Brighter Than the Sun Read online

  “What the devil?” Ellie pawed at his arms as she tried to wriggle out of his grasp. “Let go of me, you cur.”

  “Give me the list.”

  Ellie, who was now supine on the floor, stretched her arm out over her head. “Get off me!”

  “The list!” he roared.

  Ellie, unable to think of any alternative, kneed him in the stomach and scurried across the room. She stood up and frantically read the paper in her hands while he caught his breath. Her eyes scanned the lines, found number five, and then she shouted, “You bastard!”

  Charles just groaned, clutching at his midsection.

  “I should have planted my knee lower,” she hissed.

  “Stop overreacting, Ellie.”

  “‘Number Five,’” she read in a prissy voice. “‘She must be worldly enough to overlook my affairs, and may not conduct any of her own until she has produced at least two heirs.’”

  Put that way, Charles conceded, it did sound a bit cold. “Ellie,” he said placatingly, “surely you realize that I wrote this before I met you.”

  “What difference does that make?”

  “A world of difference. It…ah…it…”

  “Am I meant to believe that you fell so head over heels in love with me that all of your notions of marriage were suddenly overthrown?”

  Her dark blue eyes seemed to flash fire and ice at the same time, and Charles wasn't sure whether he should be feeling apprehension or desire. He thought about saying something asinine like, “You're beautiful when you're angry.” It had always worked wonders on his mistresses, but he had a feeling it wouldn't bring much success with his wife.

  He glanced somewhat hesitantly in her direction. She was standing across the room, her posture militant, her hands fisted at her sides. The damned list lay crumpled on the floor. When she caught him looking at her, she glared even harder, and Charles rather thought that he could hear thunder.

  No doubt about it, he'd botched this one up but good.

  Her intellect, he suddenly thought. He was going to have to appeal to her intellect and reason this out with her. She prided herself on her sensibility and levelheadedness, didn't she? “Ellie,” he began, “we never did have the opportunity to discuss marriage with each other.”

  “No,” she bit out, her words dripping acid, “we merely married each other.”

  “I allow that our nuptials were somewhat hasty, but we had good reason to act quickly.”

  “You had good reason,” she retorted.

  “Don't try to act as if I have taken advantage of you,” he replied, his voice growing impatient. “You needed this marriage every bit as much as I did.”

  “I didn't get as much out of it, though.”

  “You have no idea what you're getting out of it! You are a countess now. You have more wealth than you have ever dreamed of.” He started at her. Hard. “Don't insult me by playing the victim.”

  “I have a title. And I have wealth. And I also have a husband to whom I must answer. A husband who does not seem to see anything wrong with treating me like chattel.”

  “Eleanor, you're growing unreasonable. I don't want to argue with you.”

  “Have you noticed that you only call me Eleanor when you are speaking to me like a child?”

  Charles counted to three and then said, “Ton marriages are based on the premise that both parties are mature enough to respect each other's choices.”

  She started at him, openmouthed. “Do you have any idea what you just said?”

  “Ellie…”

  “I think what you just said is that I may also be unfaithful if I so choose.”

  “Don't be silly.”

  “After the heir and the spare, of course, as you so eloquently spelled out.” She sat down on an ottoman, clearly lost in thought. “Freedom to live my life as I choose, with whom I choose. It's intriguing.”

  As Charles stood there, watching her contemplate adultery, his previous views on marriage suddenly sounded as appealing as mud. “You can't do anything about it now,” he said. “It's considered very bad form to have an affair before you produce an heir.”

  She started to laugh. “Item number four suddenly takes on new meaning.”

  He looked at her with a blank expression.

  “You wanted someone who could move about your social milieu with ease. Clearly I am going to have to master the intricacies of what is bad form and what is not. Let's see…” She began to tap her forefinger against her jawbone, and Charles had the urge to yank her hand away, just to wipe that sarcastic expression from her face. “It is bad form to carry on an affair too soon in the marriage,” she continued, “but is it bad form to have more than one lover at once? I shall have to investigate that.”

  Charles felt his face growing quite hot, and a muscle was pounding furiously in his temple.

  “It is probably bad form to have an affair with one of your friends, but is it bad form to have one with a distant cousin?”

  He was starting to see everything through a strange red haze.

  “I am almost certain it would be bad form to entertain a lover here in our home,” she continued, “but I'm not sure where—”

  A strangled, hoarse, half-shout-half-grunt erupted from his throat and he launched himself at her. “Stop!” he yelled. “Just stop.”

  “Charles!” She squirmed frantically beneath him, which only served to make him crazier.

  “Not another word,” he rasped, his eyes burning hot holes into her skin. “If you utter one more word, so help me God, I will not be responsible for what I do.”

  “But I—”

  At the sound of her voice, his fingers bit into her shoulders. His muscles shook, and his eyes grew wild, as if he no longer knew or cared what he did next.

  Ellie stared up at him, suddenly quite wary. “Charles,” she whispered, “maybe you shouldn't…”

  “Maybe I should.”

  She opened her mouth to protect, but before she could make a sound he devoured her with a fiery kiss. It felt as if his mouth were everywhere—on her cheeks, on her neck, on her lips. His hands roved up and down her body, pausing to squeeze the curve of her lips and the fullness of her breasts.

  Ellie could feel the passion rising within him, and she felt it within herself as well. He ground his hips into hers. She could feel his arousal as he pressed her deeper into the ottoman, and it took several seconds for her to realize that she was meeting his thrusts with her own.

  He was seducing her in anger, and she was responding. The mere thought of it was enough to douse her passion cold, and she shoved her hands against his shoulders, squirming out from under him. She made it across the room before he was on his feet.

  “How dare you,” she breathed. “How dare you.”

  Charles lifted one shoulder in an insolent shrug. “It was either kiss you or kill you. I thought I made the right choice.” He strode to the connecting door and put his hand on the knob. “Don't prove me wrong.”

  Chapter 10

  Charles awoke the next morning with a thundering headache. His new wife seemed to have the ability to make him feel hideously hungover without his having imbibed a drop.

  There was no doubt about it. Marriage was not good for one's health.

  After washing and dressing, he decided that he ought to seek Ellie out and see how she was faring. He hadn't the least idea what he should say to her, but it did seem as if he ought to say something.

  What he wanted to say was, “Your apology is accepted,” but that required that she actually apologize for her scandalous talk the night before, and he doubted she was going to do that.

  He rapped on the connecting door and waited for an answer. When none came, he opened the door a crack and called out her name. There was still no response, so he pushed the door open a little wider and poked his head in.

  “Ellie?” He glanced at her bed and was surprised to see it neatly made. The servants hadn't come to clean yet that morning. He could be certain of this becau
se he had instructed them to leave fresh flowers on his wife's vanity table every morning, and yesterday's violets were still in evidence.

  He shook his head, realizing that his wife had made her own bed. He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised. She was quite a capable woman.

  Ovens excepted, of course.

  Charles wandered downstairs to the breakfast room, but instead of his wife, he found only Helen, Claire, and Judith.

  “Charles!” Claire cried out upon seeing him enter through the doorway. She jumped to her feet.

  “And how is my favorite fourteen-year-old cousin this bright morning?” he said as he took her hand and gallantly kissed it. Young girls loved that sort of romantic nonsense, and he doted on Claire enough to remember to treat her to such grand gestures.

  “I am very well, thank you,” Claire replied. “Won't you join us for breakfast?”

  “I think I will,” Charles murmured as he took a seat.

  “We are not,” Claire added, “having toast.”

  This earned her a reproving look from Helen, but Charles couldn't help but chuckle as he speared a slice of ham.

  “You may kiss my hand, too,” Judith said.

  “A pox on me for having forgotten,” Charles said, rising to his feet. He took Judith's hand and raised it to his lips. “My dear Princess Judith, a thousand apologies.”

  Judith giggled as Charles sat back down. “Where is my wife, I wonder?” he said.

  “I have not seen her,” Claire put in.

  Helen cleared her throat. “Eleanor and I are both early risers, and I saw her here at breakfast before Claire and Judith came down.”

  “Was she eating toast?” her older daughter asked.

  Charles coughed to cover a laugh. Really, it wouldn't do to laugh at one's wife in front of one's relations. Even if one was tremendously displeased with said wife.

  “I believe she had a biscuit,” Helen said sharply. “And I will ask you not to bring up the matter again, Claire. Your new cousin is very sensitive about the mishap.”

  “She is my cousin-in-law. And it wasn't a mishap. It was a fire.”

  “It was yesterday,” Charles interjected, “and I have completely forgotten it.”

  Claire frowned, and Helen continued with, “I believe Ellie said she was planning to inspect the orangery. She mentioned that she is an avid gardener.”

  “Is the orangery fireproof?” Claire asked.

  Charles leveled a stern stare in her direction. “Claire, that is enough.”

  Claire frowned again but kept quiet.

  Then, as the three of them regarded each other in silence, a sharp cry pierced the air.

  “Fire!”

  “See!” Claire yelled, sounding a bit smug. “See! I told you she would set fire to the orangery.”

  “Another fire?” Judith asked, looking rather delighted by the prospect. “Oh, Ellie is ever so exciting.”

  “Judith,” her mother said in a weary voice, “fires are not exciting. And Claire, you know very well that is only Aunt Cordelia. I am certain nothing is on fire.”

  As if just to prove Helen's point, Cordelia ran through the breakfast room, letting out another cry of, “Fire!” She skidded past the table and through the doorway to the formal dining room, off to destinations unknown.

  “There,” Helen said. “It is just Cordelia. There is no fire.”

  Charles was inclined to agree with Helen, but after the previous day's blaze, he found himself a touch nervous. He wiped his mouth with his napkin and stood. “Er, I believe I will take a short walk,” he improvised. He didn't want his cousins to think he was checking up on his wife.

  “But you barely touched your food,” Claire protested.

  “I'm not very hungry,” Charles said quickly, mentally calculating how fast a fire could spread in the orangery. “I'll see you at the midday meal.” He turned on his heel and strode out, breaking into a run as soon as he was out of sight of the breakfast room.

  Ellie patted the dirt around a flowering bush, marveling at the wondrous orangery. She had heard of such structures before, but had never actually seen one. The climate was kept warm enough to grow plants all year 'round, even orange trees, which she knew preferred a more tropical clime. Her mouth watered as she touched the leaves of the orange tree. It wasn't giving fruit now but come spring and summer—oh, it would be lovely.

  She could get used to luxury, she decided, if it meant that she could eat oranges all summer long.

  She wandered about the orangery, inspecting the various plants. Ellie couldn't wait to get her hands on some of the rosebushes. She had loved to putter about in her father's garden. This had to be the best benefit from her hasty marriage—the opportunity to garden all year long.

  She was kneeling down, trying to get a sense of the root system of a particular plant, when she heard a fast footfall growing near. As she looked up, she saw Charles dash into the orangery. Or rather, he dashed to the doorway, then deliberately slowed his pace, as if he didn't want her to know he'd been running.

  “Oh,” she said flatly. “It's you.”

  “Were you expecting someone else?” He looked around the room, apparently searching for something.

  “Of course not. I simply didn't think you would seek me out.”

  “Why would you think that?” he asked distractedly, still obviously looking for something.

  Ellie stared at him. “Have you a deficient memory, my lord?”

  He didn't appear to hear her, so she said loudly, “Charles!”

  His head snapped around. “Yes?”

  “What are you looking for?”

  “Nothing.”

  Just then Cordelia dashed into the orangery and yelled, “Fire! There's a fire, I say!”

  Ellie watched her new great-aunt run back out, then turned to Charles with an accusing expression. “You thought I set fire to the orangery, didn't you?”

  “Of course not,” he replied.

  “For the love of—” Ellie caught herself before she blasphemed. Really, her father would have a fit if he'd heard how badly her language had deteriorated in the two days since she'd left his household. Marriage was having a bad effect on her temper, that was certain.

  Charles looked at the ground, suddenly feeling rather ashamed. His aunt Cordelia had been crying, “Fire!” once a day since he could remember. He should have had a bit more faith in his wife. “Do you like to garden?” he mumbled.

  “Yes. I hope you will not mind if I do some work in here.”

  “Not at all.”

  They stood silently for a full thirty seconds. Ellie tapped her toe. Charles drummed his fingers against his thigh. Finally Ellie reminded herself that she wasn't naturally a meek person and she blurted out, “You're still angry with me, aren't you?”

  He looked up, clearly surprised that she'd voiced the question. “That might be one way of describing it.”

  “I'm angry with you, too.”

  “That fact has not escaped my notice.”

  His dry tone infuriated her. It was as if he were making fun of her distress. “I'll have you know,” she stormed, “that I never imagined my marriage as the dry, bloodless contract you seem to anticipate.”

  He chuckled and crossed his arms. “You probably never imagined being married to me.”

  “If that isn't the most egotistical—”

  “And furthermore,” he interrupted, “if our marriage is ‘bloodless,’ as you so delicately put it, it is because you have chosen not to consummate the union.”

  Ellie gasped at his crudeness. “You, sir, are despicable.”

  “No, I merely want you. Why, for the life of me I don't know. But I do.”

  “Does lust always make men so horrid?”

  He shrugged. “I wouldn't know. I've never had this much difficulty getting a woman into bed before. And I was never married to any of the other ones.”

  Ellie gasped again. She certainly didn't know the ins and outs of a typical ton marriage, but she was f
airly certain husbands weren't supposed to discuss their amorous pursuits in front of their wives. “I do not have to listen to this kind of talk,” she said. “I'm leaving.”

  She made it halfway to the door when she turned around. “No,” she said, “I want to garden. You leave.”

  “Ellie, may I point out that this is my house?”

  “It is my house now, too. I want to garden. You don't. Therefore, you leave.”

  “Eleanor…”

  “I am finding it very difficult to fully appreciate the pleasure of your company,” she ground out.

  Charles shook his head. “Fine. Sink yourself into the dirt up to your elbows if you wish. I have better things to do than stand here and argue with you.”

  “As have I.”

  “Fine.”

  “Fine!” He stomped out.

  Ellie rather thought they sounded like a pair of squabbling children, but at that point she was too enraged to care.

  The newlyweds managed to avoid each other's company for two days, and they probably would have been able to continue in this solitary manner for even longer had not disaster struck.

  Ellie was breakfasting when Helen entered the small dining room, her face scrunched up in an expression of distaste.

  “Is something amiss, Helen?” Ellie asked, trying not to notice that the kitchen still hadn't resumed service of toast.

  “Have you any idea what that dreadful smell in the south wing is? I nearly swooned on my way over.”

  “I didn't notice any smell. I came down by way of the side stairs, and…” Ellie's heart dropped. The orangery. Oh, please, not the orangery. It was off the south wing. “Oh, dear,” she mumbled, jumping to her feet. She ran through the halls, Helen right behind her. If something had happened in the orangery she didn't know what she would do. It was the only place in this Godforsaken mausoleum she felt at home.

  As Ellie neared her destination, a terrible, rotten stench assaulted her. “Oh, my word!” she gasped. “What is that?”

  “It's awful, isn't it?” Helen agreed.