Two Turtledoves (15 page)

"Ring if you need anything. I'll be outside the
door," Bernard said softly enough for only Baldwyn to hear, then he
raised his voice for the others. "That will be all. You are all
dismissed to your regular duties." He herded them out quickly and
closed the doors behind him, leaving Baldwyn alone with
Anastasia.

"Anastasia…" He laid his jacket over the back of a
chair. She glanced at him, seemingly unaffected by the sight of him
in his shirtsleeves. Her body trembled in time to the steady rhythm
of her chattering teeth.

"Anastasia, you are quite frozen yet, and there is no
time to lose. You shall have to share my warmth. Do you
understand?" She stared at him for a moment without an expression,
then slowly nodded her head.

Baldwyn fumbled with the buttons of his shirt as if
he had ten thumbs. Finally succeeding, he slipped his shirt off and
dropped it on the chair.

This was necessary. She was his betrothed, and
Baldwyn was duty-bound to do all he could for her. Her own father
charged him with her care. He took a deep breath, dried his hands
on his wool breeches again, and slipped under the blanket beside
her, pulling her against his chest.

"I'm sorry," he whispered against her hair as he
wrapped his bare arms around her shivering form. She trembled
against him, and he pulled her tighter, trying to infuse his heat
into her body. Anastasia nestled against him, resting her cheek on
his chest, buried up to her nose in the pile of heavy blankets.

When she placed her hand on his chest just below his
collarbone, Baldwyn's heart raced. Her light touch, the warmth of
her breath on his skin, the fragrance of lilacs drifting from her
hair — he was producing more than enough heat for both of them.

To think that here in his arms lay the same girl who
had thrown mud balls at him to gain his attention all those years
ago, the same girl who climbed up in a tall oak and needed him to
rescue her. And here they were again. As if his path had always
been directing him here, to this moment he wished would never
end.

Perhaps it was true. Had been true all along.

She was his turtledove, and her heart has been
calling out to his all this time, guiding him back where he
belonged.

Baldwyn exhaled a slow breath of relief and rested
his cheek against the top of her head, planting a soft kiss in her
hair.

He would have been content to lie there forever,
feeling the warmth gradually returning to her. But when her cold
hand found its way to his face, and her gentle whisper floated to
his ears — "Thank you" — that simple touch dissolved the last shred
of self-control he possessed. Her mouth was only a breath away, and
she closed her eyes the moment he leaned forward. Her lips were
frozen, but he pulled her flush against him and breathed warmth
across her lips through his own.

****

"We might stay another day. Perhaps you're not up for
traveling yet," Baldwyn suggested when Anastasia approached the
carriage dressed in her traveling dress. Her color was better, but
she was still rather pale.

Her sweet smile warmed him. She rested her hand on
his forearm, and her golden brown eyes melted his misgivings. What
he wouldn't do to spend the entire trip back to Town with her alone
in the carriage.

Baldwyn covered her hand with his own and allowed his
gaze to wander to her pale pink lips. Anastasia smoothed his cheek
with her soft kid glove.

"If you think I'm letting you out of my sight now,
Baldwyn Sinclair, you are sorely mistaken," she answered.

Baldwyn raised an eyebrow and regarded her with
amusement.

"In that case, Anastasia Trent, if you wish to travel
in my carriage, you shall have to buy a seat."

"Is that so? And what is the going rate for passage
in such a broken down third-rate conveyance?"

"It is quite expensive, my dear. I fear you cannot
afford it."

"Then you have grossly misjudged me, your grace, for
I am a lady of some means." The sparkle in her eyes spelled
mischief and mirth. How he loved her. What had taken him so long to
realize it? "Name your price, good man. For I am in desperate need
to arrive in London today."

"Desperate need?" Baldwyn put his arms around her
waist and pulled her close. "Very well. The cost for passage to
London this day is one kiss. Payable in advance." He lowered his
head to hers, but she slipped one finger in front of his lips,
stopping his forward motion inches from her mouth.

"I have not yet consented to your terms, sir." A wry
smile played on her lips. "I wish to offer a counter."

"Anastasia," Baldwyn whispered against her finger.
"One does not say she is desperate and then expect to have
bargaining power."

She giggled. "No. No, I suppose not. But will you not
hear me out?"

"What is your offer, Princess?" He placed a lingering
kiss on the finger that blocked his path to her lips.

She brought her hand down to rest on his chest. "Two.
One now…" She rose onto her tiptoes, meeting his lips with her own
in a slow, warm caress that he could feel all the way through him.
Baldwyn was breathless when she pulled away. "…And the second
payable upon safe delivery."

He rested his forehead against hers and closed his
eyes. "Sweet Anastasia," he whispered hoarsely. "You have much to
learn about bargaining."

"Perhaps so. Do we have a deal?"

"Heavens, yes." He lowered his mouth toward hers
again, but she retreated suddenly, setting him off balance so that
he stumbled a step forward with a jolt.

"Oh, no you don't! Upon safe delivery, your grace.
Try that again, and I'll have you arrested as a charlatan." The
devilish glint danced in the golden hue of her brown eyes once
more.

"Baldwyn!" A sharp pain landed on the back of his
legs, and he turned in shock to find his grandmother standing
behind him wielding her brass handled cane. "Mind yourself, boy!
You're standing in broad daylight! Now, be a gentleman and help an
old lady into the carriage." She lifted her hand into the air
beside him, expecting him to take it and do as she bid.

"Ah, Grandmother, I'm delighted you'll be making the
trip with us today." It was a bald-faced lie, but now he had two
excellent reasons for this to be the swiftest trip to London ever
recorded.

The trip was torturous. Reminiscent of Dante's
Seventh Circle.

The first hour was spent listening to the dowager
drone on about the virtues of needlepoint until abruptly falling
asleep and promptly adopting a steady cadence at an unearthly
volume, making any conversation impossible. Next to her sat Lady
Anastasia, stifling a laugh at his expense.

Baldwyn slid to the side directly across from
Anastasia and held out his hand to her without saying a word. She
studied him suspiciously, a single eyebrow raised in question, then
shrugged and took his hand.

With a firm grasp on her wrist, he tugged her to his
side of the carriage in one fluid motion, depositing her on the
seat beside him.

"Really, your grace, it isn't proper," she whispered,
a mock derision playing in her voice.

"To blazes with proper." He slid his arm around her
waist and pulled her closer.

"Whatever will the dowager say?"

"I don't care." He kissed her neck.

"That doesn't sound like you. Are you ill?" She
slipped a glove off one hand and felt his forehead, then slid her
soft hand down to his cheek.

Baldwyn grasped it in his and pressed it to his lips.
"No. No, I am well. And the dowager is fast asleep." He laid
another kiss on her neck. Her nearness made him dizzy — her
fragrance, her velvet touch, the taste of her skin — and he was
drowning in the haze of desire descending on him.

Raining light kisses along her jaw line, he blazed a
hot trail toward her mouth. Her pulse raced beneath the touch of
his lips.

Breathlessly, she whispered, turning reluctantly away
from his advance, "Remember our bargain, your grace. Upon safe
arrival."

"Hang the bargain." He gasped for breath against her
neck and gingerly laid a hand on her cheek, drawing her face toward
his. Angling his own head, he closed the gap between them with
fervent passion. Her hesitation alarmed him, but he persisted,
brushing her mouth once, twice, a third time, coaxing her lips
apart until she indulged him. Her bare hand slid to the back of his
neck and tangled in his hair, driving him deeper into the fog where
Anastasia was his only focus, more of her his only goal.

A distant rumbling raked his brain, and he felt
Anastasia tense in his arms. He tried to ignore the persistent
interference, tried to draw her back into the trance with him, but
she pushed at his chest, and the rumbling grew more insistent. Then
he heard it.

Not the constant rhythm of his grandmother's snore,
but the erratic cough of the dowager clearing her throat in
disgust.

He slowly released his hold on the lady next to him
and sat back, allowing his gaze to take in Anastasia's mortified
look before turning to the old woman who traveled with them.

The dowager's lips were set in a stern line. She
clicked her tongue to shame him and with a voice laced with
consternation said, "Can't a woman take a few moments' rest without
worry that you will accost the maiden under your protection?"
Beside him, Anastasia struggled to compose herself, steadying her
breathing and fighting with the fingers of her glove to tug them
back into place on her right hand.

"I believe an apology is in order, Baldwyn."

"I apologize, Grandmother."

"Not to me, you dolt." She cast a nod in Anastasia's
direction.

Baldwyn glanced at her. He could think of several
ways to apologize, but none of them involved speaking.

"Oh dear, for being such a responsible fellow, you do
fail in so many areas. What would have happened, I shudder to
think, had I not been present?"

"I daresay a great many things would be different
were it not for your presence, Grandmother."

From the corner of his eye, he caught Anastasia's
quick look at him. He turned to make the necessary amends, but an
inhuman gasp interrupted him.

The dowager clutched at her chest and her face
drained of all color, leaving a ghostly pallor. Baldwyn's heart
leapt to his throat, and he knelt in the moving carriage, grasping
at his grandmother's shoulders. She reached for his arm and fell
forward into his chest. He caught her and lifted her back into the
seat, sliding in next to her.

"Grandmother! Are you ill?" When she did not respond,
he shouted it louder, closer to her face. "Grandmother! What is
it?" Her eyes seemed to roll back in her head — her skin was
ashen.

"Your grace!" Anastasia pleaded, grasping one of the
old woman's hands. Her eyes were wide with fear. "Oh, I'm sorry!
I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to—"

Baldwyn twisted in his seat, still clutching the
dowager in his left arm, and pounded the wall of the carriage with
his right. "Faster, Michaels! Faster! Do not spare the horses!" He
knew they weren't far out of London now, but she was
languishing.

Anastasia sat shaking her head and crying, patting
the dowager's hand vigorously. "Wake up, your grace," she
whimpered.

The carriage sped recklessly down the primitive road,
jolting in the ruts and finding every pothole. And yet the trip
seemed interminable.

"Faster, Michaels! The dowager is failing!" he
bellowed again, but he knew the driver wouldn't hear him over the
din of the rattling carriage. This was his fault. All his fault.
This was what came of choosing desire over duty. Why could he not
have waited until they were safe at home?

After what seemed like an eternity, though in truth
it was only minutes, the carriage clattered to a halt in front of
the Durbin residence. Baldwyn bolted from the carriage and called
to the gathering servants. "Send for the doctor! The dowager — help
me!"

Anastasia sat frozen in her seat, but he had no time
to deal with her. Three footmen retrieved his grandmother and
hurried her up the stairs to the house.

"See the lady home, Michaels!" Baldwyn shouted and
turned without another word. His only thought was to see to his
grandmother.

One of his cousin's men stood near the door in
apparent shock. "Go! Fetch his grace! Tell him to make haste!"
Baldwyn commanded, then charged through the front door and up the
stairs to the dowager's room.

****

As the carriage jolted forward, away from the
dowager's house, Anastasia stared out the window at the scene in
their wake. Baldwyn tore up the steps to the front door without so
much as a glance back. But it was selfish of her to wish it. He was
worried for his grandmother.

The grandmother who'd raised him, who had taken him
under her wing as a boy. Yes, she was a surly demanding woman — a
woman full of machinations and schemes… her conniving,
manipulative, wonderful schemes.

Anastasia knew, in spite of everything, in spite of
all the dowager's ploys, Baldwyn loved his grandmother. And there
was nothing he wouldn't do for her.

The betrothal was proof of that.

All the old woman wanted was to see her grandson
properly wed, but Anastasia had flung herself at him like a common
wanton. No wonder the dowager had taken ill so suddenly. The shock
of seeing them…

A thick knot weighed heavy in the pit of Anastasia's
stomach. What if Baldwyn blamed her? Furthermore, what if it truly
was her fault?

****

The dowager lay motionless on her bed. Her maids had
changed her and made her as comfortable as possible. It was silent
in the room when Baldwyn entered. Only one servant remained, trying
in vain to rouse the old woman with smelling salts. She glanced up
at the duke and he excused her with a nod.