Secrets of Midnight (28 page)

"How is she?"

Corisande started, looking up to find Donovan staring
at her. "Who?"

"Lindsay, of course. She's well?"

"Yes, yes, but I haven't read very far,"
Corisande said with exasperation, clearly enough that Donovan waved her back to
her letter, which irked her. She didn't need his permission! Taking care to
grip the reins tightly enough so Pete wouldn't begin to wander aimlessly, she
settled back with an irritated exhalation to her letter. . .

. . .
but
I must
tell you of the most startling things. I had already written you a letter in
answer to the one with your astounding news, but I was so busy—Aunt Winnie hasn't
given me a moment's peace, she's so determined to follow Olympia's every last
instruction to the letter, dragging me to dressmakers and out shopping and then
in the evenings—oh, dear, Corie, I'm losing my train of thought. Anyway, I had
no chance to mail my first letter, which was a very good thing. All I knew of
Lord Donovan Trent was what you told me in your letter, and of course, since it
was a secret, I couldn't ask anyone about the dratted man. At least I thought
him dratted at the time. But back to the topic. The moment your wedding
announcement appeared in the papers—truly, I've never heard such a stir!
Everyone was talking about it, well, about your husband anyway. I went to a
ball that very night, and the entire place was abuzz—

"Is Lindsay having a good time?"

Corisande must have jumped, for Pete suddenly pranced to
the side, nearly making her lose her seat. This time it was Donovan who caught
the reins, and Corisande glared at him as he brought the gelding under control.

"I thought you wanted me to enjoy my letter!"

"I do—"

"Then please don't interrupt me, Donovan."

Especially not now, Corisande thought somewhat
nervously as he shrugged his massive shoulders and looked away. Good Lord, if
he knew the letter was about him . . . and where was her place anyway? Oh, yes.

. . .
went
to a
ball that very night, and the entire place was abuzz. All the eligible young
ladies and their mamas were terribly disappointed to hear that Lord Donovan had
wed, and everyone, of course, was wondering about you, Corie, but that wasn't
the most extraordinary thing. Somehow I came upon a conversation between some
young gentlemen who knew Lord Donovan well and spoke of him quite fondly. They
couldn't believe he'd wed either, because Lord Donovan had sworn years ago that
he would never marry. It seems his parents had a terrible marriage, a dreadful
arranged affair—Lord, they painted his father the Duke of Arundale as an
absolute monster, and of course we already know that to be true from Arundale
Kitchen. His poor mother ran off with an Italian count, Corie, can you believe
that?

Anyway, according to these gentlemen, it
seems Lord Donovan had defied his father for years in so many ways, disgusted
by the man—hating him even—and determined to be anything but like him. He was
forever giving away his money to beggars, prostitutes, and countless charities
though he would tell his father he'd lost it all to gambling just to get some
more he could give away. That made the gentlemen laugh and laugh, Corie,
because Lord Donovan had never once been known to gamble since his father had
loved it so.

Corisande lifted her eyes from the letter, suddenly
feeling quite unsettled as she glanced at Donovan. But he wasn't looking at
her, the man leaving her alone just as she'd sharply bid him. Her heart
beginning to pound, she focused once more on the page, feeling almost as if she
didn't want to continue, but unable not to.

They went on and on, Corie, recalling how
Lord Donovan's father had tried to force him into a marriage four years ago,
but he'd left Britain to fight under Wellington. One of the men, Freddy, they
called him, said Lord Donovan had tried to talk him out of marrying for money
just before he left and how Freddy wished he'd listened, his life a bloody
mess. They laughed, but it wasn't funny, Corie, all of them wondering what
could have made Donovan finally take a bride. Another gentleman guessed it
might have something to do with his inheritance, but they couldn't see Lord
Donovan caring a whit about money—he never had before—which made them say then
that maybe he had simply fallen in love.

"She's written quite a letter, hasn't she?"

"What?" Startled, Corisande met Donovan's
eyes, her heart fairly thundering.

"The letter. It's long, several pages."

"Y-yes, it is long. It's Lindsay's first Season—it's
all so new to her. Balls, shopping—"

"Hunting for the wealthiest gentleman she can find
to marry. The loftiest title."

Corisande heard the sudden bitterness, something she
might have missed before. But now . . . "No, you're wrong, Lindsay's not
like that at all," she said vehemently. "Lindsay's different. She
doesn't care about those things. That's why I admire her so much."

"I'm not surprised. Considering she's your dearest
friend, I mean. I doubt you'd have wasted your time with her if she was
anything less than someone you could respect."

She heard a tinge of bitterness there, too, but Donovan
had turned away again, and she quickly returned to Lindsay's letter. Yet it
took her a moment to be able to focus on the page, her thoughts racing. Dear
God, could she have been so wrong about him? Like a phantom voice, Donovan's
words last night suddenly came back to ring loud and clear in her mind . . .
"
You don't know a damned thing about
me!
"

"Oh, Lord," she murmured under her breath,
finding her place to reread Lindsay's hastily scrawled lines.

. . . but they couldn't see Lord Donovan
caring a whit about money—he never had before—which made them say then that
maybe he had simply fallen in love.
Which is why I had to
write a new letter to you, Corie!
Lord Donovan doesn't sound anything
like the horrible man you described in your letter, no, not at all!
Self-centered? Caring about nothing but
himself
? It's
as if we're talking about two different people. To me, Lord Donovan sounds more
like the man you said you wanted to many, remember? When we made our secret
pact the day before I left for London? Someone who cares about helping people
and righting wrongs? And you have married him! Oh, Corie, I've heard he's
terribly handsome and brave and highly respected by his fellow
officers,
and his friends here wish him the best and you,
too, even though they don't know you. But I know you better than you think I do,
and I can just imagine the trouble you've been giving him with that temper of
yours and all the while thinking the worst of him—

"We're nearly home, Corie. Maybe you might want to
finish reading later."

Corisande glanced up to see that, indeed, the huge
Tudor house was appearing through the trees. She had only another few
paragraphs of Lindsay's letter to go, but maybe she had had enough for now. Her
head was spinning, her thoughts in a whirl, and now something was plaguing her
terribly,
something
she'd heard about only a short
while ago . . .

"Donovan."

She had his attention, his eyes upon her, but suddenly
she felt as if she had a huge lump in her throat. For heaven's sake, did she
want to know or not? If she'd been struck by a blinding lightning bolt, she
couldn't have been more stunned by everything Lindsay had told her. Did she
really want to suffer another shock when deep down she already sensed his
answer?

"I . . . well, I was wondering—"

"Careful, Corie, tighten up on the reins! Do you
want your horse to walk headfirst into a tree?"

She gasped, so lost in her private quandary that she
hadn't even noticed she'd let the reins slip in her hands and Pete was veering
ominously close to the stately line of elms flanking the drive. Quickly
regaining control, she pulled the gelding back closer to Samson, but she knew
the moment was lost.

Suddenly she didn't want to hear Donovan tell her that,
yes, he had gone very early to Arundale's Kitchen on the same morning they had
made their agreement, where he'd spoken to young Morton Robberts among others
and learned firsthand of the tinners' wretched plight.

She didn't want to hear that he had spoken to Jack
Pascoe either, sensing Donovan had fired that bastard from the mine hours
before he'd even met her and learned she would do almost anything to help the
tinners and their families.

Anything. Even marry a man she despised.

Which led her to realize she hadn't
needed to marry Lord Donovan Trent to see life improved for the tinners,
although he'd made her believe that that was so.
But why?

He certainly hadn't married her for love—
leave
it to Lindsay to hear something like that and latch
onto it, hoping for Corisande's sake that it might be true. She could just
imagine that was what the rest of Lindsay's letter had to say. So she should
write right back and tell her romantic friend that Donovan couldn't bloody wait
to annul her and return to Spain! In fact, their sham marriage would probably
be over in days, even hours. Surely a letter with that wonderful news would be
coming anytime soon from His Grace, Nigel Trent, the Duke of Arundale.

"Corie?"

She turned her head as if snapping free of some dream,
her eyes meeting Donovan's as he reached up to help her down from her horse.
She hadn't even realized they had come to a stop in front of the house, and a
liveried footman already hovered to take Pete and Samson back to the stable.
But she barely saw the servant, her pulse pounding as she felt Donovan's hands
slide around her waist; she felt his strength as he lifted her easily and drew
her toward him to set her upon the ground, his expression intent as he searched
her face.

"Was there something you wanted to ask me? I'm
sorry if I startled you back by the trees, but I didn't want to add bruises to
the stiffness you're feeling already."

Another apology. This one uttered so sincerely, she
could almost feel herself believing that he might truly care about her welfare.
Almost.

"It was nothing. I'm tired, Donovan. It was a long
night, and I got little sleep. I'll hardly prove enlivening company at the
Somersets' if I don't get some rest."

"Go ahead, then. We're not expected there until
six—"

Corisande was gone before he'd finished, leaving him to
stare after her as she went inside. And the first thing she did when she got to
her room moments later was to crumple Lindsay's letter and throw it into the
fire.

Chapter 25

"I can't believe I agreed to come here."

Corisande's hiss had been meant for Donovan's ears
alone, but the stiffly dressed footman taking her cloak raised a brow. She shot
a glare at him, and he turned away, leading the way to the Somersets' drawing
room although she was loath to follow. Only Donovan's firm hand at her elbow
made her move forward reluctantly.

"You see? Even the servants are haughty in this
wretched place. I don't know how Lindsay withstood it. I never liked coming
here."

"You sound as if you rarely visited."

"Ha! Lady Somerset never wanted me to. The last
time was for Lindsay's twentieth birthday party, and oh my, Lady Somerset wasn't
very happy to see me appear at her door. But we got her back, Lindsay and I."

"With the champagne?"

Corie nodded as she glanced at Donovan, warmed more
than she wanted to be by his amused smile. Warmed to her
toes,
and it was so ridiculous too!

So she'd been wrong about why he didn't want to be
married—and the man wasn't a Don Juan. So he wasn't a gambler, either, or
anything at all like his late father. He'd still married her because he needed
money—tricked her into becoming his temporary bride, no less!—and what about
how surly he'd been to her?

She wished he would go back to being surly, too,
instead of holding to his bloody truce. His amiability was just making
everything worse. And she wished she'd never read that letter; the thoughts
roiling through her mind had prevented her from getting any rest this
afternoon.

"Ah, Lord Donovan, come in, come in!"

Corisande felt his hand tighten at her elbow as they
entered the drawing room; she sensed he didn't like Olympia Somerset any more
than she did, and yet he had accepted the invitation, she supposed because it
was necessary that they appear socially as husband and wife. And to turn down
the premier hostess of the parish? Heaven forbid.

She'd told Donovan in the carriage that Lady Somerset
had only asked them to dinner because of who he was. It didn't have anything to
do with her. And here was perfect proof. Corisande might have been invisible
for all the notice Olympia gave her, the woman one huge rustling mountain of
green silk as she rushed forward, her eyes wholly on Donovan.

"I'm so honored, Lord Donovan—Oh, Randolph dear!
Bring our guest a brandy, will you?"

Corisande winced for Lindsay's father as he turned away
from coming to greet them with a near-inaudible sigh; if there was ever a man
who should annul his wife straightaway, it was Sir Randolph Somerset. But she
doubted after eight years with such a hideously domineering woman he had the
will to speak up, let alone to be rid of her.

"Excuse me, Donovan, will you? Lady Somerset."

Corisande was spared hardly a glance from her hostess
as she crossed the room to Sir Randolph. At once a kindly smile split the man's
face when he saw her coming, making him look much less browbeaten and weary,
his
grayish-blue eyes filled with warmth.

"Ah, Corie, you're lovely as a picture in that
yellow dress. I've been wondering how you were doing. With Lindsay gone these
past two weeks, I feel as if I've lost you as well."