Lord Deverill's Heir, Catherine Coulter [the best motivational books .TXT] 📗

child. I will announce to the world that you carry another man’s babe—a Frenchman’s wretched get—that you are filled with another man’s seed. Believe me on this.”

He turned on his heel, and without looking back, strode into the small adjoining dressing room and very quietly closed the door behind him.

The gilt-edged ormolu clock on the mantelpiece ticked away its minutes with time-honored accuracy. The orange embers in the fireplace crackled and hissed in their final death glow, eventually succumbing to the invading chill of the room. The hideous grinning skeleton, mouth agape, eternally suspended on The Dance of Death panel, silently taunted the motionless figure on the bed.

Lady Ann broke her habit and took Mrs. Tucker quite by surprise by appearing at the inordinately early hour of eight o’clock at the breakfast parlor door. It was really rather a foolish thing to do, for in all likelihood the newlywedded couple would not emerge for hours. Yet Lady Ann had awakened with a vague sense that something was not quite right, and in spite of the comforting warmth that tempted her to snuggle down in her bed, she had swung her feet to the floor, rung for her maid, and dressed with more speed than was her usual habit.

“Good morning, Mrs. Tucker,” Lady Ann said with a smile. “I suppose I am the only one to demand breakfast this early in the morning.”

“Oh, no, my lady. His lordship has been in the breakfast parlor for a good half hour, though I can’t say that he has quite done justice to Cook’s kidneys and eggs. Indeed, I don’t believe he has touched his breakfast.

Lady Ann experienced a sudden sinking in the pit of her stomach. This surely wasn’t right. But what could possibly be wrong? She said, “If that is the case, Mrs. Tucker, Cook won’t have to prepare more kidneys for me.” The door to the breakfast parlor was slightly ajar. As Lady Ann stepped into the room, she was able to observe the earl before he was aware of her presence. His plate was indeed untouched. He lounged sideways in his chair, one leather-breached leg thrown negligently over the brocade arm.

His firm chin rested lightly upon his hand, and he appeared to be gazing out onto the south lawn at nothing in particular.

Lady Ann straightened her shoulders and walked into the breakfast room.

“Good morning, Justin. Mrs. Tucker tells me you are sadly neglecting Cook’s breakfast. Are you feeling all right this morning?” He turned quickly to face her, and she saw the tense line of his jaw, the shadows beneath his gray eyes, the haggard lines about his mouth. The lines smoothed out in a trice. He looked remote and quite calm, but she knew she hadn’t been mistaken. Something was very wrong.

“Good morning, Ann. You are certainly up and about early. Do join me. I am simply not hungry this morning. There was enough food served yesterday to fatten up a battalion.”

Lady Ann sat in the chair to his right. She wanted desperately to question him, but she found herself at a loss as to how to proceed. His face grew rather forbidding, as if he guessed her thoughts. She began to methodically butter a slice of warm toast, and without raising her eyes again to his face, she said, “It seems odd that you are now my son-in-law. Dr. Branyon obligingly pointed out that I can no longer escape my new title of Dowager Countess of Strafford. How very ancient it makes me feel.”

“Give yourself another twenty years before you consider assuming that title, Ann. Ah, by the way, are you planning to marry Paul Branyon?”

“Justin, what a question, why I—” She was totally taken off her guard.

Her toast slipped from her fingers and fell atop her marmalade. She gulped. “That is quite a question to be hit with this early in the morning.”

“Yes, and a very important one that I’m sure you have no wish to answer.

Do forgive me, Ann. Questions such as that tend to place the person being asked in a rather difficult position, do you not agree?”

“Yes,” she said slowly, “naturally you are right. That was very well done. I don’t believe I’ve ever before received such an elegant poke in the nose.”

He rose, tossing his napkin beside his full plate. “If you will excuse me, Ann, I have many matters to attend to this morning.” She watched him walk from the room. She said nothing more to him. What was there to say?

She stared down at the array of dishes Cook had happily prepared for the newlyweds. Dear God, whatever could have happened? Arabella had been so very happy and excited the night before—not at all a nervous young bride.

Arabella. Oh God, she must go to her. Her concern made her feet fly up the stairs to the earl’s bedchamber, the chamber she hated more than any other in this great mansion.

The door stood partially ajar, and she tapped on it lightly as she entered.

“Oh,” she said in surprise at the sight of Grace, Arabella’s maid, standing alone in the room, the tattered remnants of a nightgown held in her hands.

Grace quickly dropped a curtsy, her brown eyes darting quickly away from Lady Ann’s face.

“Where is my daughter?” She walked forward, her eyes on that torn nightgown in Grace’s hands.

Grace gulped uncomfortably. Lady Arabella had given her strict orders to straighten the room before anyone was about. Here she was standing in the middle of the room with the evidence of the earl’s brutality in her hands. “Ah, my lady, her ladyship is in her own room.”

“I see,” Lady Ann said slowly, her eyes taking in the dried bloodstains on top of the bedcover, the red-tinged water and the blood-flecked towel on the washbasin. She felt sick with apprehension. No use in putting more questions to Grace. She would protect Arabella. She was out of the bedchamber before Grace could offer her a curtsy.

Lady Ann walked more and more slowly as