Trapped at the Altar (41 page)

Ivor stood deep in thought. She had planned for the journey not as his wife but as herself, Ariadne Daunt, who, all her life, had had to think for herself, plan for herself, react on her feet. Somewhere in there, he could catch a glimmer of understanding. Ariadne of the valley was not this Ariadne, his wife and partner. She had acted then without thinking of him, because she was accustomed to making decisions for her own protection.

“I might be able to see some excuse in that,” he said. “But these last weeks, since we arrived in London, still you did not confide in me, did not consult me. Why not?”

“Habit,” she said simply. “I've been swallowing the stuff every night for so long I didn't stop to think about it.”

“I don't believe you.” His voice was sharp again. “Of course you thought about it.”

“Not very much,” she responded stoutly. “I continued to take it because if I thought at all, it was that we
should get properly established before we had a child, and then . . . well . . .”

“Well what, Ariadne?” he prompted when she had fallen silent.

“Well, I thought it was probably too late to consult you about it, since I'd been taking matters into my own hands for so long. I thought . . .” She took a deep breath. “I thought if I told you, you'd react exactly as you are reacting, and it seemed easier just to brush it under the carpet.”

She opened her hands in a gesture of resignation, letting the coverlet fall, and looked at him with a bleak smile. “Cowardly, I know, but that's the truth, Ivor. Every word of it. I did not intend to betray your trust. I did so, and I am deeply sorry for it.”

“Sweet Jesus, what an impossible woman you are.” He exhaled noisily. “I don't know how I am supposed to live in harmony with you. You blithely follow your own primrose path, offering ingenuous explanations for the most outrageous actions, and expect me to accept your wildest extravagances with a smile and a pat on the head.”

“I don't expect a pat on the head,” she ventured, not daring yet to hope that the crisis was over.

“No, you'd do better to expect your ears boxed,” he stated. “I can't talk about this anymore. Go downstairs and find me some hot water and some breakfast. I've had a miserable night, and I have to put in an appearance at court this morning.”

“Yes, husband.” Ari slipped to the floor, reaching for
her dressing gown, trying and failing to hide her relief. “Is there anything you would like especially for breakfast?”

“Surprise me,” he said sardonically, unbuttoning his shirt. “It appears to be a particular talent of yours.”

Ariadne hurried from the room, the puppy on her heels, and sped down to the kitchen. One of the kitchen maids was riddling the ashes in the range, looking as green as grass. Ari let Juno out into the yard, where the snow was thickening. The puppy leapt forwards and then jumped back with a surprised yelp, shaking her paws.

“Oh, go on, don't be a baby,” Ari scolded, toeing her back out into the yard. “Hurry up, and you shall have bread and milk.”

“Lord, Miss Ari, what're you doin' down here at this hour?” Tilly asked, coming into the kitchen from her sleeping quarters. She tied a kerchief around her head as she spoke. “Eh, Ethel, get those ashes riddled. We need hot water.” She took the kettle over to the water cask in the scullery. “Sir Ivor wantin' to break his fast, then?”

“Yes, and quickly, Tilly.” Ari went into the larder. “What can I give him?”

“Got a sore head, I shouldn't wonder,” Tilly commented from behind Ari. “Supped some stuff, we all did. A good Christmas that was.”

Up to a point.
Ari took a breath and said, “I have to thank you for keeping my secret, Tilly. Master Gabriel means no harm, I promise you. He won't come here again.”

“Aye, that would be for the best,” the girl stated. “Felt right sorry for him, I did, but if Sir Ivor's not to know of 'im, then I want nothin' more to do with it, Miss Ari.”

“I understand,” she said swiftly. “And you shall not, I promise.”

Tilly made no reply, and Ari decided to leave the matter well alone. She surveyed the slate shelves of the pantry. She was ravenous herself, having lost everything she'd consumed during the Christmas feast in her purge over the commode. “Kidneys, bacon, mushrooms, fried bread, and eggs. D'you think that will suffice, Tilly?”

Tilly looked somewhat awed. She was feeling rather the worse for wear herself. “Aye, if you think so, Miss Ari. I'll get on with it now.”

“My thanks.” Ari went to let Juno back into the kitchen. The puppy tumbled in, shaking her damp coat and shaking out each paw in turn. She fell on a bowl of bread and milk that Ari set by the range for her. “I suppose his majesty will want a report of your progress this afternoon,” Ariadne muttered, half to the puppy and half to herself. “I hope he doesn't expect me to carry you around all the time.”

“Lord, miss, are we to go back to that palace today?” Tilly sounded less than enthusiastic as she broke eggs into a skillet.

“I'm afraid so, Tilly. But I hope we won't have to stay long.”

“Hope not.” The girl threw some bacon rashers into the skillet.

Ari filled a jug with hot water and carried it upstairs for Ivor. He was in the bedchamber, standing naked at the washstand, rubbing salt on his teeth. “Good, put it there. I need to shave.”

Ari set the jug down by the basin, her eyes lingering on the long sweep of his body. But she knew this was a strictly look-but-don't-touch moment. Ivor seemed oblivious to his nakedness, and he still seemed to have an invisible fence around him. She was not going to endanger the possibility of a return to equilibrium by taking a premature initiative.

“Tilly will be bringing breakfast shortly.” She backed out of the bedchamber and went to mend the fire in the small parlor. They weren't out of the woods yet, but there was a glimmer of light on the horizon.

Except for her meeting with Gabriel. For a moment, she toyed with the idea of not keeping the assignation. There was no reason she couldn't avoid Gabriel altogether. He could hardly force himself upon her. She was a married woman. Eventually, he would simply leave her alone and go away. But she knew she could not do such a cowardly thing. She had loved him once, and she owed him a definitive ending. She had to see him one last time, to see him on his way, knowing that he was safe and without expectation. And then it would be plain sailing. No more secrets,
ever.

Ivor brushed a speck of lint from the dark blue velvet sleeve of his coat. Silver lace edged the deep cuffs and was matched by the extravagant lace fall of his cravat.

“ 'Tis snowing quite hard,” Ari observed from the window. “Perhaps you should take the sedan chair.”

“A little snow never hurt anyone,” he said carelessly.
“You're getting soft. You used not to think twice about plowing through a drift up to your waist.”

“Not dressed in velvet and lace,” she retorted, stung.

He merely shrugged and slung his cloak around his shoulders, turning up the collar. “I'll be back for dinner sharp at two o'clock. Make sure you're ready to go to the palace afterwards. You'll use the chair.”

He was simply issuing orders, his tone curt, and she had to bite back a swift retort. But she said only, “If you can walk, I can,” and stalked out of the chamber. Ivor was punishing her with unfriendliness, although she could detect no real anger anymore. She bit back a sigh. Maybe he was entitled to his revenge, but it was very depressing. However, in light of her upcoming assignation, maybe it was best if he kept a distance between them, just until she had a truly clear conscience.

Ivor picked up his hat and gloves. He wasn't quite ready yet to put the whole wretched business behind them. He was still hurt and angry at the idea that she could make such a major decision without even considering his feelings, and it seemed small recompense to let her feel the sting of his displeasure a little longer. But it really went against the grain. He was not one to harbor ill feeling, most particularly where Ari was concerned. He'd put things right properly when he returned from the palace.

He left the house and crossed the street into the park. It was snowing quite briskly, and the path was covered in white. There were few people about; it was not good weather for the park's less salubrious trading.
He walked briskly towards the canal and didn't notice the cloak-wrapped figure standing in the trees edging the path.

Gabriel watched the tall, powerful figure of Ariadne's husband walk by, his feet crunching in the snow. His hat was pulled low, concealing his features, but there was no hiding the man's muscular power and energy. He had a sword at his waist and swung a silver-handled cane as he strode past. Gabriel guessed it was a sword stick, easier and quicker to employ in an emergency than a sheathed sword beneath the folds of his full-skirted coat. Obviously, Sir Ivor was alert to any possibility of attack even on a simple stroll through the park.

He would be no match for the man, Gabriel knew. He could handle a small sword with some competency, but he knew instinctively that he would be unable to put up an adequate defense against Sir Ivor Chalfont. He hadn't been educated in the arts of the warrior.
The pen is mightier than the sword,
he told himself, watching Sir Ivor stride into the snow. But he couldn't derive much comfort from the aphorism.

He stepped out from the tree, looking towards the gap in the hedge that gave entrance to the park. Ariadne would appear as soon as she was certain her husband was safely away.

She appeared in a few minutes, swathed in a hooded cloak. She stepped through the hedge and stood for a moment looking around somewhat uncertainly.

“Ari . . . Ari, over here.”

She turned at the urgent whisper. Gabriel had moved
back off the path as soon as he'd seen her and now beckoned from the trees. She hurried over to him, her pulse racing, the blood thudding in her ears. Ivor was long gone. No one would recognize her even if they saw her, but there was hardly anyone around and no one on the path. Even so, she was afraid. So much was at stake.

“Ari . . . Ari . . . how I've longed for you.” Gabriel caught her against him, pushing the hood from her face, bringing his mouth to hers.

Ariadne felt suffocated for a moment. Memory washed over her, of all the kisses they had exchanged all those months ago in the innocence of that burgeoning summer love, but they hadn't been like this. This kiss threatened to engulf her. It was dark and heavy and held no promise.

She wrenched her head free of his hands and pushed him away, breathing fast. “Gabriel, no. You must stop it. We can't do this.”

He stared at her. “Can't do this . . . can't do what? I want to kiss you, Ari. I
must
kiss you. I have dreamt of this moment for so long. Is it the snow? Are you cold? Of course you are . . . where can we go to find shelter?” He looked wildly around as if shelter would miraculously materialize.

Ari shook her head. “No, 'tis not that, Gabriel. I am not cold. Please, just listen to me. We cannot do this . . . it is over, my dear friend.” She placed a hand on his arm. “Please try to understand. I am married now. When you left and I married Ivor—”

“You were forced into that marriage,” he interrupted, putting his hands on her shoulders. “Ari, we agreed you would escape from that bondage as soon as you were
able. We will be together. I have a plan . . . I know it will work. We will go far from here, across the sea. I'm sure I will find some employment.”

Ariadne stared at him as if he'd taken leave of his senses. “What in heaven's name are you talking about, Gabriel? Across the sea? Where? Why?”

“France, Italy, there are so many places . . . and that way, we will be safe,” he said. “Your husband need never know where you are. We will start anew, set up as a married couple, and I will—”

“Oh, what a dreamer you are, Gabriel.” She shook her head helplessly. “I know we had a fantasy that we would be together in the end, but things have changed. I cannot go with you. Gabriel, my dear friend, I do not
wish
to go with you. I love my husband.” She took a step back, out of his grasp, and her own hands fell uselessly to her sides as she saw the devastating effect of her words.

“You don't
wish
to go with me? You don't love me anymore?” He looked blankly at her as if she were speaking a foreign language. “You don't mean that.”

“I do.” She spoke firmly and clearly. “I love my husband. I feel deeply for you, Gabriel, and will always cherish the time we had, the love we shared, but we were children playing at love.”

“
No,
” he said vehemently. “I was not playing at love, even if you were. I have thought of nothing else the whole time we have been apart. All these weeks of journeying, you have been in my thoughts as I tried and tried to think of how I would find you again.” He shook his head in
bewilderment. “How could it not have been the same for you, Ari? How could you cast me aside so easily?”