Page 82 of Wed By Proxy

She scrabbled to her knees on the bed to face him. She was still naked but did not care. She could feel her face hot and angry, but for the first time in weeks she felt fully alive and furious. For days now, she had felt nothing but crushing heartbreak and misery. Now she felt invigorated, and warlike.

“I want the ruby brooch that is mine by right,” she announced defiantly. “The one that belongs to the Marchionesses of Martindale, for that is who I am!” She struck her fist against the mattress as she yelled the last few words and it felt good. “And I will no longer be denied, in my own house!”

He stared at her, his chest rising and falling. “I rue the day that Vawdrey bound me to you,” he ground out, his voice shaking. “You, madam, are a merciless, pitiless little bitch.”

She inclined her head. “And also, your marchioness,” she agreed calmly.

He was breathing hard now, his gaze seemingly riveted to her face, then it dipped a moment to her nakedness. Hot slashes of red appeared over his cheekbones.

“We’ll discuss this further when I get back,” he said in a low, uneven voice.

“If I’m still here,” Mathilde interjected, earning an incredulous look from him.

“Are you trying to reduce me to rage, madam?” he roared.

Mathilde had another crazy impulse to fake a yawn and see where that got her. It could well be over his knee, she thought, eyeing his rigid stance. What would that be like? she wondered and felt herself flush. Was she crazy? Now was not the time to find out. With an effort, she pulled herself together. Shrugging one shoulder, she dropped down onto the mattress and rolled into the sheets, away from him. Let him make of that what he would.

Mathilde lay silent, cocooned in the sheets for a long few moments, holding her breath. She thought she could hear his own ragged breathing nearby, and then the door slammed so hard the whole room seemed to shake. Mathilde smiled in grim satisfaction, though her throat burned. She could have sent him away with sweet words and wifely understanding. Instead she had by turns inflamed and enraged him. Her body ached every place he had touched her, and she was glad because that meant his would too, for her.

Doubtless her scratches down his back would smart on the entire ride to the Allworthy estate, she thought wiping away a tear from her cheek. Just as she would bear bruises on the morrow from the hard grip of his fingers, so too would he wear her scratch-marks as a reminder of their tryst. Julia Allworthy would not have one ounce of his attention for the four day journey. He would be too angry to make polite conversation with her. He would be fuming the entire way.

When she fell asleep twenty minutes later, though Mathilde’s cheeks were tear-stained, a small smile played about her lips.

XXXVI

Mathilde woke late and rolled over, squinting at the sunlight streaming through the window. There would be no snow left in sight at this rate. She hoped Guy’s party would have made good progress through the night. A slight knock on the door roused her from her sleepy thoughts.

“Come in.” Then remembering her nakedness, she drew the covers up around her. It was Lettys carrying hot water and clean cloths.

She washed and dressed, again using the satin underdress to lend some modesty to the low-cut gown of deep amber she wore over it. She had not worn this dress before, and found the skirts rather voluminous, catching them under her feet as she went to fetch her hair comb. Casting around, she saw the dagger on the black leather belt Guy had given her when she first arrived. Snatching this up, she fastened it around her hips, and caught a section of the skirts in the belt, tugging them higher so her feet were not impeded by their length. The satin under-gown ensured she was still modest, and Lettys nodded in satisfaction at the overall effect.

Lettys then spent a good twenty minutes pinning a brown velvet toque to Mathilde’s head, catching up her hair in sections and tucking and pinning them into place under the toque, giving the illusion that her hair was longer and piled up under the headdress.

“That looks very nice, Lettys,” said Mathilde with surprise. Really it was the most respectable her hair had looked since it had been cut! “You have quite a talent with hair.”

Lettys blushed. “Thank you,” she said looking grateful. “I always dressed my sister’s hair as well as my own. When yours is longer, I’ll be able to help you braid it into ever so many styles.” She attached a short veil to the arrangement and then pronounced her ready.

Mathilde was just heading for the door when she paused and turned back. “I believe I will wear something from my jewelry box to complete my outfit,” she decided.

Lettys helped her select a brooch which had an ‘M’ set out in pearls. She told herself it suited the outfit far better than a ruby brooch ever would have. “Like it was made for you,” said Lettys, patting her on the shoulder.

Below stairs, Firmin was solicitous and had a fire lit in the blue sitting room, but Mathilde found she could not settle to her tapestry. Even a walk in the garden did not cure her restlessness this morning. Again and again her thoughts returned to Guy and their enthusiastic reunion the night before. Of course, they had parted on harsh words, but to her mind they were a step closer to reconciling. If only, he had not had to leave for Allworthy. From what she had been told the journey took four days there and back in ideal conditions, but in weather like this it would more likely take five.

“I believe I’ll go for a ride,” she said aloud, as she and Lettys neared the stables. “A ride would help clear my head.”

“It’s bitter cold out!” Lettys protested, shivering and rubbing her mittens together.

“I know the perfect spot,” Mathilde coaxed. “Braeburn Heights. It’s a sun-trap up there, and there’s a good clear stretch, perfect for galloping.”

Lettys shuddered again. “I know where you mean and it’s frigid up there even at the height of summer!”

“Nonsense,” Mathilde said bracingly. “When Guy took me up there, we basked in the sunshine.” She did not mention that she could not feel her nose or the tips of her ears until a full hour after they returned.

“I think a canter up on Braeburn Heights sounds the very thing,” a smooth voice interrupted them. Mathilde swung round with surprise. There, leaning against one of the stalls was Tristan Kerslake, for once he was not dressed in colorful robes but wore simple and inconspicuous black. Mathilde blinked at him.

“You missed your sister’s departure for her husband’s estate,” she told him. “They departed in the early hours of this morn.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Alas,” he drawled. “I am out of favor with my sister at present. She has made it quite clear that she does not wish for my company for at least a six-month.” He shot her a direct look. “She thinks I made things worse for her and made her look bad in front of the Strethneals.”