Kane, Samantha - Brothers In Arms 4 (29 page)

Derek looked smugly at Ian. “I told you,” he said. Sophie turned on him.

“You did nothing of the sort. You told him you’d come to our bed when you were

good and ready. Well, nobody’s coming to my bed until I’m good and ready. What do you both think of that?” She marched self-righteously to the hall door and yanked it open before turning back to them with another glare. “I think it only prudent to tell you that I feel a headache coming on. I shall have it all night.” She sailed through the door past a startled footman who quickly recovered and reached in to close the door.

Ian was speechless for a moment. Then he started to laugh. She was magnificent, by God, bloody magnificent. She’d flown in here and given them both what for and not once had she faltered or doubted herself. She’d trusted them enough to get angry at them.

“What the hell are you laughing about?” Derek asked irritably. “Your wife just

threw you out of your bed.”

Ian smiled at him. “She did, didn’t she? She was more than pissed, and she crawled right down our throats about it, as well she should.”

Derek’s smile broke slowly across his face. “She did, didn’t she?” He sat down in his favorite chair and picked up the book he’d been reading lately, getting comfortable.

He looked back up at Ian with the smile still on his face. “She was rather spectacular, wasn’t she?”

“She was absolutely magnificent,” Ian replied proudly. “A regular shrew.”

A couple of hours later, Ian and Derek were idly playing chess when a knock came at the study door. Montague entered at Ian’s summons.

“A letter for you, sir,” Montague said, holding out a tray with a rather impressive-looking letter on heavy vellum with an ornate seal sitting on it.

Ian raised an eyebrow inquiringly. “Why didn’t you give it to Gibbons?” Ian’s

secretary usually handled all his correspondence first, sending those deemed worthy on to Ian and handling the rest himself.

“It is from the Earl of Wilchester,” Montague said tonelessly.

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Ian sat dumbfounded for several seconds. He hadn’t heard from or been received

by his family for the last two years, not since he’d taken Derek home with him right after the war. They’d refused to accept his relationship with Derek, recognizing it for what it was in spite of Ian’s admittedly halfhearted attempts to disguise it. What the devil did Wilchester want? He looked at the missive on the silver salver as if it were a particularly venomous snake.

It was Derek who reached out and plucked the letter from the tray. “Thank you,

Montague,” he said politely, throwing the letter in Ian’s lap. “Could you see about some tea? Perhaps some of those little lemon cakes Cook makes?”

“Very good, Mr. Knightly,” Montague said as he turned smartly and left the room.

Derek studied the chessboard silently for several minutes. He spoke without

looking up as he made his move. “Are you going to read it, or are you going to continue to look at it as if it might jump up and bite your nose off?”

“It very well might,” Ian said contentiously. “My family is not known for

forgiveness or fair play. Ergo, it may indeed contain some type of poison.”

“Only of the pen variety. Open it, for God’s sake.” Derek whipped it up off Ian’s lap and tore it open.

Inexplicably panic-stricken, Ian grabbed it from Derek and fell back in his chair, his heart racing. Derek just laughed at him. “If they were going to do away with me, or you for that matter, they would have expeditiously taken care of it two years ago. Read it.”

Ian took a deep breath and began to read. Just a few sentences into the letter his panic turned to incredulity and he felt his jaw drop. He got up and walked over to the window as he continued to read. When he was done Derek was already munching on

Cook’s lemon cakes.

“Well?” Derek was licking the frosting from one finger, and Ian had to smile at the boyish gesture. Derek did love his sweets. “You’re smiling. It must not be that bad.”

“I’m not sure what to make of it. Don’t eat all those cakes, I want some.” Ian went back and sat in his chair, reaching for one of the treats. “I have been summoned.”

“Summoned? To your execution?”

“Hardly. To celebrate the prodigal’s return at my uncle’s knee.” Cook really was excellent. He’d have to make sure and comment to Montague on it. Good servants were hard to find.

“Whose return? And are they actually going to make you sit on his knee?”

Ian laughed and Derek smiled at his own witticism. “I am the prodigal. Apparently they are overjoyed at the news of my recent nuptials. Everything is forgiven—that’s reading between the lines—since I am now a respectably married man, and to the very woman my dearly departed father betrothed me to.”

“Families are such a delight, when they’re not stabbing each other in the back for the unentailed jewels, of course. So they’re thrilled about Sophie, are they? They think you’ve given me the heave-ho?”

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“Apparently. I’ve been summoned to the family seat to be welcomed back into the fold.” Ian didn’t pretend to be happy about it.

Derek looked thoughtful. “I think you should go.”

“What?” Ian was completely shocked at Derek’s remark. He’d expected Derek to

say to hell with them all.

“He’s the Earl of Wilchester, Ian. If he acknowledges you and Sophie, no one can touch her.” Derek’s voice was low and hard. He didn’t like it, but what he said was true. He was thinking of Sophie.

Ian sighed dismally. “You’re right, of course. But I’m not going to bring Sophie with me. She doesn’t need to meet that pack of wolves yet. They’d eat her alive.” He looked over at Derek. “Will you be all right here with Sophie?”

Derek shook his head wonderingly. “All right how, exactly? Will I behave myself and not make her cry? Will I resist all her efforts to seduce me? Will I let her win at chess, finally? I’m afraid we’ll have to iron out the details before I agree to a blanket statement like that.”

Ian chuckled abashedly. “You’re right, it was a foolish question. Just…take care of her, won’t you?”

“You’re going to Kent, Ian, not the Crusades. How long will it take to kill and eat the fatted calf, for God’s sake? Surely you won’t be more than a couple of days.”

Ian sighed, disgusted with himself for being such a worrier. “You’re right, you’re right. I’ll make sure to be back by Thursday.”

“Thursday? You mean you’re leaving today?” Derek reared back in surprise.

Ian laughed. “No, tomorrow. The sooner it’s over the better.”

There was another knock at the door and Ian called out, “Enter.”

Montague came in and Ian could see the smile in his eyes. “The flowers are here, sir.”

Ian jumped to his feet, rubbing his hands together. “Excellent, excellent.” He

hurried over to the door.

“Flowers? What flowers?” Derek followed him to the foyer. The footmen were

bringing in bouquets of nearly every kind of hothouse flower Derek could name. There were brilliant explosions of color all around them. “What is all this?” Derek exclaimed.

Ian took a huge bouquet of blood-red roses from a footman and carried them over to Derek. “An apology,” he told him. “Red is your favorite color, isn’t it?”

Derek narrowed his eyes as he took the bouquet. “These are not all for me, and I don’t require a nosegay, thank you.” He set the flowers down on the nearest table.

“Of course they’re not for you,” Ian said, picking up the roses again. “They’re for Sophie. She won’t be able to resist them, particularly since several of them can be transplanted in the garden.”

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Derek laughed. “You have always been good at apologies, Ian.” He started for the door. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“Derek!” he called out. “Wait.” He walked over to him so he wouldn’t be

overheard. “Be back tonight, please.”

Derek cocked his head. “Why?”

“Because I want to make love to you in a bed again.” He shook his head as Derek started to answer. “No, in your bed. For now.” He backed away, smiling at the heat that flared in Derek’s eyes. He kept smiling as he climbed the stairs to Sophie. Oh yes, he was more than good at apologies. He was the best damn penitent in London.

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Ian didn’t find Sophie in her bedroom, or anywhere in the house for that matter. So he grabbed one of the flowering plants that had just been delivered and sought her in the one place he knew she found solace—the garden.

When he walked out the doors onto the terrace he saw Mr. Timmins immediately.

“Timmins,” he called, “is Mrs. Witherspoon out here?”

Timmins laughed. “Course she is, sir.” He pointed to the far north corner. “Over there sir, tearing up some bushes I put in last year.”

Ian paused as he was walking down the steps to the path that led into the gardens.

“Do you mind, Timmins, that Mrs. Witherspoon is digging up your garden?”

Timmins shrugged good-naturedly. “Not my garden, sir, it’s yours and the lady’s.”

He scratched his head sheepishly. “And truth is, sir, it looks a sight better these days than when I was doing it alone.” He shook his head. “She’s got an eye for color and light, and a way with the flowers to be sure, sir. And it makes the lady so happy that I dare not complain.” He smiled as he said the last.

Ian gazed at the far corner, though he couldn’t see Sophie that far away, beyond the trees. “Yes, it does,” he agreed in a murmur. He looked back at the gardener. “That will be all today, Timmins. You may take the rest of the afternoon for yourself.”

Timmins’ eyes widened in surprise. “Sir?”

Ian smiled conspiratorially at the older man. “I need to apologize to my wife, Mr.

Timmins. I require privacy to do so.”

Timmins’ cheeks turned ruddy and he suddenly couldn’t look at Ian. “Oh, well, yes sir, course, sir. I’ll be on my way then.” He chanced a glance in Ian’s direction. “Shall I be back tomorrow then, sir?”

Ian chuckled. “Yes, Mr. Timmins. I fully expect to be done apologizing by tomorrow.”

Mr. Timmins snorted softly as he gathered his tools. “It’s clear you haven’t been married long, sir.”

Ian choked in astonished amusement as Timmins shuffled off down the path and

out of the garden.

Ian found Sophie exactly where Timmins said she’d be. She was kneeling on the

ground digging up what appeared to be some roses in their death throes. Her spade was viciously biting the earth around a small bush whose leaves were covered with white spots.

“What are those spots?” Ian asked conversationally as he leaned over her shoulder.

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“Ahhhh!” Sophie gave a little scream and dropped the spade. “Ian! Where on earth did you come from?”

Ian had fallen back a step in surprise at Sophie’s scream. “You have got to stop doing that,” he told her breathlessly, “or you really are going to give me an apoplexy.”

He sat down on the ground beside her as she patted her heart in agitation. “I’m sorry, I thought you heard me. I wasn’t trying to sneak up on you.”

Sophie started to smile then frowned ferociously at him. “I’m still mad at you.”

Ian nodded in acceptance. “And you have every right to be.” He pointed at the

plant he’d brought with him which he’d set down next to the spotted rosebush. “But I come bearing a gift of apology.”

Sophie quickly moved the plant away from the bush she was digging up. “Don’t

put it there. You don’t want to infect it.”

Ian curled his lip in distaste. “Infect it? What the devil’s wrong with it?”

Sophie picked up her spade and resumed her digging. “Mr. Timmins says it’s called powdery mildew.”

“You can’t catch it, can you?” Ian asked in alarm, imagining Sophie covered in

powdery spots.

Sophie giggled, and with that sound Ian knew she wasn’t as angry as he’d feared.

“No, silly. It’s a plant disease, not a people disease. It is especially a problem with roses.”

Ian reached out and ran the back of his index finger gently down her soft cheek.

“Then you should be careful,” he said softly. “You are by far the sweetest rose in this garden.”

Sophie turned to look at him and he could see the melting warmth in her amber

eyes. “Oh, Ian, why do you have to say such wonderful things right when I’m cursing you for being a selfish idiot?”

Ian scooted closer to Sophie on the grass. He took the spade from her unresisting fingers and set it carefully aside. Then he pulled her gloves off slowly, one finger at a time. “I am a selfish idiot.”

Sophie shook her head and Ian saw her lip tremble. “No, Ian. I shouldn’t have

yelled at you.”

Ian shook his head in response, and smiled ruefully. “Yes, yes I am, Sophie. I

should have asked you properly. I should have told you from the start what I was hoping would happen. And I expect you to yell at me when I deserve it, as I did this morning.”

Sophie bit her lip and Ian felt his insides tighten. He was shocked anew at how simple it was for her to arouse him. “You mean asked me about what you said earlier?

About Derek in our bed?”

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Ian had to close his eyes and take a deep breath at the shot of pure desire that arced down his spine at Sophie’s words. He nodded and opened his eyes. “Yes. That was always what I wanted Sophie, how I envisioned our life together, the three of us.”

Sophie shook her head. “But Derek doesn’t want me, Ian, not like you do. Don’t

make him do something he…he doesn’t want.” Her hesitation showed her insecurity and Ian cursed both his and Derek’s clumsy handling of this situation. His own

clumsiness especially—he should have told her before they were even married and given her the chance to say no. He realized with sudden clarity that he hadn’t told her for that very reason. He hadn’t been willing to risk losing her. But to have her find out by overhearing a shouting match between him and Derek was unforgivable.