Rival Desires (Properly Spanked Legacy 1)

He finally returned home a week after he’d left, arriving in late afternoon. He went to his rooms first, to bathe away the scent of horse and change into proper clothes to face Ophelia. She wasn’t in her rooms, so he went downstairs to find her, and instead discovered his parents in the front parlor having tea.

“Wescott,” said his mother. “What a pleasure to see you. Come give me a kiss.”

He obliged, then greeted his father.

“It’s good you’ve returned,” he said, with only a mild note of censure. “I perceive the weather’s been bad.”

“Somewhat.” He meant no disrespect, but he couldn’t sit now and chat about the weather. He scanned the parlor again. “Where is everyone else?”

“Hazel and Elizabeth have gone to Lockridge Manor to visit Rosalind,” said his mother, “and your wife’s become interested in…other things.”

“What other things?”

His parents exchanged a look, then his father spoke. “Believe it or not, she found the armory, and has been spending an inordinate amount of time there.”

“The armory?” Wescott was aghast. “And you allowed this? It’s not a safe place for a woman unused to weapons.”

“On the contrary, she feels very safe in there.” His father stirred his tea, unperturbed. “She tells us the room has exemplary acoustics.”

“Indeed,” said his mother. “My love, you’d never believe it. Her voice has returned. She’s been singing like a bird, and smiling again too.”

Of course she was singing and smiling, since he hadn’t been there in days. He clenched his teeth in agitation. “She’s in the armory now?”

“I expect so,” said his father. “You ought to go see her. She’ll be glad to know you’re home.”

He doubted his wife would be glad. As for him, this wasn’t the homecoming he’d hoped for. Had his parents lost their minds, allowing Ophelia to spend “inordinate amounts of time” in a room full of lethal weapons? He turned on his heel and strode quickly to the second level of the ballroom, hurrying around the balcony to the hidden panel. He found it ajar.

“The armory!” he muttered to himself. “Exemplary acoustics? Are they mad?” The room was full of swords, knives, and axes. What were they thinking, allowing her there? Who’d told her about the armory in the first place? He’d have words for whoever it was when he found out.

He entered the dark corridor and stalked to the bend, then stopped, hearing the strains of a glorious song. It could only be his wife’s voice. He’d heard so many times how lovely it was, but his imagination hadn’t come close to reality. Her vivid, clear soprano took his breath away, to the point he couldn’t move for a moment. Her voice sounded more beautiful than any other singer’s he’d heard before. Her tone was as strong and bright as the sun.

He was so taken with the angelic sound, the expression in each note, that he didn’t recognize the melody at first. It was an old country lullaby his nurse had sung to him years ago, although her voice could not have been so rich or pure as Ophelia’s. Gentle lamb, shelter here. Gentle lamb, shelter near, quite near in my arms as night falls…

It was so sweetly sung, so affecting. An angel’s voice. God’s gift. What he’d taken for exaggeration fit her in truth, and she was only singing a lullaby to herself. What did she sound like in full voice, in operatic performance?

He put his hands against the wall, fighting a sudden surge of irritation, even anger. Why had she kept her talent from him? Her voice hadn’t been ruined by the fire. It was clearly in perfect working order, but she’d refused to sing for him, perhaps to punish him, or perhaps as a form of disdain, because she didn’t want their marriage or his attentions.

And when the contrary creature finally decided to sing, it was in his armory, where she had no business being at all.

He went the rest of the way into the room and took in the sight of his wife, his emotions high. She stood in the dead center of the chamber, a light sword held aloft in her hand, the other arm extended for balance. By now, the sweet lullaby had ended, and she’d begun a more strident piece, perhaps an aria of some sort.

He thought, she’s going to maim herself. He also thought, she looks like a warrior-goddess of old.

“You must put that down at once,” he said, speaking over her song. “It’s not safe.”

She turned to him, her voice cutting off, although the last soaring note lingered, echoing off the metal weapons and stone walls.

“Wescott!” She lowered the sword a little. “You’ve come back.”

“It’s a damned good thing, too,” he said, crossing to her. “What are you doing in here? It’s no place for a lady.”

She pointed the sword at him as he came, so he was forced to stop.