22

 

Justain burned. He rammed open the first door atop the stairs. His shoulder throbbed from the action, but the pain couldn’t match his angst, his grief. He thundered into the bedchamber.

Madeline’s quivering hand stroked his cheek. “Don’t let them upset you. Don’t let them win,” she whispered.

“I was called a ne’er-do-well, a usurper who married to secure his position with his wife’s fortune.” He tried to soften his stance. It wasn’t her fault, and at least she didn’t participate in the dressing down.

Her cheeks simmered red. She must be mortified, too.

Justain plunged her bottom first onto a flowery chaise. He tried to forget his discomfiture and focused instead upon the white moldings and pink furnishings.

He trailed his finger along the filigreed trim hugging the threshold. “I was excited about visiting Avington Manor, to enjoy the grandeur and nobility of the Duke and Duchess of Hampshire. It’s even foolish to remember the address I rehearsed.”

“I should’ve prepared you for this meeting.” Madeline looked down at her slippers. “They can be harsh.”

Justain paced. “Do you have any idea how hard I’ve worked to restore my family’s fortune? I’ve doubled the holdings, secured our finances…worked harder than any of the other earls. Your father and I haven’t discussed a dowry. You don’t think I agreed to this marriage for money?”

She peered up at him. “You married me to save our honour. Oh, and to keep an inheritance.”

Justain backed away from her.

Her gaze darted about his retreating countenance. “I’m not implying anything sinister. I’m stating the truth.”

Justain turned and punched the wall, denting the plaster. “Is it wrong for me to attain something from our nuptials?” He shook the dust from his fist. “I wed to protect our family names, but you fail to understand my sacrifice.”

“I feel your sacrifice. This wasn’t my plan. I should’ve been reading in my aunt’s sculpture garden or venturing amongst the sculptures of Italy, not burdened to a man that swims in burdens.”

He pounded his fist in his palm. Flecks of gold leaf shined on his knuckles. “I’m humiliated, Madeline, and if I explain our circumstances, we’ll be painted the fool.”

“You’re so angry. Please stop pacing.”

“What? Am I frightening you?” He felt bitterness boiling his skin. “I’m given to strong emotions. Add that to my lists of faults.”

“I’m not frightened by you or your self-loathing.”

Justain stopped. “What did you say?”

“I’m not frightened, but a self-loathing knight isn’t right.” She lifted a hand to him. “My neck is stiff from looking up at you. Sit.”

Justain adjusted his coat and flopped next to her. “You should be humoured. I deserve this after treating you with contempt. Go ahead with your say. Finish me off.”

Madeline threw her arms about him. She pulled him close, forcing his face into her bosom.

Surprised, he pushed his hands in the air. “What is this?”

“When I’m upset, Father wraps me in his arms to soothe me. You did the same at the horrid Gorge.”

“I’m not hysterical, Madeline. I’m furious, and I can’t even defend myself.”

She tightened her grip. His nose pushed deeper into the purple trim of her neckline. “Please don’t let the antics of Avington dishearten you. Forgive them.”

Justain closed his eyes.

Her embrace felt like a bucket of sand stifling the steam leaching his skin.

“Madeline,” he murmured.

“Shush.” She stroked his hair.

“Why aren’t you more upset? Is this normal treatment?”

She sighed. “At least they didn’t throw things.”

If he could get to his hands, he’d wring them. Justain stopped fighting and relaxed against her. “This is an effective form of intervention. I won’t try to knock a hole in your walls.”

“Good. There’s no need to give the staff more work. They’ve had to patch many of Father’s. The filigree is difficult to repair.” Madeline’s fingers trailed the scruff of his neck. They tickled as much as soothed. “Let me request a separate bedchamber, then you’ll be able to rest.”

“I won’t have that harpy you call your step-mother tweaking your nose over this, even if I have to play the lovesick buffoon.” He placed his arms about the small of her back and inhaled the scent of her. “What have I walked in upon?”

“Avington Manor at its best, but Father didn’t look well.”

The last vestiges of his aggravation stripped away as the distress in her voice hit him. “He did look jaundiced. Needs some sun.” He tightened his grip. “Well, the St. Jameses aren’t a dull people. When we met, you said you were looking for peace. I take it there’s none here.”

She released him, lowering her arms to the chaise. “When my mother, Lady Angelique died, she took it with her.”

“If you’d refused my offer, what would’ve happened?”

Madeline twisted away.

“Tell me?” Justain whispered in her ear.

“I’d be forced to wed a family friend or the duchess’s nephew.” Madeline wrinkled her nose in disgust.

He held her fast to keep her from shirking the truth. “Marrying an idiotic stranger is better?”

“Wedding you is better even when you’re idiotic.” Madeline clasped his hand against her cheek. “I can’t imagine being betrothed to someone old like Edward.”

“Who’s Edward?”

“Edward Lawson is my step-mother’s brother. He’s a kind gentleman, but he lives to gain the duchess’s praise. I know she’d choose someone weak like that, someone always in want of approval.”

Justain released her. He tried not to tweak his cravat. He lost. “You’re exaggerating, Madeline. It’s in our nature to be protective and doting to the women in our lives.”

“Perhaps, but there is nothing good about Mr. Kent, her nephew.” Madeline trembled, causing her pelisse to flutter as wings. “There’s no way to explain his abhorrent nature. He makes my flesh crawl.”

“My purple butterfly.” He nudged her back into his arms. “You mentioned Mr. Kent before.”

“Even when you’re boorish, you’re better than both.” She pushed to the edge. “Let me get you another room. Father didn’t look well. We may have to stay longer than a week.”

“You’ll have the time to see him fit. I’ll make camp here. And we’ve been shamed enough today.” He put a palm to her shoulder, stroked her creamy neck. “We united to avoid scandal. Your step-mother reminds me of the high and mighty of Devon. She will pry and spread gossip.”

“I’ve survived worse, Justain.”

He tossed her bonnet to the other side of the room and brushed a strand of ebony hair behind her ear. “I’ll not give her another reason to hurt you.”

Shiny droplets shone in Madeline’s eyes. “The loss of my mother crippled everyone. And when Father crawled out of his despair, he married Dana Kent Lawson. He hasn’t had an easy day since.” Justain took his handkerchief and dabbed at the stream of silent tears.

“Something in my spirit told me to discourage him, but Father seemed happy during their courtship. I didn’t have the courage to speak. I could’ve prevented his misery.”

He pulled her tormented form into his lap. “You take too much upon yourself. The duke made his decision.”

She wadded the cloth into a taut ball. “I won’t do that to you. I won’t make you rue the day we wed. Well, not any more than you already do.”

He struggled with the strong desire to kiss away her burdens, but after his bitter words, would she let him? “Let me see what else is in stored for me this evening.”

“Nothing more. We’re safe in here.”

He scanned the room. Thick white curtains, three gilded garniture vases on the mantelshelf of the fireplace. He’d have to be careful not to knock over those delicate porcelain pieces. He glanced up at a picture of a grand woman in a straw bonnet. “Your mother’s hat?” He dashed to pick up the straw bonnet. He placed it on a tiny vanity.

Madeline nodded. “It was Lady Angelique’s.”

“I’m sorry.”

She patted her eyes. “Well, I tossed away your wedding pearls first.”

He moved back to the chaise. “I’m sorry for more than the hat.”

Madeline didn’t respond. She wiped her face again with his wrinkled handkerchief.

He wouldn’t press her. “Lady Angelique was beautiful. You are beautiful.” Justain scooted closer to her. He swept his boot across the carpet. “At least the sapphire rug in here is thick enough to support my bones.” He grimaced. “It’s hard to imagine growing up in this house. Trenchard was quiet, except for slammed doors. My father found other ways to show his disappointment.” The scars on his side. Maybe violent words were better than violence. “Mother just cried. Even today, I can’t stand a woman’s tears.”

Madeline leaned upon his back. “I know you detest sentiment, but regardless of how we got here, I pledge to always honour your sacrifice, my noble Earl of Devon.” Her simple expression salved the rawness of his emotions. She did understand him. One fight, one explosion of words hadn’t killed it.

Someone knocked upon the door.

Madeline pulled away. “Hopefully, it’s my crutch.” Her lips seemed so soft, so close.

“I should answer.”

“Please do. I need to ready for bed.”

He trudged to the door. Being trapped in Madeline’s boudoir might not be a bad thing.

 

****

 

Justain closed the door after the last of the footmen bearing their travel trunks left.

“I shall ready for bed.” Madeline smiled at him, the first one she’d given him since they started today’s journey. She hobbled to her dressing area.

Justain leaned against her bedroom window. Darkness covered everything, not letting a strike of light flourish. Avington Manor could be a fox at the hunt, slaughtered by any advancing rider.

“Your father doesn’t have the perimeter lit.” He unlocked his trunk and took out his nightshirt.

“You wouldn’t see it. The grounds stretch for miles. Perhaps the maze should be lit, but if it caught, the bonfire would illuminate the world.”

“A maze?” He disrobed and pulled on the cotton gown and his comfortable robe. “Let me see where I will sleep this evening. The chaise is too short. Humph. Maybe move things about.”

“Take care not to disturb the household.” The pounding of Madeline’s crutch became apparent, right behind him.

Justain pivoted. “I won’t drag—” He took his time, drinking in the sight of her.

She wore an ivory negligee, a fragile piece seemingly of another time. The lace sculpted her neck, silhouetting her long elegant frame. The thick wrapping on her leg distorted the sea of vanilla. To entice him further, Madeline had freed her hair from her bun and secured it with a ribbon. It didn’t flow freely as in his dreams, but it fed his imagination.

“I’ve never been a fan of lace, until now. I am sorry to stare, but you’re lovely.”

“This is another of my mother’s. Goodnight.” Madeline made her way to one of the largest beds he’d seen. A dozen people could sleep within its berth. The gauzy curtains surrounding the canopied thing didn’t obscure her lovely silhouette.

“I have a better idea,” he said. “What if we share your boat?”

“Sleep in the same bed?”

“I know it’s a radical departure, a husband to share a large bed with a small wife.” Justain was a man with normal urges, but he could control himself.

Her eyes narrowed. “You’ll take care not to thrash about and hurt my leg?”

Hurt was the last thing on his mind. Stroking her ebony hair and fine figure consumed every thought. If only they hadn’t fought yesterday. “I don’t believe I snore.”

“Then come aboard.”