Page 115 of Marry in Scandal

“I don’t care about the weather,” he began in exasperation.

“No, but a picnic is so much more comfortable when it’s fine. The local women tell me the water from the spring is sure to guarantee an heir.” She gave him a bland, sweet smile. “You can come with me. If we both drink it, we will surely double our chances.”

He glared at her in baffled outrage. Where was the demure and obedient little creature he’d married, so eager to please? Was this what happened when you told a woman you loved her?

Didn’t she realize hehadto get away?

“No, dammit, I’m not going anywhere except back to London—today—and you’re coming with me.”

“Take this, will you?” She handed him the covered basket. “And this. It’s sunny at the moment, but it might get chilly later.” She draped a cloak over his arm.

“Lily, did you not hear me? I—”

But she’d whisked herself out the kitchen door and was gone. He followed her into the yard, where a horse stood patiently harnessed to a light gig—and stopped.

A groom stood holding the reins. Another waited to help Lily climb into the gig. They both gave him curious glances. They must know who he was. Word spread fast in a place like this. His skin prickled, but he didn’t recognize either of them. They were both very young. The knots in his stomach eased.

“Pass me the basket, will you, Edward, please?”

He passed her the basket and the cloak and stood fuming quietly while she stowed everything carefully away. “There’s no need for you to come with me after all, Bobby,” she told the youngest groom. “My husband will escort me today.” She smiled tranquilly down at him.

The grooms waited expectantly. The first one offered him the reins. The young one hesitated, then stepped forward as if maybe Ned was too old to climb into a damned gig without assistance.

Swearing silently and savagely Ned climbed into the gig, accepted the reins and drove out of the yard. The itch between his shoulder blades burned like acid.

Chapter Twenty-one

“And in the lowest deep a lower deep still threatening to devour me opens wide.”

—JOHN MILTON

They trotted briskly along, saying nothing. She must know he was furious. Right now, though, he was feeling more sick than furious. It was like going into battle—worse. He knew what he was facing in battle. The knots in his stomach tightened.

They came to a fork in the lane. “Turn left here,” she said.

He ignored her. “The ruins are to the right.”

“Yes, but I need to drop a few things off on the way.” She reached across and pulled on the reins and the horse turned left.

“What the—” He swallowed, forcing himself to calm. “Where are you dropping these things?” He knew, he damned well knew. He knew every house, every cottage on the estate, and he knew exactly where they were going.

He wanted to leap out of the gig and flee into the forest, his sanctuary of old.

But that was haunted too.

“Just Mrs. Prewett, and old Mr. Iles. I promised them both some of our home cheese from the Shields dairy. Old Mr. Iles told me how much he loves cheese with pickled onions. His daughter won’t pickle onions for him, says it’s too much trouble and she doesn’t like the smell.” She gave him a mischievous smile. “See, the pickled onions weren’t for either of us.”

He swallowed. She had no idea what she’d done.

Prewett.Could she have chosen anyone worse? AndIles. His mouth was dry, his throat constricted. The horse trotted inexorably on.

They turned a corner and he let out the breath he’d been holding as the first cottage came into view, stone, slate-roofed, smaller than he remembered. The garden was neat as a pin. Mrs. Prewett always did love her garden.

“Why are we stopping?” Lily asked. “The cottage is over there.”

Fifty yards away and he couldn’t go an inch closer. He hadn’t even realized he’d tightened the reins. His breathing came raggedly, rapid and shallow. “You go. I, I’ll go for a bit of a walk.”

“What is it, Edward? You’ve gone very pale. Are you ill?”