Secrets of Midnight (27 page)

"Ais, maybe so, but I've you to thank, too,
milord. You're a good, honorable man, Lord Donovan, I'll tell it to anyone who
asks me, I will! An' when we heard 'ee were marrying our Corie Easton, all of
us tinners couldn't have been more pleased that she'd found a man with
compassion and charity enough to match her."

Compassion and charity enough to match her?
Incredulous, Corisande was even more astonished as Morton's voice suddenly
became choked with tears.

"I don't know how to thank 'ee, milord. I've a
sweet new babe inside the house, a little girl, an' my Peggy—God help me, for a
time I feared she wouldn't have the strength to push the child from her body or
live herself to see that day. . .

Corisande wiped at her eyes as Morton grew silent,
knowing well the terrible anguish he must have suffered. She'd seen it
throughout the entire parish, seen it on so many faces, seen the desperation in
so many eyes, heard it in so many voices—until Lord Donovan Trent had come to
Cornwall, yes, that couldn't be denied. That is, until she'd made her devil's
agreement with him; it was pitiful to hear how poor Morton had been fooled. If
the tinner only knew . . .

"Let's go see your new daughter, man, not stand
out here." Donovan's deep voice carried into the loft, filled with emotion
Corisande had never heard before. Except, wait . . . she had heard it before—in
the stable after they had left the poorhouse that Sunday and Donovan had called
her a shrew. She'd been railing at him about holding little Mary—

Corisande gasped as the cottage door swung open, and
she fell back onto the mattress, pulling the woolen blanket up over her nose to
lie there still as a stone. But a soft chortle made her look at the crib,
little Morton Robberts plopping onto his back, too, and pulling his blanket
over his head while Jimmie stared at her with a bemused smile and sucked his
thumb. Noisily.

Oh, Lord.

She knew she was lost when young Morton began to laugh,
sweet, husky laughter that made her smile in spite of herself, the little boy
taking great delight in raising himself up only to fall back again, tugging the
blanket over his head as he played his newfound game. Corisande couldn't help
it. She sat up and then dropped back to the mattress, disappearing underneath
the blanket for only an instant before she yanked the cover from her head and
blurted out, "Boo!"

Little Morton shrieked, Jimmie giggled, and she
laughed, too, leaving the mattress on all fours, albeit stiffly, to crawl to
the crib. She couldn't stand up anyway—the thatched roof was too low—so she
went right up to the wooden rungs, stalking the boys like a tiger while Jimmie's
blue eyes grew round, and little Morton scrambled, squealing, to the far side
of the crib.

"Having fun?"

Corisande froze, unable to see Donovan for the hair
covering her flushed face. "Yes, actually, I am," she said with less
embarrassment than she might have imagined, although she did feel a mite
ridiculous being caught crawling about on her hands and knees. She tossed back
her head to get the hair out of her eyes, her gaze meeting Donovan's.

He was smiling at her from the ladder, a warm, easy
smile that made her heart jump. She hadn't seen him smile in so long—which immediately
made her suspicious. But then again, it made sense, considering last night he
had said he wanted a truce, even apologizing to her, and of course she knew why
he'd done that. God forbid that he threaten his inheritance . . .

"I was just coming in to see the Robbertses' new
babe. A girl, Morton told me."

"Yes, she's beautiful." Corisande held on to
the crib as she rose into a hunched position, careful lest she knock her head
on the low timber beams. At once little Morton held out his arms to her, demanding,
"Out! Out!"

"Here, give him to me."

Corisande obliged, wincing at the soreness of her body
as she picked up the little boy and handed him to Donovan, who then disappeared
down the ladder. She followed suit with Jimmie, glad that Donovan reappeared to
take this child too. Then it was her turn, her legs so wooden that she feared
she might fall as she swung out onto the ladder until she felt Donovan's strong
hands encircle her waist to lift her down. Her face burning, she said nothing,
relieved when her feet touched the packed dirt floor and he released her.

"Th-thank you. I'm rather stiff this morning—"

"I'm not surprised," he broke in, the smile
still upon his face although now it didn't quite reach his dark eyes. "After
your
being thrown from a horse, of course. And helping
a babe into the world can be no easy thing."

Corisande didn't reply, suddenly feeling quite
uncomfortable as her gaze shifted to where Morton already sat beside his wife,
their two young sons clamoring to see their new sister. Morton and Peggy looked
uncomfortable,
too, the deception behind last night
obviously at that moment lying heavily upon them—which made Corisande decide
that she and Donovan would not be staying long. Leading the way into the little
bedroom, she quickly stepped aside so Donovan could approach the bed.

"She is beautiful," he murmured when Peggy
held the mewling child out to him and he settled the babe into the crook of his
arm.

Again Corisande was struck as she had been days ago at
the poorhouse by the incongruous sight: as big and powerful-looking a man as
Donovan Trent holding a tiny infant who had begun to cry piteously from almost
the moment she left her mother's arms. But instead of becoming nonplussed, he
began to jounce the baby gently, a tender smile appearing on his handsome face
that tugged like a pain at Corisande's heart, making her wonder how things
might be if Donovan were more like the man he appeared, right now, to be . . .

"Have you named her yet?"

"Corie Olivia, milord." Morton coughed to
clear his throat. "After Lady Donovan, of course, for coming to help us an'
. . . an' after my wife's mother."

Donovan nodded and handed the baby back to Peggy
without saying more.

Corisande grew nervous at the awkward silence that had
suddenly settled over the room but for the two little boys playing on the
floor. "I—I think we should go. But if you need anything, Peggy, anything
at all, you've only to send Morton to let me know."

"That I will, Corie, an' thank 'ee again."

Corisande scarcely heard her; she'd already left the
bedroom and gone to grab her cloak from a peg near the hearth. But she didn't
bother to put it on as the bright sunlight streaming inside the front door told
her the day was warm. She ducked outside gratefully—for heaven's sake, what had
come over her in there?—Donovan following hard on her heels.

"Funny, you don't seem very stiff anymore, wife.
Helping with Corie Olivia must not have been so difficult for you after all."

Donovan wasn't surprised that Corisande had spun to gape
at him, his sarcastic tone hardly what he had intended. But he was angry,
dammit, furious. He had told himself a hundred times while coming to fetch her
that he would be able to contend with the ruse, the lies. That what Corisande
had done last night was
her own
business! But now he
felt like grabbing her and shaking her hard.

He'd already come close when he'd seen the trouble she
was having on the ladder. Good God, he'd be sore, too, if he'd done half of
what he had seen her accomplish on that beach. Corisande had probably given no
heed to the danger she faced if any customs officers had been on the prowl.
Probably given little thought, either, to the brutal attack only an hour
before, when she should have been indoors and safe. And that was the whole
bloody problem! When was the damned woman going to think of herself before
putting everyone else first?

"I'll get the horses."

He brushed past her, knowing she was staring after him
and no doubt wondering what had brought on his latest foul mood. But let her
think what she would. Hell and damnation, what could be worse than what she
thought of him already? A heartless cad, a despoiler of innocent women, a
gambler, a murderer?
Which made it all the more ridiculous
that he should be so concerned about her, but he was, God help him, he was.
More than he could have ever thought possible.

"Bloody fool," Donovan muttered to himself as
he untethered Samson and then went to Pete, who nudged him with a velvety nose.
He'd found the animal still saddled and grazing free some hundred yards away;
Corisande obviously had been so frightened after she'd been followed back to
the cottage that she hadn't thought to see to the horse.

But Donovan had wanted to frighten her, so badly that
she wouldn't dare set foot outside again until he came for her. He'd almost
believed her clever story about the
Robbertses,
probably would have, too, if he hadn't overheard everything from outside the
door. Chasing her from that cove was the least she deserved for lying to him,
although the babe coming after all had been a surprise. But when he'd set out
after Corisande last night, no idea where she was bound, only to discover
incredibly that she was involved in smuggling—

"I can manage from here, thank you very much!"

As she snatched Pete's reins from his hand, Donovan
watched grimly as Corisande hoisted herself onto the big gelding, grimacing in
discomfort.

"I could have helped you, Corie."

"I don't need your help," she snapped as she
veered the horse around, "and as for your sarcasm, my lord, though I've no
idea what you were implying, it's clear that the truce you spoke of last night
was very short-lived. I'll see you back at the house."

She kicked Pete into a gallop and was gone, leaving
Donovan to mount Samson with a low curse and ride after her. But he didn't have
to push his stallion very hard; Corisande had slowed Pete to a walk within
moments, which didn't surprise him, given how she'd winced in pain just in
mounting. He caught up with her easily, but she didn't look at him, lifting her
chin
and keeping her face forward as if he weren't
even there.

"I wasn't implying anything, Corie. I'm sorry,"
he said, having no intention of revealing that he knew about her smuggling. Why
upset her further? He would only be a part of her life for a very short time
longer, and he'd do bloody well to remember that fact. "And the truce—"

"The
devil take
your
truce, Donovan! Act however you wish, pleasant, unpleasant, it makes no
difference to me. If you're worried about your money, don't be. I'm not going
to threaten our agreement just because you're absolutely the most insufferable
man I've ever known."

"Ah, I'm insufferable now? Well, at least you didn't
say loathsome. I never liked being called loathsome."

Chapter 24

Corisande glanced at Donovan, astonished at the wry smile
on his face. Lord, she would never understand the man! One moment sarcastic,
the next apologizing, the next making
jokes
and
smiling. But she didn't want to understand him. She wished she wasn't riding
with him either. If she wasn't so bloody sore, she could have made it to the
house without having to say another word . . .

"Corie Olivia Robberts. You must be honored."

"I am," she said stiffly, facing front again.

"At least it's something interesting to write
about—to your friend Lindsay, I mean. A letter came from her just as I was
about to leave this morning—"

"A letter from Lindsay?" Corisande had drawn
up sharply on the reins, coming to a halt as Donovan reined in Samson too. He
reached into his dark blue riding coat and drew out the letter, a black brow
raised as he handed it to her.

"Addressed to Lady Donovan Trent, no less. News
travels fast."

"She . . . she must have seen the wedding
announcement in the papers." Not liking that she was feeling quite
uncomfortable again, Corisande clutched the thick packet in her hand. "And
I'm sure Lady Somerset wasted little time in writing to her. The woman has a
nose for what's happening in the parish nearly as keen as Rose Polkinghorne's."

"Yes, a letter came from Lady Somerset too. An
invitation to dinner, actually, which I accepted. I'm surprised she gave us
this long—unless, of course, you've other plans for tonight? Someone else with
a pregnant wife coming to throw stones at your window?"

"No, no other plans," Corisande murmured, not
liking the way Donovan was looking at her. Grateful that the Robbertses' baby
had come—it would have been impossible to try to explain a false alarm to
him—she glanced down at the letter, her fingers itching to break the rose-red
seat. But she nudged Pete back into a walk instead, deciding it would be better
to wait until she was alone. God knows what Lindsay had to say, considering she
knew everything

"Aren't you going to read it?"

Corisande started, flushing to the roots of her hair as
Donovan caught up with her, Samson matching Pete's slow stride. "No, I
think I'll wait—"

"Not on my account, I hope. I won't look, if that's
what concerns you, Corie. There isn't anything new about London that Lindsay
could tell me anyway. Go on, enjoy your letter."

She gulped, but her curiosity was overwhelming. Perhaps
Lindsay had some more funny stories for her. She could use some levity right
now. Anything to take her mind off the man who was dogging her like a shadow
just as he'd promised last night.

If not for that reason, she might have suggested he
ride on ahead, but that was as likely to happen as Napoleon to surrender. So
she broke the seal and opened the letter, the sunshine so bright that she
tilted the cream-colored paper to one side, away from Donovan, and began to
read.

Oh, Corie, where to start? I received your
incredible letter, and I could hardly believe it! To think you're married! And
to a Trent of Arundale! Of course, I know you said it's only temporary, but I
must tell you of the most startling things—