The Inconvenient Elmswood Marriage. Marguerite Kaye
washed him, the smoothness of his shoulders, the rough hair on his chest, the ripple of muscle that his illness had not wholly wasted when he moved. His hair was soft, despite years in the sun. He was deeply tanned in places, pale in others. And there were some places where modesty had prevailed, from which she had looked away when she’d washed him, but she’d touched them, all the same. Places which her imagination had lingered on as she’d lain sleepless, listening to his harsh breathing.
Did he remember? She sincerely hoped he did not.
It was bad enough, the effect those memories had on her, arousing all sorts of unwelcome feelings, stirring desires she’d always repressed so easily before. Eleven years of celibate marriage hadn’t been endured without vague longings, but now her longings were not vague—they were quite specific.
Was this what Eloise felt when she looked at her husband? And Phoebe? Was her marriage passionate? In the sphere of intimacy they had so much more experience than her, and they always would, for no matter what the future held Kate was married to Daniel very much in name only.
Though if he remained here at Elmswood to recuperate, what then? They were husband and wife—a man and a woman past the first blush of youth and beyond any of the silliness of fluttering hearts and fevered longing. Daniel was a very attractive man, and she wasn’t yet an old crone—in fact, she had every reason to believe that he found her attractive, for there had been times when she’d been nursing him… Though of course he’d had no idea who she was.
She was being foolish—very foolish—to be considering an affaire with her own husband. A very temporary affaire. That no one would know about. An affaire that might be her one and only chance to discover what it was she was missing out on.
Though how on earth she thought to propose it to Daniel…
Daniel was an invalid, for goodness’ sake! A very cranky invalid. Though the way he’d looked at her earlier, when they had been drinking coffee, hadn’t been cranky. If she did suggest they indulged in an affaire, then she doubted he’d turn her down. Not that she would dream of doing such a thing.
The sound of a carriage on the driveway made her jump to her feet. Four horses, attached to a very smart, if dusty post-chaise. Surely they had not come for him already? Her stomach sank.
With a start, she realised that was the last thing she wanted. Purely, she told herself as she sped out of the office and across the lawn, which was the quickest route to the house, because Daniel was far from well, and not at all because, despite the fact that he was infuriating, she wanted very much to get to know her husband better.
Mrs Chester, of all people, had emerged from the kitchen to answer the front doorbell herself by the time Kate arrived, breathless.
‘We’re a bit short-handed,’ she explained, ‘for I have sent Sylvia off to the village for provisions, and Mary is up to her neck in suds, it being laundry day.’
‘And I can see that you are making pies,’ Kate said, eyeing the cook’s floury hands and apron with amusement. The doorbell clanged again. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll get this.’
‘Can’t imagine who it will be. Someone for the master, no doubt? Shall I call him?’
‘No need.’
Daniel appeared at the top of the staircase. He had changed into country dress of breeches and boots, and was shrugging himself into a coat, looking decidedly heavy-eyed.
‘I think we both know who it is, Kate. And it’s for the best, don’t you think?’
Was it? What purpose could be served by prolonging his stay, if he remained determined to keep his distance from the girls? But what about her? Kate thought, panicking. He’d said he wanted to know her better, and she wanted—she didn’t know what she wanted.
The doorbell clanged again.
‘Isn’t there a footman to answer this?’ Daniel asked impatiently.
This rather ludicrous question went a long way to restoring her equilibrium. A footman, indeed!
Drawing him a quizzical look, she fixed a smile on her face and hauled open the door. ‘Sir Marcus, what a delightful surprise. And Lord Armstrong too. Won’t you come in?’
‘Lady Elmswood. It is a pleasure to see you again—and none the worse for your travails, I am happy to see. On behalf of His Majesty’s Government, allow me to thank you profusely for your sterling efforts. Your gracious co-operation has spared our country a great deal of embarrassment, I don’t mind telling you.’
Sir Marcus Denby made a flourishing bow. A tall, elegant man, immaculately turned out in town dress, he stood aside to allow Lord Henry Armstrong to precede him.
‘I’m sorry to call without notice, but we thought it best to make sure we all understood the lie of the land, so to speak, in this delicate matter. Fairfax, allow me to tell you that you are looking a great deal better than I expected.’
‘Sir Marcus. Lord Armstrong.’ Daniel made a very small bow. ‘I was, in fact, expecting you. Shall we talk in the—?’
‘The drawing room,’ Kate said.
‘There is no need for you to join us,’ Daniel said.
Sir Marcus and Lord Armstrong exchanged a look at his tone. ‘Perhaps your husband is right,’ the former said. ‘If you will excuse us, Lady Elmswood? The drawing room is this way, I think? I remember it from our previous meeting.’
Sir Marcus claimed to be from the Admiralty. Who Lord Henry Armstrong was, and what interest he had in whatever business Daniel had been involved in Kate had no idea, and was, it seemed, destined not to know, for within the hour she was surprised to hear the grate of the front door opening.
Abandoning her letter to Eloise for the second time that day, she jumped to her feet and rushed out to the hallway, thinking that Daniel was leaving without even saying goodbye, and was just in time to see the two visitors clambering into the waiting coach and her husband, white-faced, slamming the door closed behind them.
‘What…?’
‘I am to stay, apparently,’ he snapped. ‘Until the dust settles politically I am to kick my heels here, disporting myself as Lord Elmswood, in the company of my lovely and very faithful little wife, enjoying the fresh country air and my neat and tidy little estate, and be grateful that I am still alive. All to satisfy Sir Marcus’s insistence that our carefully constructed cover story be maintained.’
‘Daniel…’
‘I won’t do it! I will not step into my father’s shoes.’ He turned on her. ‘It’s your fault! You colluded with them to return me to this blasted place. The hounds of hell wouldn’t have dragged me back here if I’d had the strength to resist. But I won’t stay. I won’t—I can’t.’
‘Daniel! For heaven’s sake, you sound like a three-year-old having a tantrum. Stop throwing accusations and clenching your fists and for goodness’ sake calm down. I have no idea what those men said to you…’
‘Plenty! I’m apparently a liability at the moment! Me!’ He stared at her sightlessly for a moment, his mouth tightening, and then a raking shudder shook his whole body and he deliberately unfurled his hands. ‘I need some fresh air.’
He looked, in her opinion, as if he needed to lie down with a cold compress on his forehead, but she suspected if she suggested such a thing he might well explode.
‘Then why don’t I show you the walled garden?’
It was warmer there, and she’d noticed already how cold he permanently was. There were some convenient and comfortable benches scattered around too. Most importantly it would serve as a convenient distraction.
Daniel let out a juddering sigh. ‘I don’t suppose there’s any point in my saying that I’d rather be alone?’
‘Please do say so, if you’d