The Outcast Earl (17 page)

“You were in your own bed,” he returned implacably, stopping in the corridor. They had passed the top of the stairs with its adjoining anteroom, and were in the shadowy, dim corridor that housed the family quarters.

Turning her to him, he lifted her face with his thumbs and examined her closely. “Indeed, I imagine the cure for your exhaustion is simply to keep you in the proper bed for the entire night, and skip any late-night trips to sickrooms or kitchens.”

Abigail’s jaw tightened and the heat in her cheeks intensified. But Meriden cut in before she could reply. “I knew you’d understand, and yes—I did mean that your proper bed is mine. However, before you resort to fisticuffs here in the hall, kindly remember that there are likely to be servants traipsing through soon with any number of parcels and crates.” He lifted an eyebrow again. “And you know, my dear, that you’ll end bottom-up and regretting it.”

“You started it,” Abigail whispered, her face still tilted up and his hands still cradling her cheeks.

“And I promise to finish it.” He nodded, then pulled back and drew her on. “And now, the private rooms of the countess are a boudoir similar to my sitting room, a bathing room and a wardrobe. We’ve had them refurbished and I do hope they suit you, but of course if you should wish to make changes for your convenience and comfort, simply apply to me and we’ll have it to your taste as quickly as possible—even before the wedding, if possible.”

He pushed open the door to the corridor and held it open for Abigail to precede him inside, which she did after a lingering exchange of glances with him.

Almost to her shock, he followed her closely into the room, his hand dropping to caress her rump boldly through her day gown. Startled, she jumped and was immediately immersed in a sea of questions, servants, boxes, trunks and packing papers. When she looked back over her shoulder for Meriden, he was already gone.

* * * *

When Meriden joined her in the drawing room before dinner, Abigail was pacing. She had checked on Aunt Betsy and found her sleeping heavily. Realising that she could, without feeling guilty, leave her aunt to try to have a civilised meal with Meriden was a relief. Still, discussing the issue of sleeping arrangements was likely to be disconcerting, given Meriden’s predilections for inappropriate behaviour in and out of the required furniture.

She turned as he entered the room, now elegantly garbed in a distinctive dinner jacket. It fitted him flawlessly, the dark fabric detailing his musculature in a way Abigail suddenly realised was exceptional. Her breath caught and for a moment she had a vision of her father and Gloria’s near-fiancé, the Earl of March, with their heads together over some card game.

Neither of those aristocrats could compare to the noble man walking confidently towards her, unaware that she was about to challenge his authority and try his temper. Before she could lose courage, she plunged right into her complaint. The timing was critical. She had to get her position on record just before Grady announced dinner, or chances were that Grady would again find them in some scandalous embrace or, worse, completely absent.

“I must have a bed, a proper bed,” she put in. “Grady says the room was furnished with one, but you had it moved out for some incomprehensible reason, after I arrived.”

To her surprise, Meriden did not immediately launch into any innuendo regarding the lack of furniture. Instead he reached out and cupped her cheeks in his hands, and tilted her head up until their mouths touched gently.

“I decided after I met you that it would not suit. Something I think more fitting is on its way and will be here before the wedding. Other than that, was everything to your satisfaction?”

Abigail blinked, unsure how she felt about having the intensity of an impending disagreement simply ripped from her. Still on her tiptoes, her mouth against his, she managed a soft answer. “Yes, thank you. It was unnecessary, but wonderfully generous of you—”

“Nothing more than you deserve,” Meriden allowed. As if by design, Grady materialised in the doorway almost before she could blink.

Later, under Betsy’s observant gaze, Abigail poured the tea, then handed a cup of the hot brew to Meriden. She sat beside her aunt, cup in hand, and helped the elderly lady with her cup. Betsy, refreshed from her long nap, had been dressed carefully in a simple, bright green gown, and she had drawn a sunny yellow shawl over her shoulders. Her hair and injury were concealed beneath a curly grey wig. Bruises still flowered over her arms and neck, but she had chosen a seat midway between the bed and the fireplace to await them and seemed to have regained her mental equilibrium and acuity, if not her recent memory.

At the moment, her eyes were fixed sharply on the earl. Meriden had, again, gone through the timeline of their engagement. He’d also produced the engagement announcement that had appeared in The Times and a copy of the Court Circular that had arrived from his London solicitor that afternoon.

“You can’t intend to wed in just six days!” Aunt Betsy said censoriously. “We can’t possibly plan for such a gala in that time.”

Abigail looked at Meriden, but he only shrugged.

“We’re in Warwickshire, Aunt, not London,” she said. “The gilded circle of the ton won’t be here—well, except the three in this room. On Tuesday morning, the day of the wedding, Lennox plans to run the announcement of the engagement of his son, the Earl of March, to Gloria. Mother’s note said that would effectively steer any attention away from me and centre it squarely on Winchester House in London.”

Enclosed in the package had been an envelope of letters for Abigail. Meriden had given them to her near the end of dinner so that she could scan them before facing her aunt. “The wedding itself is nearly planned. Mrs Danvers, the rector’s wife, is kindly making arrangements for flowers and preparing the church, and the ceremony is traditional, after all. Neither Meriden nor I will have anyone stand up with us, and my wedding gown has arrived from London. Reverend and Mrs Danvers were here earlier in the week—she was immensely helpful with the neighbourhood ladies, who all called on Tuesday.”

“Just writing the invitations will require days, Abigail,” Aunt Betsy sighed, looking down at her shaky hands.

“My secretary has been writing them since we agreed on the wedding date with the rector,” Meriden supplied, glancing at Abigail. “Abigail brought a list of family to be included of the de Rothesays, but they will not attend anyway, as all have been summoned to March’s engagement ball at Winchester House. According to Abigail’s wishes, we have delayed the posting of the invitations while we’ve waited to see if you would wake, but they should indeed go tomorrow, in all fairness to the invited guests. Some will need to be sent by special courier, but most are local and my stable lads will distribute them as soon as you agree.”

Betsy sipped her tea, considering, until Abigail broke in, “The wedding breakfast is the most immediate impediment, truthfully. I’ve never planned one, or even seen more than one, and neither has Mrs Carlton—that would be the housekeeper. We’d planned to rely on your expertise and taste to guide us, Aunt.”

The statement went some distance to mollifying Aunt Betsy’s ongoing indignation over the entire match. Abigail knew her aunt did not like to be excluded from any excitement or intelligence, and so far they’d not been able to satisfy her as to the reason for the arranged, hurried match. Assuring her that nothing scandalous between them was afoot had been simple, but Betsy still could not comprehend what her brother’s motives might have been in organising the marriage on such short notice.

Abigail felt terrible about keeping the truth from her, especially given Winchester’s absence, and her mother’s renewed insistence that none of the family would appear in Warwickshire for the wedding itself. The mysterious rationale, Abigail knew, upheld Betsy’s suspicions of Meriden. And Betsy obviously still did see him as questionable, for her aunt kept her chin high as she observed the earl.

Meriden, to his credit, had begun to charm her, despite his occasional brusqueness and—to Abigail—undeserved reputation as dark and dangerous.

Since entering her aunt’s room this evening, Abigail had done her best to demonstrate her comfort with the stranger Aunt Betsy saw. During dinner—a meal in which Meriden’s chief objective had seemed to be to draw out her smiles and laughter—Abigail had realised that her aunt’s perceptiveness would pick up on any overt tension between the couple. She’d cautiously broached the matter with Meriden, but he’d only raised an eyebrow and had replied, “Then behave yourself, my dear, and you will have no cause to be nervous.”

At his words, a nervous flutter had formed in Abigail’s middle. It’d subsided, but remembering them now brought back the angst. Still, at the time she’d thought she’d begun to recognise the intent twinkle in the back of his eyes. With Grady only a few steps away and the prospect of a difficult, potentially long evening before them, Abigail had dared to lift her nose pertly in the air and assert, “I never misbehave.”

Thereafter, she noted, Meriden had seemed oddly pleased. His usual heavy gaze, resting firmly on her, hadn’t changed, nor had the possessiveness of his hands whenever he assisted or guided her. But Abigail had made a conscious decision to relax and remain at ease in his presence, patently unconscious of anything illicit that might have previously occurred between them. She was certain Aunt Betsy had taken note of her entry on Meriden’s arm, of his hovering attention and frequent raking glances, and of Abigail’s own innocent ease in his company.

Betsy sniffed, recalling Abigail to the wedding breakfast. “I’ll need to meet with the housekeeper immediately about the menus, then,” she pronounced. “And the invitations should be sent first thing tomorrow, by courier if you think it necessary. We must have an idea of the size of the crowd, after all. Abigail can handle arrangements for any houseguests—will there be many?”

“Not on my account,” Meriden answered briefly. “And not if I can help it. As I’ve not had time to plan a wedding trip, Abigail and I will be here for the foreseeable future.” He glanced at Abigail and added directly, “Although I have no objections to taking her off to Birmingham if it becomes necessary to escape from unwanted guests. We now have a large house there, though it is in serious need of refurbishment and a resident staff before anyone else sees it.”

Clearing her throat, Abigail murmured in explanation, “The earl’s mother resides in Italy. He’s written to her, of course, but there isn’t time for her to return before the wedding.”

“Actually,” Meriden drawled, “Mama would be the first to thank me for not expecting her to attend, and the first to leave after if she was here.”

“Meriden is right, however. Having one’s older relatives about just after marriage is awkward,” Betsy said thoughtfully, looking at her niece carefully. “Newly married couples need time alone to work things out privately. I’m afraid I won’t be able to give you that luxury, and to be honest, I’m not sure what my plans were before…”

“We didn’t discuss it, Aunt,” Abigail said kindly. “Truly, it will set me more at ease to see you recovering here than worrying over you travelling alone too soon.”

Aunt Betsy sighed and fixed her niece with a straight look. “And on that note, miss, I would like a few words alone with the earl before I am completely worn down. Kindly take yourself off to bed and leave us be. There’s no need to look in on me later—it seems to me you might need the rest as much as I do. I’ll have that girl, Mary, look after me. She is quite efficient.”

Abigail glanced at Meriden and set her cup down. She could hardly flout her aunt’s wishes, particularly over such a matter. Bidding her aunt goodnight with a kiss to the cheek, she was surprised to see Meriden rise. A peculiar heat flushed over her when he took her hand and kissed it, his eyes meeting hers a bit more warmly than she might have preferred before her aunt.

She almost blushed, but instead stammered a bit as she excused herself. The previous night she’d ended in his bed, thanks to a late night in the kitchen. Would he seek out some excuse tonight to return her to that room?

Annie was waiting for her, however, and Abigail allowed the girl to prepare her for bed. She could see no other option—at least she’d have the proper attire for flitting around the house in the darkest hours of the night. Even when Annie departed, she reclined in the bed, wondering.

Minutes passed while Abigail listened to the clock ticking. Finally, with a sigh, she slipped out of the bed and headed on silent feet to the door. The door opened noiselessly. Across the corridor, Aunt Betsy’s door remained open. The room was lit.

Abigail listened carefully, then heard the earl’s voice rumbling. The words were indistinguishable but his ongoing visit with her aunt was assured. She debated a moment, but could see no way to get closer and listen without risking being caught.

Meriden knew where she was. She’d leave the door unlocked. If he wanted her, he could come and fetch her, she decided briskly. Easing the door closed, she returned to the bed and burrowed beneath the blankets, her eyes on the fire in the grate.

Chapter Eight

It was morning when she woke.

Abigail hurried Annie through her morning preparations. If the axe was to fall, she’d prefer to know as early as possible. At the very least, she thought it likely Meriden would be displeased. Upon awakening, she’d discovered a white ribbon detached from her braids and tied loosely about her wrist.

As it was, the morning fast had not been broken when she hurried into the morning room. Meriden’s place was pristinely set, so she stopped and drew a deep breath. Clearly she would need to muster her patience.

Grady appeared and she asked for tea as he helped her sit. Mere minutes passed before he was pouring her a steaming cup of the brew. With a nod to Meriden’s empty place, she glanced at the butler. “Does he generally arrive soon?”

“Usually he has eaten before now and gone out to the home farm, or to his business affairs, or into the village, my lady.” Bringing her a plate of fruit and sausage, he added, “But I’m told he left early this morning with his secretary and the wedding invitations.”