The Wedding Affair (21 page)

“I’ll send a groom back to Halstead to bring a carriage. If you will accompany me on my errand, Lady Reyne…”

Before Kate could object or even ask her friend to stay, the duke and Olivia were gone—and Kate and Andrew remained in the shadow of the fallen wall, with only Emily to observe.

Not that there was any call for concern. What had come over her, Kate thought, to cause even an instant’s anxiety about the proprieties? She and Andrew weren’t
alone
. And even if they had been, there was nothing to be concerned about. Besides, he’d seemed quite smitten with Olivia this morning, so he was hardly likely to take a second look at Kate even if not for the injured young woman lying between them.

Andrew’s gaze remained on Emily’s face as he gently moved her arm, checking her shoulder, her elbow, her wrist. “Miss Blakely,” he said finally, “why did you ask for me just now?”

Kate was startled. “I don’t know what you mean. I didn’t.”

“Instead of appealing to the duke, you addressed me.”

Kate ran back through the memory of what she had said, realized he was correct, and shrugged. “I suppose it was because you must have seen injuries in your travels.”

“The duke has traveled, too,” Andrew said quietly. “I find it interesting that you put your confidence in me, rather than in him. I feel quite honored.”

Kate was nonplussed. “I’m hardly putting you up for notice as a hero, Mr. Carlisle.”

“Aren’t you?” He grinned at her and then looked once more at the bridesmaid. “I can see nothing seriously wrong, Miss Emily, though I expect you will be bruised and stiff for a day or two. Let me help you to sit up, and we’ll wait for the carriage to take you back to Halstead.”

Relief made Kate’s knees wobbly, and she sank down on the pile of rocks.

“I don’t know if I
can
sit up,” Emily said. “I feel so shaky.”

“Perhaps the heroic Mr. Carlisle will let you lean against him,” Kate murmured.

Andrew shot a look at her that Kate pretended not to see. She brushed at the slimy green patches the moss had left on her habit when she had knelt on the stone, but all she succeeded in doing was to stain her gloves as thoroughly as her skirt. At least the spots wouldn’t show from a distance against the dark fabric of the riding habit, and there was a chance that, under the ministrations of the skilled laundry maids at Halstead, they would come out. But her kid gloves would never be clean again. She sighed.

“You seem disturbed… Miss Blakely.”

There was the barest breath of hesitation in Andrew’s voice before he voiced her title. If Emily hadn’t been there to overhear, he would no doubt have called her Kate again. The ironic little twist in his tone, the hint of secrets shared, would have made clear to Kate—even if he hadn’t said so before—that he regarded the title as a formality. Yet his words had been perfectly correct and his tone so subtle that she couldn’t even call him to account for it. He would merely pretend shock if she tried, and even Emily’s self-centeredness would be jolted enough for her to notice if they were to bicker over a name.

How incredibly unfair that no matter what Andrew called her, Kate was left off balance. She eyed him with displeasure. “I am concerned about Lady Reyne.”

“The duke will look after her with the greatest care, I am persuaded.”

“But why did he take her away at all? There was no need for her to hurry along on his errand.”

Andrew helped Emily move to a more secure position with her back against a wall, though she protested that it, too, might fall on her. Once she was settled, he sat down near Kate on the fallen rock pile. “Did you wish Lady Reyne to remain as a chaperone for you?”

Kate felt herself start to flush. “Of course not. But it is hardly proper of the duke to ask her to be alone with him.”

Andrew smiled.

Kate’s heart turned over. She had never forgotten his smile, and the way his dark eyes sparkled and looked almost gold when he was amused. But what had been a singularly charming smile when he was a youth was now dangerously attractive.

Andrew said softly, “The key point for Simon, I believe, is that
he
is not alone.”

Kate recalled the long glance that had passed between the two men. It would have puzzled her at the time, had the majority of her attention not been focused on Emily. Still, even in her preoccupation she had recognized a message in that glance…

For the first time, Kate remembered sending the bridesmaid for help. It was odd that Horatia hadn’t returned along with the gentlemen; what could have happened to her?

“I see. The duke took Olivia along to serve as
his
chaperone,” she said quietly. “So Horatia—or another of the bridesmaids—could not waylay him alone in some quiet spot.”

“Wouldn’t you, if you were in his position?”

“But then why doesn’t he mind being alone with Olivia?”

Andrew shot a quizzical glance at her. “If you really don’t know the answer, Kate, perhaps we should go exploring together.”

Something about the way he said the word sent a tingle of anticipation through her. “I’m not interested in exploring with you, Mr. Carlisle.”

“Aren’t you?” he said softly. “We could search along the passageway Lady Reyne came out of this morning—and the duke only a minute later. You remember the incident, I’m sure. We would find quite a private little spot, I suspect.”

Before Kate could find enough breath to answer, a pair of young women came around the corner—Horatia had returned with Lady Daphne. Horatia shrank back as if afraid of what she might see, but Lady Daphne’s gaze roved brightly over the scene until she spotted Emily. “That’s what you get for climbing on walls to peek at the duke. Yes, Horatia told me what the two of you were doing. There’s no damage done?” She sounded disappointed.

Emily looked pathetic. “Mr. Carlisle says I will be unable to move on my own for days.”

Daphne sniffed. “Since you don’t show to advantage on the ballroom floor, having such a good excuse to sit out every dance will work well for you.”

Kate was aghast. “Lady Daphne, what a perfectly horrid thing to say to your friend! And Miss Emily, that is not at all what Mr. Carlisle told you.”

“And you would know, my Kate, because you were listening so carefully to every word I spoke.”

“I am not
your Kate
—and I hear many interesting things, Mr. Carlisle.” She took a deep breath and decided it was time to change the subject. “Have you found your heiress yet?” she asked him quietly.

He smiled. “That was Simon’s idea. I’m not looking for one.”

“I grant that heiresses are on the whole a brainless lot. But surely that’s not a huge consideration in your case.”

“Why? Because you believe I’m brainless enough myself that I should not notice the lack, if I were to marry a woman who has a shortage of intelligence?”

Kate hadn’t intended to insult him—at least not quite so thoroughly as he seemed to think she had set out to do. But shouldn’t he have been aggravated by such an implication? Possibly even had his feelings hurt? Instead, he’d sounded amused.

“Not at all, Mr. Carlisle,” she said crisply, “for you likely wouldn’t be at home to be bored with her anyway. If you were to marry a woman with enough money, then you would not be limited to going where your patrons wish to send you. You could go adventuring to your heart’s content.”

Andrew let out a low whistle. “What a very good idea, Kate!”

“If you choose a woman who is more interested in having a home than a husband, she might not even notice you were gone. She might even be glad of your absence.”

“And all I’d need to do is come home once a year to get her with child.”

“I didn’t say anything about…” Kate noted the twinkle in his eyes and swallowed the rest.

“I think you’ve hit on the perfect plan for my life. No doubt you will also volunteer to choose the perfect heiress for me?”

“Oh, no. I’ve done my share—though I’m surprised you haven’t thought of it yourself.”

“Come now, Kate. You’ve already spent quite a lot of time with each of these young ladies—more than you believe I should spend with just one of them in my entire lifetime.” He shifted on the rocks, turning to face her. “How could you possibly be so cruel as to refuse me your guidance in choosing which of them I must wed?”

***

Penelope couldn’t believe what she was hearing. A bedchamber? Perhaps her ears weren’t working correctly, for the landlord merely bowed and stepped out into the hall. Surely if the earl had really requested a bedchamber at this hour of the day, the landlord would have expressed surprise, not acted as if it was the most commonplace of requests.

“This way, my lady,” the landlord said respectfully. “My good wife keeps our best bedchamber always ready.”

Penelope stared at the earl.
“
Now?
” Her voice was no more than a squeak. “But it’s still…”

“Daylight?” the earl said. “Indeed it is. No time like the present.”

Penelope let out her breath in a rush. He had no intention of carrying through this scheme; he was trying to shock her out of a truly silly notion. Now the earl had made his point, she realized how far outside the bounds she had gone.

“Don’t make fun,” she whispered. “I only meant…”

“I have no intention of ridiculing you. You expressed a desire, and I am waiting to fulfill your wish—right now.”

“My lady?” the landlord asked, and Penelope realized his voice had gone sharp. He must be questioning why there seemed to be a difference of opinion between his guests. And no wonder, she thought. A bedchamber in the middle of the day… did he think they were indulging in an affaire? Or perhaps he was wondering if they were eloping. Possibly even suspecting she might have been carried off against her will…

In any case, the landlord was sweet to stand up for her, since interfering with the desires of a young, active, athletic member of the
ton
was hardly good business.

Right now
, the earl had said—and he was looking impatient. If she backed down now, the opportunity would never come again. Which was, of course, exactly what he intended to happen.

Wasn’t it?

“I am quite all right,” she told the landlord. “Please show my husband and me to…” Her lips refused to form the word, but the landlord bowed again and led the way.

The stairway was narrow and twisting, and each step seemed to be a different height. At least, the toes of Penelope’s boots kept awkwardly bumping the treads as she climbed. Or perhaps her clumsiness was only because she was so fiercely aware of the earl just a step behind her.

The bedchamber was small and painfully neat. It might be the best in the house, but it was no competition for the guest suite at Halstead. The bed was far smaller and less ornate, with no elaborate hangings, no counterpane. Instead, a pieced quilt, made of fragments of cloth so small Penelope couldn’t imagine stitching enough of them together to cover a mattress, draped the bed. The frame was homemade and the carving crude. The mattress was uneven and looked lumpy.

This bed was not only smaller than the ones at Halstead, but it was far more intimate—more personal. And somehow, Penelope thought, that fact made this bed even more intimidating than the grand one she had slept in the night before. She brushed her fingertips across the quilt. “It’s really very pretty.”

She heard the door close behind the landlord and turned around slowly to face her husband. She couldn’t meet his gaze so she focused on the knot of his neckcloth. “I… I don’t know what to do,” she admitted.

“The custom is to remove one’s clothing. All of it.”

Penelope’s mouth went dry.

“If you are having second thoughts, ma’am, we need not proceed.”

He might as well have come straight out and called her a coward. And perhaps she was, Penelope admitted. For an instant she wavered.

Then she straightened her shoulders and said, “No second thoughts.” Before she could think any further, she took hold of the top button of her habit. Her fingers shook, but she kept at it, working her way slowly down the front of her bodice until it gaped open and her white linen chemise peeked out.

For a man who had twice casually stripped off his coat and shirt in front of her, the earl seemed in no hurry to undress himself. Appearing perfectly at ease, he stood in the center of the room. His gaze didn’t leave her, though he appeared no more than mildly interested.

But then that was no surprise, Penelope thought bitterly. She had realized long ago she was not to his taste. Perhaps on a moonless night they could have pretended. But it was midday, and despite the drawn curtains over the small windows, the inn’s best bedchamber was perfectly light. There would be no confusion.

She couldn’t bear to see whether he showed disappointment when he saw her body, so she turned away as she pushed her habit down over her hips. She caught the garment and laid it carefully aside. She felt incredibly bare with her arms and shoulders entirely exposed to his gaze. Her breasts, pushed up by the lacings of her corset, peeked out through the thin fabric of her chemise, and even though she had turned aside, she felt his gaze on her. A deep, uncomfortable flush started in her breasts and worked up her throat, washing over her face.