Man Of My Dreams: Secrets Of Midnight Part 19

b.l.o.o.d.y b.a.s.t.a.r.d! Of course Donovan couldn't wait to talk to his brother, so eager to hear about his inheritance that he hadn't waited even two minutes before ridding himself of her. Just as she imagined he could hardly wait now to annul her and be on his way back to Spain-oh, G.o.d.

Corisande closed her eyes, feeling suddenly almost dizzy, the pain of that reality cutting her so deeply. But in the next instant she lifted her chin, intoning vehemently to herself, "It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter!" as she moved to the drawing room door.

So Donovan would soon be leaving Cornwall. Good riddance! She wanted him to go! So far, far away that there would never be any chance of her seeing him again. And she wanted whatever had awakened inside her to go away too. Please, please, make it go away . . .

"Lady Donovan, are you all right?"

Corisande started, spinning to find Ellen Biddle looking at her with concern.

"Yes-no, no, I'm not," she murmured, Nigel's disagreeable wife the last person she felt like meeting right now. "I'm sorry, Ellen. Could you please give my regrets to the d.u.c.h.ess? Something must have disagreed with me at dinner tonight-I'm sorry."

Corisande fled, avoiding even looking at the library door as she dodged two footmen carrying a trunk and raced up the stairs.

"Good G.o.d, couldn't you have at least written and given us some notice that you intended to visit?"

Donovan wasn't surprised that Nigel's grin had faded, yet his brother still seemed unconcerned, giving him a shrug.

"Sorry, old man, there really wasn't time, and Arundale Hall was in an uproar for days. Charlotte always goes mad each year with packing before we leave for the Season, so I stayed well out of her way and took myself elsewhere-"

"I can b.l.o.o.d.y imagine." Donovan cut him off, surmising his brother had kept himself well amused by his mistresses.

"Actually, Donovan, it's not at all what you think. I say, you're just as ill-tempered as ever. I had hoped that marriage might have mellowed you a bit-oh, h.e.l.l, look what it's done for me."

Nigel sounded so disgruntled that Donovan almost laughed; instead he went to pour them both a good, stiff brandy.

"d.a.m.ned good idea, brother." Nigel grunted as he dropped into a deep wing chair. "I feel as if I've been traveling for days now and, by Jove, I have been! To London, then back again to Christchurch to fetch Charlotte, and then here-"

"You've been to London?" Donovan set down the decanter, growing tense as Nigel gave him a nod and an enigmatic smile.

"So I have, so I have. But hand me that brandy first, then I'll give you the news I came so far to deliver to you myself."

Donovan obliged him, Corisande's words after she stepped from the carriage suddenly ringing in his mind: "It appears our wait is over, my lord, your brother come personally to grant you the wonderful news of your inheritance!" She had sounded upset, yes, and sarcastic, but something else, too, her voice strangely breaking . . .

"Are you just going to stand there, Donovan? Share a toast with me, old man! The necessary papers have been signed, the money transferred to your bank, the controlling share of the mine in your name. The inheritance is yours, and I'd say you earned it in record time. Father would have been pleased-no, elated-and so am I!"

Donovan stared at his brother almost stupidly, the moment he had so antic.i.p.ated not anything at all as he would have imagined. He should have been glad-h.e.l.l, he had all the money now he could possibly need to search for Paloma and he was vastly relieved, there was no denying it. He should have been d.a.m.ned eager, too, to head out at once for London so he could arrange an immediate annulment and then catch the first naval s.h.i.+p bound for Lisbon. But he wasn't.

h.e.l.l and d.a.m.nation, he wasn't.

Donovan drank, half draining his gla.s.s while Nigel looked on with approval.

"Good show! Marrying wasn't so difficult after all, was it? It's only the trials that come later-but no, no b.l.o.o.d.y bemoaning tonight. And you certainly can't complain. I'll admit I was a mite concerned when you wrote to say you'd decided upon a local vicar's daughter, and then when f.a.n.n.y came back wailing at how unkindly you'd treated her and saying your bride had a scarred face-"

"f.a.n.n.y said . . . By G.o.d, I should have flogged those women from my house instead of just throwing them out!" Donovan roared, incensed. "Corie got that scar trying to save someone's life-"

"Easy, man, I said that as no insult," Nigel broke in, his gaze suddenly speculative as he studied Donovan. "Your wife's a beauty, scar or no, which I was very glad to see. I imagine it's been no trouble at all bedding her, not like the times some of us have had with our wives . . ."

He didn't continue, a look of such distaste on his face as he rose to pour himself another drink that Donovan knew Nigel was thinking of Charlotte. Just as he was thinking once more of Corisande and how she'd wound her arms around his neck and kissed him so pa.s.sionately, moaning his name "Another for you, brother?"

Donovan shook his head, his blood already heated enough, and it wasn't because of the brandy. Instead he waited until Nigel had retaken his seat before asking, "Why did you go to London? Couldn't you have sent Wilkins to handle everything for you?"

"Oh, yes, but I had something else to accomplish." Nigel paused for a drink, the same enigmatic smile on his face as he lowered his gla.s.s. "It's all been taken care of, Donovan. You need have no fear of getting yourself blown to bits any longer-or I should say, I've no fear-"

"What are you talking about?"

"Your service under Lord Wellington is done, man. Finished. An official dispatch releasing you from further duty has been sent to his headquarters, so you need harbor no notion that you must return to Spain. I need you here, Donovan, and now your marriage has given me the means I needed to ensure you may stay in Britain. Besides, you've already given four distinguished years to the defense of the Commonwealth, longer than most men of your station. It's time you think of yourself, of your bride, of having children and prospering here in Cornwall."

Donovan kept silent, struck by the thought that even a week ago this news would have sent him into a rage. To have Nigel so ordering his life? But that his service in the army was over did not so much concern him.

He still must return to Spain for Paloma's sake, but not yet. He couldn't leave yet. He would send money at once to the trusted men he'd hired to continue the search for his daughter while he was away in England, but Corisande needed him, too, although she'd never admit it. She was in danger, and not until whoever had attacked her was found and punished . . .

"No argument, Donovan? No scowls? No curses? I say, old man, you surprise me. You're acting much different than you did at Arundale Hall. Maybe marriage has mellowed you after all."

"And I'm b.l.o.o.d.y surprised you didn't wait to hear some word from Ogden before you set off for London."

"No, no, I decided all must be well after hearing what you did to f.a.n.n.y and her cohorts-" Nigel abruptly went still, looking at Donovan with some chagrin, although an instant later, he shrugged. "There's much at stake here. The Arundale dukedom, man, what did you expect? But Ogden has already a.s.sured me that everything is as it should be-unless you've something to tell me?"

"No more than that I don't want my wife troubled with news of my inheritance. Or anything else we've discussed. It was hard enough for Corie when those housemaids-d.a.m.n them, all that business about my marrying her for an heir. I don't want to see her hurt again."

"Yes, yes, I imagine you don't."

Nigel was staring at Donovan so intently that he began to feel uncomfortable, going to refill his gla.s.s after all.

"Well, well, brother, so it's finally happened."

Donovan tensed, but he didn't turn around. "What's happened?"

"Oh, I think you know. I envy you too."

Donovan didn't reply, downing his brandy and heading for the door while Nigel rose from his chair and followed him.

"Don't worry, old man, as far as I'm concerned, we came here simply to meet your bride. I only hope Charlotte hasn't made her regret marrying into our family."

Donovan half spun, and Nigel started back a step. "Dammit, I didn't consider Charlotte. Does she know why-"

"Ha! The less that woman knows of anything, the better. I told her the same thing I just said to you, that it was fitting we meet your new wife. But do you think that made her whine any less? Good G.o.d, she drove me half-mad-complaining about the length of the trip, how she'd rather be in London already, until I couldn't stand it anymore and rode in another carriage. But I still had to listen to her moan at every stop, how she was being jostled to pieces, how-"

Donovan didn't want to hear anymore either, and he ducked outside the library, nearly colliding with Ellen Biddle, who was waiting for him outside the door.

"Oh! Forgive me, my lord! I didn't know if I should interrupt you so I waited-"

"What is it, woman?" He cut her off a bit too sharply, so intent was he on rescuing Corisande from his sister-in-law. "I'm sorry. Is supper ready?"

"No, not yet, but-well, Lady Donovan has retired, my lord. She asked me to give her regrets to Her Grace, which I did, but your wife looked so pale, I was worried for her and thought you should know-"

"Best go to her, old boy," Nigel interjected, tipping his gla.s.s in a wry salute. "d.a.m.n, if you don't have all the luck. Think there's any way we can get Charlotte to retire for the night?"

Donovan didn't answer, feeling truly sorry for his brother at that moment as he left them and raced up the stairs. But he forgot Nigel, forgot Charlotte, forgot everything as a moment later he knocked on Corisande's door.

Then he cursed to himself. Why was he knocking? She was his wife! He pushed open the door just in time to see Corisande fly across the softly firelit room and dive into bed, throwing the covers over her head.

It made him chuckle, relief filling him, too, but he sobered when he heard a small plaintive voice call to him brokenly from under the bedclothes. "Go away!"

Good G.o.d, it almost sounded to him as if she'd been crying. He drew closer, hearing m.u.f.fled sniffles, and grew concerned all over again.

"Corie?"

"Go away!"

"No, I'm not going away until you tell me what's wrong-"

"Nothing's wrong! I'm just glad this whole b.l.o.o.d.y thing is finally over!"

Her outburst striking him like a fierce punch in the gut, Donovan couldn't help saying as vehemently, "Well, it's not over, woman, I'm sorry to disappoint you. If you must know, my brother and his wife merely came to Cornwall to welcome you into our family. It might be a couple more weeks before the whole matter of my inheritance is settled, so it appears we're still stuck with each other whether you like it or not!"

Corisande couldn't believe it, her heart hammering in her throat. A couple more weeks? Nor could she believe the wild elation surging through her, but she only had an instant to dwell upon the sheer ridiculousness of her feeling so happy before the covers were suddenly wrenched away from her head, and Donovan stood above her, a dark, looming silhouette beside the bed.

"Are you going to lie there, or will you accompany me back downstairs to greet my brother and sister-in-law properly? They came all this way-"

"I don't care if they just arrived from America!" she spouted, indignant and s.h.i.+vering in her thin nightgown, too, as she tried to tug the bedclothes away from him. "I already made my excuses, so go away-oh!"

Donovan had lifted her bodily and set her with a jarring thump on the floor; the next thing Corisande felt was a stinging slap to her bottom as she shrieked in surprise.

"You've got two minutes to dress, Corie, or you'll get another and harder too. Now move."

She did, so stunned that he had spanked her like a child that she ran to the wardrobe and clutched about for her clothes in a panic.

But it was even more unsettling that they were alone and in the dark, just as they had been in the carriage. When he'd told her her scar was a thing of beauty and he'd kissed her and touched her breast and run his hands over her thighs and . . . and she wanted no part of it! She wanted no part of him! G.o.d help her, a couple more weeks?

That thought made her dress faster than she ever had in her life, more than eager to get back downstairs as she flew out of her room and down the corridor, not waiting for Donovan.

Chapter 28.

"Oh, dear, do you have to go in there? It's so dreadfully stuffy in this carriage, and we've already been riding about for hours now and-"

"Then get out, Charlotte, and take a nice walk along the quay," Corisande suggested through clenched teeth as an Arundale footman opened the carriage door and helped her to step down. "I won't be but a moment, I promise."

"But it's growing so cloudy and windy, surely you can see that. I just know the moment I step outside it would start to rain, and then my hair would be ruined and my dress and my lovely new parasol, and, oh, dear, should you go into that inn? It looks quite common and-and it might be dangerous."

"It's not dangerous, Charlotte. I told you I've good friends who live here." Doing her best to bridle her temper, Corisande forced a smile at the sallow-faced, pinch-nosed young woman who stared at her doubtfully from the dim interior of the carriage. "Truly, a walk would be lovely. You could get some fresh air-"

"Oh, my, no, and smell all that horrible fish?"

That did it, Corisande had had enough. Without another word, she spun and crossed the cobbled road, kicking herself that she had been the one to suggest she and her sister-in-law take an afternoon drive instead of waiting around the house for Donovan and Nigel to return from Arundale's Kitchen.

She'd had her own motives, too, visiting Oliver certainly one of them, but now she wished she'd risked going alone instead of having to endure Charlotte's constant whining. She should have known, starting with last night, that the woman had little good to say about anything-complaining ceaselessly about being abandoned in the drawing room, the rigors of the journey, the lateness of the supper. Then breakfast this morning had been served much too early, and her bed had been lumpy, the fireplace smoky, on and on and on . . .

Sighing, Corisande had to agree with Donovan as she stepped inside the Trelawnys' inn. Charlotte, d.u.c.h.ess of Arundale, was a fright, her fretful chatter about as pleasant as fingernails sc.r.a.ping across a chalkboard and her breath almost unbearable although the woman couldn't entirely help her bad teeth- "Corie, dear, I was just thinking of 'ee! Come in, come in!"

Corisande smiled at Rebecca Trelawny as the plump older woman wound her way past trestle tables where a few patrons sat smoking pipes and drinking home-brewed ale. But upon reaching her, Rebecca gave a nod to the back room.

"I've something to tell 'ee, Corie, but not here, eh?"

Corisande nodded and followed, wondering where Oliver might be. The sea captain usually held forth in the inn, telling tall tales to his customers. "Actually I can't stay long, Rebecca," she began as the woman quietly closed the door to the back room. "I came to see Oliver-"

"He's not here, Corie, that's what I wanted to tell 'ee. He asked me to have one of the men bring 'ee a note, but the day's slipped away from me. He sailed out to Brittany again at mid-morning, he did, so pleased with the coin already coming in from that fine brandy that he went to try and fetch some more. Said he knew there was a chance for another s.h.i.+pment into Roscoff but he wouldn't know for sure until he got there. Aw, that man of mine. Gone for days an' now gone again!"

Corisande was somewhat stunned; Oliver hadn't said a word the other night about the chance of bringing back more of that brandy. She was suddenly worried too.

She had wanted to tell him about the attack and how the man had known their signal, but it wouldn't do any good to say anything now. She didn't want to worry Rebecca; the poor woman already had been asking her husband for months if he might cease his fair trading and enjoy sitting at home with her in front of the fire.

"Well, I hope it doesn't take him as long to return this time," Corisande murmured, and Rebecca nodded in agreement.

"Ais, I told him if that s.h.i.+pment wasn't there to come back straightaway, an' he promised me, Corie. No ifs or an's about it! An' my Oliver holds to his word. So 'ee can look for the signal tomorrow night, an' if it doesn't come, you'll know there was none of that good brandy to be found." Rebecca's hand moved to the door. "Now, can I give 'ee a nice hot drink before 'ee must be on your way? A piece of b.u.t.termilk cake?"

Corisande shook her head as she stepped outside the room, though b.u.t.termilk cake, especially Rebecca's, which she always served with a dollop of sweet cream, did sound inviting. But by now Charlotte was probably quite overcome by dreaded fish odors, so she'd best hurry. She gave Rebecca a hug and then drew her cloak more snugly around her.

"Ais, a good idea, wrap yourself tight. A gale's brewing, I fear, a nor'westerly, so my Oliver should be well clear of it, but I'll be praying hard tonight, all the same."

"I'll say a prayer too."

" 'Ee do that, Corie dear. A vicar's daughter's prayer is surely worth two of mine!"

Corisande smiled, turning to the door only to be b.u.mped suddenly out of the way as three men who'd just gotten up from their chairs shouldered past her without even an apology.

"Ais, those dockhands!" Rebecca snorted with exasperation as the door slammed behind them. "Rude as can be and not getting any better! Been here almost two weeks now an' haven't left an extra pence for me cleaning their rooms an' cooking them meals, an' nary a thank you either. Pah! Foreigners! Oh, dear, no slight upon your dear mother, though. But these fellows-come here to find work when there's barely enough for our own? Pah!"

Corisande shrugged. "Everyone has a right to earn bread, Rebecca. It's no matter."

She gave the still-grumbling woman another hug and then stepped outside. The whistling wind had picked up tremendously in the few moments since she'd entered the inn, so strong now that her skirt whipped around her legs. And obviously Charlotte had noticed, too, the d.u.c.h.ess waving to her frantically to hurry.

"Oh, dear, oh, dear, we're going to be blown into the sea! We'll never make it back to the house, I know it! We'll tip over, the horses will stumble in the mud, we'll drown!"

"Drown in what? The heath?" Corisande muttered to herself as she ducked her head to the wind and went to the carriage, a footman waiting to a.s.sist her. But she waved him away, saying to an incredulous Charlotte, "I was hoping we might stop first to meet my family but-"

"Oh, no, oh, no, we must get back to the house!" the frenzied d.u.c.h.ess interrupted before Corisande could finish. "Climb into the carriage before you're blown away!"

"I'm not going to be blown away and I'm not getting into the carriage," she shouted, beyond all patience now. "You go ahead, I'll get home somehow later. Either that, or have Donovan come for me. I'll be at my father's house-I haven't seen him and my three sisters for several days. Are you sure you wouldn't like to come with me and-"

Again Corisande didn't get to finish as a powerful gust of wind suddenly tore the carriage door away from the footman and slammed it shut with a bang, while Charlotte shrieked in terror for the coachman to drive on at once. Corisande barely had time to step out of the way as the black ducal coach jerked into motion, and the hapless footman had to run after to swing himself up onto the back platform.