Nothing to Commend Her (19 page)

"He needs an heir."

"Yes, but—well—"

Agatha sat back with a smile. “And you'd like some grandchildren as well."

The older woman gave her a watery smile and a nod.

"And the information you wish from me?"

"I thought, well, since he seems to be quite fond of you that you might help me.” She suddenly clasped her hand. “Oh, but I don't wish for you to betray any confidence, or to talk to him on my behalf.” She sat back with a shrug. “Just give me some idea as to how to proceed."

"Lady Crittenden, at the moment I would say that doing nothing will be more than enough."

"Nothing?"

"Yes. Nothing."

"But—"

"If George wishes to marry any of the ladies here, he will decide that on his own, no matter how hard you push. And to be frank, if you push too hard, you may accomplish the very opposite of what you desire."

She put her hand to her mouth, her eyes wide. “Oh dear. You're quite right. He is a stubborn man, just like his father was."

"And yet, you married Lord Crittenden."

A small smile, almost scheming, crept over her face. “I did indeed.” She stood then moved to the door. “You've helped me a great deal, dear. And again, I cannot apologize enough for intruding on you and Magnus. It was very rude of me."

Agatha joined her by the door and they left the parlor. “It has been interesting, I'll grant you that, but I've enjoyed your company. Truly."

"Well, we shan't be here much longer. But I am looking forward to your lawn party tomorrow."

"I am a bit nervous, to tell the truth."

"Nonsense, it will be splendid. Then the following day, I shall gather my little group and be off,” she said, glancing around the drawing room at the guests. “And if George does not wish to accompany us, I shall not say a word."

But somehow, Agatha didn't believe her. Not that she lied, but that she had an alternate plan. Yet it was none of Agatha's affair, she noted as they entered the room to join the others. She'd answered Lady Crittenden honestly while keeping her promise to George and that was all she could do.

Magnus watched his wife move from guest to guest, admiring her simple grace, and how badly he wished he could cross the room and take her in his arms. The interruption in her rooms that afternoon had left him aching for her. The ride over the estate had been one of the most painful of his life. Physically and mentally.

Although he'd instructed Barstoke to keep a close watch on her every minute she was out of his sight, the crew of unwanted guests riding along with him drove him near to insane with their nattering.

The way the young ladies chased after Crittenden was nothing new, not really, and had he been in better spirits, he would have laughed at the circus before him. But it was possible, however unlikely, that one of these women wanted to kill his wife.

Still, as he looked about the room, he could barely give credence to the thought. They wanted Crittenden, as had always been the way. Not one of these ladies could possibly want to bring him grief.

His gaze strayed back to Agatha and her bright smile. Whoever wanted to harm him had indeed found a direct path through her. Without her in his life, he would be nothing.

"What do you suppose they spoke about?” Crittenden asked.

"Who?"

His friend huffed a curse. “My mother and your wife. She promised, you heard her, that she would not try and match me."

Magnus glanced at Crittenden having not missed the panic in his voice. “I suspect it has to do with the lawn party tomorrow."

"No, I don't believe it. My mother is scheming something and she's trying to involve your wife."

"Steady yourself, man. Agatha said she'd not scheme against you and she won't. She would never break her word."

"Still, that doesn't mean my conniving mother hasn't coerced her into something."

Magnus sighed, doing his best to ignore the comment. The whole affair was growing more tedious by the minute. All he wanted was his house empty of guests, and his wife safe within his arms. Simple things, but would he be granted them? No. He had to stand amid this social gathering and endure it all. His friend's nerves as well.

"She said something, she had to have,” Crittenden muttered, his gaze jumping from his mother to Agatha and back again.

"Why don't you simply ask her?"

His head snapped around.

"And if you dare suggest,” Magnus continued, “that my wife would lie to you on this matter, I shall throw you out on your duff and leave you to your mother and her friends."

Crittenden looked down at his boots for a moment, his shoulders sagging. “My apologies, Leighton. I've behaved like an arse. You've more than enough to concern yourself with other than my matrimonial state."

He cupped his friend's shoulder and squeezed. “Apology accepted. But I promise you, Agatha would do nothing against your wishes."

He lifted his head with a contrite grin as Magnus dropped his hand.

"And what are you two talking about that has you looking so serious?” Agatha asked, stealing up beside them.

He inhaled deeply, relishing the faint scent of rosewater and grinned. She'd washed liberally after working in the orangery with Miss Reynolds. Oh how he'd love to taste all the places she'd tended.

He slipped his hand to her back, needing to touch her, and leaned in closer to fill his senses.

"Nothing of any consequence.” He quickly pressed a kiss to her temple and damned if he cared who saw him.

"Do you really think I believe that?” she asked with a crooked grin, her eyes bright behind her spectacles.

Magnus chuckled and shook his head. “Sometimes, darling, you are too observant."

"Agatha, I must know—that is—what did my mother want with you that she had to discuss it in private?” Crittenden asked.

Magnus let out a long sigh.

"You of course,” she replied.

"And?"

"I told her that her best strategy was to leave you alone, to do nothing."

Magnus jerked his head around and looked at her. “What did she say to that?"

"She saw the logic and agreed. But I wouldn't count myself out of the net just yet, George. She still wants you wed very badly. She's just going to try not to push so hard."

"One can only hope,” Crittenden said with a sigh. “Thank you, Agatha.” He left to join his mother with a smile, something Magnus hadn't seen him do in a long time.

"I wonder if I should've said anything,” she murmured.

"It wasn't in confidence, was it?"

"No."

"Then I think you did the right thing. I've not seen Crittenden smile at his mother in a very long time. His lack of a bride has been easing a wedge between them for some time."

"In that case, I agree.” Her gaze strayed to Miss Reynolds across the room. “But I have a sneaking suspicion his troubles are far from over."

He chuckled and placed her hand on his arm as Barstoke announced dinner.

"Magnus,” she whispered.

"Hmm?"

They walked to the dining room, leading the group. “I know this isn't the proper time or place, although I suspect it isn't appropriate that I ask at all, but—"

"But what?” He escorted her to her chair and waved away the footmen who'd moved to pull it out.

She turned to look at him before taking her seat. “Where am I to retire this evening?” she whispered.

His heart ricocheted off his ribs and he swallowed hard. “I suggest you retire where you will be the safest.” He wanted to shout out his true feelings on the matter, but was afraid his zealousness would frighten her.

She cocked her head and studied him from behind her spectacles. He could feel her thoughts churning.

"Then in your opinion,” she said, low enough so the others would not hear, “would you consider my own bed, with Tess asleep in the dressing room, the safest?"

He clenched his jaw. “No. I would not."

"I see.” With that, she sat down, promptly ending the odd conversation.

His thoughts rambling from one possibility to another, he made his way to the opposite end of the table, where he spent the rest of the evening looking at his wife and wondering where she planned to lay her head that night.

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Biting her lip, Agatha eyed the connecting door to Magnus’ room for the hundredth time. Dare she knock on his door, or should she just enter of her own accord? Did he want her to stay with him or not?

"Of all the times to be vague,” she huffed.

Why had he not simply said what he wanted? It wasn't as if he didn't express himself often enough on most matters. He'd been quite vocal, really, on her actions in the past, so why not say he wanted her to sleep in his bed?

Her hand stilled where it fumbled with the tie of her robe. Unless he didn't in fact
want
her to sleep in his bed. Perhaps he was trying not to hurt her feelings, or it was uncomfortable having her there, or—

"Botheration,” she hissed.

"Something wrong, my lady?"

"Oh, no. I'm sorry, Tess. I'm just fussing with myself about something. You can go now. Thank you."

"But I'm not to leave you alone, ma'am. Lord Leighton's orders."

"Ah, I see.” Well, no not really, but she would in a moment. “Tess, I have something I need to discuss with Lord Leighton, so I shan't be alone. I'll call you if I should need you."

"Yes, my lady.” The girl looked worried, but did as she was told and left.

Agatha marched to the connecting door, took a deep breath and knocked. She decided to wait for a count of five before entering his rooms without an invitation. This vague business was to stop immediately.

But the door flew open by the time she'd counted to two, and before her stood her husband, his coat and neck cloth gone, even his boots. His hair was a bit disheveled, as if he'd run his hands through it several times, and his shirt sleeves had been turned up at the wrists. She could see the harsh ridge of scars climbing his right arm.

He swiftly put his hands behind his back to hide them, but not before tugging at his shirt in a vain attempt to cover the ones on his throat.

"Is something amiss?” he asked.

Yes, quite a bit, actually
, but she kept that thought to herself. His behavior validated so many of her theories, but the one that concerned her most was his determination for her to not see his scars. She'd known they bothered him, that he tried to hide them from others, but he still thought they would bother her.

He leaned forward and peered around the room. “Where is Tess? I gave strict instructions that she was not to leave you alone,” he grumbled.

"I sent her to bed,” she said with a wave of her hand and strolled right past him into his room. “Since I'll not be in my room, there was no need for her to be there."

"You'll not be..."

She paused in the middle of the room and turned. He stood stock still in the doorway, his mouth somewhat agape.

With a steadying breath, she crossed back to where he stood. “I would rather sleep here with you, unless you object."

"I will never object to that,” he said.

"Then why didn't you say so at dinner?"

"I thought my—enthusiasm might frighten you."

She cupped his scarred cheek. “I've told you, Magnus, you will never frighten me."

He closed his eyes tight and took her hand from his cheek and pressed a tremulous kiss to the palm.

Those horrible girls hadn't been the only women who had said things to him, about him and his scars. His confidence had been destroyed long ago, she knew that now. But he would see what she was feeling as pity, so she kept her anger on his behalf to herself.

She reached up where he held her and touched the scars on his arm tenderly, showing him as best she could that they did not bother her, that they were a part of him. He looked down into her eyes, and she prayed her anger was well hidden.

With a small grin, his arms stole around her. “You cannot deny I startled you beneath the stairs,” he said with a soft kiss. “I grabbed you like a marauder.” He moved to the tender spot behind her ear, his lips and tongue tormenting her, sending her pulse racing.

"Mmm, yes you did,” she breathed.

He lifted his head, a puzzled expression on his face. “You mean to say, you liked it when I grabbed you?"

She laughed softly and kissed his scarred throat then moved up to his lips. “I like everything you've done so far. So I have to conclude that I will like everything you will do in the future. And if I should ever dislike anything, you will be the first to know."

With a sigh, he lifted his head and looked into her eyes. She could see a torrent of emotions amid his gray gaze, but the warm desire emanating from him pooled in her belly.

"I'm sorry I've been such a coward,” he said. “I still cannot believe that—"

"Cannot believe what?"

He stroked her face with his fingers, his gaze roaming over her features. “That you are here with me, and that you seem to—like my touch."

She pressed closer to him. “I more than
like
your touch and your kisses. All of them."

"You are heaven sent,” he said on a choked breath, then his lips crashed into hers and she was lost to pure sensation. He devoured her with his mouth as his hands rode over her body in wicked abandon. Oh heaven. With only her night gown and thin robe between them, his touch was like the sweetest dream.

He lifted her from her feet and carried her to the bed, and slipped the covers over her. After darkening the room, she heard his boots hit the floor, then he joined her but atop the coverlet.

"Why do you not get beneath the covers with me?” she asked, between gentle kisses. “We'll both be warmer that way."

"Too warm, I'd say,” he murmured.

She pulled her head back. “What?"

He chuckled roughly and kissed her. “Stop talking."

"But Magnus, I want—"

"Shh,” he said, his lips trailing across her shoulder as he slid her night gown aside. This was something new, and if silence was what he required, she would give it to him.

Warm and wet, he kissed his way down as the cloth shifted, exposing her breast. She held her breath as his lips floated over her skin. Lower and lower, he went. She gasped as he made maddening circles around the tip, teasing, tormenting, until she fell into heaven when he drew the peak into his mouth and suckled.