Robin Schone by Awaken My Love

Author:Awaken, My Love [Awaken, My Love]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2012-11-24T23:33:11+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

Charles felt the inevitable hitch of his lip upward to his right cheek. His anger at having his picnic and seduction ruined focused on the black-clad figure who had been the bane of his existence for the last year. He opened his mouth to tell Morrigan’s relatives exactly where and whom they could visit. The press of a warm body forestalled his words. He glanced down at Morrigan.

His wife’s face was white; her ripe red lips appeared faintly blue, as if the breath had been squeezed out of her. Her eyes were dull and flat. Charles remembered how they had sparkled moments earlier and wanted to commit murder. He put his arm around her thin shoulders. It was extremely gratifying to feel her burrow more closely against him.

“Come, Morrigan, I see your manners have not improved,” Emily Boleigh said. “Give your aunt a kiss.”

Charles gave his wife a reassuring squeeze. “Morrigan is recovering from the putrid throat. It would be best for all if contact was avoided.”

“I see you have not yet learned my niece’s ways, my lord. Never mind. We can discuss that later. Be so kind as to have your servants direct our luggage to our rooms. My coachman and groom will care for the horses, but they, too, will require accommodation. I am sure our rooms are already prepared, but I hope it will not be too much of an inconvenience to place Mr. Boleigh on the ground floor. As you can see, he is not—”

“I do not know what you are talking about, Mrs. Boleigh. I did not know of your visit, so there are no rooms prepared.”

He tightened his arm around Morrigan’s shoulders. “Perhaps you did not hear me when I told you that Morrigan is recovering from the putrid throat. I would not wish to expose you or your family to the malady. There is an inn some few miles down the road; you may tell the innkeeper that I sent you. When Morrigan is fully recovered, perhaps then you can spare the time to visit us.”

Mrs. Boleigh stared insolently at the wicker basket in Charles’s right hand, then at Morrigan, lingering on the dress, the limp drape of cloth and the excessive trail of train. Hattie nodded, as if confirming some particularly heinous sin.

His wife, Charles knew, looked like a young girl dressed up in her big sister’s clothes. That fact had been forcefully brought home to him when she had met him in the library earlier. His only excuse for not having noticed the lack of bustle necessary for contemporary fashion was that he had seen her in only three of the trousseau dresses prior to today. That second night after he had returned from his property inspections, at which time she had been sitting at the dining room table when he had arrived (and afterward he had been too far gone in his cups to even care, had he noticed), and the day they had gone horseback riding, first that

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