The Devil You Know by Liz Carlyle

Author:Liz Carlyle [Carlyle, Liz]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, Romance, General, Historical, Historical Romance
ISBN: 9780743446389
Publisher: Pocket Books
Published: 2002-12-31T16:00:00+00:00

* * *

Just a few short hours later, however, Frederica found her situation much improved. The midday sun was warm on her back as she lay prone across an old wool blanket, propped up on her elbows so that she might better view her husband’s face. Bentley lay on his back, with one knee drawn up and an arm thrown over his eyes, as if to shut out the sun. His coat, waistcoat, and neckcloth lay carelessly heaped in the grass. In sleep, his handsome visage had softened, and, despite the faint beard which already shadowed his face, he looked somehow younger. Almost innocent.At that thought, Frederica suppressed a laugh. What a foolishly romantic notion! Had she allowed the strange events of this morning—and this pleasant afternoon—to go to her head? Perhaps. But why not? There was no denying that both had touched her deeply.

“We’ve got to get you out of this house for a few hours,” Bentley had said, as he’d hefted the basket which the kitchen staff had set out. “You must be sick to death of people you scarcely know barging in. Next we’ll have the village tabbies scratching at the front door, and they won’t take no for an answer.”

Frederica welcomed some time alone with her husband. How extraordinary life seemed in the light of a new day and in this new place, she mused, absently studying the blanket’s fringe. She was a married woman—married to Bentley Rutledge, a charming rogue she’d thought she’d known for half her life. But she was now beginning to believe she barely knew him at all. With Bentley, it felt as though she were moving through life in some sort of dreamlike state, caught between her old, very ordinary existence and this astonishing and enigmatic new one. Still, Bentley was an enigma she meant to solve. The success of their marriage, she greatly feared, might well depend on it.

At least the walk here had cleared her head and chased away the last of her nausea. The children, as it turned out, had been engaged to have luncheon with their cousins at Bellevue. So Frederica and Bentley had set out alone walking briskly for a mile or better. Bentley had chosen a spot high on a hill above Chalcote, near a copse of trees along the footpath. There he had tossed out their blanket, proclaiming it his favorite hill in all of England. And Frederica could understand why. From its lofty apex, one could see for miles over woodland and wolds dotted with stone cottages, peeping church spires, and the occasional soaring roofline. The River Coln cut through it, snaking past green pastures speckled with sheep.

Stretched out on their blanket, they had feasted on a meal of cold chicken, fruit, cheese, and crusty bread. Frederica had nibbled slowly, with Bentley poking the occasional sliver of apple or bit of cheese into her mouth, as if she needed encouragement. Afterward, he had propped himself back on one elbow, crossed his boots casually

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