The Duchess and the Spy (23 page)

“I am but a blushing bride,” she murmured sensually, watching the man closely. She realized that she was plunging herself deeper into danger, but knew also that her distraction was her Saint’s only chance. For the life of her, she had no idea why he hadn’t traveled with some form of security, but realized also that highwaymen were sometimes a consequence of traveling, and were quite rare nowadays.

“Is that what you is?” he said, staring at her crimson tresses. “Well I ain’t never seen such fiery hair,” he breathed, reaching out one grimy hand. She flinched as he began reaching for her, and let her hand fly to her mouth as Christopher’s dagger flew through the air straight into the man’s chest. The rapscallion groaned, dropped the pistol, and fell out of the carriage. Christopher reached for his own pistol, gingerly slipped through the carriage door, and shot the other man that had a pistol pointed at his groomsmen.

Isabella rushed to stick her head out of the window, and saw another rider, approach from the trees. He was far away, but not far enough away to avoid a being shot. She deliberately reached for the highwayman’s discarded pistol, and picked it up with slightly trembling hands.

Her Uncle Duncan had taught how to use one of the blasted things, and use it she would. Christopher might think that she wanted him dead, but she never wanted his death on her hands. Without her powers, she’d have to rely on the hopefully reliable weapon she held in her hands. She aimed the pistol, compensated when the rider moved, and then discharged it. The man fell right off of his horse, but not before he tangled himself in the stirrups. The horse became spooked by the noise, and took off at a fast pace. She knew that Christopher had noticed everything, but nevertheless, she threw the pistol out of the window and stared down at it with disgust.

She sank back down onto the satin squabs, and sighed heavily, as she laid her head back against the seat. She stared down at her wedding dress and knew that she couldn’t wait until she finally got the chance to take it off. She heard him slam into the carriage, and felt it lurch as it took off down the lane. Staring over at the empty seat in front of her, she tried to forget the fact that he was sitting right next to her, perilously close.

His body heat was warming her, and she bristled at his audacity. Why couldn’t he simply sit opposite her like any other normal person?

“You could have been killed,” he pointed out, after a great length of silence. His voice was strained and hoarse, and she felt quite bewildered to hear such a change in tone. This was definitely not normal behaviour for him. She briefly turned her head to him, and looked at him aghast.

“What do you take me for?” she asked, in one great rush. “Pray tell, do you suppose that I am some sort of blithering, witless female that needs to be coddled and sheltered?”

“No, I do not suppose any of those things. Although I do know that you are a reckless idiot who needs to be disciplined, or else your complete lack of thought on your part shall be your ruin. You could have been killed! And I wouldn’t have been able to stop it!” She flinched in reaction to his angered voice.

“I was in no danger!” she said calmly, a string of emotions tumbling through her. “But you were, you big stupid Englishman. If I hadn’t picked that man’s pistol up, you would be greeting your maker right now!”

“Sweet God in heaven, you are a handful,” he muttered beneath his breath, staring over at her as he gave her a wide grimace. “I felt my world slipping away when I saw you leaning out the carriage window. Do you not realize that your flaming red hair is a blatant invitation? You make a bloody good target.” His chest was heaving up and down. Obviously, he was trying to gain control of his temper.

“And you make a great inadequate husband,” she shot back spitefully, folding her arms across her chest in a defensive stance.

“Why you little corker,” he cried, grabbing a hold of her and bringing her over to sit in his lap. She attempted to squirm away from him, and even slapped him on the shoulder.

“Let me go,” she commanded, still trying to get off of his lap. He was adamant though and used his superior strength to curtail her actions. “I should box your ears,” she threatened, as she tried slapping his hands away from her as they wrapped around her.

“No, darling, I should have boxed your ears. You took at least ten years off of my life, at least,” he emphasized, holding her snuggly against him.

“Why do you care? You don’t love me, you don’t even like me!” She shivered as his fingers beginning to massage her arm. “Don’t do that. You were only worried about me because Jason told you to take care of me.”

“I was worried about you, because I am not about to become a widower so soon after marrying. Your cousin had nothing to do with it.”

“Well, you could have at least thanked me.” She pursed her lips together in a thin line.

“Why should I thank you, when you bloody well put your life on the line? Don’t you realize that I could have taken care of matters myself and that I didn’t need you to help me?”

“You didn’t want my help because you don’t like me, and you do not trust me. You never will trust me.”

“I didn’t want your help, because if anything happened to you I would…” he abruptly stopped talking in mid-sentence and then ran his hand through his hair in frustration. “God will have mercy on me, for putting up with you.” He stared over at her. “You were a fair shot,” he admitted ruefully, staring over at her in silent amazement. “Though I confess, I never want to see you with a pistol in your possession ever again. Particularly, if you are ever inclined to use it on me.”

Astonished by his belief that she would hurt him that way, she reached her gloved hand up, and tenderly placed it against his cheek. “Oh, Christopher, why would I kill you, when I just saved your life tonight? Upon my soul, if I had wanted you dead, I would have simply left the pistol on the carriage floor. That way I would have been able to become the merry widow.”

“The merry widow, my arse,” he returned, claiming her mouth passionately. She tensed, and then slowly relaxed beneath his tender onslaught. She felt his chest beneath hers, and was surprised at the intensity of his body heat. She felt the shockingly large bulge beneath her, and heard her mind screaming out at her to turn away, to run and escape before the fire consumed her.

She couldn’t let herself become emotionally involved with a man that seemed to love her one minute, and acted cold and detached with her the next. She just could not. She needed stability, she needed love, but what he was offering to her was oddly intoxicating. He was offering her a whole new world that was unexplored territory to her, and he was so gentle, she knew that she would be hard pressed to discover a better lover. She moaned as he cupped her left breast, and then let out a startled sigh, as he began to slowly caress her nipple beneath the fabric. She shivered as a delicious shivers went through her, and then groaned, when she felt the carriage stop moving.

“We can’t be there yet, can we?” she murmured, as he slipped his hand off of her breast just as the door to the carriage was flung open by a footman. She sighed in startled amazement, and then she laughed as he jumped down, and held his hand out gallantly for her. She had her small moments of happiness that seemed to last for only minutes, whereas, her moments of misery seemed everlasting. She had a moment of happiness, and she didn’t care what it was going to cost her, she was going to brave the fire and hope that it did not leave her with too many scars.

She stepped down into the dark yet brilliantly lit estate. Lanterns lined the drive, and illuminated the grand Georgian styled structure in front of her. It was quite literally breathtaking, and she gasped, as she stared over at its stunning beauty. It was enormous, perhaps even bigger than the De Clermont ancestral estate.

“Welcome to Wyndham Hall, my lady wife,” he murmured, waving an introduction. “It is one of my family’s country estates, it is the county seat of the Marquess of Wyndham.” She let out a startled cry as he swept her up into his arms.

“Ah, my Saint,” she laughed, and then her eyes clouded with dimmed fury, as she realized what he was saying. “You are actually telling me that this is your estate, and yet you made me stay in that horrid Inn, when this beautiful stately house was sitting here all along? Why it is the size of a palace.” She breathed as her green eyes, stared down hatefully at him. Her moment of happiness had been shattered again. “I hate you for that.”

“Yes, yes, my darling wife, but I love you, and shall from now until forever.”

“You always do this,” she accused, eyes blazing, as he led her up to the main entrance.

“Yes, I know dearest. I always shatter your dreams, and ruin the moment, and make a complete spoilage of every damn thing that you can think to blame me for.” He rattled on, as he carried her into the house, and up a massive marble staircase.

“That isn’t true,” she contradicted, wrinkling her nose distastefully. “You have me at a disadvantage, sir,” she murmured, as he carried her through the picture gallery, and onwards toward what she could only assume were the bedchambers.

“No, you are right where you wanted to be moments ago,” he said. He kicked open the door to a massive suite of chambers. The gigantic bed was in the center of the room with warm cherry wood scattered throughout the rooms. The bed hangings were a pleasant red satin, and the bed itself seemed to dominate the room. There was a lady’s dressing table in the room beyond, with an elaborately painted Chinese folding screen and a large area for a man to shave and get dressed. She assumed that there was a designated room specifically used for bathing, and possibly one for dressing, though she usually wandered back into her bedchamber when she was getting ready for a formal event. She had definitely not married a pauper.

He unceremoniously dropped her on the bed, leaned over and kissed her long, hard, and sensually hot. She reached out for more, despite her more logical inner voice, and was startled when he abruptly pulled away. He silently strode out of the way, making her feel insignificant and undeniably alone.

He stood over by one of the grand wardrobes and rested his one hand against it, as he bowed his head, and attempted to control the rioting emotions that were boiling inside of him. He turned to her with his stormy blue eyes, and sent her a look of such utter steamy longing, that it sent a thrill of anticipation through her. Then, without one single word, he strode through the chambers to the other connecting rooms. After a few breathless moments, she heard a door slamming shut. She flinched, and then sat up, and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She glanced once more around the room, and stared over at the small portrait miniature of a brown haired woman.

Since her interest was undoubtedly piqued, she went over to the nightstand, and picked it up.

Carefully, she examined the picture and held it under the light to gain a clearer view. She knew this woman, whom she assumed must be Ashley. She rubbed at the back of her neck, as she searched for the recollection of the woman that was staring back at her. She knew her, yet she could not place where she had met her. She hadn’t known her in Scotland, and she hadn’t spent much time in London. The only other place she had ever devoted any time to was France, but that was not an option. The woman was English, what could she have possibly been in France during a war for?

She cautiously placed the miniature back where she had found it, and paced the room, glancing nervously at the clock every five minutes. He still had not returned, and he hadn’t even the decency to send her a maid, to help her get undressed. Didn’t he know that she was a lady, and was therefore accustomed to having a lady’s maid? She’d done without at the Inn, but now that she was his wife, she expected to have a lady’s maid. Blast it! He was an insufferable cold-hearted man. She began pacing the room again, muttering as she walked. When she could bear it no longer, she attempted to get the dress off herself.

Yet, it was a much more difficult task than when Maria had helped her. Groaning with frustration and fatigue, she not only stubbed her toe, but hit her sore knee, bashed her chin on the nightstand, and wonders of all wonders, she hit her head when she was bending to take off her stockings. When she had finally rid herself of the dress, she glanced down at it in dismay. Somehow she managed to get it into the waiting wardrobe, and thankfully pulled out a pink silk nightdress and dressing gown. She glanced at it, and then over at Ashley’s portrait, and prayed that she would not be donning the dead woman’s old clothes.

She went over to sit in front of the mirror and began unpinning her hair. One of the silver pins went hurtling through the air, and struck the ornate mantle clock.

“Oops,” she muttered, as she continued unpinning her hair. She winced as yet another pin went flying across the room. Then, she began combing out her hair. Christopher was the most insufferable, egotistical, hateful man that she had ever known. But when she was completely honest with herself she realized that she didn’t truly hate him, as she hated her Pierre. Compared to him her husband was a complete saint, she’d even called him Saint Christopher in her moment of need. She grunted, as she hit a rather stubborn tangle, and then, stilled the brush, as she began thinking of her new husband. He had seemed so attentive and loving, with an incomparable sense of gentleness. And then the stupid man had dumped her on the bed, and left without a word.

Didn’t he realize that it was her wedding night, and he had openly rejected her? She didn’t love him, yet, she felt something quite affectionate toward him really. When he was around her, glancing at her with that look in his eyes, her knees become quite wobbly, and she sometimes lost track of her thoughts. She had been quite enamored of him at one point in time, but she wasn’t now. Or was she? She didn’t know what she felt anymore, her life had been a world of ups and downs, and she could never tell when she was up or down.