Ondine Page 14

  “You will not command me, gutter-bitch—” he began in a low growl, but the thought was not completed.

  Her fists, still clenched at her side, rose in a flurry to slam down hard against his while she cursed him. “Vile scoundrel, blackguard—”

  The thud of her fists had sent him back a step; now he moved fleetly forward, his mouth grimly compressed. Ondine broke off abruptly, suddenly aware of the silent fury tightening his features. She gasped and turned to flee. There was no chance; he caught her arm, and the impetus was so great that she spun around and fell to her knees. Instantly he was down beside her, his hands upon her shoulders, forcing her to the hay-strewn ground before she could gather breath or wit to escape.

  “Milady, it seems we must always tussle in barns!” he growled, leaning over her, the warm pressure of his chest keeping her as still as the power of his hands. “But then, perhaps that is natural. Where else do thieves and poachers and whores frolic but in the hay!”

  “Bastard!” she hissed, trembling beneath him, longing to flay him with her nails.

  And then she suddenly started to tremble, realizing his power and her own misery. He was so taut about her that she feared she had truly pushed him to his limits of control.

  He drew away from her quickly, rolling to his back upon the floor. She remained dead still, terrified that her smallest movement would bring a return of his iron hold.

  He cast his arm over his forehead and stared up at the ceiling, speaking with a startling irony.

  “I begin to see why men beat their wives!” He came to his side on an elbow, watching her. “Perhaps that is my answer. We’ve buggy whips aplenty here—”

  “You wouldn’t!” Ondine gasped, frantic to escape, yet powerless in his presence. She couldn’t tell at all from his musing tone if he was serious.

  “Nay, I wouldn’t,” he decided, shaking his head. “Whips are nasty things. They mark up the flesh. The servants would know; the neighbors might talk.”

  “Neighbors!”

  “Aye,” he nodded, as if they agreed upon a particular point. “Nay, a whip is no good. And actually, I prefer the contact of the hand …” He lifted his left hand, flexed and unflexed his long strong fingers, and studied it thoughtfully. “Aye … the hand!”

  He stared at her again, gold sparks brilliantly alive within his eyes. And then quite suddenly that hand he had so studied was at the base of her back, pulling her form close to his upon the ground. Instinctively she placed her fingers upon his chest in an effort to ward him off; he didn’t appear to notice. His palm made little circles on her spine, then as he smiled quite pleasantly his hand moved lower, firmly caressing the rounded curve of her derriere with an insistence from which she could not escape.

  “Ah, yes, milady! The hand … when strongly leveled against the flesh of the rump—the bare rump, that is—has long been known as a most satisfactory chastisement!”

  She was aware that she stared at him with wide-eyed astonishment, stunned to silence. He was not serious! But yet he might well be, for though his smile was so mockingly pleasant, she could feel the wired tension in almost every muscle of his body.

  She lowered her eyes quickly, leaving him to stare at the top of her head, and abruptly she changed her tone of voice to a soft one.

  “Milord, I do not mean to rail against you. I am sorry—Nay! I am not sorry that I wish the freedom to ride, only that I attacked you! You must—”

  His deep rumble of laughter cut her off. “Oh, milady! You are not in the least sorry that you attacked me! You are only sorry that you haven’t the strength to take a buggy whip to me!”

  Her eyes flashed back to his with renewed anger, but a warning tap upon her rear and a taunting “Careful, milady!” kept her from the words she meant to voice.

  “This is not fair!” she cried in fuming frustration.

  “What is not fair?” he demanded. “You have your life, lady. I have a wife. A wife who swore to obey, albeit to save her life. But the vow remains, milady, and it is one that I warn you now— for the last time—that you will honor.”

  “Perhaps I would honor it with more resolve if you would deign to tell me those things I learn from others! As in Mathilda being your aunt; Clinton your cousin!”

  He shrugged, yet it was as if a wary shield fell over his eyes. “Clinton, Justin, and I bear a resemblance. I am quite surprised you had to be told.”

  “Had to be told! Damn you, Warwick! You should have told me, and you know it!” She pressed more strenuously against his chest, a grunt of effort escaping her. He pulled her closer, shaking his head.

  “Nay, lady, you will stay close. Seems that I may only drag assurance from your lips when I have you locked upon the earth of a stable!”

  Her teeth clenched, she renewed her struggle. Again he chuckled deeply and swiftly changed his hold, straddling over her and lacing his fingers quickly within hers to bring them uselessly to the side of her head. “Let’s finish mis here and now,” he said sharply as she began to sputter again. “I do not intend to make you a prisoner. You may not ride alone, because I do not know what danger you might meet in your travels. There are beasts in the forests, madam, boars and wolves and Lord Hardgrave, and I’d not have you come upon any of the three. If you wish to ride, you’ve only to let me know in the morning, and I shall be happy to accompany you. As to Clinton and Mathilda, it is not something I purposely withheld, but something I seldom ponder, since they are both here by choice, have always been here by choice, and have taken even their positions here by choice. Now, what else have you found here to disturb you?”

  She lifted her chin, desperately trying to control her resentment. “You!”

  “Me?” he queried, hiking a brow. “My lady, I assure you, I do my best to leave you be! Other than that, I am quite sorry. I am the man who married you, don’t you recall. I am not part of the bargain, but the bargain itself. And speaking of such, milady, you do nothing to uphold your end of this arrangement! That is a matter which can always be rectified.”

  She tried to ignore the pressure of his thighs about her, the taunt in his eyes and tone. “You spy on me!” she accused him. “You follow me, and watch me—”

  “I beg to differ, madam. I am too busy with important matters.”

  Ondine laughed bitterly. “Ah, yes! Important affairs! You look to your affairs, then, milord, and Jake is ordered to spy on me! I am locked away at the beginning of the evening, while night after night you ride away in total freedom!”

  He grinned, releasing her wrists, balancing his weight on his own haunches as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Madam! Do my absences disturb you, then?”

  “Nay—they elate me!” Ondine protested vehemently. She brought her wrists to her chest, rubbing them nervously and praying that he would rise from her.

  He shrugged, but his tone hardened as he rose, reaching a hand down to her, which she saw no recourse but to accept. “Milady, I fear you will not find elation much longer. I have received a summons from Charles that I find most convenient. We travel to court in a matter of days.”

  “What?” It seemed suddenly that the stable spun around her; that mist filled the air. She could not go to court!

  “We’re going to court!” Warwick repeated, exasperated. “And I’ve no intent to cause questions there. I shall be beyond your door for all the long hours of every night.” He frowned, wondering how her skin had gone from fiery rose to a palor so ashen as to be alarming.

  “I have no wish to go to court. Go alone! Indiscretion is quite fashionable this season. You’ll be free each and every night to pursue whom you wish. I—”

  “You, my lady, are coming with me.”

  “No! I will not go!” She jerked her wrist from his, backing away from him against the wooden wall, “I am not going!”

  He threw up his hands and seemed to growl. “I have had it with this!” Long, angry strides brought him to her, he flattened a hand against the planking beside her head. “Ondine, hear me well.
You will accompany me. In the carriage, or tied atop it, I care not. Able to sit—or so ragged and raw of flesh upon the rump that you dare not!”

  Chapter 9

  Ondine sent Lottie to the dining room with a message that she was indisposed and would not be joining Warwick and Justin for dinner.

  She did have a headache, a raging headache. She had no doubt that Warwick meant his words. He would bring her with him, one way or another. She had spent the afternoon pondering escape from the manor; that, too, seemed impossible. She was constantly watched. She couldn’t even get on a horse without Warwick appearing.

  A rap upon her door startled her and reminded her that if she was “indisposed,” she shouldn’t be caught nervously pacing the room, fully clothed. She bit her lower lip, took a deep breath, and called out a weak “Yes?”

  “Milady, ‘tis Mathilda. I’ve brought tea and broth.”

  “Oh, thank you, Mathilda. I—I’m not hungry.”

  “Nay, milady! I will not leave till you’ve taken something!” Mathilda returned with concern.

  Ondine sighed. Mathilda had sounded so fiercely determined— and worried. She felt guilty. She hesitated a second longer, then called out, “A moment…”

  In another few seconds she had shed her clothing and donned a nightgown. She quickly ripped apart the bed Lottie had so meticulously straightened. Kicking her clothes aside and nervously composing herself, she came to the door, hoping she looked ill.

  “Oh, Lady Chatham! You shouldn’t be out of bed in bare feet!” Mathilda chastised her. “You must get back beneath the covers …”

  “I will, Mathilda. Thank you for the tea.”

  “I’ll not leave until I see you warm and fed, milady,” Mathilda fretted, standing staunchly at the door with the tray in her hand.

  Ondine lowered her head as another ripple of guilt touched her. Mathilda was really distressed. She had lost one beloved mistress; perhaps it was natural that she grow nervous over the “illness” of the next.

  “I shall crawl back into bed right now, Mathilda. And I’m very sorry to have upset you; it’s nothing. A slight indisposition of the stomach, that is all. I shall surely be fine in the morning.”

  Mathilda set the tea tray on the dresser, walked over to the bed, and fluffed the pillow. “You can never be too careful…”

  She smiled wanly at Ondine. “Come, now, let me take care of you, I implore you, lady.”

  Ondine crawled back into the bed. Mathilda smoothed the covers over her with a motherly concern. “Now, if you sit so, I can put the tray upon your lap.”

  Ondine obliged her, touched by her tender care. She found herself watching Mathilda curiously, then saying gently, “My name is Ondine. I do wish you would use it. I—understand that you are a Chatham, too, Mathilda.”

  Mathilda glanced at her, surprised and smiling. “You didn’t know it all along?”

  Ondine shook her head, and Mathilda sat beside her on the bed, dropping a cube of sugar into Ondine’s tea: She stirred it and handed it to her, smiling again. “You will understand why I am so concerned for your health. The child will be my own blood, you see.”

  Ondine gasped, scalding her throat on the tea, then choking.

  “Oh, dear!” Mathilda leapt to her feet and patted her back.

  “The … child?” Ondine managed to sputter.

  “Oh, dear … dear,” Mathilda muttered, wringing her hands a little helplessly, then she sighed. “Perhaps you did not wish him to say anything yet? But men are like that, milady! Ever so proud of themselves over an heir. Like strutting peacocks.” She smiled with a knowing empathy. “Many women think it unlucky to make announcements early, but you mustn’t feel so. And ^ou mustn’t be angry with him. He appeared so impatient when your message was brought to the dining table, but then he sighed and started to smile—what a ravishly wicked, pleased smile, but then you do know the earl!—and said it was surely natural, since in the early stages carrying a child did cause a woman discomfort.”

  The man was insane! Ondine thought, and barely kept herself from informing Mathilda. Insane—and cruel, to instigate such a falsehood. Mathilda seemed to yearn for the child with a tender and aching excitement.

  She lowered her eyes quickly as her heart began to pound. Why the lie? Why was she constantly watched? What in God’s name was going on? Was the Earl of North Lambria mad as a rabid hare?

  Her temper began to soar. Damn him! He was at it again— throwing these absurd surprises her way without the slightest warning. Master of play, indeed! It would serve him right if she were to tell Mathilda that the earl was either crazy or sadly mistaken; there was no child.

  “Milady—Ondine, are you quite all right? Oh, I haven’t made you feel worse with my rattling tongue, have I?”

  Ondine shook her head and offered her a smile that was truly sickly. “Nay, Mathilda. I was just taken a bit by my lord’s … announcement. I—I am not that far along. I had thought we might wish to … be absolutely certain.”

  “Oh!” Mathilda chuckled happily, taking her place by Ondine’s side once again. “A woman knows these things, I think!”

  “You’re pleased?”

  “Aye, that I am! A wee babe about the manse again! I beg you, take the greatest care! But then you’re so young and healthy. Not at all like—” Mathilda broke off unhappily.

  Ondine stretched out a hand to gently encircle her wrist. “Gene-vieve?”

  Mathilda’s lip trembled. “Aye, like Genevieve.”

  “Oh, Mathilda! You mustn’t worry so. I will be fine; truly I will.”

  Mathilda nodded. Ondine looked searchingly into her eyes and thought that she must have been very beautiful once.

  And then Mathilda flushed, appearing a little embarrassed by her show- of emotion. “Well, now, you must eat the broth! For the wee one! And …”

  “What is it, Mathilda?”

  “If you should ever need anything, you must call upon me! Anything, at any hour!”

  “Thank you, Mathilda.”

  “I’m not leaving until you eat the broth.”

  Ondine obligingly ate the broth and drank the tea. Mathilda moved about the room, collecting Ondine’s clothing to hang in the bath closet. Then, seeing that her offering was fully consumed, she smiled with approval and took the tray.

  “Rest now!”

  “I will, I promise.”

  Still happily smiling, Mathilda strode to the door with her tray, but Ondine called to her, affecting a bright curiosity before she could exit.

  “Mathilda, who was about when milord Chatham made his announcement? Is … everyone aware of my—condition?”

  “Aye! Justin was there, and a number of the servants. Oh, and Clinton had come in! And, of course, they’re both so pleased. Justin and my Clinton, I mean. Justin was himself, laughing and telling his brother he was a rake to waste no moment’s time. He said he was green with envy—Justin is quite taken with you, you know.”

  Ondine kept trying to smile. “Is he? Did he say anything else, or did Warwick?”

  “Ah, well …” Mathilda suddenly looked uneasy.

  “Mathilda! Please?” Ondine wheedled.

  “Nothing, really.”

  “Tell me! I shan’t sleep a wink if you don’t!”

  Mathilda sighed, resting the tray upon her hip. “Well, Justin said that he couldn’t wait for the lady Anne to hear the news.”

  “The lady Anne?”

  “His old flame at court … Oh! You never met her? I had assumed you met there.”.

  “I didn’t meet the lady Anne,” Ondine replied evasively, a hot needling of temper pricking at her again.

  “Old flames are those that are extinguished, you must remember,” Mathilda assured her wisely. “And your husband responded that he was quite anxious for Lady Anne to hear the news, so surely; he wishes her to know how quite settled he is and happily so! And he added that he hoped Lord Hardgrave also learned quickly that there was to be an heir to North Lambda soon!”

&n
bsp; Ondine leaned up on her elbows. “Who is this Lord Hardgrave? Warwick mentions him occasionally—and not with pleasure.”

  “A neighbor, lower in title and stature than Warwick, and hostile for it. Ah … admittedly, Warwick, too, is hostile. They met at age three, and even then they were enemies.” She stopped speaking, glancing at Ondine with a wary sigh. “There—now I have answered all your questions, even those I probably should not have! You promised to rest.”

  “Oh, I will,” Ondine said, and she forced a sweet and cheerful smile to her lips.

  She waited until she heard Mathilda’s footsteps pass through the bath, through Warwick’s chamber, and the music room. When a soft and distant click assured her that all doors to the apartment were closed and that she was quite alone, she threw the covers off the bed, leapt up, and slammed furiously from her chamber. In Warwick’s room she paused, found his brush upon his dresser, and threw it wildly against the wall. “Damn you, knave, what is the game you play?” she whispered vehemently.

  She stalked out to the music chamber and sat at his desk, determined to assault him with demands the moment he entered. She sat, barely restraining herself from shredding the chair’s brocade with her nails.

  And then it occurred to her quite suddenly that she might have at last found her bargaining power. She could tell him that if he forced her to court, she would refute his lie—and inform his household that she was certainly not expecting a child.

  Excitement and relief joined with her anger so that she was anxious to see him. She jumped back to her feetand began pacing the room. Again and again, nervous energy drove her back and forth like a caged tiger.