Chapter Four

T hrough the carriage window, Ophelia peered as they passed the wrought-iron gates and advanced to the grand house at the end of the drive sided by tall oak trees. Ramsgate Seat had the most beautiful entrance of them all, in her opinion.

At its end, the sprawling Georgian house opened for the newcomer's view and never failed to extract gasps of admiration; in special with the full sun drenching the pile as it did today. Two stores built in sandstone boasted a large entrance sheltered by a porch with huge round windows siding it. The upper floor mirrored the first to compose a magnificence Ophelia knew to be rare, even among the luxurious seats the ton had inherited. Endless acres of gardens, woodland, and lakes surrounded it. And she held not a shred of a doubt that it would be the ideal place to raise children with its peaceful and comfortable settings.

"You like it." The Earl's rasp made her head swivel to him.

As they left with the first light, she'd taken refuge in the day's newspapers she'd brought with her to avoid awkward conversations with her husband. She succeeded for the most part of the five hours they took to cover the fifty miles between London and here. The sunny day provided a pleasant and uneventful carriage ride.

His comment reminded her they'd not visited it together as newlyweds. She'd got to explore it all on her own, a fact that, in hindsight, did not cause regrets. A tiny smile drew her lips. "It is impossible not to." His father had emptied the earldom's coffers for a reason. She had to admit that the old earl had done a great job of it. "What about you?" The question popped out of her mouth before she could suppress it. What he thought about anything could go hang for all she cared.

"I grew up here." In the background of his answer, she heard fondness. "I ran wild through the lawn and woodland."

A sudden image of him as a boy surged in her mind, running and laughing in the wind. "Always up to mischief, I gather."

An uncompromising shrug moved his taut shoulder. "You know what they say, boys will be boys."

Her lips pursed to one side. "Never growing up or learning responsibility." Boredom coated her tone. "Tell me about it." The lame excuse to disregard the basic rules of living in society did not mislead her, not any longer.

Her quip made his expression become serious. "Eventually, one must learn, sometimes the hard way."

For the first time since this morning, she looked at him in full. And his harsh presence almost undid her. The view of him in impeccable dark brown finery, dark hair wind-blown, and that aristocratic nose leading to his sensuous mouth had been the reason she'd avoided eye contact during the trip. His falcon eyes clasped to hers and she had to stifle the rush of sensation they unleashed in her. More than that, his reply surprised her for the depth it revealed. It told her he would not use his gender or aristocratic lineage as an excuse for reckless behaviour. That alone set him apart from his peers.

The carriage chose that moment to jerk to a halt under the porch. He must have sent word ahead because the butler and the housekeeper came to receive them. "Good day my lady, my lord," Mr and Mrs Jones greeted as the butler neared the carriage, from where the couple alighted. "A pleasure to have you back."

If he directed it at the Earl alone, Ophelia could not tell as husband and wife stood together to greet the servants back. Though the Countess would understand if the Joneses preferred the Earl, as they saw him grow up in these lands.

Already the footmen were coming to pick up their master and mistress' belongings, curtailing the conversation.

Ophelia remembered when she'd first travelled here with no Earl in sight. The entire staff had stood in the entrance hall for the mandatory introductions, every single one eyeing her with mistrust. She'd had to build her stand with everyone from scratch.

As the Countess walked inside, Mrs Jones fell in step with her. "My lady," she started in an enthusiastic voice. "Your ideas for the herb garden were spot on. You will see it bursting with growth."

Even if the last days had taken their toll on her, Ophelia offered a thankful grin to the housekeeper. "I am glad to hear that."

"Also," the middle-aged woman continued, "the servants are truly happy with the new lodgings you had built for them."

To be honest, she did not build new lodgings but insisted with the man of business to do a complete makeover on the existing ones. The old earl had designed beauty and comfort only for the noblemen and noblewomen who would occupy the house. The servants' quarters had looked little better than the rookeries. Ophelia could not accept that, so she set out to change it. "I told you." The Countess smiled at the housekeeper. "Happy people work better."

Besides the servants and tenants, only the steward and his wife counted among her few allies. Timothy and Alice Gregson offered invaluable insight into how to go about the improvements she planned to implement.

"Indeed, my lady." Mr and Mrs Jones had earned bigger and more comfortable quarters from which they could manage the household and the staff. No need to say they were on the proverbial cloud nine for that.

"My lady!" As Ophelia turned to the little shrill voice, she saw Cook's daughter. The lady and the eight-year-old had struck a delightful friendship when she was just a toddler.

"Jessie!" The girl ran and threw herself into Ophelia's arms. "I missed you!" Lady Ramsgate beamed, as they hugged.

"So did I." The three continued on their way, as the eight-year-old's dark hair bounced in a pigtail.

"How is school going?" Ophelia asked as they climbed up to the upper floor.

"Not bad." Jessie's dark eyes held a drop of mischief. "But summer break is more fun." Her freckled cheeks went pink.

The chat faded as they progressed through the hallway.

Leonard looked at the back of his wife climbing up the stairs with the housekeeper, a mystified glint in his eyes. "New lodgings?" He inquired of Jones.

"Yes, my lord." Did the Earl detect a hint of hero worship in that? "Lady Ramsgate made it clear to whoever came around that the servants and the tenants deserved to be treated as human beings."

Leonard scoffed and gained a reproachful glance from the butler. But no, he was not laughing at his surprising wife. He did it because in these years away he'd come to appreciate how privileged he'd been and how much he owed it to the people who surrounded him and made his life an exceptional one, the servants who pampered him; the tenants who provided the fruit of their backbreaking labour. Not to mention the villagers and their skilful work.

By the time he reached the hallway to his chambers, she'd already disappeared into hers, depriving him of more insight into her conceptions.

After refreshing, Leonard had a horse readied and rode to John Barret's cottage some two miles from the manor house.

Balding and in his mid-fifties, the short man of business opened the door and boasted a broad grin. "My lord, I heard you were back. Great news, I will say." And gestured for the Earl to come in.

"Thanks, Barret." Ramsgate took his hat off and followed the widowed man. "How are your children?"

They sat at the kitchen table, and Barret poured ale in two earthenware cups. "Martha, the youngest, married and moved to a nearby village." He took a large swig. "The eldest, Matt, is almost ready to take over from me when I am gone."

"Good to hear," Leonard said as he rolled the cup between his fingers. Drinking never made to his favoured pastime and ale did not even appear on the list. "I see my wife worked on a few improvements around here." He introduced the reason for his presence in that cottage.

John hung his head as his lips pressed together but held his peace.

"What is it, Barret?" The Earl's quiet question had the man of business lifting his gaze to the visitor.

"Lady Ramsgate made changes all right."

"But?"

The widower offered a perfunctory tilt of his head. "Now you are back and will put the affairs back in their due place, I reckon."

The Earl eyed the other man, his brow crumpled. He'd checked the books, more, he'd had a glimpse of the contentment shining in these people's eyes. "Everything is exactly as it should be."

The man of business offered a broad grin that did not hide the intolerance in his dull blue eyes. "If you say so, my lord."

"I do." His answer came edgy. "Now, would you care to report on the details?"

"If it were not for me, your lordship's coffers would count just a few coins." The man tossed his ale. "What with all that fuss of treating people with respect. " He took a few seconds to gauge the Earl's reaction, but getting none, he continued. "Those wretches were born for that. Even the reverend agrees with it."

Barret discoursed on how hard he worked all these years, as though declaiming the epic song of a hero on a quest to vanquish his enemies. And Leonard held no doubt of who they were.

By dinner time, the Earl made it a point to hear about the Countess' changes as the couple sat in the huge dining room each at one end of the table.

"So, my lady wife," his voice made her snap her head to him. "You took it upon yourself to make life less burdensome to the people."

Her hazel gaze studied him for long seconds. "As a matter of fact, I did." Her brows arched.

"I am impressed by your thoughtfulness." And he expressed his real opinion about that.

She sent him a stunned look. "My guess was that you would not share in that."

It was his turn to arch his brows. "What if I had not?"

Her delicate shoulder lifted and fell. "You were not around to make your objections known." She paused, her eyes lowering to her plate for a moment, then going back to him. "Though that man of business of yours put severe obstacles in the project."

"Barret?" He needn't have asked; the ledgers mentioned the very name his father had chosen up to the present but did it to buy some time.

"The same." She took a modest forkful of food.

"And you kept him on, regardless." It impressed Leonard even further that she'd endured the pig-headed man.

"I could not do otherwise," she said before she took a sip of her wine.

Of course not. She'd been living in limbo with the Earl away, no one being certain whether he lived or died.

Right after the servants cleared the last dish, the Countess excused herself, pleading tiredness. Leonard ensconced himself in the study to read the mail.

Hours later he could not plead tiredness but made himself climb up the stairs to his chambers. He had to get some sleep at some point. As soon as he entered, he saw he made a mistake. The first thing his eyes crashed on was the connecting door. The image of the woman occupying the other side of it popped into his head; worse, his wife lying in bed with a nightgown ready to receive her husband's attention. Willingly.

With no conscious decision, his feet advanced to it. His hand lifted to knock on the oak panel built into the wall with perfection. And then waited. She might already have fallen asleep.

It took a few seconds, but he registered feet shuffling on the other side. The door flew open and before him stood his wife, not in a nightgown but in the dress she wore for dinner. Pity. Simple, the blue concoction marked her tiny waist and plumped up her breasts. Forget about the damned nightgown!

Their eyes clashed in the candlelight. In the hazel ones staring at him, he read a pinch of stupefaction as she held herself as tense as someone about to have a tooth pulled.

In the periphery of his attention, he registered vibrant tones on her side of the panel but abstained from remarking on it.

He understood he did not make the best impression on his wife, but that was a positive turnoff. They had an agreement, for pity's sake; and there was only one way of going about it. He, however, wanted a consenting woman in his bed. Or hers. Whatever.

"Come to make good on our deal already?" One delicate hand still lingered on the door, her head tilting back to meet his gaze. The candles played with her honey-blonde hair pinned in a simple knot on the top of her head.

His eyes made sure they did not wander over her curves, even if his mind boggled and produced nothing to respond. "You said you were tired." Was what came to his mouth.

Her head tilted, her lips pursing to one side. He had the vivid impression that the idea of bedding him bored her to distraction. His memory brought up that fateful scandal sheet and his guts twisted at the thought of her revelling in someone else's arms, learning the delights of the marriage bed in a paramour's one. He did not blame her for seeking company; how could he? But he wanted to be the man to have walked her through that road.

Her spine snapped straighter. She seemed more strung up than a violin. "A few minutes will not make a difference," she quipped at last.

Minutes? Those paramours of hers were a complete disaster if she thought that.

She was offering, and all he wanted to do was take her up on that. He, for one, would not act like a mediaeval warlord to fall on his prey at any cost. "I called you to ask if you would like to go riding in the morning." He'd not thought of that, but it appeared to be a suitable way to start this. "You could show me the changes you made." His rebellious mind, though, produced another kind of riding in which they would need no horses or saddles. The image of them moving in tandem, with ragged breaths and sweaty bodies, almost brought him to his knees.

Her ripe lips formed an O, her hand sliding down the wood's edge. "Riding?" she echoed.

"Yes, you know, using horses to go from one place to the other." He delivered the definition as though another one that never existed under the sun. Hell, this conversation became strange, very fast.

Her eyes rolled right at his face. "Fine." She composed herself. "Riding it is then."

"Let us meet at the stables," he remarked.

She nodded, though her gaze never left him as if she did not trust his invitation to be as innocent as it looked. In all sincerity, it was not, but he would not reveal it to her. "Good night." Then she disappeared behind the closed door.

When Ophelia neared the stables in the misty early morning, her husband already stood there waiting for the stable hands to prepare the mounts.

In slate-grey breeches and overcoat, his tall frame loomed in the mist like a mythical deity. His hawk eyes registered her in a dark blue riding habit, and not even the cool temperature prevented her body from flushing at his inspection.

Last night, as she pulled the connecting door, her heart had skipped a beat and raced as though it wanted to reach the Atlantic in record time. Her head had issued an alert that there would be no turning back from their agreement, written and signed with the help of their respective solicitors.

The next moment, she resigned to doing her side of the deal, scolding herself for the heated response her insides produced. No matter what these insides said, when husband and wife got down to it, there would be little to nothing in it for her, as she'd well learned. Which made her yield to the possibility of fulfilling the deal, her blood cooling down with it.

It'd surprised her that he respected her claim of tiredness to invite her here today instead. Even if she'd sensed something else beneath his invitation but saw herself unable to pinpoint the reason.

His parting from her chamber, however, engendered a certain sense of disappointment, out of the blue and senseless in her view. Why it took place, she did not understand.

The sight of him right at that moment caused her to imagine all that magnificent male with fewer layers of fabric and more tanned skin on show. Again, she berated herself for the notion as she pulled deep air into her lungs and raised her eyes to him.

"My lord," she greeted in a bid to dispel her reactions.

One slashing brow of his hitched up. "We have been married for eight years." His rasp washed her in warm honey. "I suppose you have learned my given name by now."

Oh, she did. And it suited him with such perfection, invoking a daring feline that backed down at nothing. The real problem with saying his given name, though, was the intimacy it would suggest between them when they could muster none, even with those years of a ghost marriage behind them.

Her mouth released a little snort, one that caused his gaze to flick to it with the expected flush to her cheeks. "With no husband to speak of, I must say." Her retort came with a healthy dose of disdain.

"Ophelia." More rumble than voice; it intensified her response to him. "I quite enjoy the wild cat that rears in you at the slightest provocation?"

Wild cat. Huff!

The image the ton had of the Countess of Ramsgate was one of finesse and agreeable stance. The wild cat he referred to showed up only in his presence with the added aggravation that she did not know what to do with it.

A fortunate fact that the stable hand emerged with the mounts, interrupting their banter. She made herself focus on her mare to ignore the man at her side.

They passed by the folie her husband had commissioned when he inherited the earldom. An Indian palace tower, in a style he'd told her once he saw in a city called Jaipur, which he visited on his first voyage to the subcontinent. He'd imported the typical pink sandstone to erect the ogee-shaped dome, with the pointed multifoil arches that decorated the interior. The first time she saw it, she marvelled at its unique beauty. Even now, her eyes stayed on the only one of its kind in England, reflecting its beauty on the adjacent lake it gave a view to. He'd used up the trust fund his uncle had left him and did not use up the Earldom's assets. It'd gladdened her to see that he'd not strain the already tight finances.

As they rode through the fields and pastures, the sun came out to make up for a beautiful day.

Ophelia soaked in it and in the sight of the neat crops growing abundant side by side with the verdant pastures where fat cattle and sheep grazed in content peacefulness.

"It looks much better than I remembered," the Earl commented.

His voice contained praise, but she preferred not to gloat over it. He'd already shown it at the ledger he'd been checking. "The first three years were the hardest." She chose to reply.

Her husband's head whirled to her. "And you seemed to have overtaken each obstacle you encountered."

Her shoulders gave a slight shrug. "It was that or allow the assets to go under."

Their horses ambled with them in silence for several minutes.

At a certain point, Ophelia turned to him. "When do you plan to explain yourself?" In all reality, she did not wish to learn of his more than probable escapades. In view of their recent agreement, she imagined they would need to have that conversation.

The Earl did not look at her, but his nostrils flared with a sharp intake of air. "I know I should have done it the moment I showed up at your wedding." She almost laughed at the ridiculous occasion. His fists adjusted the stallion's course. "I hope you believe me when I say I am not at liberty to disclose it right now." His gaze had clasped to her.

The response held a ring of sincerity, even if Ophelia preferred to be cautious. It could mean anything under the sun, including the mistress and bastards he insisted he did not hide away somewhere.

Her lips pressed together in a sign of tension she failed to hide. "Feel free to come clean at your convenience." Even so, she issued that with a drop of mockery.

"Since we are at it," he said, "you could also indulge me in a few answers."

"Such as?" There would be no forecasting what he meant. He'd looked at the ledgers, learned she'd taken her dowry back, and saw what she did here. What else could it be?

"Are you with child?" The question sank in dryness; his eyes two chips of stone on her.

His probing caused outrage in her. Her entire face frowned at him. "Excuse me?"

It was his turn to shrug those large shoulders. "The scandal sheets made no secret of your, say, exploits."

Her spine snapped straight, her eyes right ahead on the country lane. "You should not believe everything they print."

"You mean they are lies?" Incredulity coated this.

"I mean you are smarter than that." A pause filled the air with birds' songs. Ophelia did not wish to go into detail about how she felt in the face of his absence. Even less disclose the sick emotions that arose with society's judgement of her. "But for the record; no, I am not with child," she volunteered only because it interfered with their contract.

"Shall I call the doctor to confirm that?" Suspicion joined his previous incredulity.

That extracted a scoff from her. "You shy away from revealing your whereabouts in the last eight years but seem entitled enough to demand I account for those years, regardless."

"It is the Ramsgate lineage at stake here." The statement held an indisputable finality to it. As though only his bloodline counted, his wife a mere vessel to fulfil it.

She knew, however, that her pedigree also came into the equation in the form of connections and the heir's future standing on the ton . All was not a simple black-and-white viewpoint. "Call whomever you want. I care nothing for it," she remarked at last. It would be positive to have the doctor's input on her health, at the very least.

The lord and the lady had returned from their ride in time for breakfast.

After luncheon, Ophelia took the cabriolet to the folie whose interior boasted extreme comfort and luxury with its ottomans, rugs, and dozens of cushions added to a grate for the British usual bad weather.

In the first months of her husband's disappearance, she developed a habit of taking refuge here, attempting to make sense of everything that was happening to her. Retiring here, though, offered her solace and, more important still, privacy. She used to spend hours on end stretched on the cushions with a book and lemonade she carried with her since she required no servants to accompany those outings. Sometimes, she brought a picnic basket to carry her through the day. It'd been sitting in the marbled place watching the autumn rain pour sheets outside the multifoil windows that the idea of becoming involved with the estate's affairs first bloomed in her. With no husband or children, she'd set out to find purpose in her empty days. And she did, by her unwavering will alone.

From then on, the estate affairs had kept her so busy that she'd had little time to come to the pink sandstone folie. And when she'd got the finances running with smooth predictability, she avoided travelling to the Earl's seat, doing so only when the unavoidable need arose.

She entered the arched place kept with impeccable care from the colourful cushions to the gleaming marble floor. Sometimes she brought a book, others she read the ones stored in these niches. She sat in her usual place on the fluffy ottoman, facing the trellis window with the view to the manicured garden and lake beyond. And wondered how her life had changed over just a few days. She still reeled from the abruptness of that. On the bright side, she got to visit the estate and this folie again. Even if she would not have a chance to visit here so often, she turned it into her retreat, the place that made her feel less lonely and where she'd thought of taking a stand. This afternoon, she'd brought a leather file, planning to write a few letters. She sat by a small escritoire she'd added to the furniture and immersed herself in the task.

"Mrs Jones told me I might find you here." The Earl's drawl wrenched her from her writing.

Her head whipped to him with distracted eyes. It took a few blinks to bring her to the present. A glance at the window informed her that hours had elapsed as she lost track of them.

"Is there anything amiss?" She blurted the question while taking in the dishevelled sight of him standing in a marbled room that held fewer square feet than the ones in the estate seat, giving the impression that it shrunk with his portentous figure.

"The doctor is waiting for you." His attention roamed over the cream walking dress she selected for the day.

In the grand house, no doubt. "Of course." In hurried motions, she stuffed her letters in the leather file she carried them in and stood. "I brought the cabriolet, so—"

"There is no time. Ride with me." He issued the command as the most natural thing in the world. "I'll have someone fetch the cabriolet."

Her eyes widened at the same time a pleat drew between her eyes. Riding with him would be a … death sentence. Darn it! But she could not keep Doctor Ian Shields waiting as doctors were always pressed for time. With a nod, she brushed past him towards the front door.

As she emerged into the mid-afternoon sun, she spotted his stallion right at the folie's entrance. They neared it and stopped. Her back to the saddle, her head fell back to see him mere inches from her. This close, her nostrils captured the scent of him cumin seeds and man. His large hands spanned her tiny waist to haul her to the saddle. The warm touch on her caused her midriff to flip and sensation to run downwards to that place she seldom thought about.

She had barely recovered when his taut frame hefted up to the stallion and surrounded her with that unforgiving maleness. One tanned palm held the reins as the other laced her for safety. And she did not remember a time she felt less safe in her twenty-six springs on this earth. His knees pressed to the flanks, and they surged ahead, the motion making her body glue to his. She forced her head to turn towards the country lane even if the tepid wind tumbled her bonnet to her back.

"Hold on," he warned in her ear. "I will go on a gallop."

Oh, yes. And the speed clashed their bodies at every shift of the hooves. Her body adjusted by slapping her back to his chest, his arm tightening around her until they moved as one. The wind caressed her face, and the sun warmed her entire being. This sensation of freedom it gave her almost overwhelmed her senses. In moments, her head fell on his chest and his jaw leaned on her shoulder. Her mind bogged and there were only the wind, the horse, and the man toppling her world upside down. Her eyes closed as she inhaled horse, man, and nature, the pounding hooves matching the hammering of her heart. Wisps of hair flew around her, and she registered him inhaling them as though he got caught in that hazy moment suspended in time, too.

When the sprawling house came into view, he slowed the stallion to a walk. Her eyes opened just as her husband feathered her nape with his lips in such a light caress that it almost seemed not to be there. But bloomed goosebumps on the sensitive skin all the same. Her nipples rose to attention, the confines of her dress feeling tighter.

The stallion halted at the front porch as he dismounted and came to help her down, bracketing her waist yet again. She landed mere inches from him but did not muster enough courage to say a word and reveal how much he'd stirred her. She risked a glimpse at him to register his fixed eyes on her as though he would devour her whole. With the remnants of clear thought, she swivelled and trudged past him into the house and up to her bedchamber, lightheaded and flustered.

Were she not so disquieted by the whole ridding drama, she would have taken pleasure in her surroundings. Set in the southernmost part of the house, the lady's chamber exhibited three tall arched windows that allowed for light to flood in as she drew out the drapes. When finances looked up, she'd indulged in the small luxury of redecorating it in shades of yellow and cream, making it even brighter.

She sat on the sunflower-hued counterpane, struggling to put her breathing in order when the Earl entered with the forty-something doctor with a retreating hairline.

"Lady Ramsgate," Shields greeted her with a kind smile. "It is good to see you with rosy cheeks." She'd crossed paths with the good doctor a few times when the tenants or servants needed care. She'd paid for it with gratitude for those people's hard work.

The remark caused her skin to go even redder. She never looked at her husband, whose eyes she felt burning on her.

In the silence that ensued, Shields eyed one, then the other as he rubbed his hands in discomfort. "Right," he said. "Shall we start?" And waited for no answer. "Please, my lady, lie down."

Her nerves tensed further at that. Under her husband's scrutiny, awkwardness dominated her. To start with, his presence in these chambers was as out of her world as the planets orbiting the sky. While she stayed in them, he'd been absent from her life. Except for last evening, and to her surprise, he remained on his side of the connecting door.

The doctor might have prompted her, but she found no way to move a single muscle. Why did these men demand women lie down like dolls or empty vessels? The passive attitude got to her at that moment.

"I will be waiting in the hallway if you need me." The earl's voice reached her with a healthy dose of relief on her part. That the doctor would touch her for professional purposes did not inconvenience her as much as her husband watching the whole tableau.

As the large man absented from her chamber, she released a covert pent-up breath before her spine gave and she yielded to the urge to relax onto the mattress.

Doctor Ian Shields performed what he called his routine examination as Ophelia stared at the canopy like a perfect statue. At last, he declared it to be finished as he put away his instruments and strode to the entrance to call the Earl. She used the opportunity to sit up and recompose herself.

"My lord," Shields started. "I estimate the lady is in excellent health."

Ramsgate glanced at her and returned his full attention to the doctor. "But not with child," he gave a meaningful pause, "so far." That earned him her fulminating look.

The doctor tilted his head with a commiserating hue to him. "I am afraid not, my lord." No doubt, the other man imagined the lord wished to hear a positive reply. And did not factor in that the Earl reappeared only days ago.

"Hm." The Earl rumbled.

"Come, doctor," she invited. "Cook made those scones you are so fond of." She avoided directing her husband a smug expression with ‘I told you' written all over it by looking down the hallway. And refused to feel any embarrassment by his question. The wrong part in this was not her.

Ian grinned at her. "My lucky day, I guess." Then followed the lady out of her chambers.

Ophelia vacated the premises as fast as etiquette allowed.

Later that afternoon, Ophelia went through the pantry inventory with Mrs Jones. Since she'd taken over as Lady Ramsgate, she made it a habit to oversee the work in the fields and the preserving of the surplus of grain, fruit, and dairy. All of which she stored in the pantry and distributed to servants and tenants as needed. With harvest time not far ahead, she wished to have it prepared for the new products coming in.

As dinner time neared, she called for a bath before she dressed to go down. She'd thought about requesting a tray in her chambers but decided against it, as she would not give anyone the satisfaction of showing her hesitancy when she'd done nothing that might warrant reproach.

After the servants served the dessert, the Earl signalled for them to leave. Then those piercing eyes found her. "I know I acted like a cad for bringing in the doctor to examine you." His tone sank in serious sincerity. "For that, I apologise."

Her eyes rounded on him in pure stupefaction. "I did not mind all that much," she compromised. Having one's health checked, in particular when one is planning to meet the terms of a contract, did not seem so strange. "But you could have believed me when I told you I was not with child." More than the doctor's presence, that was what peeved her the most. "I must stay in the dark regarding your whereabouts in the last few years, whereas I am bound to produce proof of my health." The worst was that he chose to believe those scandal sheets over her.

He lowered his gaze. "It will not happen again if you do not wish it."

She nodded in acknowledgement and finished her dessert.

With the meal over, the Earl excused himself to go to his study, and the lady retired to her chambers.

In her nightclothes, she had not been lounging for long in her little sitting chamber with her book when a knock came on the connecting door. The mere sound caused her heart to stop and then go on a marathon twice as fast as the original Greek one. Her tome slid forgotten by her side.