A Momentary Marriage Page 8

  “Dem seems happy to be home,” Laura commented.

  “Mm. It’s easy to be happy here.”

  “I’m not so sure your sister is happy.” She thought it better not to mention Claude’s attitude.

  “Patricia?” He cut his eyes toward her. “Why? What did she say to you?”

  “She was in the hall crying this morning. Your mother was trying to console her.”

  He cursed softly. “No doubt I’ll have them in my study this afternoon, wailing and tearing their hair.”

  “Why?”

  “I tossed Salstone out.”

  “What?” Laura stared. “Are you serious?”

  He shrugged. “Well, not literally, though that was a near thing. But I told him to leave, yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he’s a bloody fool. Worse, he insists on exposing that fact to everyone.”

  “James . . .” When he didn’t look at her, she slid forward, turning so that he would have to look in her face. “Was it something to do with me?”

  “I don’t know why you should assume that.”

  “Because I am not a bloody fool, that’s why. Besides, Patricia told me it was all my fault.”

  His mouth tightened. “I’ll talk to her.”

  “No. I didn’t tell you so you would fight my battles for me. I just want to know what happened.”

  “Leave it. It’s nothing you need worry about.”

  She stood up, planting herself squarely in front of him and folding her arms. “Do you really expect me to be satisfied with that?”

  “No.” James heaved a sigh. “I am certain you won’t be satisfied until you’ve dragged it all out and turned it over twice.” He rose to face her. “He was rude. Insulting.”

  “You mean because of his jabs at me last night at dinner? I took care of him well enough, didn’t I?”

  “Of course you will win any contest of wits with Salstone. That’s not the point. You are my wife, and if he cannot speak of you with respect, he isn’t welcome in my house,” James said with finality, turning and starting back up the path to the house.

  “Wait.” Laura caught up with him. “It rather lacks respect, don’t you think, to go charging off in the middle of a discussion without so much as a pardon me or good-bye.”

  He half turned, giving her a slight bow. “Pardon me. Good-bye.” He strode away.

  “James!” She trotted after him. Blast it, the man was supposed to be sick. Why did he walk so fast? “Will you stop? Just because I agreed to your proposal doesn’t mean I’m going to keep silent—”

  “I am well aware of that.”

  “Or let you direct my life. Or treat me as something less than your wife.”

  “For God’s sake.” His long legs ate up the ground, and they passed through the wisteria arbor into the lower garden. Glancing up at the terrace, where Tessa and Patricia were now sitting, James cursed again and whipped around to face Laura. “Why can’t you leave it alone? I am trying to be courteous.”

  “Then be rude, as you usually are, and tell me.”

  “He insulted you!” James’s eyes flashed. “Don’t you understand? I warned him. I told him what would happen if he behaved that way toward you. Then he had the gall to make a remark that I am not going to repeat to you even if you plague me all day.” The words spilled forth, his voice low and fierce and almost breathless.

  Suddenly his face turned ashen, and he swayed.

  chapter 10

  “James!” Laura stepped in, wrapping her arms around him and bracing to take his weight as he sagged against her. She clung to him, her body flush against his. “No. You cannot faint on me now. I won’t be able to hold you up.”

  Her head was turned, her ear flat against his chest, and she could hear the rapid pounding of his heart, feel his chest rising and falling as he sucked in air. He rested his head against hers, his arms curving around her. His words came out in short, sharp pants, gusting against her ear. “I. Won’t. Faint.”

  For a moment he wavered, then gradually she felt him straighten, taking more of his own weight. He leaned his forehead against her head in a pose she imagined looked loverlike. “I beg your pardon. I was . . . dizzy for a moment.”

  “You wouldn’t have been if you hadn’t been racing away to keep from answering me.”

  She felt him shake a little in silent laughter. “Laura . . . Laura . . . trust you to get the last jab in.”

  Raising his head, he gazed down into her face for a long moment. “Thank you. Why did you do that?”

  “Did you think I would let you fall without trying to help?”

  “No, but you needn’t have made it appear we were embracing, either.”

  “I thought you would rather . . . since there were people watching . . .”

  Color returned slightly to his face. His mouth curved up on one side. “Still . . . it’s a trifle improper, isn’t it, snuggling in plain sight?”

  “Snuggling! I like that—I try to help you, and you call me improper.”

  “I rather liked it, too.” He leaned closer, murmuring, “Perhaps we should add to the verisimilitude.” His lips touched hers, light as they had been after their vows, but clinging a little this time, then pressing closer. He straightened, his eyes warm, his expression faintly bemused.

  Flustered, Laura drew in a quick breath. She could feel her cheeks heating, and she didn’t know where to look. “I—there is a bench over there. We should sit down.”

  “Perhaps we should.”

  She turned, sliding her arm around his waist, and urged him toward the bench. He went docilely, his arm around her, though his steps were steady enough now. His body was warm against hers, solid beneath the separation of their clothes. Her lips still tingled from his kiss. His taste lingered on her mouth.

  Why had he kissed her? What did it mean? He was putting on a show for his family. He was teasing her. But there had been that look on his face, a little surprised, a little amused, even a little wistful.

  They sat down, his arm stretched along the back of the bench. Laura’s nerves still jumped, and her thoughts skittered around, searching for someplace safe to light. “James . . .” She turned to face him, which had the added advantage of putting distance between them. “I appreciate your coming to my defense.”

  “So we’re back to that.”

  “Yes. We are. I understand your reasons. But I have no problem with your family.”

  “Give them time.”

  “I don’t want to be the cause of trouble between you and your sister.”

  “You aren’t. Archie is the cause of trouble. Always has been.”

  “But you could overlook his behavior this once. Be the better man.”

  “Being a better man than Archie Salstone is not a high achievement.”

  “Maybe not, but I suspect your halo could stand a bit of burnishing.” She gave him a pointed look.

  “My halo?” James let out a huff of laughter. “I’m not sure where to find that accessory.”

  “ ‘The quality of mercy is not strained,’ ” Laura said, taking another tack.

  He snorted. “Don’t start quoting Shakespeare at me, or you’ll lose whatever foothold you’ve gained.”

  “Have I obtained a foothold?”

  “A toehold, perhaps.”

  “You could grant it as a favor to your new bride.”

  “I don’t understand.” James looked at her quizzically. “Why do you care? Neither he nor Patricia was pleasant to you.”

  “No. But I doubt that banishing her husband will endear me to your sister.”

  He studied her for a long moment, then leaned back against the bench, closing his eyes and sighing. “This marriage business is more complicated than I’d imagined.”

  “Do you . . . regret marrying me?” Laura was surprised at the twist of hurt inside her.

  “No.” His eyes popped open and James turned his head toward her. “Not at all. I like—that is to say, I find it harder to wallow i
n my misery with you bedeviling me.”

  “That’s good, because I’m a dab hand at bedeviling.” When he smiled as she had intended, Laura went on. “I’m not asking you to let Mr. Salstone stay so that Patricia won’t hate me. It’s for you. This creates a terrible rift between you and your sister.”

  “We were never close.”

  “Neither were you and I, but here we are, married. One doesn’t have to remain at odds with a person forever. I’d hate for you to be estranged from the members of your family.”

  “You think I should make my peace with them before I die.”

  “Well . . . yes. I do.”

  He studied her warily. “You aren’t going to start hounding me now to see a clergyman and repent my sins, are you?”

  “No.” She laughed. “Not that.”

  “Very well. I’ll play the doting bridegroom and give Archie leave to stay.” He stood up. “But for you, not them.”

  James looked around his study, feeling at loose ends. It wasn’t like him. This room, with its carefully stacked papers and precise rows of books and the battered desk that he refused to let Tessa replace, was usually where he was most at home. The rest of the house might be filled with his mother’s bright chatter and people he’d rather not see, but here it was quiet and comfortable. Welcoming.

  He liked to work. He enjoyed running down the lines of figures, totting them up in his head, and seeing the patterns, using them to chart his future course. But this afternoon, he had trouble keeping the numbers straight; they kept tumbling out of his head. He’d hardly heard what the estate manager had told him, distracted by the slant of light coming through the window and the way it sent an arrow of pain into his eyes and straight through to his brain.

  It had been a relief when the man finally left. But now he felt restless . . . yet the thought of doing anything seemed far too great an effort. James shoved himself to his feet and wandered to the window.

  He wondered where Laura was, what she was doing. His mind kept returning to those moments in the garden this morning. She had felt so soft and warm in his arms; he’d had a cowardly urge to hold on to her and bury his face in her hair.

  Her lips had tasted sweet. And for an instant, he had thought that if only he were well . . . but, of course, that was nonsense. He wasn’t well, and if he had been, Laura would never have agreed to marry him. Nor, for that matter, would he have wanted a wife.

  He turned away from the window, irritated at his wandering mind, and started back toward the desk. His solicitor would arrive tomorrow, and he should get his thoughts in order. But before he reached his chair, he was distracted by the sound of music down the hall.

  Curious, he opened the door. Notes danced through the air, light and melodic. He started along the corridor, inexorably drawn to the music, and paused in the open doorway. Laura was seated at the piano, her fingers moving nimbly across the keys, and his mother stood beside it, one elbow propped on the instrument.

  “Oh, lovely! Do play more!” Tessa exclaimed as the giddy tune tumbled to a close.

  Laura, smiling, began a ballad, and after a moment, Tessa began to sing. She had a pleasant alto voice, and on the chorus Laura joined in, her bell-toned soprano mingling and twining with Tessa’s through the sweet, sad lines. James leaned against the doorjamb, watching them, and his chest swelled with a fierce yearning pleasure.

  They finished, and Laura raised her face, beaming at Tessa, her face glowing. Tessa clapped her hands together like a child, crying, “How beautiful!”

  “It’s Graeme’s favorite song,” Laura told her.

  Of course. She played for Graeme. He should have known.

  Laura glanced across the room and saw him. “James!” She smiled and started to stand. “Come in.”

  “Darling, join us,” Tessa added gaily. “Your wife is so talented.”

  “Yes, I know.” James knew he sounded stiff and he added a brief smile to soften it. “You play beautifully, Laura. I should love to stay, but I fear I must return to work.”

  He turned, retracing his steps. He could still hear her playing if he left the door to his office open. And, really, that was the best option. Safest.

  Laura had become a lady of leisure, and she found herself with a great deal of time on her hands. It was a delight, of course, to have ample time for her music, and she spent several hours every day at the piano or her violin.

  She chatted politely with Tessa and the other ladies of the house almost every afternoon. Her relations with Patricia were no less strained, but at least they were polite. She saw the boy Robbie now and then, pelting down a hallway or playing in the gardens, but in the way of noble families, the nursery was well separated from the rest of the house.

  She strolled in the gardens daily and took longer walks down to the old ruins. She explored the house. The huge library was a delight, but it was the galleries that took her breath away. The long sunny halls were lined with statues and paintings. Indeed, every room seemed to offer another beautiful work.

  Laura understood now why James had spoken of the things of beauty he wanted to leave in her care . . . and equally well why he would not consider Tessa or any others of his family adequate caretakers.

  Strangely, after that close moment in the garden, James had become more remote. His manner was aloof, and he stayed closed up in his study most of the time, first meeting with his attorney, who came down from London, and after that with the estate manager.

  It was clear that James was determined not to accept help and equally determined to give his illness no quarter. His carriage was always straight, his face only rarely showing a flash of pain. He was at dinner every evening though he ate little, mostly pushing food about on his plate. He was the last to retire, sitting on the terrace with Demosthenes after everyone else went to bed. If Laura awakened in the night, she heard him pacing restlessly in his room or up and down the corridor. But when she went out one night to ask if she could help him, he rebuffed her efforts so sharply that she left him to his own devices.

  But pretend as James might that all was normal, it was obvious he was rapidly growing more ill. He looked hollowed out—his face drawn and pale, his eyes bruised with shadows. Laura was not sure whether she felt more pity for his condition or irritation at his stubborn refusal to accept sympathy or aid.

  One night, unable to sleep, Laura slipped down to the library after everyone else had retired. As she left the library, she saw James climbing the stairs. She hung back in the shadows, watching as he trudged upward, Demosthenes at his side. He gripped the banister, pulling himself up each step, exhaustion in every line of his body.

  She knew then why he went to bed after the others. The stairs taxed his strength, and he didn’t want anyone to see his weakness. The man was so stubborn and contrary it made her want to scream, but she could not help admiring his dogged determination. James would go down fighting.

  Sorrow welled up in her chest. Blast him. She didn’t want to feel anything for James. She already missed her father with a steady ache. It seemed most unfair that she must add sorrow for James as well.

  He paused on the landing, bracing himself against the railing, his head hanging. Demosthenes gazed up at him and whined softly. Laura could no longer stand still. She darted across the entry and up the stairs. He turned at the noise of her footsteps and frowned.

  “What the devil—”

  “Don’t,” she told him crisply. “I am not going to stand by and let you act like a fool just because you’re too proud to allow anyone to help you.” She lifted his free arm and hooked it over her shoulders, sliding her arm around his waist.

  For once James made no protest, just started up the remaining stairs. Demosthenes bounded up before them and stood waiting.

  “What happened?” Laura kept her voice crisp, knowing that sympathy would only make James more resistive.

  For a moment she thought he wasn’t going to answer, but then he said, his whisper quick and harsh, “I felt dizzy, and . . . I co
uldn’t see. For a moment, I was blind.”

  chapter 11

  James leaned more heavily against her as they went, his steps slowing. When they reached his room, Demosthenes took up his post outside James’s door, fiercely watching the hall, as if he could keep the danger at bay. Laura blinked tears from her eyes.

  They weaved across the floor to his bed, and Laura eased James down on it, grateful for the servants’ custom of turning down the bed. He started to lie down, but she grabbed both his arms, stopping him.

  “Wait. Let me get your jacket first.” She reached out to grasp his lapels.

  He pushed weakly at her hand. “No. I can do it.”

  “Oh, do shut up, James.” Laura pulled the garment off him. He was, apparently, feeling too bad to put up any more protest, but sat docilely as she started on his waistcoat and ascot.

  “How far do you plan to go?” he asked drily.

  “It’s encouraging that you feel enough improved to make annoying comments,” she told him, giving him a little push back onto the bed. “Where do you hurt?”

  “Where do I not?” He lay back, raising his hands to his head and squeezing as if he could crush out the pain. “My head is the worst. Damn it, I wish it would just get it over with.”

  Laura looked at his drawn face and brushed her hand across his forehead, gently pushing back his hair. “I’ll get you something for the pain.”

  “I don’t need—” He stopped and sighed. “Laudanum makes me ill.”

  “Then I won’t give you any.” She pulled the covers up over him and crossed to the door. Demosthenes turned to regard her, but did not give way. Laura reached down and stroked the dog’s head. “Don’t worry. I’m coming back.”

  She gave his shoulders an extra pat. The mastiff let out a long sigh that sounded much like James’s and stood aside, leaving a narrow space open for her to leave. Laura went to her room and pulled her father’s bag from the bottom of her wardrobe.

  It occurred to her that she should probably put on something besides her nightgown and robe. She had never been around any man but her father in only her nightclothes. But she didn’t want to take the time, and it was scarcely as if James would notice or care in his condition.