Part 25 (1/2)

As to that, there was no end to his generosity. He was adamant that she have what she needed to support Phoebe and Greer-a.s.suming, of course, they ever saw Greer again. According to Phoebe's latest letter, Greer had traveled deeper into Wales in pursuit of her family. Ava was very disturbed by it and asked Jared one night, ”What sort of lawlessness and disorder do you think is in Wales?”

He smiled. ”The usual sort, I'd suspect.”

”Oh no,” she exclaimed, the furrow in her brow going deeper.

He laughed. ”By that I mean not very much of it.”

”Ooh,” she said, greatly relieved.

Ava was pleased that he tolerated Sally, too, who had become quite chaste after the dressing-down Ava gave her.

”You're not pinching the bottoms of the footmen or anything as ill-advised as that, are you?” Ava asked one afternoon.

Sally clucked her tongue at her. ”Of course not. If I'm to pinch, it's the c.o.c.k I'm after.”

”Sally!” Ava cried, whirling around so quickly that Sally lost the fold she was pinning at her back.

”What?” Sally asked innocently. ”Don't you want to pinch the master's from time to time?”

Ava flushed and turned around. ”Whether or not I do is very much beside the point. The point, Sally Pierce, is that you must be on your best behavior. You promised.”

”Not b.l.o.o.d.y fair that you're the only one in this house to be allowed a bit of sport,” she groused, but then grinned at Ava's reflection over her shoulder and winked.

Ava closed her eyes and sighed heavenward, but in truth, she did enjoy Sally's fresh view of the world, and moreover, she needed Sally. The woman had taught her many things about how to please her husband-even though she was constantly cautioning Ava that she was giving in to him far too easily.

”The moment the wh.o.r.e comes round, she'll catch him in her web again,” she warned Ava one night when Ava waxed dreamily about her day with her husband, in which they had both joined in the binding of hay bales alongside the crofters.

”For pity's sake!” Sally exclaimed when Ava mentioned how very strong he was. ”He knows he has you in his pocket, doesn't he? He'll think, Why, I've another empty pocket here...”

”Hush,” Ava said sternly. ”You don't know what you're saying.”

But privately, Ava feared that Sally could be right. She couldn't seem to grow accustomed to Lady Kettle's frequent visits to the abbey, or the easy way she laughed with Middleton, or the way she looked at him. But at the same time, Ava had learned quite a lot from Lady Kettle about her husband. She had told Ava stories that had painted the image of a lonely boy, rarely with his parents, yet still under the thumb of a very rigid father. His childhood sounded rather bleak.

And there was the reckless riding that she couldn't understand. And when he worked, he worked to the point of exhaustion, doing more than any other man, often working fearlessly, without regard to his person. It almost seemed as if he didn't care what happened to him, and if he didn't care for himself, could he really care for her?

While her relations.h.i.+p with him had improved-they seemed to be getting along quite well, she thought- she couldn't help but feel that something was missing. Just when they would get very close, he'd be gone again, or his mood would grow dark and pensive. She often had the impression that he felt trapped in the moment, or the day. Or perhaps even the marriage.

Honestly, she supposed she really didn't know him very well at all.

Which was why she had come to dread the delivery of the post. She endeavored each day to reach it before Middleton. She had, in the last two weeks, s.n.a.t.c.hed up two letters Lady Waterstone had penned, but fretted that more had reached Middleton.

The two she'd confiscated she read aloud to Sally, who lay on the chaise rolling her eyes, puffing out her cheeks, and making all sorts of disdainful noises.

But Ava did not see any letters posted to London in response. That kept the flame of hope alive in her.

Unfortunately, the flame was not as bright as she would have liked. She had noticed, over the course of time, that the marquis never used her given name. And she never used his, except in the privacy of their marriage bed. It was almost as if the use of given names between them was somehow too intimate.

That he wouldn't say her name began to gnaw at her. She began to count the number of times he referred to her as ”madam” or ”Lady Middleton.” She counted the number of times she referred to him as ”my lord” or ”sir.” It began to feel as if she were the maid sleeping with the master, never allowed the use of his first name, except in the most intimate of circ.u.mstances.

She stopped using his given name altogether, stubbornly determined that his name would not pa.s.s her lips until he loved her. Ava didn't care how long she might wait. It was as she wrote to Phoebe: Sisters and cousins use given names. Why on earth wouldn't a husband and wife? It seems positively barbaric. As to barbarians, is there word from Greer?

It wasn't until the week of their departure for Harrison's estate and his annual gathering to mark the start of the fox-hunting season that Ava finally reached her limit.

It was a dreary night, cold and wet and a bit bl.u.s.tery, and given that she had a draft in her suite-”Thecrack in the wall is as wide as the Thames,” she avowed-she had crawled into his bed that night forwarmth. ”How will you possibly hunt in such weather?”

”Ah, but that is half the fun of it,” he said, putting his arm around her and pulling her into his side.

They lay silently for a moment, listening to the sound of rain on the windows, the crackle of wood burning in the hearth. Middleton wrapped her braid around his fist and after a moment, he asked softly, ”Have your courses come?”

The question galled her. He'd asked it three times in the last two months, as if her fulfillment of that single function was the most important thing in the entire world.

”Two weeks ago,” she bit out.

”Ah,” he said, and d.a.m.n him if he didn't sound disappointed.

Ava buried her face in his chest, but he put his hand to her chin and forced her to look up. In the firelight, his hazel eyes were dark in a way that she understood very well now, a darkness that always made her s.h.i.+ver with antic.i.p.ation, a look that made her blood rush.

He knew it, too-he suddenly rolled her on her back, coming over her. He pulled the top of her

nightgown open and pressed his lips to her throat. ”Beautiful,” he muttered.She wanted to push him away, but she couldn't-she lit up so quickly with the touch of his hands, thepressure of his lips. Her blood warmed and moved, pooling in her groin, filling her with a desperatelonging to be held and loved by him.

”My lord,” she moaned as his hands found her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

”Call me Jared,” he uttered before turning his mouth to her breast.