Amanda Scott (6 page)

The footman leapt to hold the door, and the Earl of Andover, a large, bronze-haired man with broad shoulders and a heavy torso that save him a somewhat bullish appearance, presently attired in a loose but well-tailored brown jacket over his close-fitting buckskins and shining topboots, emerged from the interior of the chaise. When he straightened, looking purposefully toward the French doors leading to the conservatory, Diana came involuntarily to her feet, barely conscious as she did so of her sister-in-law’s stammered excuses.

“I-I think I’ll just run upstairs to the n-nursery to see if Amy requires anything.” Lydia was already moving toward the door into the drawing room as she spoke, and the sight of the Earl of Andover striding from the drive across the short stretch of turf to the French doors sped her on her way.

The footman swung up behind again, and the chaise moved away toward the stables, as Diana braced herself. Then Andover pushed open the doors and fairly erupted into the room.

“So here you are, indeed,” he boomed, crossing the room in a few long strides. His large hands gripped her shoulders, and he gave her a hard shake. “I might have guessed you would come here. Are you all right?”

“Y-yes, of course I’m all right,” Diana snapped, her fears dissipating as her temper rose to meet his. “Do stop shaking me, sir!” She tried to pull away from him, and the attempt merely earned her another shake.

“You deserve that I should do a great deal more than shake you, you idiotic wench. How dared you serve me such a trick! You frightened me nearly witless. Are you quite certain you have not come to grief? The roads are treacherous in the wet, and one never knows what sort of scoundrels might be encountered along the highroad.”

“Simon, let me go,” Diana commanded, trying once again and just as unsuccessfully to free herself. “I tell you I am quite safe. The road from Wilton is in excellent condition, and the distance is scarcely more than forty miles, after all. And as for scoundrels, there are few footpads on the Marlborough Highroad at the best of times and certainly none at all in a rainstorm.”

“Much you would care if there were,” he snarled, shaking her again. “And even if you met with no mischance on the road, you will still be well served if you have caught your death from the elements. You must have been nearly the entire afternoon in heavy fog and rain.”

“Well, and what if I was? I am not made of anything that will dissolve from a wetting.”

“By God,” he said wrathfully, “I
shall
beat you this time. You haven’t the sense God gave a goose, my girl. And what reason, may I ask, had you to hare off like that in the first place?”

“What reason?” she repeated, her voice going up dangerously on the last word in a squeak of near fury. “How can you even ask me such a question after accusing me—yes, and your brother, as well—of the most disgusting things?”

He held her away, silent for a moment as his gaze raked her from tip to toe. “Your cheeks are over-red,” he said at last. “I am persuaded you have a fever.”

“Simon, I am not feverish,” she said firmly, measuring her words as though she spoke to a halfwit. “If my cheeks are red, ’tis because I am angry.” She twisted again in his grasp, but still he would not let her go. She had been watching his eyes, knowing their golden-hazel depths to be the best gauge of his temper. They narrowed now, and a glint appeared that made her cease her struggles and draw breath rather quickly.

“
You
are angry?” he said, his voice steadier but with a note of implacability that had not been present before. “You?” he repeated. “Let me tell you that your anger is as nothing compared to mine. How do you think I felt, my girl, when I went to your room, expecting to find you indulging in a fit of the sulks, only to find you not at all?”

“I don’t know how you felt,” she told him. “I never know.”

“Fustian. You know very well. Had you not intended to frighten me, you would at least have left me a message.”

She was still watching his eyes, but his words gave her pause. She had not even thought about leaving him a note. She had known he would find her. A note would have seemed unnecessary, supposing it had ever occurred to her to write one.

“I was angry,” she said. “I didn’t think.”

“Rubbish.”

“What? I
was
angry.”

“Perhaps. But you didn’t leave Wilton House in a fit of anger, Diana mine. I know for a fact that you left yesterday morning, so you had had all the previous night to think about what you were doing. Yes, and that brings to mind another small detail. I shall have a thing or two to say to your precious Ned Tredegar that he won’t wish to hear.”

“You mustn’t.” Diana raised one hand to touch his jacket sleeve in a half-pleading gesture. She felt the muscular forearm beneath. “Please, Simon, you know Ned wanted nothing to do with my flight. He came with me only because he knew I’d come alone if he refused to accompany me.”

“No doubt, but he could have stopped you,” her husband said stubbornly.

“How? He never has been able to stop me from doing as I please.” When the golden eyes narrowed again, Diana wished she could unsay the simple statement. Simon now looked very much as she imagined a bull might look if one were foolish enough to wave a red flag under its very nose.

“No one can stop you, it seems,” he said ominously. “At least, you choose to think that is the case. And so you attempt to make a fool of me whenever the fancy strikes you, even to playing dangerous games with my own brother—”

“Oh, Simon, no! You can’t think—”

“What I think or don’t think is small beer compared to what the rest of the world thinks, my lady. The time has come for you to cease your foolishness. We have provided the
beau monde
with grist for its rumor mill long enough. This last escapade of yours will see an end to it.”

He had her full attention now. She went perfectly still, her face paling as she attempted to decipher the purposeful expression in his eyes.

“What are you going to do?” she asked at last, speaking with forced calm.

“We are going home.”

“To Andover Court? You are sending me home?” She had not thought he would do anything so drastic.

“To Alderwood,” he said quietly, “and I’m not sending you anywhere. I am going with you.”

Diana gave a sigh of relief. “Well, of course we are going to Alderwood, but not until next week. Surely, you cannot have forgotten the hunt party at Stourhead to celebrate the completion of the new wing?”

“Richard,” he said, referring to Sir Richard Colt Hoare, the dilettente and great collector, whose house was his pride, “will do well enough without us. We are going home.” He released her at last, but she made no attempt to move away from him, and after a searching look down into her face, he added almost coaxingly, “It will not be so bad, Diana. You will enjoy seeing Father and Aunt Ophelia and little Susanna, after all.”

“She will not thank you for calling her ‘little’, sir,” Diana muttered. “She is a young lady.”

“So she is,” he agreed, still watching her closely. “We shall tell them that after all the festivities of the past months, we both have need of a week to repair our constitutions before Christmas.”

“You forget that I had quite a nice rest in Hampshire with Papa and Mama whilst you were enjoying yourself all over France,” she said grimly.

“I was scarcely enjoying myself,” he retorted, “and I was not ‘all over France.’ Merely in Paris, and it was a very wearing journey, as I have told you before. Moreover, you were not precisely idle in Hampshire. If Holly Manor was not teeming with guests during the entire course of your sojourn there, it must be for the very first time.”

“But I do not—”

“We will not argue the point. I am too tired to bandy words with you, my lady. I have been to Holly Manor and back to Wilton House on horseback in heavy rains before ever packing up to make the journey here, and my temper is on a shorter rein than usual, so I’d advise you to tread warily.”

Seeing clearly that he meant every word, she drew in her claws. “You went to Holly Manor? Were they dreadfully worried about me?”

“Not dreadfully. Your father wanted to know what I’d done to vex you, of course, but your mama, dear lady, wisely recommended that I ride to Ethelmoor and shake some sense into you. At the time, I can promise you, I meant to do a deal more than that.”

She swallowed carefully. “Will not Lord Marimorse and the Lady Ophelia wonder why we are come before our appointed time? You will humiliate me, sir.”

“If ’twere so, ’twould be no more than you deserve for your antics, but they will not indulge in idle curiosity. They will accept the fact that we are worn to the bone from a full and overfull schedule of house parties.” When she opened her mouth to protest further, he stopped her with two fingers gently laid upon her lips. “Not another word, Diana. This time you will obey me as any good wife obeys her husband.”

“That I should live to see the day.” The chording voice from the drawing room doorway caused them both to start, then to turn as one to face Viscount Ethelmoor. He grinned at Simon. “Welcome, Andover. You must forgive my tardy appearance, but from one cause or another, my people neglected to inform me that you had arrived.”

Simon accepted his hand ruefully. “’Tis rather I who should beg forgiveness for trading on our kinship to enter your house so informally. My excuse, such as it is, is that I expected to find you all gathered here at this time of day.”

“No matter,” Ethelmoor told him, still grinning. “I daresay you found the only one you truly wanted to find. I trust you’ve given her a proper trimming.”

“Why, as to that—” Simon began, only to be interrupted by his indignant wife.

“If the two of you wish to converse as though no one else were present,” she said coldly, “I shall be only too happy to oblige you. I am persuaded that Lydia must be wondering why I have not come to her before now.”

“Oh, no doubt she is in a dreadful pucker of worry,” her brother agreed, his eyes atwinkle. “You certainly must find her at once. That is,” he added more softly, “if Andover here has nothing further to say to you.”

Involuntarily her gaze shifted to Simon, who met the wary look with an appreciative smile.

“You may go, Diana,” he said kindly, “but you will oblige me by being prepared to set forth for the abbey by first light.”

She grimaced, saying sarcastically, “It must ever be of importance to me to oblige you, my lord.”

“Ah,” said Simon, getting in the last word, “you begin to understand your duty to me, sweetheart.’

Diana gritted her teeth but made no effort to reply, not being entirely certain that she could rely upon Simon to restrain his temper merely because her brother happened to be present. Going upstairs, she did not seek out Lydia but went instead to her own bedchamber to fetch a warm shawl. She then left the house and enjoyed a long, rambling walk through the park, telling only one young footman whither she was bound. She did not return until it was time to dress for dinner, but no one scolded her for her long absence, and she could not be certain anyone had even missed her.

At dinner the other three talked amicably, but Diana was uncomfortable and spoke stiffly when she spoke at all. It didn’t help matters when she informed the others that Simon had no doubt brought messages from Holly Manor. “For you must know,” she added with a barbed glance at her husband, “that he most foolishly thought I must have flown home to Mama and Papa after the dreadful things he said to me.”

“Only because Holly Manor lies nearer to Wilton House than this place does,” Simon said grimly, his eyes warning her that to pursue the subject would be unwise.

Diana lapsed into silence again while Ethelmoor filled the breach by reminding Simon that he wanted to show him a promising young hunter he had recently acquired. They went out to the stables together directly after dinner while Diana joined Lydia in the drawing room, where young Amy had been brought by her nanny to spend some time before bedtime with her mama.

Miss Amy Sterling was a bouncing, curly-headed moppet whose coloring exactly matched her mother’s but whose brown eyes danced with her father’s mischievous twinkle. The three women—mother, nurse, and aunt—watched with doting expressions while the child scampered here and there, holding imaginary conversations with assorted pieces of Egyptian-style furniture and pulling a small wooden dog on wheels back and forth across the Aubusson carpet. When the men returned, young Amy let out a banshee shriek of delight and flung herself at her father’s long legs.

Ethelmoor snatched her up and tossed her, squealing, into the air, catching her easily amidst a flurry of lace petticoats and cuddling her to his chest. Half an hour later Nanny took the child away again, and the men settled down with a bottle of port and a pack of cards to play picquet.

The tea tray was brought in to them at nine-thirty, and no sooner had it been cleared away again than Andover got to his feet and approached his wife, who was curled in a chair near the fire prepared to continue her earlier conversation with her sister-in-law. “We want an early start,” he said quietly, “so I think Bruce and Lydia will excuse us now.”

Diana looked up at him, prepared to protest, but the expression in his eyes stopped her. “As you wish, sir.”

Allowing him to help her up, she gave her brother’s appreciative chuckle no heed whatsoever, merely wishing him a cool good night and her sister-in-law a much warmer one before following Simon to the stair hall and up the winding stairs. At her door, she paused to bid him a good night, expecting that he had been allotted one of the other bedchambers on the same floor, but to her dismay, he merely reached past her to open the door and waited patiently for her to enter the room.

“I-I thought you—”

“I know what you thought,” he said, “but I have had my things put in here, and here is where I mean to sleep, Diana, with my wife.”

T
HE BEDCHAMBER, WITH SIMON
in it, seemed much smaller than before. He filled it, not just by his size alone, Diana decided, glancing at him, but by the power of his presence. She remembered Lydia saying something about his being accustomed to commanding those around him, and the observation was an accurate one. As heir to the powerful Marquess of Marimorse, Simon had been raised to believe himself master of all he surveyed. Right now, she realized, he was surveying his wife.