Barbara Metzger Page 16

  “Because you left me in the country.”

  “You are making no sense.”

  Alissa supposed she was not, to a man like him. “I had many sound, logical reasons for coming.”

  “Yes?”

  She gathered her defenses, all the reasons she had planned to give him. “The children need a father, someone who could have told them they had to leave the animals behind.”

  “Which they would not have had to do, if they had remained where they belonged. And they have done fine all these years. You need to be firmer; that is all.”

  Spoken like someone who had never denied a determined five-year-old anything. She sniffed and said, “Amy and I needed new wardrobes.”

  “You could have sent for the finest modistes. They would have moved their shops to Rock Hill, for your patronage.”

  “I could not find proper tutors for the boys. Most did not wish to travel so far for an interview without a guaranteed position. Chances of finding the best man are better in London.”

  “What could be so difficult about hiring a tutor? Hugo is too weak to go to school, and you feel your sons are too young, so what does it matter if they are behind in their studies?”

  Behind? She ignored his willful misconception. “I wished to give my sister wider experience of society, the opportunity to meet people.”

  “Eligible bachelors, you mean. You would have done better to wait for the spring Season. Few people are still in town now. Besides, I doubt you will ever be able to give that chit town bronze, not when she jumps at shadows.”

  Ready, as always, to come to her family’s defense, Alissa said, “She jumped at your shouting.”

  He brushed that aside. “Furthermore, if you are encouraging her to dream of a grand match, you are doing the girl a disservice. She is still the daughter of a bailiff.”

  “As I was.”

  He tipped his head. “Your point, madam. Go on.”

  “Amy will do fine, with your sponsorship. I was hoping, too, to see her and my sons accepted by my late husband’s family.”

  “Hysmith? I told you the new duke is as stiff-rumped as the last. His late wife was worse.”

  “But the boys are his nephews, nevertheless. He should meet them.” He looked dubious of the honor to be bestowed on the duke, so Alissa hurried on: “And I thought to restore your sister’s reputation.”

  “Impossible.”

  “No, it is not. The country folk have accepted her as a heroine, chasing after Arkenstall to retrieve your belongings.” The rude sound he made told her what he thought of the neighbors and their notions of truth. “Lady Eleanor cannot be allowed to hide away at Rock Hill for the rest of her life.”

  “It is what she chose.”

  “Out of embarrassment. Then she chose another disastrous course with Arkenstall. She is not happy, and will not be until she confronts her past. Here in London.”

  “I will speak with her myself.”

  “She brought back the Rembrandt.” Alissa had given up thoughts of doing portraits in oils after seeing the small picture of an old woman with a jug.

  “Did she, by Jove?”

  He smiled, the first smile Alissa had seen on him since she arrived. She thought it unfortunate that he cared more for the painting’s return than his sister’s—or his wife’s. “It is hanging at Rock Hill.”

  “Where it belongs. Where all of you belong.” He could not hide a yawn. “You still have not given me one good reason why you came to town. Or what any of this has to do with Sir George Ganyon.”

  “He wishes to marry Amy.”

  Rockford was suddenly wide awake. “That loose screw? I would never give my blessings, so you did not have to batten on my doorstep. Or didn’t you trust me?”

  “I trusted you. It is the baronet I do not trust. He threatened to force my sister to wed him if he was not granted permission.”

  Rockford decided he would get a more accurate story from Claymore before they left. “No one threatens my family. I thought I had made that plain to Ganyon, but it was not plain enough, I see. I will handle it, so now that you have said your piece you can go home. I cannot imagine what you were thinking, bringing the boys and the dogs to the city. Here. Why, Rothmore House hosts one of the finest collections of antiquities in all of England.” He raised a small white figurine, an exquisite many-armed goddess carved out of a single piece of ivory. “I cannot have children playing among such priceless treasures.”

  Alissa admired the delicate work of art, but said, “Your children are priceless, too.”

  “Yes, well, the little goblins—the little gems, that is—cannot stay here. As I said, I am hosting an important reception tonight. The prince regent himself might attend. If you leave soon, I might be able to restore Rothmore House in time.”

  Alissa was not budging. “I cannot put those children back in the carriages so soon. The journey was wearying enough as it was. Furthermore, your neighbors saw us arrive. What would they think if you pack us off to an inn or hide us away? They will think you are ashamed of your children, that is what, ashamed of your wife. It was just such behavior that led Sir George to think I might be receptive to his advances.”

  He clutched the figurine in his hand. “You never mentioned that part, by Jupiter.”

  “Well, it is true. Your leaving left me open to insult. And there is more.”

  He opened his fist and traced the curves of the ivory goddess with his fingers. “I was afraid of that.”

  Alissa could not come out and say that she wanted to make a real marriage out of this convenient travesty, that she wanted them to become partners, friends, lovers. That she missed the pleasures of the marriage bed, the comfort of a man’s warm body next to hers. What she said was, “I do not wish ours to be a marriage in name only.”

  Rockford’s fingers stopped caressing the sculpture. That was not in his plan, not at all. “You agreed—”

  She raised her chin. “I want a daughter.”

  The ivory goddess hit the desk.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Hell.” he cursed, then begged her pardon. Or that of the many-armed goddess now in many pieces. Bedding his wife was not only not part of his plan, but it was not part of his life. He did not want to be involved with a woman. Any woman. The Austrian princess was business, not pleasure, he told himself. No emotions were involved. No unruly passions were raised, at least not his. The princess was known to toss the occasional knickknack.

  His former marriages had accounted for some of the most unpleasant intervals of Rockford’s life, years filled with tears and shouts and sulks and scenes, especially when his wives were increasing. And those women he had wed were ladies. Heaven knew what Mrs. Henning, his new countess, would subject him to. She was already off to a good start, if her aim was to destroy his home, his career, and his peace of mind.

  “Dash it,” he said, “how could you want another infant when you have enough children to satisfy the maternal instincts of a queen bee? And if your sister is not young enough to count as a daughter, go adopt one. I am certain there are any number of moppets languishing in orphanages. Or I could have my secretary put an advertisement in the paper, if I still had a secretary, that is, for a family with extras. I’d think people would be glad to see a daughter go to a good home. Plaguey nuisances, girls. Just look at my sister.”

  “No.”

  He carefully swept the fragments of the goddess into a pile on his desk while he wondered how the nondescript nobody he’d married had turned into a woman of such strong convictions. He had admired her pluck, but independence was better at a distance. Now she was staring straight at him, daring him to disagree, as if they were equals.

  “You owe me a baby. Nothing was ever said about not honoring the marriage vows. That is part of what marriage means to me.”

  Equals, hell. The female was far better at this than he was. He had to try, though. “I do not recall the vicar telling us to go forth and multiply. Did I miss that part?”


  “Marriage is a sacred rite for the begetting of children.”

  “Oh, no, it is not. Marriage makes offspring legitimate. It does not demand them.”

  “You never said you felt that way.”

  “And you never said you wanted more children.”

  “I never had the chance. I would have on our wedding night, when we consummated the marriage.”

  “Confound it, I could not force myself on a woman who hardly knew me. I thought that would offend you.”

  She stared at her hands laced in her lap. “I am a widow, Robert, not a virgin.”

  There was his name again. Lud, last time he’d repeated it to himself to see if the unfamiliar syllables had any effect. They had not, not giving him the slightest inclination to leap across his desk, the way he did now. Unseemly, that’s what it was. Beneath his dignity.

  He had to get her out of here. Out of the country would be better, but—

  “Very well, you can stay for a day or too. Until I have straightened out the mess with Sir George. I cannot travel to Rock Hill at this moment, but a letter should suffice. I’ll make sure the maggot knows what will happen if he steps over the line.”

  “And the other?”

  “The tutor? I will make inquiries at my clubs, send a message to my college. I am certain—”

  “Not the tutor.”

  Damned persistent female. “I will think about it,” he muttered.

  “See that you do, Robert. I will not return to the country otherwise.”

  He stood up. “I have the right to send you where I will.”

  She stood up and faced him across the desk. “And I have the right to a marriage. I mean to have one.”

  “But if those children damage one—”

  There were two crashes from the hallway. One sounded like the Etruscan vase; the other might have been the Chinese urn cane holder. Or Claymore tripping over a dog.

  Bloody hell.

  *

  He was a rake, Alissa thought later, dressing for dinner in her finest gown, with jewels Claymore had insisted she bring. Why would he not leap at the chance to share her bed? She was a willing woman, rightfully his. Could he be one of those men who did not like women? He disliked females in general, she thought, but not in that way, from all she had heard. And if he suffered some physical impairment, what was he doing out all night with the Austrian princess? Playing at charades? No, Rockford was a thoroughly virile man. He simply did not think Alissa was worthy of his attentions. She fussed over her toilette far longer than usual, to prove him wrong.

  Both her sister and his had refused to attend the dinner party. Eleanor claimed they were always dull affairs, while Amy swore she’d go off in spasms if she had to sit with visiting royalty. Rather than letting them escape entirely, and leaving her entirely on her own, Alissa insisted they both accompany the boys down to the drawing room while sherry was served before dinner. They would not have to stay, she told Amy and Eleanor, but the guests had to see that Rockford was not embarrassed by their presence, was not hiding them from view.

  Eleanor had rudiments of German, and so could speak to one of the princess’s ladies in waiting. The archduke’s privy councillor had some English, so complimented Alissa on her beautiful home, of which she had seen almost nothing, and her handsome children, shepherded by Aminta. As always, Alissa was gratified at the praise to her boys and smiled at the Austrian count, until she saw Rockford scowling at Hugo.

  “Excuse me, Herr Minsch,” she said. “My husband needs me.”

  He needed her to go home, and take her blasted brood with her. “What is the boy doing, bothering the Austrian prince?” He spoke for her ears only, keeping a careful smile on his face for the rest of the company.

  Alissa glanced in Hugo’s direction. “The last I heard, although I could not understand much of the conversation, of course, they were discussing Euclidean geometry.”

  “His Highness does not speak English.”

  “No matter. Hugo is quite fluent in German, including several dialects. Also French, Italian, and Spanish, although he believes his pronunciation might need polishing, since he has heard so little of it spoken. There is Latin and Greek, naturally. Romany, from when a band of Gypsies passed through near his grandparents’ home. He has a smattering of Russian, now that we found him an alphabet primer, and I believe he located a Norwegian textbook in your library. I have no doubt he will have mastered it soon,” she said, pride in her voice. “Of course, the proper tutor would help.”

  Rockford was no longer listening. “In my library? That is, Hugo? I mean Rothmore?”

  “Naturally. He is your son. I am sorry to say he seems to have inherited your ancestors’ nose along with your skill at languages. Did you notice his resemblance to Lady Eleanor?”

  The Ziftsweig prince was smiling, patting the boy on the shoulder. By Jove, Rockford thought, perhaps Hugo was his son after all.

  The dinner went well, considering that the hostess could converse with only one of the guests, and that haltingly. Smiles seemed to suffice, especially after Claymore served a magnificent meal. Her dinner partners were more interested in the food than conversation after that.

  Afterward, the Austrian ladies gathered at one side of the long Adams parlor, pointedly ignoring Alissa, following Princess Helga’s example. Alissa kept her smile fixed, her spine straight, and took a seat at the pianoforte. She had never played such a superb instrument, and had not owned one of her own since before her marriage, but had kept her skills honed by playing at the vicar’s house and for local assemblies. She was no virtuoso, but did not embarrass herself either. When the men returned, they nodded approvingly and went on conversing over state matters while she played softly. Her husband, the most handsome man there, did not smile.

  Rockford was stunned. His son. His wife. The congratulations of everyone except her highness. He had never made so many miscalculations in his life. He could not wait for the guests to leave so he could go upstairs—and quiz Hugo on his studies. No wonder Alissa could not find him a proper tutor. And the boy did not seem sickly either. The young viscount had withstood a hearty clap on the back from the archduke in farewell.

  His son.

  His blue superfine coat almost burst its seams as his chest expanded. His heir. His wife.

  Alissa was managing superbly, his little country mouse, without speaking a word. She played well, without drawing attention to herself, and looked finer than any of the other women present. She wore the Rothmore rubies as if she were royalty, and the frowning princess were a mere overweight Teuton in a tiara.

  His wife. Rockford could not get over it. His first wife, the one who was born and bred to be the perfect political hostess, had found such dinners too tedious to endure. As soon as she became pregnant, having done her duty, she’d fled back to her parents’ home. To have the child with her mother nearby, she had said. To reunite with her lover, he still believed.

  Instead of helping his career, as he had expected, his second wife much preferred her own literary salons, where the men wore their hair longer than the women, and they all pretended to understand the latest poetry that never rhymed.

  He had had no expectations of Mrs. Henning at all. Had never conceived of her in this room, in this house, in this company, yet here she was, shining like the purest moonbeam on a cloudless night. She was wearing his rubies, his ring, and a clinging silk gown that left nothing to a man’s imagination, except how he was going to get her out of it.

  Rockford could not go visit his son in the nursery whenever the guests left. He had a previous commitment, and was half-aroused at the idea. The other half was outraged that he was being so manipulated by an encroaching female, and by his own body. He was no youth to surrender to ungoverned lust, by George. He just hurried the Austrians out of the house an hour early, that was all.

  *

  On her wedding night—her wedding to Rockford, that is, for she was already carrying Kendall on her wedding to Henning—Alissa had spent
agonizing ages preparing for his arrival, selecting the nightgown and the flowers, having everything in her bedchamber laid out just so. Now she did not care, she was so angry. She did not care if her hair was left unbraided or the fire went out. She did not care if he came at all, the overbearing ape.

  He came, naturally, while she was swiping the brush through her hair with quick, angry motions. He watched from the connecting door a minute, until she became aware of his presence in the mirror of her dressing table. Alissa did not care that her sheer gown was backlit by candles, nor that the view caused her husband to take a sharp breath. She did not even care that he was wearing nothing, it appeared, but a paisley silk robe and chest hair.

  She glared at him and kept brushing. “How dare you?”

  To say Rockford was confused would be an overstatement. His body was crying in disappointment. His brain was sighing in relief. He could go back to his own room, she would leave, he would be his own man. Without getting to touch that waterfall of soft brown curls. “Damn it. I thought this was a command appearance. Decide what you want, woman, once and for all.”

  “How dare you countermand my orders to bed the dogs in the stables?”

  “That’s what this tempest is about, who sleeps in the boys’ beds, not who sleeps in yours?” His blood raced south.

  “I do not like the animals near my sons. They could carry disease or vermin. I specifically said the creatures have to stay in the stables.”

  He shrugged, unconsciously letting the lapels of his dressing gown fall open more. “The dogs appear healthy enough. And I thought that a better arrangement than having the boys run back and forth to the mews. This is London, not the country. If you recall, the country is not entirely safe either. London is worse.”

  “Heavens, I never thought Sir George would come after my sons.”

  Rockford damned his tongue. “Of course he would not, not at Rothmore House. But there might be other villains or vagrants about. With luck one of the pups will turn out to be a watchdog to warn if anyone comes near the nursery.”

  Alissa never thought of a dog as protection, only as predator. Perhaps Rockford was right. “Still, you should have consulted me.”