Brighter Than the Sun Page 6

  He took the small piece from her hands and regarded the raven-haired woman in the portrait. “She was beautiful,” he said, his voice quiet.

  “Yes, she was.”

  “She was quite dark.”

  “Yes, my sister Victoria resembles her. This”—Ellie touched a piece of red-gold hair that had escaped her neat chignon—“was quite a surprise, I'm sure.”

  Charles leaned down to kiss her hand. “A most delightful surprise.”

  “Yes,” Mrs. Foxglove said loudly, clearly not enjoying being ignored, “we have never known what to do with Eleanor's hair.”

  “I know exactly what to do with it,” Charles murmured, so softly that only Ellie could hear him. She immediately colored beet red.

  Charles grinned and said, “We'd best be off. Mrs. Foxglove, it was a pleasure.”

  “But you only just—”

  “Eleanor, shall we?” He grasped her hand and pulled her through the doorway. As soon as they were out of Mrs. Foxglove's earshot he let out a light laugh and said, “The closest of escapes. I thought she would never let us go.”

  Ellie turned to him, hands fiercely on her hips. “Why did you say that?”

  “What, that comment about your hair? I do so love to tease you. Were you embarrassed?”

  “Of course not. I've grown surprisedly used to your rakish statements in the three days I've known you.”

  “Then what is the problem?”

  “You made me blush,” she ground out.

  “I thought you were used to my rakish statements, as you so delicately put it.”

  “I am. But that doesn't mean I won't blush.”

  Charles blinked and looked to her left, as if he were speaking to an imaginary companion. “I say, is she speaking English? I vow I have completely lost hold of this conversation.”

  “Did you hear what she said about my hair?” Ellie demanded. “‘We have never known what to do,’ she said. As if she has had a place in my life for years. As if I would let her have a place.”

  “Yes…?” Charles prompted.

  “I wanted to skewer her with a stare, flay her with a frown, impale her with a—I say, what are you doing?”

  Charles would have answered her, but he was laughing so hard he was doubled over.

  “The blush quite ruined the effect,” she muttered. “How was I to give her the cut direct when my cheeks were the color of poppies? Now she'll never know how furious I am with her.”

  “Oh, I'd say she knows,” Charles gasped, still laughing at Ellie's attempt at righteous indignation.

  “I'm not certain I approve of your making light of my deplorable situation.”

  “You're not certain? It seems rather clear to me.” He reached out and playfully brushed his index finger against the corner of her mouth. “That's a rather telling frown.”

  Ellie didn't know what to say, and she hated not knowing what to say, so she just crossed her arms and made a sound like, “Hmmmph.”

  He let out a dramatic sigh. “Are you going to be in a disagreeable mood all afternoon? Because if you are, I happen to have brought along the Times for our picnic, and I can certainly read it while you stare at the countryside and meditate upon the fifty different ways you'd like to do your future stepmother in.”

  Ellie's jaw dropped, but she snapped it back into place in time to retort, “I've at least eighty methods in mind, thank you very much, and I shouldn't mind if you read at all, as long as I get the financial pages.” She allowed herself a small smile.

  Charles chuckled as he offered her his arm. “Actually, I was planning to check some of my investments, but I wouldn't be averse to sharing with you.”

  Ellie thought about how close they would have to sit in order to read the paper together on the picnic blanket. “I bet you wouldn't,” she muttered. Then she felt rather stupid, because such a comment implied that he wanted to seduce her, and she was fairly certain that women were more or less interchangeable in Charles's mind. Oh, he was going to marry her, that was true, but Ellie had a sinking suspicion that she had been chosen because she was convenient. After all, he himself had told her that he had barely a fortnight to find a bride.

  He seemed to enjoy kissing her, but he'd probably enjoy kissing any woman, save for Mrs. Foxglove. And he had clearly spelled out to her the main reason why he wanted to consummate the marriage. What was that he'd said? A man in his position must beget an heir.

  “You look rather serious,” Charles commented, causing her to look up at him and blink several times.

  She coughed and touched her head in a reflexive manner. “Oh, dear!” she suddenly burst out. “I've forgotten my bonnet.”

  “Leave it,” Charles instructed.

  “I cannot go out without one.”

  “No one will see you. We are only going to the meadow.”

  “But—”

  “But what?”

  She let out an irritated exhale. “I shall freckle.”

  “That doesn't bother me,” he said with a shrug.

  “It bothers me!”

  “Don't worry. They'll be on your own face, so you won't have to see them.”

  Ellie gaped at him, astounded by his illogic.

  “The simple fact is,” he continued, “that I like to see your hair.”

  “But it's—”

  “Red,” he finished for her. “I know. I wish you'd cease persisting in calling it that common color when it's really so much more than that.”

  “Really, my lord, it's only hair.”

  “Is it?” he murmured.

  Ellie rolled her eyes, deciding that it must be time for a change of subject. Something, perhaps, that obeyed ordinary rules of logic. “How does your ankle fare? I noticed you are no longer using the cane.”

  “Very well. I've still a bit of pain, and I do find myself limping, but I don't appear to be any worse for having fallen out of a tree.”

  She pursed her lips waspishly. “You shouldn't climb trees on a stomach full of whiskey.”

  “Sounding like a wife already,” Charles murmured, helping her up into the curricle.

  “One must practice, mustn't one?” she returned, determined not to let him get the last word, even if her own last words were less than inspired.

  “I suppose.” He looked down his nose and pretended to inspect his ankle, then hopped up into the curricle. “No, the fall doesn't seem to have done any permanent damage. Although,” he added wickedly, “the rest of me is quite black and blue from my altercation yesterday.”

  “Altercation?” Ellie's lips parted in concerned surprise. “What happened? Are you quite all right?”

  He shrugged and sighed in mock resignation as he snapped the reins and set the horses in motion. “I was tackled to the carpet by a wet, red-haired virago.”

  “Oh.” She swallowed uncomfortably and looked out the side, watching as the village of Bellfield rolled by. “I beg your pardon. I was not myself.”

  “Really? I'd say you were precisely yourself.”

  “I beg your pardon.”

  He smiled. “Have you noticed that you always say, ‘I beg your pardon’ when you don't know what to say?”

  Ellie stopped herself a split second before she said, “I beg your pardon,” again.

  “You're not usually at a loss for words, are you?” He didn't give her time to reply before he said, “It's rather fun befuddling you.”

  “You don't befuddle me.”

  “No?” he murmured, touching his finger to the corner of her mouth. “Then why are your lips quivering as if you have something you desperately wish to say, only you don't know how to say it?”

  “I know exactly what I want to say, you fiendish little snake.”

  “I stand corrected,” he said with an amused laugh. “Evidently you are in complete command of your rather extensive vocabulary.”

  “Why must everything be such a game to you?”

  “Why shouldn't it be?” he countered.

  “Because…because…”
Ellie's words trailed off when she realized that she didn't have a ready answer.

  “Because why?” he prodded.

  “Because marriage is a serious thing,” she said in a rush. “Very serious.”

  His answer was swift, and his voice was low. “Believe me, no one knows that as well as I do. Were you to back out of this marriage, I'd be left with a pile of stones and no capital to keep it up.”

  “Wycombe Abbey deserves a more gracious moniker than ‘pile of stones,’” Ellie said automatically. She'd always held a deep admiration for good architecture, and the abbey was one of the more beautiful buildings in the district.

  He cast a sharp look in her direction. “It will be a literal pile of stones if I do not have the funds to support it.”

  Ellie had the distinct impression that he was warning her. He would be most unhappy with her if she backed out of the marriage. She had no doubt he could make her life utter hell if he so chose, and she had a feeling that should she leave him at the altar, spite alone would be motivation enough for him to devote his life to ruining hers.

  “You needn't worry,” she said crisply. “I have never broken my word, and I do not intend to begin doing so now.”

  “I am much relieved, my lady.”

  Ellie frowned. He didn't sound relieved. He sounded more self-satisfied than anything else. She was contemplating why this disturbed her so when he spoke again.

  “You should know something about me, Eleanor.”

  She turned to him with widened eyes.

  “I may treat much of life as a game, but I can be deadly serious when I so choose.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Then she bit her lip for saying it.

  “I am not a man to cross.”

  She drew back. “Are you threatening me?”

  “My future wife?” he said blandly. “Of course not.”

  “I think you are threatening me. And I think I don't like it.”

  “Really?” he drawled. “Is that what you think?”

  “I think,” she shot back, “that I liked you better when you were drunk.”

  He laughed at that. “I was easier to manage. You don't like it when you are not firmly in control.”

  “And you do?”

  “We are two of a kind in that regard. I believe we shall suit each other admirably as husband and wife.”

  She eyed him doubtfully. “Either that or we'll kill each other in the process.”

  “That's a possibility,” he said, giving his chin a thoughtful stroke. “I do hope that we are able to keep the stakes even.”

  “What the devil are you talking about?”

  He smiled slowly. “I'm considered a fair shot. How about you?”

  Her mouth fell open. She was so stunned that she couldn't even manage to say, “I beg your pardon.”

  “That was a joke, Eleanor.”

  She snapped her mouth back closed. “Of course,” she said in a terse voice. “I knew that.”

  “Of course you did.”

  Ellie felt a pressure building up within her, a frustration that this man could repeatedly render her speechless. “I am not a terribly good shot myself,” she replied, a tight smile decorating her face, “but I am prodigiously talented with knives.”

  Charles made a choking sound and had to cover his mouth.

  “And I am very silent on my feet.” She leaned forward, her smile turning mischievous as she regained control of her wit. “You might want to keep your door locked at night.”

  He leaned forward, his eyes glittering. “But my darling, my aim in life is to make sure your door is unlocked at night. Every night.”

  Ellie began to feel quite warm. “You promised…”

  “And you promised”—he moved in closer, this time until his nose touched hers—“to let me try to seduce you whenever I wished.”

  “Oh, for the love of Saint Peter,” she said with such disdain that Charles drew back in confusion. “If that isn't the most addlebrained collection of words I have ever heard in a single sentence.”

  Charles blinked. “Are you insulting me?”

  “Well, I certainly wasn't complimenting you,” she scoffed. “‘Let you try to seduce me.’ Oh, please. I promised you could try. I never said I'd ‘let’ you do anything.”

  “I have never had this much trouble seducing a woman in my life.”

  “I believe you.”

  “Especially one I've agreed to marry.”

  “I was under the impression I was the only one to hold that dubious honor.”

  “Now, see here, Eleanor,” he said, his voice growing impatient. “You need this marriage just as much as I do. And don't try to tell me you don't. I've met Mrs. Foxglove now. I know what you have waiting for you at home.”

  Ellie sighed. He knew just how tight a bind she was in. Mrs. Foxglove and her endless carping had seen to that.

  “And,” he added irritably, “what the hell did you mean ‘you believe’ that I've never had so much trouble seducing a woman?”

  She stared at him as if he were simpleminded. “Exactly that. I believe you. You must know you're a very handsome man.”

  He appeared not to know how to reply. Ellie was rather pleased to have set him at a loss for words for a change. She continued with, “And you're quite charming.”

  He brightened. “Do you think so?”

  “Too charming,” she added, narrowing her eyes, “which makes it difficult to discern the difference between your compliments and your flattery.”

  “Just assume they're all compliments,” he said with a wave of his hand, “and we'll both be happier.”

  “You will,” she retorted.

  “You will, too. Trust me.”

  “Trust you? Ha! That may have worked with your simpleminded London misses who care for naught but the color of their ribbons, but I am made of sterner—and smarter—stuff.”

  “I know,” he replied. “That's why I'm marrying you.”

  “Are you saying that I have proven my superior intelligence by my ability to withstand your charms?” Ellie began to chuckle. “How marvelous. The only woman smart enough to be your countess is the one who can see through your superficial rakish veneer.”

  “Something like that,” Charles mumbled, not at all liking the way she had twisted his words but unable to figure out how to twist them back to his advantage.

  By now Ellie was laughing in earnest, and he was not amused. “Stop that,” he commanded. “Stop it right now.”

  “Oh, I couldn't,” she said, gasping for breath. “I couldn't possibly.”

  “Eleanor, I will tell you one last time…”

  She turned to reply, her eyes passing over the road on the way to his face. “But—Good God! Watch the road!”

  “I am watching the—”

  Whatever else he'd meant to say was lost as the curricle hit a particularly large rut, bounced to the side, and tossed both its passengers to the ground.

  Chapter 5

  Charles grunted as he hit the ground, feeling the jolt in every bone, every muscle, every damned hair on his body.

  Half a second later Ellie landed on top of him, feeling for all the world like an immense sack of potatoes with very good aim.

  Charles closed his eyes, wondering if he would ever be able to sire children, wondering if he'd ever again even want to try.

  “Ow!” she let out, rubbing her shoulder.

  He would have liked to respond, preferably with something sarcastic, but he couldn't speak. His ribs hurt so much that he was certain every last one of them would shatter if he so much as tried to use his voice. After what seemed like an eternity, she rolled off of him, her pointy little elbow finding the tender spot below his left kidney.

  “I cannot believe you didn't see that rut,” Ellie said, managing to look supercilious even as she sat in the dirt.

  Charles thought about strangling her. He thought about getting her fitted for a muzzle. He even thought about kissing her just to wipe that annoying expression off
of her face, but in the end he just laid there, trying to find his breath.

  “Even I could have driven the curricle with greater skill,” she continued, rising to her feet and brushing off her skirts. “I hope you haven't damaged the wheel. They're terribly expensive to replace, and Bellfield's wheelwright is drunk more often than not. You could travel to Faversham, of course, but I wouldn't recommend—”

  Charles let out an agonized groan, although he wasn't quite sure what was paining him most: his ribs, his head, or her lecture.

  Ellie crouched back down, concern growing on her face. “I say, you're not hurt, are you?”

  Charles managed to stretch his lips out far enough to show his teeth, but only the most optimistic sort could have called it a smile. “Never felt better,” he croaked.

  “You are hurt,” Ellie exclaimed, her tone rather accusatory.

  “Not too much,” he managed to get out. “Just my ribs, and my back, and my—” He broke off into a fit of coughing.

  “Oh, dear,” she said. “I'm terribly sorry. Did I knock the breath out of you when I fell?”

  “You knocked it clear to Sussex.”

  Ellie frowned as she touched her hand to his brow. “You don't sound well. Do you feel hot?”

  “Christ, Eleanor, I don't have a bloody fever.”

  She brought her hand back to her side and muttered, “At least you haven't lost your wide and varied vocabulary.”

  “Why is it,” he said, his breath coming out in a long-suffering sigh, “that whenever you are near, I emerge injured?”

  “Now see here!” Ellie exclaimed. “This was not my fault. I wasn't driving. And I certainly didn't have anything to do with your falling out of a tree.”

  Charles didn't bother to reply. His only sound was a groan as he tried to sit up.

  “At least let me tend to your injuries,” Ellie said.

  He shot her a sideways look that reeked of sarcasm.

  “Fine!” she burst out, standing up and throwing her arms in the air. “Tend to yourself, then. I hope you have a splendid time walking home. What is it—ten, fifteen miles?”

  He touched his head, which was beginning to throb.

  “It should be a lovely stroll,” she continued, “especially on that ankle.”