At the end of the dance, she murmured her excuses, then searched the downstairs rooms, peeking into a quiet library, an empty morning room, a vacant butler's pantry. Alex's house-her house-was sparsely furnished. Many of the rooms lacked wallpaper and draperies, yet she could see possibilities in the airy ceilings, the tall windows, the finely detailed woodwork. Drat Alex for letting her believe he lived in that old, drafty castle with its eerie, cobwebbed table. And now the rascal had gone off with another woman on his wedding day.
It was time he showed his wife respect.
Her displeasure multiplied when she couldn't find the missing couple. Nearing the end of the gloomy passage, she spied one last door at the back of the house. She was marching toward it when the white-painted panel swung open, and her husband stepped out, a candlestick in his hand.
Behind him sauntered Meg. She was looking down while adjusting her dark green bodice.
A chill crawled over Helen, followed by a flash of rage. It was one thing to suspect them of a liaison; quite another to catch them after the act.
Alex halted, the candle flame casting shadows over his craggy features. He shut the door behind them. His dark eyebrows were lowered, giving him the aspect of a wary wolf. "What are you doing awa' from the dancing?"
"I should ask you that question." She glanced pointedly at Meg, who wore a cat-in-the-cream smile. She either used carmine to darken those ruby lips. Or she had just been soundly kissed.
"It isna your place to question me," Alex said ominously.
"Oh? Then I'll issue a few orders instead. Starting with your partner." Helen swung to the widow. "Bother my husband again, and I'll unman him. Now leave this house before I turn my wrath on you, as well."
The smirk vanished. Her brown eyes rounded, Meg scuttled past Helen and vanished down the corridor.
A fierce satisfaction gripped Helen. Before she could revel in her victory, Alex spoke in a low, melodious brogue.
"Unman me, will you?" One eyebrow cocked, he lounged with his shoulder propped against the wall as he looked her up and down. "And just how would a wee lass like you propose to do that?"
His lazy perusal sparked a heat in her that had nothing to do with anger or triumph. He stood so tall and muscled in his linen shirt and fine kilt. How well she remembered the hardness of that masculine body. The memory made her feel weak inside, yearning for his big hands to touch her.
Hands that had just been caressing someone else.
Helen clenched her silk skirt. "Test me and find out," she said with icy bravado. "I will not abide my husband bedding another woman."
He snorted. "I didna bed Meg."
"Then what were you doing with her in there?"
The glower returned, making his cheekbones stark and his expression grim in the meager candlelight. " 'Tis a private matter."
"Obviously. Or you wouldn't have needed to sneak away." She marched past him. "Perhaps I’ll have a look for myself."
He slapped his palm against the door. "Dinna go in there."
"Why not? Have you something to hide? A rumpled bed, perhaps?"
"That room is forbidden to you." "This is my house now, too. I've a right to go wherever I please."
"The house is mine" he corrected. "And you'll keep out where you are no' invited. It shouldna matter when you'll be gone from here soon enough."
"I've no intention of leaving."
"Then think again," he said bluntly. "There's no point to us living together. Tomorrow, you'll go awa' back to London with your father."
Shock reverberated through Helen. She clasped her hands tightly to steady herself. "You can't toss me out. I won't go."
"Suit yourself, then. But you'd best get out before winter makes the roads too treacherous for travel." In the candleglow, his dark blue eyes showed no regret, only an embittered dislike.
Of course. He feared she would behave the same as his mother. The realization eased the sting of his rejection, and without thinking, she reached up and caressed his jaw, sliding her hand to his temple. His skin was taut to her fingertips, his hair like rough silk. Looking up into his stern features, she imagined the lonely little boy he had once been. And it reminded her of why, in the end, she had spoken her vows to him. Because she ached to reach the fiercely guarded softness she had glimpsed inside the virile man.
Her husband.
She pressed herself closer to him, flushed with the desire to bring light and affection into his bleak life. "I don't mind the winter, Alex," she said in a sultry tone.
"I'm sure we can find ways to keep each other warm."
His nostrils flared. His chest expanded against her breasts. His moody eyes glittered down at her, and she knew with reckless delight that he still wanted her. He too wanted to make the best of this marriage
Suddenly he thrust her away. "Nay. I willna risk having a child by you, Lady Helen. So heed me well. I will never, ever touch you again."
Chapter Seven
"Everything will be fine, Papa."
Helen stood with her father on the front porch the next morning. His black traveling coach waited on the drive, beneath the autumn splendor of a huge oak tree. Except for the mountaintops, the snow had melted and the roads were clear. He was taking Abbott back to England so the coachman could recuperate there. Cox and Miss Gilbert would stay on with Helen.
Lord Hathaway gripped her hands. "I mislike leaving you here," he said for the tenth time. "Perhaps I acted too hastily in forcing this marriage."
I will never, ever touch you again.
"Of course you didn't," she said, giving her father a sunny, reassuring smile. "You wanted to protect my honor. And I love you for that."
Worry deepened the lines on his dignified features. "I know the MacBrut can provide for you," Hathaway said, as if trying to convince himself. "I'd stayed the night at this house before setting out for his castle. His people led me to believe he is a fine, worthy man."
He searched her face, and Helen maintained her determined smile. The woeful state of this marriage was her problem, not his. "Yes, Papa, you've told me. And I know Alex is well regarded in the village."
He's also affluent from lucrative shipping investments. And you'll have income of your own. The MacBrut insisted the marriage settlement remain in your name. That proves he's a generous man."
It proved he wanted nothing to do with English money. "Then I shan't want for anything." She swallowed hard. "Although I shall miss you, Papa."
"And I, you."
He pulled her into a tight hug that Helen wished would last forever. For as long as she could remember, Papa had always been there for her. He had been her companion on journeys to far-flung places. Now she would be lucky to see him once a year. The magnitude of that realization threatened to shatter her, but she held herself together for his sake. He mustn't guess that she had spent her wedding night alone, that she had lain awake for hours in the four-poster bed, listening to the creakings of the strange house and wishing for the warm comfort of her husband.
When her father drew away, his eyes glistened with moisture. She fought back her own tears as he gave her one last gruff kiss. Then he strode down the steps and entered the coach.
Helen stood waving, smiling bravely as the vehicle started off into the majestic hills. Only when the coach vanished around a bend in the road did she let the tears fall. Warm, wet drops rolled down her cold cheeks. As if sensing her unhappiness, M'lord bounded up the steps and whined. She picked up the dog, hugging his small form as he nudged her with his cold nose.