The Confessions of a Duchess (20 page)

Hurting her when he had reset her shoulder had been the most difficult thing he had ever had to do in his life. Her courage and her stoicism in the face of such pain had been extraordinary. And impossibly tangled with his admiration for her were the memories of their lovemaking. The passion that had flared between them had wrenched away his self-control—not that he had ever had a great deal of self-control where Laura was concerned.

He turned to look at her pale face candlelit against the pillow and a tender smile touched his lips for a moment before he remembered the reality of their situation and the warmth within him fled. The twin specters of guilt and responsibility smashed through his mind as he remembered his family and his duty to them. He had been intoxicated when he had made love to Laura. That had been an inexcusable lapse in his behavior. He thought of his brothers and sisters relying on him for their future, of his mother spending money like water, of the ghost of his wastrel father mocking him with his affairs and his rakish ways, and he felt almost physically sick. The fear curdled in his stomach. He had come so close to failing them.

Dexter turned back to the bed, resolutely blocking out all the feelings of warmth and gentleness that seeing Laura lying there aroused in him. Watching over her as she slept was intimate and astonishing, even more profound in some ways than making love to her. There was something so vulnerable and giving about Laura it was hard to believe that her passion for him had ever been manufactured. It was almost impossible to believe that she was a whore and a hypocrite, no matter the way that she had treated him in the past.

He shook his head sharply. This was no way to think; he had his way to make and his family’s future to secure. It should not matter whether Laura was innocent or not. His desire for her was a dangerous, uncontrollable force. He had to master it and concentrate on catching his heiress and living a tidy life. That was his future. It had to be. He had no choice.

THIS TIME WHEN she woke, the light hurt Laura’s eyes. There were miners hammering in her head and the sour taste of brandy in her mouth.

She opened her eyes gingerly and closed them again immediately as the familiar outlines of her bedroom swam in the light. She was in her bed, and Dexter Anstruther was sitting beside her reading, his head bent, his tawny hair looking tousled in the faint ligh.t…

Her eyes snapped open for a third time and the hammers in her head beat such a chorus that she groaned aloud.

Dexter Anstruther was in her bedroom.

On hearing her groan, Dexter looked up, laid aside the book and leaned over her.

Laura’s eyes were on a level with his throat, which was smooth and tanned a delicious golden color. Evidently he had removed his stock. Her gaze drifted lower. And he had also taken off his jacket. His shirt was open at the neck and she could smell the clean, masculine scent of him. She remembered it well from their hot, erotic, devastating encounter in the wine cellar.

She also remembered him holding her in his arms the previous night when he had carried her to bed. She remembered the gentleness and the resolve in him when he had reset her arm. She remembered that she had thought in her state of drunkenness that she was in love with him again.

Now that she was sober again she waited for that feeling to disappear.

It did not.

She felt the love for him wash through her in a tide so powerful and deep that she was shaken. She closed her eyes, squeezing them tight shut. Still it was no good. The feeling did not recede. It gripped her heart with a tenacity she knew she could never destroy.

She loved Dexter Anstruther. She always had and she would be a fool to try to
pretend otherwise.

She struggled up against the pillows so she could focus on Dexter’s face. If it was foolish to deny her love for him it was equally pointless to imagine that anything could come of it and that was the material point she had to remember. But suddenly she felt as tongue-tied, inept and lacking in any kind of experience as a debutante in her first season.

Being in her bed did not help. Lying flat, incapacitated, put her at a distinct disadvantage.

“What time is it?” she croaked. She knew she sounded like a drunk after a long night on the town. She probably smelled like one, too. She shrank under the covers in mortification.

She saw Dexter reach for the jug of water on the dresser, splashing some of the liquid into a glass for her. He came over and held it gently to her lips. Laura drank greedily and awkwardly.

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” There was warmth in his voice, though she also sensed some withdrawal in him. “It is late morning,” he said.

“Hattie!” The thought of her daughter drove everything else from Laura’s mind for a moment. She sat bolt upright, then sank back with a gasp as her shoulder gave a painful twinge.

“Your shoulder will still be sore,” Dexter said, “and you have some lacerations to your arm. Molly dressed them for you.” He pressed her gently back against the pillows.

“Don’t worry about your daughter. Rachel came in to tell me that she was taking Hattie into the village and she will be in to visit you when they return.”

“Did you see her?” Laura pressed. “Did you see Hattie?” Her headache intensified at the thought that Dexter and his daughter might actually have met. Had he seen Hattie that morning? If he had he might have recognized her at some instinctive level. He might have realized the truth. She felt sick and guilty and afraid to think that Hattie might have been drawn into danger whilst she slept regardless.

But Dexter was shaking his head.

“I did not see her, but she is quite all right,” he said. “Rachel has explained to her that you are feeling a little unwell but that you will be much better soon. She assured me that Hattie was not upset and was looking forward to bringing you some flowers from Miss Lister’s hot-houses.”

“Thank goodness.” Laura relaxed back against her pillows, limp with relief. She saw the expression on Dexter’s face and realized that he had misunderstood her concern. He thought that she had been fearful that Hattie would be upset because she was ill. Suddenly she felt wretchedly guilty that he had hurried to reassure her when she was keeping so huge and unforgivable a secret from him. The grief and remorse filled her, made all the more acute because of her love for him. She was denying Dexter the right to know his own child.

It was very wrong of her but her absolute fear for Hattie’s future security held her silent.

Dexter could never be allowed to reveal Hattie’s identity or take her daughter away….

“You look tired,” Dexter said softly, his evident concern making Laura feel even worse. “How do you feel?”

“I feel as though I have drunk an entire bottle of brandy,” Laura said. She looked at him suspiciously. “You
did
give me an entire bottle, did you not, Mr. Anstruther?” Dexter’s lips twitched. “About half a bottle,” he admitted. “You were in a lot of pain.”

“And to think that you do not even approve of women drinking,” Laura murmured.

She turned her head against the pillow so that she could look at him properly. He was looking at her with an expression in his eyes that made her feel very hot and bothered.

Suddenly both her respectable dowager nightgown and the thick covers seemed to be smothering her.

“Did you undress me and put me to bed?” she demanded, before she could help herself.

She saw Dexter pause. “No. Molly did that.”

Laura relaxed slightly. “Thank goodness.”

She saw the wry twist to his lips and knew that he was remembering their encounter in the wine cellar, no doubt in as much vivid detail as she was. He would be thinking that such modesty on her part was somewhat belated. She felt hotter still.

“Do you remember anything about last night?” he asked.

Laura was tempted to take refuge in amnesia. “I remember nothing after you reset my shoulder,” she admitted, “and before that…”

“Yes?” Dexter’s gaze was very bright and intense.

“It is very hazy,” Laura excused.

“You were talking to me whilst I carried you upstairs,” Dexter said. “Perhaps it will come back to you.”

Suddenly Laura was not certain that she wanted to remember. She eyed him with misgiving. “What did I say? I am sure it can only have been the brandy talking.” Surely,
surely,
she thought, she had not been stupid enough to swear undying love to him? It would be just the sort of hopeless thing she would do when she was in her cups.

She scoured her mind but the memory refused to come. She had no notion what had happened after they had set off up the stair. Color flooded her face, making the blood beat even harder through her veins. Her head throbbed in agony as she thought about the disaster she had made of everything. First she had responded to Dexter with passionate abandon and now it seemed she had crowned her folly with some sort of drunken declaration. She gave a little groan.

Dexter smiled faintly. “There was something that you wanted to explain to me.” He straightened up. “When—or if—you remember—”

“I will, of course, let you know at once,” Laura said, quickly and completely untruthfully.

Dexter hesitated. “Had you considered,” he said, “that what happened last night may not have been an accident?”

Laura stared at him. The headache behind her eyes hammered so intensely that she felt sick. “No, I had not,” she said. “Surely it was just a masonry fall? I thought it was simply ill luck—”

Dexter shook his head. “It could have been deliberate. You were lucky.” Laura winced, remembering the agonizing pain of her shoulder. “Surely that depends on how you define lucky.”

“Lucky as in fortunate not to be dead.” There was an edge to Dexter’s voice. “Have you forgotten that we were deliberately locked in?”

“No, but—” Laura’s head whirled. “I thought…I assumed it was just a prank—that whoever had locked us in had come back later to release us. And I am sure that the fall of stone was not deliberately manufactured. I saw no one there and it is well known that the priory ruins are dangerous.” She shook her head fretfully. “I cannot believe it anything other than an accident!”

For a moment she saw again the hard, calculating look she had witnessed in Dexter’s eyes the previous night but then it faded and he sighed. “To my mind it could have been a trap, Laura, cleverly conceived and neatly sprung. They locked you in and then released you, and you were so pleased to be free that you did what nine people out of ten would do and ran directly into a trap.”

Laura tried to think about it. She remembered the day on the water the week before when she had been so sure that someone had pushed the boat out into the middle of the river. Was someone trying to hurt her? And if so, why? Might someone try to hurt
Hattie?

It was an intolerable thought. She bit her lip.

“What is it?” Dexter said instantly. He had been watching her face and now Laura realized how close she had come to giving herself away. He was too quick.

“Nothing,” she said. She did not want to express her doubts to Dexter, not now, when her head ached intolerably and she could not think straight. She closed her eyes and lay back against the pillows with a sigh.

“Laura,” Dexter said, “when you fell in the river last week—” Laura’s eyes shot open. How had he guessed that? She looked at him. He looked implacably back.

“I did wonder,” she admitted, capitulating to his unspoken demand for the truth,

“whether someone had pushed the boat. I thought I felt something, but the sun was in my eyes and I saw no one. It is little enough.” She sighed. “I am sure I am imagining things. As I have said before, you have a suspicious mind, Mr. Anstruther, and now it is firing my imagination, too. There is absolutely no reason why anyone would shut me in my own wine cellar, unless as a practical joke. As for the rock fall, that was definitely an accident—” She stopped as Dexter gave a derisive snort. “No reason? I thought that we discussed this last night? I begin to wonder if you are utterly in denial over your flamboyant and reckless life of crime!”

“I may be in denial,” Laura snapped, “but you make up for it by refusing to let the matter go!” She sighed. “Please—I need to sleep. I do assure you that I am in no danger and you can leave me quite safely.”

Their eyes met and held for a long moment and then Dexter sighed sharply. “Devil take it, Laura, but you are a stubborn creature.” He ran a hand over his hair. “At least promise me that you will not go anywhere or do anything dangerous.”

“I can safely promise that,” Laura said, her eyes drifting closed. “I doubt I shall be going anywhere for quite a while.”

She turned her head away and screwed her eyes up against a sudden and unexpected sting of tears. It was unlike her to cry. It was only because she was feeling so weak and wretchedly alone. She wanted Dexter to stay with her now, wanted it with a fierce ache of the heart, but at the same time she knew that she had to make him go. Indulging herself when her feelings for him were still so new and acute would not do any good.

“Thank you for all the help you gave me last night, Mr. Anstruther,” she said. “I shall always be exceptionally grateful for your medical skills.”

“Laura,” Dexter said, “speaking of last night—”

“Let us not,” Laura said quickly. Her feelings for him were so painful she thought she would choke if she had to talk about it. “Nothing of significance happened,” she said.

“Let us forget it.”

After a moment she heard Dexter sigh again and move away from the bed. “I will talk to you when you are feeling stronger,” he said. “We
will
talk, Laura.” Laura did not reply. She heard the door close softly behind him. She felt so bereft then that it was like a physical ache that took her breath away. But she knew that raking over the past, trying to re-create the illusory tenderness she had shared with Dexter for one night, could only lead to danger for Hattie and heartbreak for her. It was better this way. In the clear light of morning and with the aftertaste of the brandy bitter in her mouth, she knew there could be nothing else for herself and Dexter, no love, no future. There was too much to keep them apart. He wanted the calm stability that a wealthy, passionless marriage would bring. She wanted to protect Hattie from the stigma of illegitimacy at any price. And that was an end to it.