Brighter Than The Sun (6 page)

He cast a sharp look in her direction. "It will be a literal pile of stones if I do not have the funds to support it."

Ellie had the distinct impression that he was warning her. He would be most unhappy with her if she backed out of the marriage. She had no doubt he could make her life utter hell if he so chose, and she had a feeling that should she leave him at the altar, spite alone would be motivation enough for him to devote his life to ruining hers.

"You needn't worry," she said crisply. "I have never broken my word, and I do not intend to begin doing so now."

"I am much relieved, my lady."

Ellie frowned. He didn't sound relieved. He sounded more self-satisfied than anything else. She was contemplating why this disturbed her so when he spoke again.

"You should know something about me, Eleanor."

She turned to him with widened eyes.

"I may treat much of life as a game, but I can be deadly serious when I so choose."

"I beg your pardon?" Then she bit her lip for saying it.

"I am not a man to cross."

She drew back. "Are you threatening me?"

"My future wife?" he said blandly. "Of course not."

"I think you
are
threatening me. And I think I don't like it."

"Really?" he drawled. "Is that what you think?"

"I think," she shot back, "that I liked you better when you were drunk."

He laughed at that. "I was easier to manage. You don't like it when you are not firmly in control."

"And you do?"

"We are two of a kind in that regard. I believe we shall suit each other admirably as husband and wife."

She eyed him doubtfully. "Either that or we'll kill each other in the process."

"That's a possibility," he said, giving his chin a thoughtful stroke. "I do hope that we are able to keep the stakes even."

"What the devil are you talking about?"

He smiled slowly. "I'm considered a fair shot. How about you?"

Her mouth fell open. She was so stunned that she couldn't even manage to say, "I beg your pardon."

"That was a joke, Eleanor."

She snapped her mouth back closed. "Of course," she said in a terse voice. "I knew that."

"Of course you did."

Ellie felt a pressure building up within her, a frustration that this man could repeatedly render her speechless. "I am not a terribly good shot myself," she replied, a tight smile decorating her face, "but I am prodigiously talented with knives."

Charles made a choking sound and had to cover his mouth.

"And I am very silent on my feet." She leaned forward, her smile turning mischievous as she regained control of her wit. "You might want to keep your door locked at night."

He leaned forward, his eyes glittering. "But my darling, my aim in life is to make sure your door is unlocked at night. Every night."

Ellie began to feel quite warm. "You promised ..."

"And you promised"—he moved in closer, this time until his nose touched hers—"to let me try to seduce you whenever I wished."

"Oh, for the love of Saint Peter." she said with such disdain that Charles drew back in confusion. "If that isn't the most addlebrained collection of words I have ever heard in a single sentence."

Charles blinked. "Are you insulting me?"

"Well, I certainly wasn't complimenting you," she scoffed. " "Let you try to seduce me.' Oh, please. I promised you could try. I never said I'd 'let' you do anything."

"I have never had this much trouble seducing a woman in my life."

"I believe you."

"Especially one I've agreed to marry."

"I was under the impression I was the only one to hold that dubious honor."

"Now, see here, Eleanor," he said, his voice growing impatient. "You need this marriage just as much as I do. And don't try to tell me you don't. I've met Mrs. Foxglove now. I know what you have waiting for you at home."

Ellie sighed. He knew just how tight a bind she was in. Mrs. Foxglove and her endless carping had seen to that.

"And," he added irritably, "what the hell did you mean 'you believe' that I've never had so much trouble seducing a woman?"

She stared at him as if he were simpleminded. "Exactly that. I believe you. You must know you're a very handsome man."

He appeared not to know how to reply. Ellie was rather pleased to have set
him
at a loss for words for a change. She continued with, "And you're quite charming."

He brightened. "Do you think so?"

"Too
charming," she added, narrowing her eyes, "which makes it difficult to discern the difference between your compliments and your flattery."

"Just assume they're all compliments," he said with a wave of his hand, "and we'll both be happier."

"You
will," she retorted.

"You will, too. Trust me."

"Trust you? Ha! That may have worked with your simpleminded London misses who care for naught but the color of their ribbons, but I am made of sterner—and smarter—stuff."

"I know," he replied. "That's why I'm marrying you."

"Are you saying that I have proven my superior intelligence by my ability to withstand your charms?" Ellie began to chuckle. "How marvelous. The only woman smart enough to be your countess is the one who can see through your superficial rakish veneer."

"Something like that," Charles mumbled, not at all liking the way she had twisted his words but unable to figure out how to twist them back to his advantage.

By now Ellie was laughing in earnest, and he was not amused. "Stop that," he commanded. "Stop it right now."

"Oh, I couldn't," she said, gasping for breath. "I couldn't possibly."

"Eleanor, I will tell you one last time ..."

She turned to reply, her eyes passing over the road on the way to his face. "But—Good God! Watch the road!"

"I
am
watching the—"

Whatever else he'd meant to say was lost as the curricle hit a particularly large rut, bounced to the side, and tossed both its passengers to the ground.

Chapter 5

Charles grunted as he hit the ground, feeling the jolt in every bone, every muscle, every damned
hair
on his body.

Half a second later Ellie landed on top of him, feeling for all the world like an immense sack of potatoes with very good aim.

Charles closed his eyes, wondering if he would ever be able to sire children, wondering if he'd ever again even want to
try.

"Ow!" she let out, rubbing her shoulder.

He would have liked to respond, preferably with something sarcastic, but he couldn't speak. His ribs hurt so much that he was certain every last one of them would shatter if he so much as tried to use his voice. After what seemed like an eternity, she rolled off of him, her pointy little elbow finding the tender spot below his left kidney.

"I cannot believe you didn't see that rut," Ellie said, managing to look supercilious even as she sat in the dirt.

Charles thought about strangling her. He thought about getting her fitted for a muzzle. He even thought about kissing her just to wipe that annoying expression off of her face, but in the end he just laid there, trying to find his breath.

"Even I could have driven the curricle with greater skill," she continued, rising to her feet and brushing off her skirts. "I hope you haven't damaged the wheel. They're terribly expensive to replace, and Bellfield's wheelwright is drunk more often than not. You could travel to Faversham, of course, but I wouldn't recommend—"

Charles let out an agonized groan, although he wasn't quite sure what was paining him most: his ribs, his head, or her lecture.

Ellie crouched back down, concern growing on her face. "I say, you're not hurt, are you?"

Charles managed to stretch his lips out far enough to show his teeth, but only the most optimistic sort could have called it a smile. "Never felt better," he croaked.

"You
are
hurt," Ellie exclaimed, her tone rather accusatory.

"Not too much," he managed to get out. "Just my ribs, and my back, and my—" He broke off into a fit of coughing.

"Oh, dear," she said. "I'm terribly sorry. Did I knock the breath out of you when I fell?"

"You knocked it clear to Sussex."

Ellie frowned as she touched her hand to his brow. "You don't sound well. Do you feel hot?"

"Christ, Eleanor, I don't have a bloody fever."

She brought her hand back to her side and muttered, "At least you haven't lost your wide and varied vocabulary."

"Why is it," he said, his breath coming out in a long-suffering sigh, "that whenever you are near, I emerge injured?"

"Now see here!" Ellie exclaimed. "This was not my fault. I wasn't driving. And I certainly didn't have anything to do with your falling out of a
tree."

Charles didn't bother to reply. His only sound was a groan as he tried to sit up.

"At least let me tend to your injuries," Ellie said.

He shot her a sideways look that reeked of sarcasm.

"Fine!" she burst out, standing up and throwing her arms in the air. "Tend to yourself, then. I hope you have a splendid time walking home. What is it— ten, fifteen miles?"

He touched his head, which was beginning to throb.

"It should be a lovely stroll," she continued, "especially on that ankle."

Charles jammed his fingers more tightly against his temple, hoping the pressure would somehow dull the pain. "I'd wager you have a vengeful streak a mile wide," he muttered.

"I am the least vengeful person I know," she said with a sniff. "And if you think otherwise, then perhaps you ought not to marry me."

"You're marrying me," he ground out, "if I have to drag you to the altar bound and gagged."

Ellie smiled waspishly. "You could try," she taunted, "but in your condition you couldn't drag a flea."

"And you say you're not vengeful."

"I seem to be developing a taste for it."

Charles grabbed at the back of his skull, which felt as if someone were stabbing long, rusty needles into it. He winced and said, "Just don't say anything. Not a word. Not a"—he gasped as he felt another rush of pain—"single damned word."

Ellie, who had no idea that he even had a headache, interpreted that to mean he thought she was inconsequential, stupid, and a general nuisance. Her spine stiffened, her teeth clenched, and her hands curved into involuntary little claws. "I have done nothing to deserve this kind of treatment," she said in a haughty voice. And then, with a loud, "Hmmmph," she turned on her heel and marched toward home.

Charles lifted his head long enough to see her stride off, sighed, and promptly passed out.

* * *

"Why that little snake," Ellie muttered to herself. "If he thinks I'm going to marry him now... He's worse than Mrs. Foxglove!" She scrunched up her brow, decided that it wouldn't do to start lying to herself at the ripe old age of three and twenty, and then added, "Well, almost."

She tramped along the lane a few more steps, then leaned down when something shiny caught her eye. It looked like a metal bolt of some sort. She picked it up, rolled it around in her hand for a moment, then slipped it into her pocket. There was a little boy in her father's parish who loved trinkets like this. Perhaps she could give it to him next time she went to church.

Ellie sighed. She'd have plenty of time to give the bolt to Tommy Beechcombe. It certainly didn't look as if she'd be moving out of her father's house any time soon. She might as well start practicing her chimney sweeping techniques that afternoon.

The Earl of Billington had brought a brief measure of excitement into her life, but it was now clear they wouldn't suit. She did, however, feel a touch guilty about leaving him lying by the side of the road. Not that he didn't deserve it, of course, but Ellie always tried to be charitable, and ...

She shook her head and rolled her eyes. One look back wouldn't kill her. Just to see if he was all right.

She twisted around but realized that she'd gone over a little hill and couldn't see him any longer. She let out a deep breath and trudged back toward the scene of the accident. "This doesn't mean you care about him," she told herself. "It just means that you are a fine and upstanding woman, one who doesn't abandon people, however rude and vile"—she allowed herself a tiny smile here—"when they are incapable of looking after—Good God!"

Charles was lying where she'd left him, and he looked quite dead.

"Charles!" she screamed, picking up her skirts and sprinting toward him. She stumbled over a rock and landed next to him, her knee jabbing into his side.

He groaned. Ellie let out her breath, which she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She hadn't
really
thought he was dead, but he'd been so terribly still. "Where are smelling salts when one actually needs them?" she muttered. Mrs. Foxglove was always waving around vile-smelling potions at the least provocation.

"No, I don't have a vinaigrette," she said to the unconscious earl. "No one has ever fainted in my vicinity before." She looked around for something to use to revive him when her eyes fell on a small flask that must have fallen from the upturned curricle. She picked it up, unscrewed the cap, and sniffed the contents.

"Oh, my," she said, holding it back and waving the air in front of her face. Pungent whiskey fumes filled the air. Ellie wondered if the alcohol was left over from the day Charles had fallen out of the tree. He certainly hadn't been drinking today—of that, Ellie was certain. She would have smelled it on him—and besides, she didn't think he was the sort to abuse spirits on a regular basis.

She looked down at this man she was actually considering marrying. Even unconscious, there was a certain air of resolute power about him. No, he wouldn't need alcohol to bolster his self-esteem.

"Well," she said out loud, "I suppose we can at least use it to wake you up." She held the flask in front of her and placed it under his nose.

No response.

Ellie frowned and placed her hand over his heart. "My lord, you haven't gone and died since the last time you groaned, have you?"

Not surprisingly, he didn't reply, but Ellie did feel his heart beating steadily beneath her palm, which reassured her greatly. "Charles," she said, trying to sound stern, "I would really appreciate it if you would wake up immediately."

When he again didn't so much as twitch, she placed her fore and middle fingers against the opening of the flask and tipped it over, dousing her skin with the cool whiskey. It evaporated quickly against her flesh, so she repeated the motion, this time keeping the flask overturned a bit longer. When she was satisfied that her fingers were sufficiently wet, she dabbed them under his nose.

"Whaa ... Aya ... Heebelah!"

Charles didn't make much sense as he came to. He shot up like a bullet, blinking and startled, looking very much like a man waking up too quickly from a nightmare.

Ellie lurched back to avoid his flailing arms, but she wasn't quick enough, and he knocked the flask from her hands. It sailed through the air, spewing whiskey all the while. She jumped backward, and this time she
was
quick enough. All of the whiskey landed on Charles, who was still spluttering incoherently.

"What the hell did you do to me?" he demanded once he regained his power of speech.

"What did I do to
you?"

He coughed and wrinkled his nose. "I smell like a drunk."

"You smell very much like you did two days ago."

"Two days ago I was—"

"A drunk," Ellie retorted.

His eyes darkened. "I was drunk, not
a
drunk. There is a difference. And you—" He jabbed his finger in her direction, then winced at the sudden movement and grabbed his head.

"Charles?" Ellie asked cautiously, forgetting that she was rather angry with him for somehow placing the blame for this entire farce on her shoulders. All she could see was that he was in pain. A lot of pain, if his facial expression was any indication.

"Lord almighty," he cursed. "Did someone hit me on the head with a log?"

"I was tempted to," Ellie tried to joke, hoping that levity might take his mind off the pain.

"That I do not doubt. You would have made a superb army commander had you been born a man."

"There are a lot of things I could have done had I been born a man," Ellie muttered, "and marrying you is not one of them."

"Lucky me," Charles replied, still wincing. "Lucky you."

"That remains to be seen."

There was an awkward silence, and then Ellie, feeling that she ought to explain to him what had happened while he was unconscious, said, "About the whiskey ... I suppose I must apologize, but I was just trying to—"

"Flambe me?"

"No, although the suggestion does have merit. I was trying to revive you. An alcoholic vinaigrette, if you will. You knocked the flask over when you sat up."

"How is it that I feel as if I have been strung out on the rack, and you look completely unhurt?"

Ellie's mouth curved into a wry half-smile. "One would think that a chivalrous gentleman such as yourself would be pleased that his lady was uninjured."

"I am ever chivalrous, my lady. I am also damned confused."

"Evidently you're not chivalrous enough to abstain from cursing in my presence. However"—she waved her hand nonchalantly in the air—"it is lucky for you that I have never been overly fussy about such matters."

He closed his eyes, wondering why it took her so many words to get to the point.

"I fell on you when I was thrown from the curricle," she finally explained. "You must have sustained some injuries to your back when you fell, but any pain you are feeling in your ... ah ... front is probably due to ... ah... me." She blinked a few times, and then fell silent, her cheeks staining a rather fetching pink.

"I see."

Ellie swallowed uncomfortably. "Would you like a hand up?"

"Yes, thank you." He took her hand and hauled himself to a standing position, trying to ignore the myriad aches and pains that flared with every movement. When he reached his feet, he planted his hands on his hips and stretched his neck to the left. The joint made several cracking sounds, and Charles fought the urge to smile when Ellie winced.

"That doesn't sound very promising," she offered.

He didn't reply, just stretched his neck in the opposite direction, finding some sort of perverse satisfaction in the second round of cracking noises. After a moment, his eyes fell upon the overturned curricle, and he swore under his breath. The wheel had come off and was now crushed beneath the body of the vehicle.

Ellie followed his line of vision and said, "Yes, I tried to tell you that the wheel was quite ruined, but I now realize that you were in far too much pain to listen."

As Charles kneeled down to inspect the damage,

she surprised him by adding, "I'm terribly sorry for walking away a few minutes ago. I didn't realize how hurt you were. If I had, I should never have left. I— I shouldn't have left regardless. It was very bad of me."

Charles was touched by her heartfelt speech, and impressed with her sense of honor. "Your apology is unnecessary," he said gruffly, "but appreciated and accepted nonetheless."

Ellie inclined her head. "We did not travel very far from my home. It shouldn't be difficult to walk back and lead the horses. I am certain my father will be able to arrange transportation home for you. Or we can find a messenger to fetch a fresh carriage from Wycombe Abbey."

"That will be fine," he murmured, giving the damaged curricle a closer look.

"Is something amiss, my lord? Other than the fact that we drove through a rut and overturned?"

"Look at this, Eleanor." He reached out and touched the damaged wheel. "It's no longer attached to the carriage."

"I imagine that is from the accident."

Charles tapped his fingers against the side of the curricle as he thought. "No, it should still be attached. Broken, from when we overturned, but attached right here at the centerpoint."

"Do you think that wheel came off of its own volition?"

"Yes," he said thoughtfully. "Yes, I do."