Andrew Lord of Despair(40)

“What other explanation? My husband spent a great deal of time around guns and strong spirits, and one day he was unlucky.”

“Astrid, I don’t want to believe this, but please consider that your husband might have died at the hand of someone who would benefit from his death.”

“You want me to consider that my husband was murdered?” she hissed. “That is ridiculous, Andrew. Who in their right mind would murder an impoverished, titled gentleman, particularly one as unfailingly amiable and openhanded as Herbert? One thing you must admit about Herbert, he did not have enemies.”

Andrew rolled to his back, taking his warmth away when Astrid most wanted to cling to him.

“Astrid, he may not have had enemies, but he has a brother, two in fact. For a younger brother to covet a title would not be unusual. In most families, it would almost be expected. You’d not believe the number of jokes aimed at me, insinuating I wanted my brother’s title, or that Gareth killed five relatives to get his hands on the marquessate.” He gripped her hand more firmly. “How well do you know Douglas Allen?”

Andrew the lover was charming, dear, and heartbreaking in his determination to leave her. Andrew the warrior, hell-bent on equipping her with enough knowledge to protect herself, was daunting in an entirely different way.

“I do not know Douglas well. He is such a cold fish and even more private than David was upon first acquaintance. He is ever proper, but controlled. As if he’s always standing outside himself, watching. I’ve never even seen him express affection for his mother or a dog or a small child. I often wished Douglas had more of Herbert’s jovial social grace, and Herbert had more of Douglas’s gravity.”

“Do you feel safe around Douglas?”

Astrid searched in vain for reasons to give the reassuring answer Andrew wanted to hear. She had never felt comfortable around Herbert’s middle brother, and wasn’t sure Herbert had either.

“Your silence speaks volumes, Astrid, and forces me to lay before you another option.”

“I am not going to like this, am I?”

“No, you are not.” From his tone, neither was he.

“Then at least hold me while you deliver the worst news.” She made as if to wrestle him back over her, and Andrew complied.

“Your brilliant brother and your brilliant brother-in-law,” he began, brushing a strand of hair off her forehead, “have come up with a way to keep you safe and to ensure Douglas does not have the raising of your child.”

“I’m all for accomplishing both, so let’s hear their clever plan,” she said, nuzzling at Andrew’s throat. “You have the most marvelous scent about you.”

“As do you,” Andrew replied politely, his man parts stirring back to life despite his manners. “It occurred to Fairly that were you to marry a well-heeled fellow who outranked Douglas, then Douglas’s hands would be tied. He could not demand you rejoin the Allen household; he could not completely control your child; he could not control your finances even indirectly.”

“Oh, that’s a fine plan,” Astrid muttered, dipping her head so her tongue could go questing at Andrew’s throat for his pulse. “I see a small flaw or two, however. First, I do not want to be married to anyone ever again, and we have no duke or marquess hanging about the hedges, just waiting to ask for my dainty hand, not when I’m about to drop some other bull’s calf.”

Andrew angled up so he more thoroughly covered her. “The hedges might not hold an eligible duke or a marquess, but we could scare you up an earl.”

“I don’t know any earls under the age of fifty, and he would have to be handy with pistols, fists, and swords if he were to provide me bodily safety, wouldn’t he?” She began to rock her hips, sliding her wet sex slowly back and forth along the length of his growing erection, and wanting desperately, desperately for Andrew to be quiet.

“Those skills would be important attributes, yes,” Andrew said, though his voice at least had a distracted, breathless quality.

“And,” Astrid went on, her hands sliding down his back to knead the muscles of his buttocks, “I am not going to marry another polite fellow who will expect me to wait patiently in the dark for his timid… disgusting… inept… fumbling attempts at conjugal relations.” She punctuated each adjective with a roll of her hips, indignant that Andrew could even contemplate marrying her off to another man.

“No one would expect that of you,” he said. “But our brothers have found somebody who meets all of your criteria: he’s young enough, he is motivated to protect you and your child, he is an earl, moderately wealthy, and he manages passably well between the sheets.”