Brighter Than The Sun (14 page)

"Trying to pound some sense in that contrary little mind of yours."

"Trying to squeeze it is more like it," Ellie muttered. "Ow!"

"What?" he snapped.

"Your elbow."

"Yes, well, your knee ..."

"Are you all right?" came Helen's concerned voice.

"Leave us!" Charles roared.

"Well, really, my lord," Ellie said sarcastically, "I think we're quite alone here in—"

"You should really learn when to stop talking, wife."

"Yes, well..." Ellie's voice trailed off as she heard the door slam. She was suddenly very much aware that she was squeezed into a very tight space with her husband, and his body was pressed against hers in ways that ought not be legal.

"Ellie?"

"Charles?"

"Would you care to tell me why you are standing in a fireplace?"

"Oh, I don't know," she drawled, feeling rather proud of herself for her
savoir-faire,
"would you like to tell me why
you
are standing in a fireplace?"

"Ellie, don't test my patience."

Ellie was of the opinion that they had already gone way beyond the testing phase, but she wisely kept that thought to herself. Instead she said, "There wasn't any danger, of course."

"Of course," he replied, and Ellie was impressed despite herself at the amount of sarcasm he managed to pack into those two words. It was a talent, that.

"It would only have been dangerous if there were a fire in the grate, which clearly there wasn't."

"One of these days I'm going to have to strangle you before you kill yourself."

"I wouldn't recommend that course of action," she said weakly, starting to slide downward. If she could just wiggle out before he did, she might be able to buy enough time to make it to the woods. He'd never catch her amidst those trees.

"Eleanor, I—What in God's name are you doing?"

"Umm, just trying to get out," she said, into his belly. That was about as far down as she'd gotten.

Charles groaned. Really groaned. He could feel every inch of his wife's body, and her mouth—her mouth!—was dangerously, deliriously close to his groin, and—

"Charles, are you ill?"

"No," he croaked, trying to ignore the fact that he could feel her mouth move when she spoke, and then trying even harder to ignore the fact that it was moving against his navel.

"Are you certain? You don't sound well."

"Ellie?"

"Yes?"

"Stand back up. Now."

She did, but she had to wiggle an awful lot to get back upright, and after Charles felt her breast against his thigh, then his hip, and then his arm—well, he had to concentrate very hard to keep certain parts of his body from getting any more excited than they already were.

He wasn't successful.

"Ellie?" he said.

"Yes?" She was back to standing, which put her mouth somewhere at the lower part of his neck.

"Tilt your head up. Just a touch."

"Are you certain? Because we might get jammed, and—"

"We're already jammed."

"No, I could wriggle back down and—"

"Don't
wriggle back down."

"Oh."

Charles took a deep breath. Then she moved. Nothing big, just a slight twist of her hips. But it was enough. And so he kissed her. He couldn't have helped it if France were conquering England, if the sky were falling in, even if his bloody cousin Cecil were inheriting his every last farthing.

He kissed her, and he kissed her, and then he kissed her some more. And then he finally lifted his head for a second—just a second, mind you—to take a breath, and the confounded woman actually managed to get a word in.

"Is that why you wanted me to tilt my head?" she asked.

"Yes, now stop talking."

He kissed her again, and he would have done more, except that they were wedged in so tight that he couldn't have wrapped his arms around her if he tried.

"Charles?" she said, when he took another breath.

"You have a talent for this, you know."

"For kissing?" she asked, sounding more delighted than she'd probably meant to let on.

"No, for rattling on every time I stop to breathe."

"Oh."

"You're rather good at the kissing bit, too, though. A little bit more practice and you'll be superb."

She elbowed him in the ribs, quite a feat considering he couldn't move his own arms an inch. "I'm not going to fall for that old trick," she said. "What I meant to say before you led me into a digression is that Helen and Sally Evans must be terribly worried about us."

"Curious, I imagine, but not worried."

"Yes, well, I think we should try to get out. I'll be terribly embarrassed to see them. I'm sure they know what we're doing, and—"

"Then the harm is already done." He kissed her again.

"Charles!" This time she didn't wait until he took a breath.

"What is it now? I'm trying to kiss you, woman."

"And I'm trying to get out of this bloody chimney." To prove her point, she began to slide back downward, subjecting him to the same erotic torture he'd suffered just a few minutes earlier. Soon she landed on the fireplace floor with a soft thump.

"That ought to do it," she said, crawling out into the cottage and giving him a nice view of her sooty backside. Charles took a few breaths, trying to get a firm rein on his racing body.

"Are you planning to come out?" Ellie asked. She sounded disgustingly chipper.

"Just a moment." He crouched down—moving was much easier now that she'd left the chimney—and crawled out.

"Oh my!" Ellie laughed. "Look at you!"

He glanced down as he sat next to her on the floor. He was covered with soot. "You're rather filthy yourself," he said.

They both laughed, unable to deny the silliness of their appearances, and then Ellie said, "Oh, I forgot to tell you. I visited Mr. Barnes today."

"And was everything arranged to your satisfaction?"

"Oh yes, it was perfect. It was really quite heady, actually, being able to take charge of my finances without subterfuge. And it will be a boon for you, as well."

"How is that?"

"You wanted a wife who won't interfere with your life, correct?"

He frowned. "Er, yes, I suppose I did say that."

"Well, then, it stands to reason that if I have something to keep me busy, I'll stay out of your hair."

He frowned again but didn't say anything.

Ellie exhaled. "You're still angry with me, aren't you?"

"No," he said with a sigh. "But you must stop taking on potentially dangerous tasks."

"It wasn't—"

He held up a hand. "Don't say it, Ellie. Just remember this. You're married now. Your well-being is no longer just your own concern. What hurts you hurts me. So no more unnecessary chances."

Ellie thought that was just about the sweetest thing she'd ever heard, and if they'd been at home, she probably would have thrown herself into his arms on the spot. After a moment, she said, "How did you find us?"

"It wasn't difficult. I simply followed the trail of tenants singing your praises."

She beamed. "I did rather well today, I think."

"Yes, you did," he said softly. "You'll make a fine countess. I always knew you would."

"I'll fix up the muddle I've made at the Abbey, I promise. I checked the oven and—"

"Don't tell me you fiddled with the oven again," he said, looking very much like the most beleaguered man in Britain. "Whatever you do, don't tell me that."

"But—"

"I just don't want to hear it. Tomorrow, maybe. But not today. I simply don't have the energy to give you the thrashing you deserve."

"Thrashing!" she repeated, her back stiffening in righteous indignation. Before she could go on, however, Helen opened the door to the cottage and poked her head in.

"Oh, good, you're out," she said. "We were beginning to worry about you. Sally was certain you'd be stuck in there all evening."

"Please offer her our apologies," Ellie said. "We have both behaved abominably." When her husband didn't so much as murmur even the barest hint of agreement, she kicked him in the foot. He grunted something, but if it was in English, it wasn't a word Ellie had ever heard before.

She stood, smoothed her skirts—an action that did nothing but get her gloves utterly filthy—and said to the room at large,
"I
think we ought to be returning to Wycombe Abbey, don't you?"

Helen nodded quickly. Charles didn't say anything, but he did rise to his feet, which Ellie decided to interpret as a "yes." They bid their farewells to Sally and were on their way. Charles had brought a small carriage, which both Ellie and Helen appreciated after a long day on their feet.

Ellie was silent during the ride home, using the time to review the events of the day in her mind. Her visit with Mr. Barnes had been just as splendid as she could have hoped. She had made marvelous headway with the tenants, who now seemed to well and truly accept her as their new countess. And she seemed to have turned some sort of corner with her husband, who, even if he didn't love her, clearly felt something for her that went beyond mere lust and appreciation for the fact that she had saved his fortune. All in all, Ellie felt remarkably pleased with life.

Chapter 13

Two days later she thought she might like to strangle the entire household. Helen, Claire, the servants, her husband—especially her husband. In fact, the only person she didn't want to strangle was Judith, and that was probably just because the poor girl was only six.

Her success with the tenants had proven to be a short-lived victory. Sirce then, everything had gone wrong. Everything. All of Wycombe Abbey looked upon her as if she were inept. Good-natured and sweet, but still clumsy and inept. It drove Ellie crazy.

Every day, something new died in her little indoor garden. It had gotten to be a sick little game in her mind—guessing which rosebush had gone to plant heaven each day as she entered the orangery.

Then there was the beef stew she'd made for her husband just to be contrary when he said countesses couldn't cook. It had so much salt that Charles couldn't have hidden the pinched expression on his face even if he'd tried. Which he hadn't. Which irritated her all the more.

Ellie had had to dump the entire pot outside. Even the pigs wouldn't touch it.

"I am sure you
meant
to season it properly," Charles had said while everyone was gagging.

"I did," Ellie hissed, thinking it a wonder that she hadn't ground her teeth down to powder.

"Perhaps you mistook salt for another spice."

"I
know
what salt is," she fairly yelled.

"Ellie," Claire said, just a touch too sweetly. "Clearly the stew is a bit oversalted. You must see that."

"You," Ellie burst out, jabbing her index finger in the fourteen-year-old's direction. "Stop speaking to me as if I were a child. I have had enough of it."

"Surely you misunderstand."

"There is only one thing to understand, and only one person who has some understanding to do." By now Ellie was practically breathing fire, and everyone at the table was agog.

"I married your cousin," Ellie continued. "It doesn't matter if you like it, it doesn't matter if he likes it, it doesn't even matter if
I
like it. I married him, and that is that."

Claire looked as if she were going to protest this tirade, so Ellie cut her off with, "Last time I consulted the laws of Britain and the Church of England, marriage was permanent. So you had better get used to my presence here at Wycombe Abbey, because I'm not going anywhere."

Charles had started to applaud, but Ellie was still so furious with him over the salt comment that she could only glower at him in return. And then, because she was certain she'd do someone bodily harm if she remained in the dining room one moment longer, she stomped off.

But her husband had been hot on her heels. "Eleanor, wait!" he called out.

Against her better judgment, she turned around, but not until she had reached the hall outside the dining room, where the rest of the family would not be able to see her humiliation. He'd called her Eleanor— never a good sign. "What?" she bit off.

"What you said in the dining room," he began.

"I know I ought to be sorry I yelled at a young girl, but I am not." Ellie said defiantly. "Claire has been doing everything in her power to make me feel unwelcome here, and I wouldn't be surprised if—" She cut herself off, realizing that she'd been about to say she wouldn't have been surprised if Claire had been the one to dump so much salt in the stew.

"You wouldn't have been surprised if what?"

"Nothing." He wouldn't make her say it. Ellie refused to make childish and petty accusations.

He waited for a moment for her to continue, and when it became apparent that she would not, he said, "What you said in the dining room... about marriage being permanent. I wanted you to know that I agree with you."

Ellie only stared at him, not sure what he meant.

"I am sorry if I have bruised your feelings," he said quietly.

Her mouth fell open. He was
apologizing!

"But I do want you to know that despite these very minor, er, setbacks—"

Ellie's mouth settled into a grim and angry line.

He must not have noticed because he kept talking. "—I think you are becoming a superb countess. Your behavior with the tenants the other day was magnificent."

"Are you telling me I am more suited to life outside Wycombe Abbey than inside?" she asked.

"No, of course not." He exhaled and raked his hand through his thick, brown hair. "I am simply trying to say... Hell," he muttered. "What am I trying to say?"

Ellie resisted the urge to make some sort of sarcastic remark and just waited, arms crossed. Finally he thrust a piece of paper in her direction and said, "Here."

"What is this?" she asked, taking it into her hand.

"A list."

"Of course," she murmured. "A list. Just what I wanted. I have been so lucky with lists thus far."

"It is a different sort of list," he said, clearly trying to be patient with her.