all the more aware of just how acutely masculine he
was, the room fairly crackling with his presence. Shoving away the disquieting
thought, she murmured, "I didn't think you'd noticed."

"Noticed? Ha! You can smell the stuff halfway
across the room."

"Yes, I thought you'd like it."

That comment brought another scowl, Donovan's tone
accusing as he glared at her. "You're enjoying yourself, aren't you?"

"Actually, I am," she admitted, probably the
first time she had said anything to him with such honesty. "I don't know
why it should make you so furious, either, but I suppose since you've gotten
what you wanted—at least as far as finding someone to marry you—there's no more
reason for you to act anything but a callous, ill-tempered boor—"

"Is that what you truly think of me—no, woman, don't
even answer that," Donovan just as quickly amended, shoving his fingers
through his jet-black hair. "Hell and damnation, I already know."

He sounded so disgruntled, Corisande didn't know what
to make of it, but she had no chance to say anything as a loud knock sounded in
the room. Immediately Donovan lunged from his chair and went to throw open the
door, revealing a rather mussed Ogden, his white gloves muddied and his clothes
somewhat askew, yet his dignity still quite intact.

"The horse is in the stable, my lord, and supper
is served."

As Ogden turned stiffly to lead the way, Corisande
thought Donovan might go ahead without her. But to her surprise, he held out
his arm to escort her, clearly resigned to the role she wanted to play although
he still didn't look very happy about it. In fact, she doubted that for the
brief duration of their marriage, she would ever see him smile again, which
made her feel oddly wistful. He had the most handsome
smile,
and that boyish grin last night . . .

"We're not going to the guillotine, Corie. Just to
supper. Unless of course, Grace's roast beef and Yorkshire pudding is
overcooked now thanks to you coming home so late. Upon a horse, no less, not
inside the carriage that I requested."

"Ah, yes, but you've already forgiven me for that,
remember?" she said lightly as they proceeded arm in arm to the dining
room, although her mood suddenly didn't feel so light.

She wasn't sure why, either, which was just as strange.
Perhaps Donovan's surliness was simply wearing her down. With her luck, she'd
probably prattle by herself at one end of that absurdly long table while Donovan
swirled his wine at his end and said little . . . which was exactly what
happened.

Lord, Ogden must think she was a ridiculous chatterbox
to have carried on and on about her day—well, as much of it as she could safely
discuss, leaving out her meeting with Captain Oliver Trelawny altogether and
the unsettling incident on the heath—but she'd had to do something to fill the
silence. Thankfully a glass of red burgundy had helped, but she'd pointedly
been given only one while Donovan's glass was refilled twice though he had
barely touched the last.

Then he'd been given a snifter of brandy after their
dessert of buttermilk cake—a familiar Cornish recipe of Frances's that had
given her some comfort, Grace Twickenham thoughtfully doing her best to help
Corisande feel at home —while she was served a bracing hot cup of green tea.
But she didn't want bracing, she wanted to go to bed. Tomorrow would be as full
a day as the one she'd so exhaustively described. Oh, Lord, and she had only to
think of that huge mattress she must share with Donovan to start feeling
nervous all over again.

She wanted to get to their room first. Oh, yes, she
wanted to be safely under the covers with her eyes closed and her back turned
before Donovan even came up the stairs. So she began to yawn well before he'd
finished his brandy, great, long, exaggerated yawns she did little to hide.