Maybe This Time, page 32
Kevan arched one brow. “I noticed your delight.” He watched his wife climb the stairs. The hem of her nightgown hiked up, exposing a healthy length of luscious-looking leg. His heart thundered a wild beat, and his stern tone grew husky. “And I agree. She is a most delightful woman.”
“Yes, milord, she is.”
TO KEVAN’S bitter disappointment, it was a very different Alyssa Buchannan who returned to their Knightsbridge establishment that afternoon. From the library, where he was knee-deep in account ledgers, Kevan heard Parks greet Alyssa in the main hall.
“Should the footmen retrieve your purchases from the carriage, milady?”
“There are no purchases, Parks.”
The strain in her tone drew Kevan’s full attention.
“Begging your ladyship’s pardon, but I understood you were returning from Bond Street.”
“Blast and damn, Parks.” Alyssa shouted. “There are no purchases.”
Silence filled the hall. Kevan frowned and sat back in his chair. For Alyssa to raise her voice, to curse Parks, something serious must trouble her. Her fondness for his man had been evident from their first encounter. Should he go to her? No, he decided. Would she seek him out? Did she value their relationship enough to share her little troubles with him as a wife should?
“Oh, Parks,” Alyssa cried. “You didn’t deserve that. Forgive me, please.”
“Of course, milady.”
Dejection, not anger, filled her tone now. “I’m going to my chambers. I—I promise to remain there until my temperament improves. With any luck, I may be out by the turn of the century.”
“But, milady,” Parks gasped. “‘Tis but eighteen seventeen!”
“True.” She held her skirt and lighted on the first step. “I may need more time.”
A distinct sob preceded her flight up the stairs. Kevan rose to go to her, but Meg’s words to Parks stopped him.
“She didn’t mean to snap, you know.” Meg paused, as though to remove her cloak. “Poor love, I ain’t never seen the likes of it.”
“What happened to her?” Parks asked, clearly concerned. “She was in such high spirits this morning. Delightful spirits.”
“Those nags from the ton is what happened. They devoured her, pretty-as-you-please at the modiste’s.”
Parks voice elevated an indignant level. “But she’s his lordship’s wife—a countess. They wouldn’t dare.”
“They did,” Meg assured him. “And you could’ve set a dish of chocolate on that Mrs. Drummond Burrell’s chin, she held it so high. Damn her uppity nose. She led the pack of them, to be sure, and her not fit to wipe my lady’s boots.”
“Her ladyship must have been mortified,” Parks said.
“Oh, she handled herself like the lady she is, but they crushed her tender feelings, to be sure. None went so far as to cut her—they ain’t that brave—but God’s truth that might’ve been kindlier than what they done.”
“Kindlier to cut her?” Parks sounded torn between outrage and disbelief. “Good Lord, what did they do?”
“Fired nasty questions at her about his lordship and that rubbish Innes. Too many spiteful things to recollect precisely. They pecked at her like a flock of vultures.”
Still talking, Meg and Parks left the hall. Kevan sat back in his chair, making a steeple with his fingers. The time had come to take matters in a firm hand. Those self-righteous gossipmongers would welcome his wife with open arms or, by God, they’d suffer the consequences. And the consequences would be dire, indeed. For years, he’d had the ability to open enough closet doors to bury them all under the skeletons they had hidden. And shunning his wife was a surefire way to have him opening every one of them. One by blasted one.
A short while later, Kevan summoned Parks. “Please see that these are delivered at once.”
Parks took the small stack of sealed envelopes and left the library. Kevan laced his fingers behind his head and smiled. Tomorrow at two, Almack’s patronesses: Ladies Jersey, Sefton, Castlereagh, Cowper, Princess Esterhazy, Countess Lieven, and Mrs. Drummond Burrell would gather. And, with luck, they’d be charmed right out of a voucher for his own sweet Countess. Without luck, they’d be blackmailed.
His gaze shifted to the ceiling. Above stairs, his wife still paced her chamber. Before he attempted to charm the other women, he must soothe his wife into a sweet temperament. He frowned. Charming the patronesses’—reputed for the most part to be arrogant and disdainful—would be a far easier task.
THE SKIN AROUND her eyes puffed out and the tip of her nose looked ripe as a cherry. Frowning, Kevan passed her his handkerchief and sat down beside her on the lounge.
“You said we were too clever,” she reminded him in a shaky voice. “You said that they wouldn’t dare shun me. That the ton would think our circumstance an enchanting, romantic intrigue.” Her voice cracked and she sobbed. “You said, I wouldn’t be—be—be humiliated.”
“I said, that before we retired to Woodwind you would have them eating out of your beautiful hand, love. I did not say that there wouldn’t be a few rough encounters between now and then.”
“Rough encounters?” She dropped the twisted handkerchief into her lap. “My God, Kevan. Those women did all but lay me low.”
“A few gossipy women making snide remarks cannot harm you. If you’ll trust me, we can turn this incident to your advantage.”
“How?” She gave him an indelicate snort. “I swear, Kevan. I think you spent too much time under the water at the lake.” She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. “I warned you that your brain would get damp doing that.”
The afternoon she referred to was one Kevan remembered well. It was the first time she’d expressed concern for his wellbeing. Her concern had been outlandish, of course—whoever had heard of a damp brain?—but she’d given him precious concern nonetheless. A poignant smile touched his lips. “My brain is fine, darling.”
A fat tear rolled down her cheek. “Oh, Kevan. It was bloody awful. I never want to leave this room again.”
He wrapped his arms around her, felt her body shudder. His heart wrenched in his chest. “Come to bed with me, love,” he whispered close to her ear. “I’ve a need to soothe you now. Tomorrow things will look brighter. I give you my vow.”
Kevan stood up, and Alyssa stepped back into his embrace. His arms closed around her, protective as an enveloping cocoon. He, too, would care for his charge until, like the butterfly, she felt ready again to emerge on her own.
ALYSSA LOOKED UP from her needlework and watched her husband pace the library floor. “Kevan, do sit down. You’ve been in a twitter since you returned this afternoon.” What’s troubling you?”
Heaving a sigh, Kevan dropped down beside her on the divan. His gaze continued roving the shelves of books behind his desk. “It’s nothing of import, love. Did you have a good afternoon?”
He was lying. “I weeded the flower garden.” She stitched a blue peony on the border of what would soon be a footstool cover. “What is the flower for trust, Kevan? Is there one?”
He didn’t answer.
Alyssa looked up and frowned. The man wasn’t attending. His gaze held fixed on the mantel clock. What was bothering him? He’d left in good humor and returned just after four highly agitated. Still, she couldn’t resist the urge to give him his comeuppance. He’d penalized her for wool-gathering often enough.
Alyssa bent to her stitchery and watched him through her lashes. “I’ve learned that I’m going to give birth to twin buffoons in a year’s time. Much like an elephant, don’t you agree?”
His fingers tapped his impatience on the arm of the divan. “Yes, dear.”
She rolled her eyes back in her head. For pity’s sake, had her conversation grown that boring to him? “I had an interesting visit with the Duke of York,” she ventured. “He called this afternoon.”
“That’s nice.”
“Mmm. He said you were a sorry lout and that a woman would have to be foxed or a beetle-head to force her person to withstand your presence.” She shrugged. “I agreed, of course.”
“Of course.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, but he didn’t notice. “I told him that you have the cutest mole on your bottom, and that if one didn’t speak to you overly long, but lingered in a prone position, your appearance was quite pleasant.”
“I’m sure he is well-versed in such matters.”
Alyssa’s frown deepened. “I’m certain he is. He also said that a woman who was unfortunate enough to develop a tendre for such a lout as yourself had to be either a high-flying gamester or a chucklehead. I agreed with this, too, and added that she must also be daft.”
“Mmm . . .”
“Kevan,” she bellowed, elbowing him in the ribs. “What is the matter with you?”
“Ouch!” Kevan looked stunned.
“Kevan Buchannan, you haven’t heard a word I’ve said.”
The brass knocker sounded, and she heard Parks answer the door.
“Are we expecting guests?” Kevan asked.
“Not that I know of,” she replied. “We are not finished with this discussion, milord. Your insults must be atoned.”
“My what?”
Alyssa gave him a proper glare. “You’ve called me a highflying gamester, a chucklehead, agreed that I’m birthing twins next year—like a bloody elephant, I might add—agreed that I must be foxed because I care about you—and, though that is more than enough—you called me daft.”
Kevan’s jaw fell slack. “You care about me?”
He looked stunned. Bemused. Certain that in all her ramblings, he’d heard no more than that, her ire cooled. She nodded to let him know she meant what she’d said. “I care very much, milord.”
A slow smile spread across his face. “Alyssa.”
“I’ll see it gets to Lady Buchannan,” Parks voice carried through from the hallway and then he entered the library. “Begging your pardon, milady.”
“Yes, Parks,” she replied, her gaze remaining locked with that of her speechless husband.
“This just arrived. I said I’d see to it at once.”
Alyssa shifted, took the envelope Parks offered, and saw a merry twinkle in his eye. “Thank you.”
Kevan leaned back and yawned. The faker was a bit too disinterested for her liking. When he didn’t ask about the envelope, she knew the truth. Her demon-knight already knew its contents. His agitation had been anticipation—uncertain anticipation.
Afflicted with a slight shake, Alyssa opened the envelope and read its contents. Her heart threatened to bound from her chest.
Now Kevan asked the perfunctory, “What is it, love?”
She smiled at her deceitful, delightful rogue. “It’s a voucher, dear. To Almack’s.”
His lofty expression portrayed bored acceptance of his due. But his eyes gleamed satisfaction. “Ah . . .”
“Ah, indeed, you fake.” Fairly bubbling inside, Alyssa wound her arms around his neck, settled herself squarely on his lap, then hugged him hard. “Oh, I don’t know how you managed it, milord. But your lady is most grateful.”
His lips parted for her kiss. And when she’d done the pleasurable deed properly, she raised her head.
His breathing as erratic as after a long swim, her husband slid her a lazy smile. “I do love seeing my lady grateful.”
“Oh, she is, milord.” Stroking his cheek, she screwed up her courage and watched him study her through her lashes. Her blood rushed through her veins, her pulse pounded in her ears. “Come above stairs with your lady, Kevan.”
He looked surprised. “In the light of day.”
Alyssa swallowed hard. “Your lady has a need to express her tender feelings, milord. Do you suppose tender feelings know it’s not night?”
Parks again summoned them from the doorway. “Excuse me, milord.”
Kevan shut his eyes for a scant second. “Yes, Parks.”
“Lord Cameron and a member of the king’s guard, Sir Duncan, have requested a moment with you and milady.”
Alyssa groaned at this interruption of her first sexual invitation. She would never know Kevan’s reaction now. Kevan turned and glared at Parks—until he saw that worthy’s gloomy expression.
“Show them in, please,” he said.
Alyssa scooted from his lap and smoothed her silk skirt. She turned and put her hand on her husband’s arm. “Please, milord,” she whispered. “No duels.”
Kevan gave her hand a reassuring pat, but he did not give her his word. Her pounding heart raced.
The guard and Lord Cameron faced Kevan and Alyssa. Her father’s eyes were red-rimmed behind his quizzing glass, and he dabbed at the corner of his mouth with a square of white cambric. She shifted her gaze to the guard. His leathery-skinned face held a stern expression, but his eyes were steady, and she judged him a fair man.
Kevan did not offer them a seat, nor did they look as though they would accept one.
“Milady. Milord.” The guard said, shifting his weight on his feet. At his side, Alyssa’s father stood silent.
Kevan stood, towering over the two men. “What is your purpose here?”
Alyssa cringed, but the guard’s stern expression held.
“You have been accused by Lord Cameron of kidnapping the Lady Alyssa and forcing her to wed you against her will.”
Alyssa jumped to her feet and rushed to Kevan’s side, cursing herself for not expecting her father’s intrusion. “Father! How could you?” She turned to the guard. “This is not true.”
Her father’s glare was cold, detached. “Do not protect this criminal because you were forced to share his bed, daughter. He must suffer just punishment for his crimes against us.”
“Cameron,” Kevan said in a tone so soft that Alyssa had once mistaken it for boredom. “You are a guest in my wife’s home. I warn you to watch your tongue in her presence. Your days of insulting her are over.”
Alyssa interrupted before her father could respond and start a duel in their own library. She addressed the guard, who seemed acutely aware of Kevan’s anger. “My husband has committed no crimes against me.”
“The church held witnesses,” her father countered. “They will testify to the contrary.”
Alyssa swallowed her anger. After all her father had done to her, he had the gall to accuse Kevan of abuse. But she must remain calm, appear collected—no. No, she decided. To protect Kevan, she must appear amused. She let out a little laugh that even to her sounded convincing and again directed her comments to the guard. “I assure you, sir, my husband did not force me to marry him. Actually, quite the opposite occurred. I insisted on becoming his wife.” She had chosen wife over mistress, so in a way, she supposed her choice could be construed as insistence. “I paid for the horses at Carlisle, too. You may check with the stable master there—and the parson, too. No, I do believe it was a smith who wedded us.” She turned to Kevan. “Wasn’t it, darling?”
“Alyssa,” Kevan said, draping her shoulders with his arm and pulling her close to his side. “Be still, love.”
“Was the man a smith, dear?” she insisted.
“Yes, love. Now be still.”
Seeing the affection between them, her clinging to Kevan’s waist, him sheltering her, seemed to confuse the guard. She’d no doubt her father had been most persuasive in his arguments against Kevan. He had a gift of being most persuasive—when it suited him.
“Charges have been made, milord,” the guard said. “I must investigate.”
“By all means,” Kevan replied. “Do your duty to your king.”
“I deny the charges,” Alyssa blurted out. “I am supposedly the victim, but I tell you, sir, I am no victim. There’s been no crime.”
Vacillating emotions crossed the guard’s face. Her father snorted.
“Lies,” he drawled, crossing his chest with his arms. “All lies. It is plain the criminal has threatened her.”
Kevan’s expression grew dark as a thunder cloud. She pressed against his waist in a silent plea, begging him to let her father’s insult pass.
“Refrain from insulting my wife, Cameron, else suffer the consequences.”
Alyssa intervened, again addressing the guard. “Kevan is the one person in my life who has not threatened me.” She glanced at her husband and caught a peek of the crystal amulet at his neck. Her heartstrings suffered a vicious tug, and a compelling need to speak the truth overwhelmed her. She turned to Kevan. “Milord, forgive me. I must confess.”
“No, Alyssa,” Kevan insisted. “I forbid it.”
He would suffer the indignity of false charges to protect her tender feelings. Tears threatened her eyes, and she blinked them back. She gave her husband a loving look and stroked his cheek with her hand. “I must, my dear.”
“Now we shall hear the truth,” her father said, thrusting out his chin.
Alyssa glared at him then looked at the guard, her stance reeking defiance, daring challenge. “My father sold me to Lord Innes, sir, who then wagered and—thank God—lost me in a game of whist to my husband. Though Kevan had every right to claim his ownership of me under the betrothal contract he won, at no time did he ever demand that I wed him. Lawfully, I was the man’s chattel. But, gentleman that my husband is, he left the choice of wedding him to me.” She smiled at her husband, who no doubt recalled the incident quite clearly. Mistress or wife, he had said. Choose. “And I am most pleased with my decision.”
“You lie,” her father shouted. “You were forcibly removed, kidnapped—from the church. There were witnesses.”
Kevan stepped toward her father. Oh lord, he looked ready to cause serious injury. “That is the second time tonight you’ve called my wife a liar, Cameron. If there is a third, regardless of the fact that I’d hate to ruin my wife’s carpets, I will spill your blood.”
Incensed herself, Alyssa stepped between the two men. Patting Kevan’s chest, she glowered at her father. “Do not continue this farce. I was not kidnapped, and you bloody well know that’s the truth of it.”
Before he could answer, she turned to look at Kevan. “Now, love, my father is no match for your strength. Buchannans do not kill the weak and afflicted.”
