Chapter 5
Gaby willed herself to wake early on the morning after she had given Snowy the note for her brother Art. She didn’t entirely trust Snowy to rise at a reasonable hour, and she was prepared to have the servants rouse him if necessary.
It meant she did not sleep particularly soundly, and when she did, her dreams were fragmented and disturbing, featuring as they did her husband in all his naked glory, making exquisite love to her—and yet only a confusing moment later it was not Gaby but Lady Winmore who was the recipient of his attentions.
Confusion, grief and anger accompanied her into wakefulness.
Snowy had been in the dreams somewhere too, as had Nicholas, worst of her brothers, bashing away at the Corey rubies with a hammer in order to break them out of their settings to sell.
Fortunately, the full horror faded quickly into the very real sounds of a solitary horse trotting through the gravel on the drive below.
She sprang out of bed and rushed to the window in time to glimpse a horseman moving just out of her line of vision.
Bolting into the sitting room for a better view, she caught him heading down the drive.
His shape had long been familiar, as was the rakish angle of his hat.
Snowy, she thought with relief. Good man!
Pleased, she turned from the window just as a soft knock sounded at the connecting door to Corey’s rooms. Her heart gave a huge leap, paralyzing her somewhere between calling “Come in!” and bolting back to the protection of her bed.
In that moment, a hundred possibilities, hopes, and desires flitted through her mind, but she was so stupid with surprise that she did nothing but stand there, poised for flight but staring at the door.
Until her husband strolled in and paused, apparently as frozen as she.
She had not seen him in anything but formal dress since the morning after their wedding.
Now, he wore only a loose, white shirt tucked casually into riding breeches.
The strong column of his exposed throat led down to a glimpse of muscled, masculine chest, where once she had lain her head and kissed his glistening skin…
She swallowed, raising her gaze back to his face. His eyes seemed to have darkened, not with displeasure but with desire. Her whole body flushed in response. She could think of nothing to say.
“Good morning,” he said lightly. “I was not sure you would be awake. Since you are, would you care to accompany me on a morning ride? There is some pretty country here.”
Never, in all their weeks together at Sanford Park, had he invited her to ride with him. In the early days, she had hoped to come upon him by accident or design, to take him by surprise and see if that might melt his ice. She never had and came to the conclusion that he simply avoided her.
For a very small instant, wicked pride urged her to drawl, Oh, not this morning, my lord. I am much too fatigued. But that was the kind of nonsense that had kept them apart. Last night he had kissed her, for the first time in months. And there were many things she needed to get to the bottom of.
So she followed her heart. “Why not?” she said lightly. “Give me five minutes to dress.”
“I’ll give you twenty.”
Deliberately, she sauntered rather than fled toward the bedchamber, and she knew with novel exultation that his gaze followed her.
She could feel his eyes burning into the fine lawn of her night rail, which revealed far more of her outline than was seemly.
She let her hips sway and longed for him to charge after her and seize her in his arms…
He didn’t. But neither did he leave. She had shut her bedchamber door several seconds before she heard the click of the connecting door closing. Smiling with excitement, she ran to the bell pull and rang for Hawkins before rummaging in her wardrobe for her riding habit.
* * *
“You are quite the bruising rider,” Corey said admiringly when they slowed from their exhilarating gallop across the Downs. “Did your father teach you?”
She laughed. “Lord, no. He never taught us anything. Art and I learned for ourselves, with the odd bit of advice from our old groom, who did his best to be sure we didn’t ride any horse that would throw us to our doom.
It was he who persuaded me to ride with a lady’s saddle, which seemed extremely stupid to me at the time.
Actually, it still does, but even a Raymond must bow to some rules of society. ”
His eyes gleamed. “You are right, of course. It is stupid, not to say dangerous. I sometimes wonder if men invented such a saddle just to make sure women would never be able to out-ride them.”
She eyed him. “You think I cannot out-ride you?”
“After that performance, I am not so foolish.”
They rode on, talking desultorily about horses, and then lapsed into a companionable silence.
Into it, Corey said casually, “If I answer your question, will you answer one of mine?”
She blinked. “What question?”
“Last night, you asked why I had married you. If I tell you, will you answer me honestly in return?”
“Yes,” she said, without having to think about it. Her heart beat quickened, for she was far from sure she would like his answer, but if they were ever to make their marriage successful on any level, then she needed to know.
She heard the catch in his breath, saw the faint tensing of his fingers on the reins. This was not easy for him. Was that a good or a bad sign?
He gazed upward at the clear, bright autumn sky, as though for inspiration.
“I offered for you on an overwhelming impulse, because you were like no one else I had ever met or imagined. Because your natural spirit and laughter enchanted me, because your every word intrigued and fascinated me. Because of how you felt in my arms when we danced. And because I liked—more than liked—how you looked. In short, I desired your body and your soul more intensely than I had ever felt anything.”
His words washed over her with shock and triumph. She had been right in the beginning! And it was so sweet to hear that she could not yet even wonder what had gone wrong.
He turned and caught her no-doubt adoring gaze. His own eyes were guarded, but steady and warm. “Why did you marry me?”
“Because I loved you.” She did not even think of lying. It was the unvarnished truth.
And yet he did not smile. He did not reach for her, nor show any joy in his expression. Instead, he looked almost…desperate. And thoroughly disappointed.
He cannot bear me, not in reality… Nor did he want a loving wife. He wanted a comfortable marriage of convenience so that he could cavort with the likes of Lady Winmore, unencumbered by guilt. She should have noticed that in his charming speech he had never once mentioned love.
She let out a bitter laugh and urged her tired horse back into a canter, just to get away from the unbearable sight of her husband’s dissatisfaction.
“Don’t let it embarrass you, Leo,” she threw over her shoulder. “I don’t. Naturally, there was also your fortune.”
* * *
In truth, Gabriella had disappointed him.
She had not returned his honesty by explaining about Livesey-White.
She had not trusted him enough to give more than the stock lie of love.
One did not tumble into love in a day, which was why he had avoided using the word.
The fall might have begun, full of sweet promise and pleasure.
But there could be no true love without trust. And clearly, she still did not trust him.
He urged his horse after hers, but the fun as well as the companionship had gone. They were almost back at Normanton House before he realized the significance of her parting shot.
Leo. She had called him Leo for the first time since their wedding night.
And that, spoken while in the grip of some turbulent emotion he could not grasp, gave him hope.
And so, he made sure it was he who lifted her from the saddle, smiling down at her with his hands still lightly on her waist.
“Thank you for your company. Shall we do it again?”
Confusion entered her cool, withdrawn eyes.
“Excellent,” he said, as though she had answered. “I think we must be in good time for breakfast.”
It was only a beginning. He had, after all, given her little reason to trust him. But he had started the conversation.
Careful not to crowd her, he gave her time to think over his words, to realize he was not angry with her, merely wanted the greater closeness of truth.
So, he did not seek her out particularly during the rest of the day’s entertainments, or the next day’s, merely acknowledged her with open pleasure whenever they were thrown together.
He had the impression she was bewildered, but she also began to look tense and worried to his eyes, and that he could not bear.
So, as it approached the dinner hour on the day after their morning ride, he knocked once more on the connecting door and entered her sitting room. For a disappointing moment, he thought he was too late to catch her, and then he heard the faint sound of voices in the bedchamber.
“Gabriella?” he called.
The voices cut off like a tap. The door to the bedchamber opened and the maid, Hawkins, came out.
“My lady is just choosing jewelry, my lord.”
“I can help with that, so you may go,” he said. “If your mistress needs you for nothing else?” he added, strolling past Hawkins into the bedchamber.
His wife, elegantly coiffured and dressed in an exquisite evening gown of dusky rose silk, was seated at the dressing table. She twisted round to face him, her eyes wide with either alarm or astonishment at his unprecedented invasion.
“Yes, you may go, Hawkins,” she said hurriedly. “Thank you.”
A small, chest-shaped jewelry box stood open in front of her. One of its several drawers was open to reveal the pearl necklace that had been his wedding gift. The matching earrings already adorned her pretty ears.
“I shan’t be long,” she said cooly. “But do go down without me.”