Rowena lay in her
bed, staring up blankly at the delicate lace canopy that floated far over her
head. The rooms Alaric had prepared for her were exquisite, decorated in shades
of blue and violet that perfectly complemented her coloring, strewn with
Chinese porcelain vases so fine that light could be seen through them, the
finest silver accessories ornamenting her dressing table. But she took little
pleasure in them. She had not seen Alaric since he had dismissed her from the
library earlier in the day, and now it was well past midnight.
After she had
inspected her rooms she had felt a twinge of guilt over her treatment of
Alaric. He had obviously lavished much thought on her suite's decor, and she
had asked the butler to tell her where she might find him so as to thank him.
Ferguson had responded, with an embarrassed air, that his lordship had left the
house and not mentioned when he might return. Rowena, reluctant to appear
surprised in front of a servant, had retired to the library to await him.
Surely when he returned they could have a sensible conversation. Perhaps she
could convince him that her plan was the best way to go about their marriage.
But Alaric did not
return for dinner, and Rowena ate in humiliating solitude. Although the
servants were far too well-trained to betray their feelings, she knew that they
were surprised and curious at her husband's absence. And her maid, usually so
talkative, had prepared her for bed without a single word or comment, solicitously
turning back the billowing lacy coverlet, before fleeing with unseemly haste.
Rowena's initial
regret of her hasty actions earlier in the evening was slowly replaced by fury.
How dare he, she thought. How dare he leave her alone on her wedding night
without even an excuse as to why he had disappeared? The servants all knew that
he had not been home for hours, and word was sure to spread. She would be a
laughingstock in her own house, and quite possibly among the members of London
Society as well. Everyone knew servants talked, and this tale of her
humiliation on her wedding night would be sure to delight the
ton
.
Alaric was probably
with Lily, she thought bitterly. Like any man, he was utterly unable to
suppress his animal needs. She turned restlessly onto her side. If he could not
wait even a month in order to get to know her before he made love to her, then
it was best that he be serviced by his mistress. Rowena had no intention of
being merely a vessel for his lustful needs.
But even as she made
this fierce declaration to herself her treacherous thoughts turned to Alaric's
sensuous kisses, and the mind-drugging feeling of his hands trailing down her
back. She felt a sudden flash of heat shoot through her and her heart began to
pound harder. It was her wedding night and she was alone in a strange bedroom.
Tears began to well up in her eyes.
Rowena caught her
breath when she heard heavy footsteps in the hallway followed by the sound of
the door to the adjoining room opening. Then there was the husky rumble of
Alaric's voice as he dismissed his valet. The door shut again behind the
servant, and she could hear Alaric's footsteps as he moved about his room. He
was surely undressing now, she thought, wondering despite herself what Alaric
would look like beneath his immaculately tailored clothes. He was very tall,
his shoulders broad, and when he had clasped her to him she had felt the
tremendous power of the muscles in his thighs and arms.
She felt a tiny
tremor of anticipation. Surely he would come to her, she thought. The idea sent
her into a sudden panic. What would she do? She had demanded of him only hours
before that he not touch her for a month. If she gave into him now he would
think that she would yield to him in everything. And she was still angry with
him, she insisted to herself. He had lied to her that he believed Malcolm was
innocent, and then he had abandoned her for an entire day, making her look a fool.
When he came in, she
decided, she would be very dignified. She would speak to him calmly and coolly,
not letting him see how he had upset her. It was necessary that Alaric
understand that she was an equal part of this marriage, that he did not have
the whip hand. After their discussion she would perhaps allow him to make love
to her. She thought she had made her point earlier in the day. Alaric would
surely understand that he needed to treat her with consideration and respect in
the future.
Having come to this
decision, Rowena sat up hastily in the bed, arranging her pillows behind her so
as to frame her face and shoulders more attractively. She smoothed the lace on
her sheer linen nightgown, and ran her fingers through her fair hair. It would
not do for Alaric to think that she had been restless. She waited quietly, her
eyes fixed on the door that connected her bedroom to Alaric's.
Alaric continued to
move around his room. Rowena could hear the sound of his footsteps and she
watched the flickering light from his candle shining under the door with bated
breath. Once the steps approached the door and she drew in her breath, but they
continued past, eventually trailing off. For a few minutes she heard no more
sounds and then the light went out abruptly. She concentrated on the door,
waiting for it to open. Minutes passed. Finally, she realized that Alaric must
have gone to bed. He had no intention of visiting his wife tonight.
A great mass of
contradictory emotions rose in Rowena's breast. She felt a tiny quivering of
relief that she would not have to face Alaric tonight. His lovemaking was
enticing, but she was not entirely sure of how she would handle him. She also
felt a touch of remorse for the way she had spoken to him earlier. This was all
her own fault for forbidding her own husband to touch her.
But most of all she
felt a white-hot fury. How dare he simply go to bed as though she did not
exist? She was his wife. Did their kisses and caresses mean so little to him?
Did he find her unattractive? Had his words and acts of desire been a ruse
intended to lure her into marriage so that he might add her to his collection?
Was there the possibility that he did not want her at all, but was merely using
her?
Rowena surged up out
of her bed, her concerns forgotten in the fire of her anger. She would have an
answer from him tonight in regard to what he meant by his actions. She was an
Arlingby, from a family as old and noble as his own, and he had no right to
behave disrespectfully toward her. She snatched up her dressing gown from a
chair, throwing it over her nightgown and marched to the adjoining door. She
seized the handle and flung the door open.
She hesitated a
moment in the doorway, trying to get her bearings. Alaric's rooms, in contrast
to her own, were decorated in deep jewel-like colors, and in the dark it
resembled nothing so much as a lion's den. She could dimly see the dark wood
furniture, beautifully carved and covered with thick cushions of velvet. The
curtains were made of the same dark material and shut out all light, so she
could just barely see the bed on the far side of the room. Cowed, but unwilling
to turn back, she began to walk gingerly across the room, feeling her way with
one arm extended out in front of her.
Her bare foot came
into sharp contact with something heavy, and she gave a small exclamation of
pain. Groping with her hands she could feel that it was a footstool and she
sidestepped it, her anger growing. Surely Alaric could hear her approaching.
Why did he not light a candle or at least say something?
She reached the bed
and walked up to it silently, her heart in her mouth. Alaric must be aware of
her by now. But when she looked down at him she saw that he was spread
negligently across the bed, his limbs sprawled out boyishly, his dark hair
contrasting with the white sheets, his eyes closed and his breathing steady. He
was asleep.
Rowena gazed down at
him with mingled vexation and desire. She could not believe that he had fallen
asleep so quickly and had not wondered for even a second what she was doing.
But this annoyance was swamped by a sudden wave of passion. The sheets of the
bed were pushed down to reveal his bare chest. She stared at it, watching the
gentle rise and fall as he breathed, the muscles rippling gently under the skin.
Unable to resist, she
reached out tentatively with one hand and touched him gently. His skin was warm
and firm to her touch and the feeling of excitement increased. Her knees felt
strangely weak and her breathing became faster. Surely the noise her pounding
heart made would wake him up, she thought.
Suddenly, with one
quick motion, Alaric sat up, his hand moving like lightning and seizing her
wrist. Rowena gasped and she pulled her attention away from his body to meet
his glittering green eyes.
"What are you
doing here?" Alaric asked. His voice was husky.
"I wondered
where you were, and why you didn't tell me you'd be gone," whispered
Rowena. Now that she had been discovered, she didn't know quite how to deal
with the situation.
Alaric released her
wrist. "I was out." His eyes raked over her, but it seemed almost as
though he didn't see her. "Go away."
"What?"
Rowena was taken completely unaware by his response.
"I need to
sleep," said Alaric briefly. "You shouldn't have woken me up."
"How dare you?"
demanded Rowena, her nervousness forgotten. "How dare you order me out of
the room? I am your wife."
Alaric smiled
sleepily. "That may be. But I need my rest now. I'll take care of you
tomorrow."
"You'll take
care of me tomorrow?" sputtered Rowena. He was speaking to her as though
she were a servant. "I want to talk to you now, Alaric."
He shook his head. "Not
now. Tomorrow."
In front of Rowena's
amazed eyes he slid back down into the bed and pulled the covers up over his
chest. With a sigh he rolled over on his side, his back turned to her. In a
moment his breathing became even again and she knew he was asleep.
Rowena stood
irresolutely by the side of his bed for a moment. Alaric's arrogance was
breathtaking. She had thought he would at least register surprise and perhaps
pleasure or annoyance at seeing her, but he had seemed absolutely unconcerned.
And uninterested. Her cheeks burned when she thought of how she had spoken to
him and how casually he had turned her away. Furious with herself and her
husband, she groped her way back towards her own bedroom. She gave a little cry
of pain and annoyance when she tripped over the footstool again, and then she
was in her own room, trembling slightly with anger. If Alaric was determined to
be indifferent, then she could be too. He would see that he was not the only
one who could play this game.
Rowena rolled over
and groaned when her maid entered her room the next morning bearing a cup of
chocolate. She had not slept until nearly dawn, and then she had tossed and
turned, finding little rest. She opened her eyes and peered about her. It was
clearly late morning, and she sat up hastily, nearly upsetting the chocolate
Lawson was holding out to her.
"Is his lordship
in the house?" she asked quickly.
Lawson flushed and
dropped her eyes. "Yes, my lady," she said. "He is still in his
room."
"Good,"
said Rowena. "Please leave word that I wish to see him as soon as he
arises."
Lawson's eyes widened
and she appeared about to say something, but she simply dropped a curtsey. "Yes,
my lady," she murmured.
Rowena waved away the
chocolate and got out of bed. "I need to get dressed quickly. It's
obviously very late. I don't wish to lie about in bed."
"No, my lady,"
answered Lawson, trailing behind Rowena and scooping up her nightgown as she
shed it. "What do you wish to wear today?"
Rowena considered the
question. She intended to take the bull firmly by the horns when she saw her
husband. It would be important that she looked her very best.
"The violet
muslin," she said. "And hurry, Lawson. I don't have all day."
Rowena entered the
dining room half an hour later, a look of mixed eagerness and trepidation on
her face. She was dressed very becomingly in the violet muslin, its color
reflecting her eyes and setting off her fair hair to great advantage. The room
was lovely, with beautiful furniture and an exquisite Aubusson carpet, and a
splendid repast was spread out on the sideboard. There was, however, no sign of
Alaric.
With a sigh, Rowena
helped herself to toast and fruit and sat down at the table, disgruntled. It
was absolutely impossible to discuss the situation with Alaric if he was going
to avoid her night and day.
A door opened and she
spun about, but it was only Ferguson, carrying a steaming tray. Rowena sighed.
"Eggs, my lady?"
he asked her, but she shook her head.
"No, thank you."
There was a pause. "Ferguson, do you know when my husband will be coming
down?"
Ferguson hesitated. "His
lordship is a trifle under the weather this morning, my lady. I believe that he
intends to remain in bed."
Rowena looked
startled. Alaric had not appeared unwell earlier. He had spoken to her quite
clearly.
"What is wrong
with him?" she asked, her alarm in her voice.
"Do not be
concerned, my lady. His valet is attending to him."
"His valet?
Shouldn't we summon a doctor?"
Ferguson looked
nervous. "It is nothing serious, my lady. His lordship begs that you will
forgive him. He will see you later in the day."
"But his valet?
This makes no sense at all. I have some healing powders in my room. Perhaps
they will help him." Rowena began to rise from her seat, her breakfast
forgotten.
"His lordship
has no need of powders, my lady. Jameson will know what to do for him. He has
been in his lordship's service for many years." Ferguson attempted to make
his voice reassuring.
"Is this a
recurring illness?" demanded Rowena, alarmed. "I had no idea his
lordship was given to bouts of sickness."
"No, my lady.
His lordship is in excellent health. Please do not concern yourself with the
matter."
Rowena's brows came
together in a frown. "This makes no sense at all. If you will not tell me
what is the matter, then I will go to see for myself."
She headed towards
the door, and Ferguson made one last brave attempt to halt her.
"My lady,
visitors will be arriving. You will want to receive them."
"Tell them I am
not available," said Rowena crossly. "I mean to get to the bottom of
this."
Ferguson watched
helplessly as she swept out of the room and up the stairs. He closed his eyes
for a moment. It seemed the new Countess of Brayleigh was a force to be
reckoned with. He wondered how the master was going to handle her.
Rowena went to her
bedroom and dug about in her belongings until she located the package of
powders she had brought with her from Yorkshire. Holding them before her like a
shield, she went to the door that joined her room to Alaric's. She took a deep
breath, opened it and stepped into her husband's bedroom.
By daylight, the room
was somewhat less fearsome than it had been the night before. The ominous dark
furniture was revealed as beautifully carved mahogany, and the burgundy velvet
cushions and curtains looked luxuriously soft. Her eye landed on the
treacherous footstool for a moment, and she gave a slight smile. Then she
directed her gaze to where Jameson hovered next to the bed, offering a glass
with some evil looking concoction in it to her husband.
"Take it away,
Jameson. I cannot stomach it," she heard Alaric say.
"But sir, you
must drink it. You will feel much better when you do."
Rowena took a step
towards the bed. Both men suddenly became aware of her presence and turned
startled eyes on her. She flushed slightly, but continued towards them. It was
ridiculous to let them frighten her.
"What are you
doing here, Rowena?" asked Alaric. Despite the headache that pounded
through his skull, the sight of her stirred his blood. She looked very enticing
in the violet muslin, though it occurred to him suddenly that the neckline was
cut a bit too low. The gentle curve of her breasts swelled up at him
alluringly. He would have to keep a closer eye on the clothing she ordered, he
noted groggily.
Rowena realized that
he looked exceedingly attractive, with his tousled hair curling wildly about
his forehead. He was perhaps a bit paler than usual, but he was still very
handsome, and his naked skin looked very touchable. She stared at his chest
fixedly, her heart beginning to beat faster.
"Rowena, I asked
you a question."
She pulled herself
away from contemplation of her husband's body. "I heard you were ill. I
thought perhaps I could be of some help. I have some powders I brought from
home that are most efficacious."
Alaric scowled. "I
told the servants not to tell you."
"They tried
their very best not to," she soothed. "But eventually they had to be
honest with me. They could only prevaricate so long, after all. I am remarkably
persistent."
A small smile
alighted on Alaric's lips. That was an understatement if ever he had heard one.
"I appreciate your concern. But Jameson is perfectly capable of caring for
me."
"What is wrong
with you?" she asked, stepping closer. "Is this something I should be
concerned about?"
Alaric's eyes closed
for a moment and his hand went to his head. "Please, keep your voice down,"
he said. "I have a headache."
"A headache!"
Rowena sorted through her packages, producing one with a triumphant air. "This
will be perfect. It always helps when my head throbs. Fetch his lordship a
glass of water, Jameson."
"My lady, I
believe this mixture will benefit him the most," said Jameson, indicating
the glass he still held. "It is a well-known cure."
Rowena looked at it
doubtfully. The potion looked unfamiliar to her. "What is it? I don't
believe I know that particular medicine."
Jameson rolled an
anguished eye at his master, and Alaric sighed. He took the glass from his
valet.
"Leave us,
Jameson. I promise I will drink this."
With a bow and a
skeptical glance, the valet left the room. It was going to be difficult having
a mistress if she intended to interfere with the managing of his lordship, he
thought. And his lordship seemed inclined to indulge her. None of the other
ladies in his lordship's life had ever attempted to nurse him.
When they were alone,
Rowena felt a sudden shyness come over her. Alaric looked very large and
imposing in the great bed, his splendid dark hair contrasting with the white linens.
She dropped her eyes.
Alaric sighed. "What
do you want, Rowena?"
"I thought I
could perhaps be of some help," she said tartly, her spirit returning. "I
am not unfamiliar with certain remedies. The nature of your illness seemed so
mysterious that I felt I must see you to know what was wrong. And now that I
have, I still have no idea."
Alaric took a sip
from the glass and made a face. "I will be fine, Rowena. This will pass
quickly."
"I gather you
have had this illness before," said Rowena.
"I have indeed,"
sighed Alaric. He took another sip, and then seemed to steel himself. Putting
his head back, he drained the potion in one large gulp. He shuddered.
Rowena took the glass
out of his hand and sniffed at it. "What was that, my lord?"
"Some secret of
Jameson's. It works very well, but it tastes dreadful."
"And what is it
a cure for?" persisted Rowena.
"You are
altogether too curious," said Alaric. "It is none of your business."
"I am your wife,"
said Rowena. "Though you seem to have forgotten that. Of course it is my
business."
"You seem to
have very selective ideas about what being a wife means, Rowena." Alaric
closed his eyes wearily, aware that he was in no state to conduct this
conversation again. If he lost his temper, he was likely to ignore the agreement
he had made with Rowena, headache or no headache. She was very alluring,
leaning across the bed towards him, sparks lit in her brilliant violet eyes.
"I only said
that so that we might become better acquainted," said Rowena angrily. "I
had no idea that you would abandon me completely, and make me a laughingstock
in front of the servants. And when I came to you last night, you sent me away.
I hardly think it is fair of you to throw my words back in my face when you
were so unkind to me."
Alaric's eyes flew
open. "What are you talking about?"
Rowena started at the
violence of his tone. "You know very well you left me all alone last
night. I can only imagine where you were. Most probably with Lily."
"You told me to
go to her," said Alaric.
"I didn't think
you would!" snapped Rowena. "You might have talked with me instead of
storming out."
"I left because
I couldn't think of another way to tolerate complying with your request,"
said Alaric frankly. He watched as Rowena flushed. "I am trying to do as
you asked, Rowena."
"I did not ask
you to make a fool of me, or to publicly humiliate me. And now you have had
your revenge. You sent me away last night."
Alaric shook his
head. Perhaps his hearing had been affected. "I have never sent you away,
Rowena."
Rowena gasped at his
effrontery. "I came to you last night. You were asleep, but you woke up
and told me to go away. Don't try to deny it. I cannot believe you would try to
trick me so."
"You came into
my room last night?" asked Alaric.
Rowena stamped her foot.
"Of course I did. You grabbed my wrist and told me to go away." She
glanced down at her arm, wondering if the marks were still there. His grip had
been very strong.
He followed her gaze
and saw the small bruises that appeared on her pale flesh. He gently reached
over and stroked them.
"Did I hurt you?"
he asked.
"Not really. But
you were unkind." Rowena paused, wondering why he was asking her such
questions. "What nonsense is this? You know what you said, my lord."
Alaric swallowed. He
continued to caress her wrist. Her skin was very soft, like rose petals. With a
tremor he remembered the feeling of holding her in his arms in Lady Belmont's
garden, of her warmth and generous femininity.
"I am afraid I
don't know what I said, Rowena. I don't remember what happened last night."
Rowena frowned.
Alaric's fingers on her arm had an almost hypnotic effect on her. "Of
course you do," she asserted, trying to recall her anger. "Don't try
to bamboozle me, my lord."
"Alaric,"
he said firmly, raising his eyes to meet hers. She saw a steely determination
there.
"Alaric,"
she repeated.
"And I do not
remember what happened last night. I must have been quite out of my head to
send you away, however." His eyes floated over her, lingering on the
neckline of her gown.
"How can you not
remember? You did not appear to be feverish. And I don't believe you have a
fever now." Rowena gave him an accusing glance. Alaric really looked quite
well. His color was returning, and he no longer seemed to be bothered by the
effects of his illness.
"I don't have a
fever."
"Then you must
be lying. It is impossible that you could have forgotten my being here."
Alaric sighed. It
appeared that Rowena would have to be enlightened or she would remain angry
with him. He could only hope that the truth would not make her more furious.