She heard his footfall on the path but kept her eyes shut, as though seeing Con’s brightness would burn her.
“Laurette.”
The one word held all of his longing. She smiled and looked down on him. Everything yet nothing had changed.
“Hello, Con.”
“May I come up?”
“Oh, yes.”
She was snug in his arms in the crook of their tree. Suddenly her wraps were too warm for the dull autumn day. Con must have known, as his hands slipped under her old cloak, parted them and brushed her tender breasts.
“May I kiss you, just once for old time’s sake?”
Laurette turned her face to his. His lips settled on hers with charming hesitation.
She opened her mouth to him, tasting him for the first time in weeks. A ripple of bliss spread from her scalp to the toes in her boots. His tongue was warm and seeking. She relaxed in his embrace, shutting her mind to the impossibility of the future as his hands skimmed her bodice.
She had today only. And desperate as she was, she couldn’t
manage to make love to him in a tree. She pushed him away gently and unknotted the strings of her cloak. Con raised a dark eyebrow.
Laurette kissed him quickly and hopped to the ground. She spread the cloak and shawls under the low branches, bare now. Anyone could come upon them. No green leaves and tall grasses would provide shelter. But it was unlikely Con’s city wife would take a walk on such a gray day.
Laurette shivered with cold and anticipation. Soon Con covered her with his body, the scratch of wool against her bare flesh a welcome discomfort. She needed to feel every point of contact between them, no matter how harsh. There was no time for play, just the brutal business of two bodies joining for one last bite of pleasure. She was as fierce as he, writhing, nipping hard enough to draw blood and his wife’s questions.
But Con belonged to her and no other, no matter what it said on the marriage lines.
She gloried in his hard grasp as he rode her toward heaven. There were no awaiting angels, just the devilish realization that this was the end. For now. Con’s face was a mask of pain as he withdrew and spent into his hand.
“We cannot do this again, Laurie.” He propped himself up at the base of the tree as she pulled her petticoats down.
“I know, silly,” she tried to joke, arranging herself with misplaced modesty on the cloak. “I’ll be away for months. But I see no reason why, when I come back, we cannot meet discreetly.” She tried not to think of the possible consequences. Of what Mr. Berryman might bring them all to. She had to cling to the hope of it.
“There is every reason.” His cheeks were flushed, but his lips were white. “Marianna is bearing my child. Now do you see? I am married. About to become a father. I’ve already lost most of my honor. Don’t expect me to lose it all.”
“A—a baby?” Laurette saw black swirls dance before her
eyes. She swallowed her breath and clutched at the fabric beneath her.
“Here, you’re cold.” Con shook the dry bits of grass from her scarves and wrapped them around her shoulders. “Get up, Laurie. I’m sorry. I only meant to kiss you. But, my God. I love you and there’s no way out, none. I’m a bastard to use you like this.”
Laurette stumbled as she rose, and Con caught her. He fingered the crooked pin at her breast. “Do you like it? I bought it on your eighteenth birthday.”
A day that had gone unremarked by her parents, who were so angry with her. “It’s lovely,” she said woodenly. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me for anything! I’ve ruined your life!”
How dramatic he looked, his fashionably cut hair in disarray, his face all sharp angles, his eyes bleak. She noticed for the first time he was head to toe in new, expensive clothes, wrinkled now, boots scuffed where they had dug into the earth as he mounted her. He had been bought and paid for.
“N-nonsense. My life is not ruined.” Just shattered into jagged points of reality. Laurette bent to lift the cloak from the ground and stilled, dizzy. She had hoped somehow he would not sleep with his wife, but have a true marriage of convenience, like other people in the ton. She could not imagine replicating what they had just done with any other man, ever. But Con had somehow made his marriage real. She felt his hands brush her as he fastened the cloak at her throat.
What an idiot she was. Her parents were right about so little, but they had been right about Con. She was young and so, so stupid.
From a great distance she heard Con tell her earnestly he had only ever thought of her when he made love to his wife, but that made it all worse somehow. She turned from his out
stretched hand and hurried back down the path, moving as swiftly as her leaden feet could carry her.
Tomorrow she would leave her home. Today was not too soon to drive Con from her heart. In six months time, she would entrust her cousins with the child and start anew. Her life was not ruined. Her heart was not broken. Her tears were not falling.
Laurette brushed away fresh tears. For over ten years she’d pushed away these inconvenient recollections. But seeing Con every day had brought the past to life again. She could not help but remember the days when they were young—when hope filled their hearts, when rules were meant to be broken, mistakes were meant to be made. But Laurette could never think of Bea as a mistake—one look at her shining face in the midst of all those sheep proved that.
The children were being butted about, squealing in delight. Con towered above them in a white sea of wool, his head thrown back, laughing. Another man, even taller than Con, hung back at the edge, pulling his cap from his chestnut hair, taking in the Mad Marquess and his charges. No doubt he thought they were all a nuisance, city folk who had no idea the noise they were making were disturbing the creatures. He barked out something to his dog, who sat down reluctantly, waiting for the foolish people to stop their nonsense so he could do his job.
Laurette grinned at the spectacle below, wishing she could be in the middle of it. She was a country girl at heart, and had done her best for Penzance-reared and Bath-schooled Beatrix to introduce her to pastoral life during her visits to Vincent Lodge. Perhaps if she hurried, she could join her family in the festivities.
Her family.
Where had that inconvenient thought come from? Her greatest desire was something that couldn’t be, no matter how much Con had manipulated everyone into position. She shook her head at her stupidity, then splashed some
water on her sleep-creased face. It took her no time at all to braid her hair back and slip into a simple dress and comfortable boots, suitable for sheep inspection. The dog had begun to yip again, so their progress to the paddock must be in train.
She dashed down the stairs and through the empty kitchen. Her stomach rumbled, but at this point luncheon was more probable than breakfast. When she stepped outside, she found Sadie and Nadia sitting on a bench in the tidy kitchen garden, shelling peas. They seemed to be in perfect accord, disregarding the “too many cooks” theory. Laurette waved off the offer of breakfast and headed for the children.
James was straddling the high stone wall as the small black-and-white dog and Mr. Carter confined the sheep beyond it. Bea’s face was flushed with excitement as she chattered up to Con. Laurette nearly stumbled when she saw the expression on his face—he bore a look of unmistakable love for the child. He tugged at one of her pigtails, teasing her. She spun away from him laughing.
Just as she used to do. How could Bea not know he was her father? It was plain as day!
But no. Laurette knew what to look for. Perhaps a stranger might not notice. She hoped the sinking feeling in her stomach only meant she was hungry.
“Cousin Laurette! The sheep have come!” Beatrix cried.
“So I see and hear.” There was an awful racket from the pen.
And smell.
“Mr. Carter and Sam drove them all night because of the full moon. He says sheep would rather sleep in the daytime than at night anyway.” Beatrix turned to Con. “Do sheep sleep standing up like horses?”
“It depends. If they feel safe, they’ll sleep lying down on the ground. Sometimes some will serve as watchers for the herd, staying awake while the others nap.”
“Watchsheep!” giggled Beatrix.
“How did you become so knowledgeable about sheep, my
lord?” There had been cattle at Ryland Grove before the drought claimed them.
“My son was quite convincing when he encouraged me to purchase the Ryeland sheep. I believe he’s hit upon a successful scheme for Stanbury Hill. He’s showing excellent business sense.”
Laurette watched the tips of James’s ears turn pink. It was his only response to Con’s praise as he balanced on the rocks.
“And of course I bumped into a shepherd or two in the Holy Land…. Jacob!” Con shouted over the bleating of the sheep. “You must be dead on your feet. James and I will fill the troughs with water. Take the rest of the day off. You’ve earned it.”
Con’s farm manager ambled through a clot of sheep, his dog at his side. For a man who’d spent the night walking the drovers’ path through the dales, he looked fit and awake. And remarkably handsome. He was a decade or so older than Con, lean and dark from time spent out of doors. Sunlight burnished the copper and silver in his close-cropped hair and his tweeds, though worn, were clean. He met Laurette’s eye and nodded.
“Laurette, this is my caretaker and right-hand man, Jacob Carter. Jacob, may I present my Dorset neighbor and childhood friend, Miss Vincent. She is Bea’s cousin and my son’s honorary aunt.”
Mr. Carter was well-spoken and not shy. “How do you do, Miss Vincent? It’s a pleasure to meet you. The children have been looking forward all week to your arrival.” The man extended a strong hand and after a moment Laurette realized she was expected to shake it.
“Lord Conover tells me you were in His Majesty’s army.”
“Just a sergeant. Put out to pasture now.” The man grinned, revealing strong white teeth. His Yorkshire burr was blunted by years spent away from home. “Lord Conover
needed a local man and I needed a job. Stanbury Hill Farm has been a challenge, but I hope I’ve been up to it.”
“Don’t fish for compliments, Jacob. You know I appreciate what you’ve done. But the road!”
“Aye, I knew you wouldn’t like it much. But you don’t have to sleep on it or eat it. I thought getting the house in order, haying and putting in a garden took priority.”
Judging from his tone, he was certainly not one bit cowed working for a marquess. Con cuffed him on the shoulder. “Get some rest and we’ll talk about it later. James, let’s get cracking at the pumps.”
Jacob Carter whistled for his dog and they headed back to the house. Laurette had seen the room he kept off the kitchen yesterday, a Spartan chamber meant to be the housekeeper’s office. She imagined he’d spent the winter living in it and the kitchen, shooing off the birds and shutting up the rest of the rambling house. The property was completely isolated from any neighbors, and she wondered how he spent his time now that he wasn’t repairing and renovating.
Beatrix reached through the fence to nuzzle a lamb. “I can help, too.”
Laurette saw the stubborn set of her daughter’s mouth and knew she was seeing a shorter version of herself. But as they were “cousins,” that would explain the family resemblance to anyone who wondered.
“Bea, let’s leave the men to their chores. I haven’t had breakfast yet. I thought we might share some tea and have a coze. We haven’t really had time to catch up with all your news.”
Beatrix fitted her hand into Laurette’s. “Oh, all right. Aren’t the lambs the most darling things? Lord Conover says he’ll get a few sheep for pets at Ryland Grove, so they’ll be there when I visit next summer.”
“I’m glad you’re looking forward to next year already,” Laurette smiled. “There might come a day when you’re too much of a young lady to bother with me.”
Beatrix frowned. “If you mean I’m to have a debut one day, my parents say they can’t afford it.”
Laurette felt a ripple of anger. Her cousins were well compensated for their care of Beatrix, and surely they knew that funds would be available for such an important event. Not that Laurette had cared about her own come-out, except to entice Con. She shivered. Perhaps it was just as well Beatrix would not be presented to society if it meant keeping her innocence a few years longer.
But she was being an alarmist. Beatrix was a sensible, sedate child, reared by good, devout people. She wouldn’t be slipping into a shimmering dress, dancing the night away, and seducing anyone the next morning.
They entered the kitchen to find Mr. Carter not in bed but holding court at the scrubbed pine table, his dog Sam politely sitting at his feet. Abandoning the lunch preparations, Sadie and Nadia were flying about the kitchen brewing coffee and scrambling eggs. Laurette’s stomach rumbled a reminder again.
“Here now, Miss Laurie. It won’t do for you to wait until luncheon to eat. I know how you turn devilish when you’re hungry.” Sadie cracked another egg into the creamware bowl. “I’ll bring a plate to you in the breakfast room.”
“Don’t be silly. If Mr. Carter has no objection, we’ll join him.” She eyed the chickens that were trussed and waiting on the sideboard. “Just a bit of bread for me. I promised Bea a cup of tea, too.”
“And a raisin scone if there are any left from breakfast, please.” Beatrix sat down and folded her hands, looking at Mr. Carter rather worshipfully. He winked at her.
“Don’t know when I had my breakfast with two such lovely ladies. Not since I was a lad and my sisters were at home.”
“Is your family nearby, Mr. Carter?” Laurette asked, buttering a half-slice of bread.
“A long day’s walk. It’s just my youngest sister left now,
and her man and children at the family place. They raise sheep, too. Not Ryelands, though. But Henry knew where I could find some.”
“It seems you found plenty.”