The Wyndham Legacy (Legacy 1)

“Enough talent so I didn’t starve!” She stared at him, clamping her hand over her mouth. She was a fool. It was the first time in her life he’d goaded her into unwise speech. In the past two weeks, he’d not goaded her in anything. She’d said just what she’d wanted, but now. She wanted to bite her tongue off.

But he didn’t understand, at least he didn’t realize what she’d just let slip. “So, we’re back to the mythical man who supported you at Pipwell Cottage again.”

“No, we’re not. But just perhaps I was lying, as all Wyndhams lie, so you’ve told me. So perhaps there was a man. What do you think, Marcus?”

If he’d been a dog, he would have growled, but he got a hold on himself immediately, saying in that easy way of his that made her want to strike him and kiss him at the same time, “Well, I know he wasn’t your protector. If you convinced some fool to give you money with no return with your favors, who am I to cavil? No, come on now, Duchess, I wasn’t really serious.” He gave her an unrepentant grin. “Shall I undress you? Where are your nightgowns?”

“I’ll see to her, my lord,” Maggie said, coming into the room like a queen ready to fire off her troops. “You just leave the Duchess be. Look how flushed she is. You’ve been scolding her, haven’t you, or teasing her? That can’t be good for her, though, I, like everyone else, saw you bringing her in. We all believed you to be resting, Duchess. It wasn’t well done of you to go off by yourself. That monster who struck you down just might have done it again.”

“From the mouths of maids,” Marcus murmured.

The Duchess closed her eyes. She wondered if she should tell Maggie that she was flushed with utter delightful anger. But she didn’t. To her surprise, she felt fatigue wash over her. She was asleep within moments.

Marcus was true to his word. That evening after solicitously seeing her to her bedchamber and handing her over to Maggie, he took himself to his own bedchamber. He opened the adjoining door a half an hour later.

She was sitting in an overly plump chair in front of the small fireplace, staring into the sluggishly burning flames.

“Hello,” he said. “Here I am just as I promised.”

She spared him a glance. “Go away, Marcus.”

“Oh no. I only just wrote to Celeste this afternoon. She won’t be arriving for another four days. I will have to make do with you until then.”

“You’ve been warned,” she said, nothing more, just that. Then she folded her hands in her lap and ignored him, an enraging, indifferent, aloof act that the old Duchess would have performed.

He gave a martyr’s sigh, leaned down, and scooped her up in his arms. He kissed her as she turned her head and touched her neck. “You smell wonderful, but then you always do.”

“Thank you. Go away, Marcus. I will not be your vessel of the moment. I won’t suffer the boredom of you in my bed. Go dream of Celeste.”

“ ‘Vessel of the moment.’ That sounds mighty odd, Duchess.” He set her on her feet beside her bed, then, without fuss or more words, stripped off her dressing gown and nightgown. He set her away from him. “The good Lord constructed you quite nicely,” he said, stroking his fingertips over his chin as he looked her up and down. “He had me in mind, obviously, for the size of you, and the shape of you, is just to my liking.”

She looked indifferent, merely standing there, looking away from him, not moving. She sucked in her breath when he reached out his hand and lightly caressed her left breast. “Yes, you’re made of beautiful shapes. This is very intriguing, Duchess. You are silent as the Duchess of yore, then you’re not. I never know what to expect from you now.”

“You never will know, Marcus, you damned sod.”

He laughed even as his hand stroked over her ribs and her belly. She took a step back, then gave a sharp cry. She looked at him, her eyes wide and bewildered. Then she turned and ran from him.

“Duchess.” He took a step after her, then frowned himself in consternation when she dropped to her knees and retched into the chamber pot. He went down on his knees beside her, holding her steady. “This is familiar,” he said, pulling her hair back from her face. “I don’t like it. You were ill this afternoon and now you’re ill again. There is a physician in Darlington who has a fine reputation. I believe I will have him come here to the Park now, tonight in fact.”

She was shuddering, huddling in on herself. He rose and fetched her dressing gown, wrapping it around her. He put her in bed, then said, “You lie still. I mean it, Duchess. Just lie still until I return.”

He did return and in only five minutes. With him were Spears, Badger, and Maggie, wearing a gown of teal-blue satin with a décolletage that would send a vicar into shock. Marcus was saying as he entered the bedchamber, “She vomited this afternoon and again now. I know of this physician in Darlington. I want you, Badger, to go fetch him.”

Badger cleared his throat and stared at his pale huddled mistress in the large bed.

Spears closely studied the small clusters of grapes carved into the edges of the mantel.

Maggie smoothed the luscious teal-blue satin over her hips.

Marcus frowned. “What the devil is going on here? Badger?”

Spears said to the Duchess, “Maggie will fetch you a biscuit to nibble on. It will help settle your stomach.”

“How the hell do you know that?”

“Now, my lord,” Spears said in an odious avuncular voice, “there is naught to worry about. We have all discussed the situation and there is nothing to concern us and therefore nothing to concern you. Her ladyship is performing a natural function.”

“What bloody natural function? Do you so conveniently forget that she was struck down not two weeks ago?”