By Love Unveiled (26 page)

Pitney bellowed, “Come back here, Bess!” as Ashton dashed out after her. In seconds, Ashton led her struggling back into the study.

“Shut the door!” Pitney commanded, and Ashton kicked it shut.

Bess stared at him, hatred and disgust in every line of her face. Pitney rose from his chair, wondering how much she’d heard.

“How long have you been standing there?” he demanded.

She tilted her chin up, though her lips quivered. “Only a few moments.”

“Don’t lie to me. You know what happens when I catch you in a lie.” He opened a drawer in his desk and withdrew a riding crop. The blood drained from her features as he slapped it into his palm. “How long, Bess? What did you hear?”

“N-nothing.” But her eyes remained transfixed on the crop.

He slammed it on the table, making her jump. “Did you hear us talking about poison?”

She dropped her gaze.

He rounded the table and lifted the crop.

“Yes!” she cried, holding her hands up in front of her face. “Yes.”

“Leave us, Ashton,” Pitney muttered, and his man obeyed.

As soon as Ashton was gone, she babbled, “I don’t understand what you’ve done, but I promise I won’t say a word to anyone.”

“Don’t play the fool. You know quite well someone tried to poison the king, and the poison was only discovered because some fool knocked it over and His Majesty’s dogs lapped it up.”

“You planted the poison? I know you always hated
His Majesty, but plot against the king? That’s insanity! How could you be so wicked?”

“ ’Twas neither wicked nor insane. When power is at stake, great men must be daring. Our king is rapidly undoing everything the Roundheads sought to build. I couldn’t let that happen. Come now, surely you didn’t think that milksop Winchilsea was behind the poisoning?”

Her expression altered to one of pure shock. “You truly are mad,” she whispered, backing away from him.

How dare she see his brilliance as insanity? Stupid woman! “Was it mad to choose Winchilsea to carry the poison so that if it were discovered, he’d be the one to suffer? Was it mad to get you your precious Falkham House back?” He smiled diabolically. “That was my intent, you know. Sir Henry was doomed once the poison was discovered. And with him gone, I could have bought Falkham House from the Crown. So you see, I did it for you, my dear.”

Her eyes blazed her outrage. “You will not blame this crime on me!”

Pitney strode around her till he stood behind her. “That’s precisely what I’ll do. If you breathe a word of this, I’ll make certain you’re found as guilty as I, sweet wife.” He trailed the crop over her back, feeling a surge of pleasure when she trembled. “Keep in mind what I might do to you. I can bribe the maid to swear you confessed your crime to her. Ashton would fabricate tales about you if I requested it. So you had a part in my crime and didn’t even know it.”

She whirled on him, her eyes tinged with horror. “You would betray your own wife?”

“Only if she betrays me.” This time he lifted the crop to the gauzy scarf tucked in her bodice. He flicked the crop beneath it, pulling it loose to bare the tops of her full breasts. Then he traced a design over her white flesh with the tip.

Her face reddened, and she knocked the crop away. “Garett won’t let this crime pass. He’ll find you out, and then what will you do? Already he’s made your name a mockery at court and among the gentry. You can’t stop him.”

Cold anger turned his blood to ice. He brought the crop heavily down on the desk, his anger growing when she didn’t so much as jump.

He tossed the crop away in disgust, then jerked her against him. “If you say a word to Garett, I’ll kill you and make certain you suffer in the dying. Don’t think you can stop it by having me arrested. I still have men who owe me, who’ll do my bidding no matter what.” She struggled, but he laughed hollowly. “Don’t think I won’t do it, Bess. You’d best keep your pretty mouth shut.”

He pulled her hand down to feel his swollen breeches. “Be glad that even in your bloated state, I can still feel this for you. That and the babe and your ties to the nobility are the only things keeping you alive. If you ever lose them . . .” He twisted her wrist suddenly, making her cry out.

“I won’t say anything,” she whispered. “I won’t.”

“Good girl.” He stared into the face that bore some slight resemblance to the man he hated. Anger and a desire to punish swelled within him like an infected boil that required lancing.

He dropped her wrists and began to undo the buttons of his breeches. He couldn’t take his anger out on the one who truly deserved it. But at least there was someone he could punish.

A mighty pain to love it is,

And ’tis a pain that pain to miss;

But of all pains, the greatest pain

It is to love, but love in vain.

—Abraham Cowley, “Gold”

Y
ou haven’t told him yet, have you?” Aunt Tamara asked, stooping beside her niece, who knelt in the Falkham House garden pulling up weeds.

“Nay.” Marianne kept her head bent over the plants, unwilling to let her aunt see her chagrin.

“It’s been a week already since he rescued us. Hasn’t that been long enough? You should tell him.”

Shading her face from the sun, Marianne scanned her aunt’s expression. “How can I?”

Aunt Tamara plopped down in the piles of dirt strewn with wilting thistle and ragwort. She looked exasperated. “Any fool can see that the man’s besotted. Now that you’re certain he didn’t betray your father, why not tell him who you are? Perhaps he can help you discover who
did
commit the crime. You’ve little reason to keep your secret now. What do you fear?”

“You know what I fear.”

Aunt Tamara idly pulled up a weed. “I think I can read a man correctly, poppet. There’s no way on earth that man will send you to be hanged.”

Marianne twisted the long stalk of a ragwort, jerking it out of the ground without caring whether the root came with it. She wished she could be as certain as her aunt was about how Garett would react upon learning the truth.

“He’s bedded you, hasn’t he?” Aunt Tamara remarked with her characteristic bluntness. “Well, then, time he knew what he got himself into. I’m thinking he ought to do right by you. And he’s more likely to do it if he knows you’re of his kind.”

Tossing down the weed, Marianne rose to stride away from Aunt Tamara.

Her aunt simply jumped up and followed her. “He
has
bedded you, hasn’t he? I can’t believe the two of you spent all that time in the inn just chattering.”

Marianne stopped to glare at her aunt. For once in her life she wished the woman weren’t so forthright. But she should have known Aunt Tamara would ask about it the first time they were alone together. Until now, either William or Garett had been with them whenever they’d met.

Affecting an air of nonchalance, Marianne stared her down. “I haven’t asked what you and William did that night. How dare you ask what passed between Garett and me?”

“Don’t get impudent with me, girl. For all my faults, I’m still the only guardian you have.”

The rebuke stung. The thought of what her aunt had sacrificed to come with her to Lydgate made Marianne frown.

Aunt Tamara’s expression softened. “Besides, you can’t just go on this way forever.”

Her gentle tone broke Marianne’s reserve. A hot tear slipped down her cheek, and she brushed it away, heedless of the smudge of dirt she left on her face.

Aunt Tamara licked the tip of her thumb, then rubbed at the smudge. “Come now, don’t cry. ’Tis unlike you to cry.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Marianne admitted.

“Tell him the truth.”

“And if I do? He knows I’ve lied to him in the past. What’s to make him believe me this time? He might cast me aside in disgust or”—a lump formed in her throat so thick she could hardly speak through it—“or relinquish me to the king’s men in anger. He’s capable of going to great lengths to revenge himself when he feels slighted. I’ve seen that with his uncle.”

Aunt Tamara snorted. “As if you could compare yourself to Tearle. What have you done to the earl to make him wish revenge on you? Told him a few lies? ’Tis hardly the same.”

Marianne stared off at Falkham House, her heart wrenching as she thought of Garett’s tenderness in the past week. At night, he took her with such sweetness that it made her ache to tell him everything. If she weren’t so afraid of how he’d react . . .

That first morning she’d awakened in his bed he’d
made her no promises. And she couldn’t blame him, either. He’d been right—how could he promise her anything when she told him nothing? Yet it would kill her if he abandoned her now, when she’d finally come to realize a most painful truth.

“You love him, don’t you?” Aunt Tamara asked.

Marianne wanted to deny it, but she couldn’t. “Does love make you a coward? Does it make you cautious, afraid to gamble all on the chance that your lover cares for you when he’s not even whispered one word of love?”

Aunt Tamara enfolded Marianne in a warm embrace. “Love makes you vulnerable, poppet. If anyone knows that, ’tis I.”

Something in her aunt’s words made Marianne draw back to stare at her.

“Will has asked me to marry him,” Aunt Tamara said quietly.

Pleasure for her aunt warred with bitterness over the contrast to her own situation. “That’s wonderful,” she managed. But she did mean it. If ever someone deserved happiness, it was Aunt Tamara.

“I told him I’d consider it. But I’ve half a mind to refuse him.”

“Why? He loves you—any fool can see that.”

“Perhaps. But how could I marry him? A gypsy wife would keep him from doing what he really wants.” At Marianne’s raised eyebrow, she said ruefully, “The rogue wants to own an inn. Damn fool. He’s even got some money set away for it. He thinks I’d be a fine
innkeeper’s wife. Me—who’s more like to be tossed in the gaol than asked for a pint of ale.”

“You could pretend to be Spanish, as Mother did.”

“I like what I am,” Aunt Tamara said, a stubborn set to her chin. “I don’t want to pretend to be another.” Her face softened, making her look so very young. “Still, it tempts me.”

“Then tell him yes.”

When her aunt looked at her with concern, Marianne suddenly realized the real reason Aunt Tamara hesitated to grab this chance for happiness. “If you’re worried for me, don’t be. Just give me a few more days. I’ll find the pluck to tell his lordship the truth. I promise.”

Aunt Tamara relaxed, then squeezed Marianne’s arm. “ ’Tis best. You’ll see.” Then she looked beyond where they stood, and her mouth twisted into a wry smile. “Speak of the devil . . .”

Marianne glanced over to where Garett crossed the well-groomed lawn toward them, and her heart flipped over in her chest.

“ ’Tis time I return to the wagon anyway,” Aunt Tamara murmured, giving Marianne’s arm another reassuring squeeze before she swept off across the garden.

With a tightness in her belly, Marianne watched Garett approach. He looked every inch the lord of the manor, for he’d just come from town and had yet to discard his plumed hat and imposing cape. It made her blood leap.

Cursing herself for ten kinds of a fool, she studied his face, trying to read his expression.

“You must return to the house,” he ordered as soon as he was near enough to be heard. “We’ve scarcely enough time as it is for all the preparations.”

“Preparations?” she asked, acutely conscious of how grimy and mussed she must look.

A hint of amusement crossed his face as he took in her dreadful state. “My guess is it’ll take you a bit longer than I’d expected to make yourself presentable.”

With a sniff, she walked past him toward the house. “What is it I’m making myself presentable for?”

As Garett strode alongside her, he thrust a letter into her hand. “See for yourself.” Then, without giving her time to read it, he muttered, “Damn Hampden and his games. One day I swear I’ll pay him back for all his tricks.”

Between the letter and Garett’s grumblings, Marianne pieced together that Hampden was bringing a group of six ladies and five gentlemen with him from court that evening. He wrote that Garett had been too long without company and needed to be reminded of his obligations to society.

Hampden further stated that he expected a good dinner and entertainment. “And,” the letter had said, “make certain your pigeon is there when I arrive. I wish to give her a proper greeting this time.”

“What does he mean by ‘a proper greeting’?” Marianne asked.

Garett grimaced. “Never mind. But suffice it to say he’s most certainly already on his way. He sent me enough notice to prepare for him, but not enough to
send him a refusal. Wretched varlet. I ought to abandon the house tonight and see how well he likes arriving here to no dinner and no entertainment.”

“But you won’t, will you?” Marianne said with a twinkle in her eye.

Garett snorted. “No. I’ll play the host as he bids. And you, my dear, will play hostess.”

Marianne gaped at him. “But . . . but I can’t!”

“Why not? I assure you none of them will care. I’ll tell them you’re my widowed second cousin come to visit or some such nonsense, and everything will be respectable. You’ve told me many times that you were raised as a lady. I’m certain you can comport yourself as such for one evening.”

She searched his face, wondering if this was a deliberate trap of some sort. He returned her scrutiny without apparent guile until she lowered her eyes.

What was she to do? She couldn’t be seen at dinner by a group of nobility from court. It would be madness! One of the guests might have known her or her father. It was far too risky.

“I can’t be your hostess, Garett,” she persisted. “I wouldn’t feel comfortable.” That was certainly an understatement.

His gaze turned suspicious. “Is there something you fear?”

“Aye,” she said, forcing a smile. “That I’ll make a fool of myself.”

“You, who stood before an entire town council and challenged me? I doubt that. So what frightens you?”

What could she answer? If she protested too strongly, he might guess the truth.

“You see? You’ve nothing to fear.” The determined set of his mouth warned her nothing would change his mind.