Edith Layton (15 page)

The silence in the room was enormous. “I don’t think I should blow out the light,” he told her after a moment, when the silence became less enormous as they heard faint skittering and scratching in the walls.

They were still again. But then Rafe heard another sound, and his heart contracted. He turned his head. Brenna lay on her side, facing away from him. Her shoulders were quivering. He rose on one elbow and looked at her with apprehension, ready to pick her up, pack all up, and ride off into the night if it would make her stop weeping. He put a hand on her shoulder and bent so he could see her face.

“You wretch!” he exclaimed, when she gave up trying to hold her merriment in and burst out laughing.

“Oh Rafe,” she said after she subsided to giggles against his neck, “what a farce of a honeymoon this has been! First I get drunk as a sailor. Then we stop overnight in a cess-pond!”

He kissed her. He quickly drew back, so as not to tempt himself further. “At least we begin in laughter, Bren. That’s not bad, is it?” he asked seriously.

“No,” she said, curling into his embrace with a sigh, “not so bad, Rafe. Not at all.”

“We’ll do better, I promise,” he told her.

“That won’t be difficult,” she said.

He smiled and lay down to sleep beside Brenna, his arms around her. She was a good companion, he thought gratefully, a good sport, better than he deserved after the way their marriage had gone so far. He couldn’t imagine what a cosseted lady like Annabelle would have made of such a shabby start to her honeymoon…
nor will I,
he thought, snapping awake with a frown. Even if he couldn’t keep Annabelle entirely from his mind, he had to keep thoughts of her out of his marriage bed. He sternly forbade himself to think about her while he lay so tightly snugged against this woman, his wife.

Brenna used his shoulder as her pillow. When she fell into a deeper slumber, she murmured in her sleep and laid her head on his chest, one hand on his heart. He breathed in the warm, spicy scent of her, strangely moved at how she slept so trustingly in his embrace, even in this terrible place.

Not so bad,
he thought bemusedly, relaxing again. Not what he’d wanted, but he seldom got that. But this was not bad at all.

N
either slept much. Rafe woke at dawn and slipped from the room, not knowing Brenna was awake, feigning sleep because she didn’t know what to say. It was strange waking with a man in her bed. Stranger realizing he was her husband now and wondering who should make the next move, and realizing no move could be made in this filthy place.

They made a hasty breakfast. Neither said much. Brenna saw Rafe was preoccupied and edgy. She was as well. They were back on the road at first light.

They dined more leisurely when they got to the new road and stopped at an inn for luncheon. The food was excellent, the facilities clean, and the servants efficient and charming.

Feeling comfortably full and refreshed, Brenna put her head back against the padded leather squabs of the coach when they started out again. She
watched Rafe riding alongside, seeing the straight and proud way he unconsciously bore himself. He had one hand on Blaze’s reins; the other rested in a fist at his hip. He rode with his head high, alert, although at the same time languid, confident, and at ease. He looked like some ancient lord surveying his newly conquered land. Brenna’s eyelids grew heavy; she nodded off to sleep, smiling at the thought of Rafe as a victorious medieval hero. She woke when the coach abruptly stopped. Rafe opened the door, bringing in a gust of fresh, salt-smelling air. She sat up and smiled at him.

“Oh, I woke you?” he asked, noting her tousled hair and sleep-blushed cheeks. “Sorry.”

“No, no,” she said hastily, her hands going to her hair to tidy it. “I just dropped off for a moment. Mmm, is that the sea I smell?” she asked, raising her nose.

“Yes. We’re very near. That’s why I came in. Thought I’d point out a few things to you as we get closer to my parents’ home.”

“We’re almost there?” she asked nervously.

“Yes,” he said. “Have a look. Since we turned off the main road a half hour past, we’re getting closer to the sea.”

She gazed out, surprised that she could see a long distance now. They’d traveled through forests and passed bleak moors. This was neither desolate or overgrown. There were low hedgerows bordering the road. Beyond them, the land was gently curved and hilly, and she could see a glint of what had to be the sea.

“There aren’t any cliffs here,” Rafe commented,
“at least not like the ones to the west, or on the north coast. Arrow Court sits on a rise and dominates the village, but it isn’t one of your brooding castles on a hill. We’ll get to the harbor in a bit. Just thought you’d want to see the town as we ride through.”

“I would,” she said, sitting up and looking out the window as the coach started up again.

The road crested a hill, then she could see the sunlight glinting off the water. The ocean lay ahead, an endless expanse of slate blue with a gilded path where the sun was lowering in the west. It was all she could do not to clap her hands. “It’s beautiful!” she cried.

“Yes,” Rafe said, leaning past her so he could see what she did, scenting her perfume and feeling the warmth of her. His elbow was near her breast; her cheek was almost touching his. He cleared his throat and tried to ignore it. “Tide’s in. A very different story when it’s out. Then all you can smell is fish and seaweed. The Court faces the open water, so it’s usually wild and fresh smelling.”

“How lovely it must have been to grow up near the sea,” Brenna said wistfully. “How you must have enjoyed it.”

“Yes,” Rafe said abruptly, sitting back. “I could see how easy it would be to sail away when I grew up.” He realized how that sounded and added, “I might have joined the navy when I was a boy, but by the time I’d grown I’d had my fill of water and wanted something different. Well, at any rate,” he
said as the coach entered the little town, “as you’ll see from all the nets drying, the people in town are mostly fisherfolk.”

“Fisherfolk…and smugglers?” she asked impishly.

“No,” he said, “not here. Moonlighters worked other places along the shore, by moors or cliffs where they had better places to hide. Gangs like the Gubbins and the Hawkhursts ruled this coast. They kept their trade their own. Any rate, even that’s history. It’s a dying practice. Peace is bringing peace to the coasts of England as much as her armies. There isn’t much point to smuggling what you can buy as cheaply and less dangerously.”

“You sound sad about it.”

He smiled. “I am. Or would have been if it had happened when I was a boy. I was always looking for smugglers’ dens. It was just the sort of thing for a boy seeking adventure and escape.”

Brenna gazed out at the little town. She understood about the adventure, but didn’t see what a boy would want to escape from here. The village was charming. It hugged the shoreline, its ancient stone cottages crowding up to the one road that ran through it. The narrow streets were cobbled with speckled sea stones to match those that made up the cottages. But every house was well kept; there wasn’t a one that lacked flowers in the dooryard, even this late in the year. Roses flourished in the tiny gardens out front of the houses; bright blossoms blushed in window boxes and pots.

Gulls wheeled and cried overhead; she could see tall masts bobbing at anchor in the harbor at the end of the main street. Brenna could also see the villagers, congregating out of doors, enjoying the closing of the day. They sat on their front steps, or stood chatting in the street, watching the coach curiously as it passed, obviously loath to go inside on such a lovely late afternoon.

There was much to appreciate. Spectacular views of the wide and open sea could be seen at the end of every alley and between the neat cottages, and the outlook from the snug, semicircular harbor was astonishing.

There was something else bright that Brenna noticed as the coach made its slow way over the cobbles and through the town. She saw it in a fisherman mending his net, a woman gossiping in a dooryard, in a small cluster of children playing at the side of the road. Brenna giggled. It wasn’t just reflections from the setting sun. Fully a quarter of the townspeople she saw had bright halos. Some were red as roosters, some brass, others bronze. Their hair was as burnished as the sunset.

“I can certainly see you come from here!’ she laughed, turning to Rafe. “Is it rust in the water supply? Or a common ancestor?”

He didn’t smile. “The latter,” he said curtly. “Well, we should be at the Court in minutes. Don’t worry,” he added, looking up and mistaking her surprise at his tone for alarm at their destination. “You’ll do fine. They’ll like you—at least, as well as they like
anyone. They’ve got nothing to complain about in you. In fact,” he said with a gruff laugh, “that’s probably going to be the only thing that displeases them.”

Brenna had seen bigger manor houses and palaces, but though Arrow Court had obviously begun as a fortress, it was now a gentleman’s castle. A long, winding drive led to the Court, allowing visitors to be impressed with it at several angles before they arrived there. A shallow rectangle of a reflecting pool lay in front of the house, mirroring it. Brenna didn’t think it deserved that second look. Made of gray stone, over the ages the house had turned skeleton white, bleached by the sun and salt in the constant scouring sea wind. It was U-shaped with two wings at either side, the entrance in the middle, protected from the salt breeze. Brenna didn’t like it; she thought it looked like a sphinx with the drive between its paws.

The coach stopped; Peck leaped down. He flung open the door for his master. Rafe stepped out of the coach, and hesitated. He looked up at the many windows glittering in the westering sun. Then he turned abruptly and gave his hand to Brenna. He smiled at her expression.

“Courage,” he said as she stepped out. “What they think doesn’t matter. At least not to me. Remember that.”

But it seemed to her he spoke to himself as well.

A butler showed them in. “Greetings, my lord. It’s good to see you again,” he said to Rafe, bowing, proper as a stranger’s servant.

Rafe nodded. “My lady and I have traveled far today, Atkins,” he said brusquely as he stripped off his riding gloves. “Ready my room if you please. Tell my parents we’re arrived, and see to my man’s comforts, would you?”

Brenna felt uneasy as the butler bowed yet again and silently showed them into the salon. Rafe was friendly to everyone, but he was cool and diffident in his own family home. She glanced around as they went to the salon, getting glimpses of the house. It was formally furnished and very beautiful. The salon was a long room facing the ocean. The walls and furniture, several shades of green, muted the bright last light reflecting from the sun falling into the sea. But the man who ambled into the room after they got there brought the sunlight with him in his hair.

He was as well dressed as the most meticulous gentlemen in London. Tall and slender, he had a smooth, pale, and flawlessly handsome face. His hair was straight, fine, and lemon blond; longer than fashion dictated, it moved against his lean face as he walked. He glanced at Rafe, then stared at Brenna.

“But she’s beautiful, brother!” he said. “However did you manage that?”

“Luck,” Rafe said abruptly. “Bren, this is my brother, Grant. The Viscount Grant. Brother, this is Brenna, my bride. Where’s Mama? And Father?”

“I see exposure to beauty hasn’t softened your tongue, brother,” Grant said, still staring at Brenna. “A pity. My dear, let me welcome you to Arrow Court. Was it a difficult journey?”

“No, it wasn’t. It’s a pleasure to meet you. How do you do?” Brenna said, putting out her hand.

“Better, now you’ve arrived,” he said, taking her hand, holding it too long as he smiled down at her.

There was too much in what he said and the way he said it, Brenna thought. He was pitilessly handsome and probably used to females swooning over him. But that didn’t make it right for him to hold her hand so long, look at her so lingeringly, or speak to his brother’s new wife in such a sly, seductive way. She didn’t like it. Her own brother was equally fair. Though she’d seen Eric use his looks to his advantage sometimes, his vanity was always laced with rueful humor. Grant’s vanity was obviously part of his personality.

“Thank you,” she said calmly, taking back her hand with deliberation. She glanced around. “What a lovely room.”

“Oh, the place has its points,” Grant said as he stared at her. “I’d be happy to show you them.”

“Thank you, my lord,” she said simply, her chin rising, “but I’d rather Rafe did the honors. That way, you see, I can hear his memories along with gathering my own impressions. I think I’d find that more entertaining.”

He smiled. It was not an attractive one. “You have a champion, Rafe. How amusing.”

“She has a brother who makes you look like a troll,” Rafe said, “so you might as well cut line.”

“How charming!” a light voice called out. “The boys are at it again.”

Brenna looked up to see Rafe’s parents approaching. She swallowed hard.
Poor Rafe,
she thought fleetingly as she dropped to a curtsy. His family seemed to have stepped down from a portrait on the wall, they were that perfect, beautiful and cold.

His mama was as fair as his brother; if there was gray in her hair, the thistledown lightness of it concealed it. Her face bore only a few lines; her exquisitely gowned figure was still fine for a woman of middle years. She had blazing blue eyes and long lashes she used to good effect. But her mouth was unsmiling as she studied her new daughter-in-law. Her husband, Rafe’s father, the marquess, must have been a distant cousin; he looked as similar to his wife as only a relative might be. He was also the image of what Rafe’s brother would be in a few decades. A little leaner, a bit grayer, but that immaculate face had settled into harsher lines, which gave it more character and less true beauty. They were three cut of a cloth. Rafe was nothing like.

Rafe was tall, and so were they. But they had fair hair and his was ruddy. He was slender where they were willowy, and his lean frame looked more hardened than refined. His features were even and good, but never as perfectly sculpted as any of theirs. He in no way resembled them, except for his eyes. They were as starkly, brilliantly blue as his mother’s. In that alone he bested both his father and brother. They merely had dark blue eyes.

“Welcome,” Rafe’s father said, giving Brenna his hand as she rose. “Well, not only did you bring new blood to the family, I see you’ve added new color to our ranks too,” he remarked to Rafe, though he glanced at his wife. “She’s lovely. And looks nothing like you in the least,” he told his wife, smiling.

“Her coloring actually enhances yours, Mama,” Grant said. “How clever of Rafe, to be sure.”

“No. How lucky, as I said,” Rafe said. “Sorry you couldn’t attend the wedding, Mama. You look quite recovered now.”

“Don’t say it with such rue!” his mama laughed. “I was too ill to go a step, and my dear husband wouldn’t abandon me to the quacks. I am so sorry we could not be there for the happy day, my dear,” she told Brenna without a shred of regret in her voice. “Though why Grant refused to stir, I do not know.”

Grant’s head went up. “I thought you approved,” he said through a smile made of gritted teeth. “You acted like it was your deathbed, Mama. I feared taking a step would give you a fit, not to mention a fever.”

“Indeed?” his mama said lightly. “I hadn’t realized. Such devotion amazes me. I am indeed a lucky woman.”

“I’d little choice in the matter, knowing that you’d never let me hear the end of it if I left you,” her husband commented. “But your children are naturally devoted. Only see. One son stays at your bedside as loyally as a lapdog, even though the physician decided it was not more than a touch of wind. And
your other neglects his honeymoon in order to bring his bride for your immediate inspection and approval.”

The marchioness blanched at the word
wind.
Grant grew whiter at his father’s mocking words. Rafe’s face remained impassive. His father smiled.
All this spiteful teasing in front of their new daughter-in-law?
Brenna thought in astonished anger. Her hands closed to fists and she felt her nails, reduced as they were, cutting into her palms.
This nest of scorpions produced Rafe?