An Inconvenient Wife (26 page)

“A good surprise, I hope.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You children are not planning to put a toad in my bed,
or something else unpleasant?”

“Oh, no!” Danielle’s protest
and Sarah’s “Of course not,” clashed and Sarah laughed. “Danielle thinks you
are serious. She does not know you very well as yet,” she said in a
matter-of-fact voice that made Anne smile.

“Your father is a sad tease,
and I would say if he is well enough to be doing so, you have no need to worry
about him. Go on now and let him get some rest.”

Sarah placed a kiss on his
hand. “Good night, Papa. I will visit you tomorrow.”

“Good night. I will look
forward to it.”

He was white around the
mouth. Anne stepped forward to screen him from Sarah’s view. “Harman will push
you, Sarah, and I will say good night now, too. Lord Lynton wants a word with
your father, and I’ve some things to attend to.” She leaned over, gave Sarah a
kiss, hugged Guy and Danielle, and waited until the valet had maneuvered the
chair through the doorway before rejoining the men.

St. Clair would not stay
overlong. Anne was sure he was just as aware of Nicholas’ exhaustion and pain
as she was. Indeed, in a very short time he made his farewell and Bill emerged
from the adjoining room, obviously having waited for the room to clear.

“You see Lord Lynton out, my
lady. I’ll tend to his lordship.”

Anne hesitated. She hated to
leave him, but Nicholas’ eyes were closed and Bill beginning to check the
bandages—she was not needed and probably unwanted.

“Let Fenton do his job,
Anne.” St. Clair put a hand under her elbow.

Suddenly undone by the
understanding in his voice, Anne blinked back tears, and gripped his arm,
grateful for the support. He led her to Westcott’s study, urged her into a
chair and poured a small amount of brandy into a glass.

“Drink it. It will do you
good.”

Anne took a sip, wincing at
the strong taste, but the fiery spirit warmed, and she felt some of the chill
leave her. “However light Mr. Jameson and Westcott make of it, he is lucky to
be alive. Another few inches….” She buried the dire thought deep in some corner
of her heart. It did not bear thinking of, losing Nicholas. She waited until
St. Clair had poured himself a brandy and sat in the chair opposite.

“Tell me what you found out,
please. Did the men find the person who did this?” Anne said sharply. “I doubt
accidental shootings are an ordinary occurrence.”

“Neither accidental, nor
purposely.” Looking grim, St. Clair sipped at his brandy. “They found nothing,
except a few broken branches and some trampled undergrowth, evidence no
self-respecting poacher would leave behind. Nor is that piece of woodland a
place to expect much game, since it is hardly more than a thin buffer between
the two properties. A small stream runs through it. My grandfather, and
Westcott’s, came up with the idea of creating a copse to protect it.” His voice
dropped and he laid a hand on her arm. “Anne, it could not have been a poacher.
Poachers don’t use rifles to shoot game. This was deliberate. I need to ask you
if you know why anyone would try to kill Nick. He is not an easy man, but fair
and honest in his dealings, and there is not a person in this county who would
seek to harm him.”

“Kill?” Anne flinched, the
word coiling icily in her chest. Of course the thought had entered her mind and
had been immediately banished as too dreadful a possibility. “I do not know why
anyone would wish to do him harm.”

St. Clair set his glass
aside and leaned forward. “Is it possible Claude Meraux might be responsible?
He might want revenge. Nick took the children and Danielle’s inheritance from
him.”

Anne narrowed her eyes,
trying to picture Meraux in the role of aggressor, and then shook her head.
“There is not much I would put past the man, but having the initiative to
travel here, where he does not know the language or customs, and have enough
courage to shoot someone? I can’t see it. The man is a blustering bully. And
for what purpose? Shooting Nicholas will not get him either Danielle or her
inheritance.” She slumped in her seat and rested her forehead on her hand to
hide her shock. Meraux was too much of a coward, but could the Major…? No! If
she felt for a minute it was due to her that Nicholas was shot….
And what
will you do if it is, Anne?
“Did anyone mention seeing a stranger in the
area lately?” she asked, in a voice devoid of the fear filling her insides
until her heart labored under the weight of it.
Impossible for a man like
the Major to remain inconspicuous
.

“No, and outsiders are
always a matter of gossip.” St. Clair said. “We will continue to make
inquiries, but it is easy enough to disappear in a city and Winchester is not
that far away.” He stood and touched her shoulder. “Go to bed, Anne. There is
nothing more you can do tonight. Westcott will need you tomorrow. If only to
keep him from ignoring the surgeon’s orders to stay in bed a day or two,” St.
Clair added, smiling, and offered his hand. “He will not take laudanum, you
know.”

“I did not, but I suspect
most men would decline, labeling it a “woman’s medicine”.”

“Camille was addicted to the
stuff,” St. Clair said in a carefully even voice. “I thought perhaps you knew.”

Tempted to ask more about
the former viscountess, Anne hesitated, but this was not the time to do so. She
took his hand, realizing as she stood how fatigued she was. “I know very little
about Camille. Thank you for the warning. I’ll tell Maggie, if she isn’t
already aware of it, and ask her not to press him to take it. Insofar as
keeping Westcott in bed for several days, I doubt he will listen to me, but
Maggie is another matter.” She pressed the earl’s hand. “You are a good friend,
St. Clair. Thank you for coming so quickly and…well for everything, really.” It
was
a comfort, knowing she had people to call upon in need.

“Devlin, please. I think we
are beyond formalities by now.”

An understatement, that, and
she had to smile. “Very well, then. Thank you, Devlin.”

“Get some rest. I will see
myself out and return tomorrow.”

Anne waited until the door
closed behind him before she sank into a chair and stared blindly at the
smoldering embers glowing in the fireplace. She had to tell Westcott of the
Major and his obsession with her. In truth, she felt the man was quite mad and
capable of almost anything.
You are becoming paranoid, Anne, seeing the man
behind every bush and tree. Reynard had obligations, military obligations, and
for all you know, never even got to Portugal. It was an accident, a lad out
with his father’s weapon and now too frightened to come forward.
A
comforting story and one she prayed was true.

“All the same, you must tell
Nicholas, and soon.” There was a distressing lack of conviction behind the
muttered words. Anne huffed loudly and rose. She felt a hundred years old, her
limbs stiff and cold. She needed to eat, and rest, no matter that the thought
of food made her queasy, and the prospect of a sleepless night fraught with
worry appalled. People depended upon her. Self-pity had no place in her life
right now.
Afterwards, Anne, when Nicholas is well and all is resolved, then
you can have hysterics!

Chapter Twenty

The nightmare trapped her,
as it always did—a quagmire Anne was unable to escape, even though she
knew
she slept. No matter how she fought against it, her mind called forth the
infamous day in relentless detail. She
felt
the hot sun of Gibraltar;
felt the perspiration rolling along her spine during the endless walk to the
graveyard. Heard the snap of the chaplain’s robes flapping in the sere wind and
watched the wilted flowers dropping onto the casket as it was lowered into the
ground. Her beloved, caring, father in it, silenced now by the fever and not
the enemy bullet he would have preferred.

And all the while,
he
was there, so smugly certain of her that she wanted to scream—at him, at the
well-meaning mourners, telling her how fortunate she was to have such a fine
man to depend upon.

Exhausted after weeks of
nursing her father, Anne closed the door behind the chaplain and the last of
the mourners, longing for solitude and the freedom to shed the tears dammed
behind her polite façade. She turned, almost stepping against the Major, who
stood so close she could smell sweat and horse under the cologne he wore. Was
she never to be rid of him? His artfully styled blond hair and handsome face
had long since lost any appeal. A girlish infatuation, one that embarrassed her
to recall, but lingering guilt was not enough to keep the impatience from her
voice.

“Your assistance with
Father’s funeral is appreciated, Major Reynard, but I would like to be alone
now.”

He scowled at her simple
statement. “I suppose we can make plans for our wedding tomorrow just as well,
although I had expected to settle the arrangements at once.”

“Wedding? What on earth are you
talking about? I have no plans for marriage, sir, to you or anyone else.”

“There has never been any
question in my mind about our marriage, and it must be at once. Everyone will
understand we cannot wait through the normal period of mourning, leaving you
alone, unprotected, for an entire year.”

“You are mistaken, Major. I
never agreed to marry you. Indeed, the subject has never arisen and although I
have enjoyed your escort several times, it was not an indication of any lasting
affection for you.” Uneasy at the look in his eyes, Anne made an attempt to put
some distance between them. “I want you to go now.”

“We will be married as soon
as I can arrange for the license.” He gripped her shoulders tightly enough to
make her wince. “Don’t be coy, Anne. It does not become you. I’ve been patient
long enough, letting you see your father through this illness, but that is
over.”

“I am not being coy!” Anne
wrenched from his grasp and opened the door. “Please go.”

Reynard pulled the door from
her hand, slammed it closed, and dragged her into his arms. “I see you need
some discipline. I won’t be defied, Anne, something you will learn after we are
married.”

“Release me now! Are you
mad?”

“Mad for you.” Reynard
carried her, kicking and screaming, into the parlour. He threw her onto a sofa
and came down on top of her with enough force to drive the air from her lungs.
“I want you and intend to have you.”

His lips were hard and wet,
his tongue thrusting deeply into her mouth. His hands tightened around her
breasts until tears started from her eyes and she sobbed, choking.

“It doesn’t have to be this
way. I can be gentle,” he said when he lifted his head.

The look in his eyes was
dispassionate, appraising her, enjoying her fear. He liked causing pain, Anne
realized with a shock and struggled harder. “Get off!”

“No.” He slapped her, then
pushed his hand into her hair, ripping out the pins, and wound it around his
fist with a jerk that forced her head back. “You are
mine
. Admit it, and
we can be comfortable again.”

Her breath coming in quick
gasps, Anne stared him in the eye. “Never.” She spat full in his face. She had
a moment of satisfaction, seeing his incredulous expression, before he raised a
fist high above her.

“You bitch!”

Eyes closed, body rigid with
expectation, Anne braced for the blow. Instead, she felt his body being dragged
away, and she was free. Bill was there, his hands around Reynard’s neck.

“Bastard! Assaulting a
woman. You are nothing but a dog,” Bill bellowed, throwing the Major to the
floor.

“I’ll see you flogged for
this, Fenton! Or better yet, hung. Attacking an officer is a hanging offense.”
Reynard lunged from the floor and delivered a punch to Bill’s jaw that sent him
reeling back, knocking over a table and shattering the lamp.

“
Rape
is a hanging
offense, you cur.” Bill struggled to his feet and raised his fists. “Get out of
here, Anne. I’ll take care of this.”

But Anne was frozen with
horror. Bill was no match for the younger man, trained to fight and kill, and
there was murder in the Major’s eyes as he stalked forward.

“No, I’ll be doing that.”
Maggie, unnoticed until she spoke, raised the poker in her hand and brought it
down on Reynard’s head with a sickening thud.

Shivering, Anne stared at
the man sprawled on the floor, a thin, red stream trickling from under his
hair. “Is he dead?” Her voice, a thin whisper in the tense silence, echoed
through the room.

Maggie dropped the poker
with a clatter and with obvious reluctance, bent over to examine him. “No,
mores’ the pity, but he’ll be hurting for a time.” She went to Bill and wiped
the blood from his mouth with her apron. “Give us a minute, Mr. Fenton, and
I’ll help you get him out of here.” She moved then to Anne and held her, just
held her, close and warm, until the shaking stopped and Anne felt her heartbeat
slow.