Andrew Lord of Despair(86)
“I beg your pardon?” Douglas’s tone was as chilly as the Channel wind whipping snow flurries across the fields and hedges.
“You are paying Astrid back with more than token interest, Amery. I can only surmise this is your attempt to create evidence favorable to you when you seek guardianship of your brother’s heir. I should toss this money back in your face.”
“Then toss it,” Douglas said with exquisite indifference. “I shall invest it on Astrid’s behalf, if her husband is too busy strutting and pawing to look after it for her.”
Andrew’s temper snapped, the relief of it enormous.
“By God, Amery”—Andrew rose from the table—“you tempt me to call you out. This”—he waved the draft contemptuously—“does not disguise the fact that yet another attempt has been made on Astrid’s life, and the only person motivated to harm her sits before me now, oozing manners and restitution.”
“Sit down,” Douglas growled as the serving maid paused in her scrubbing at a nearby table. Something in Andrew’s eyes must have promised imminent doom, because Douglas added, “Please. Please sit down.”
Andrew had to again give credit: Douglas appeared convincingly disconcerted.
“What is this attempt at further harm to Astrid you refer to?”
“What’s wrong, Amery, won’t your spies talk to you anymore?” Andrew asked—and he did not sit down, but he did keep his voice down. “Know this: Astrid is safe enough, despite your schemes. And I plan for her to remain that way. And as for this”—he gestured with the draft—“it is not mine to refuse or accept. I will pass it into my wife’s keeping, and she will decide what to do with it.”
Andrew tossed a handful of coins on the table, snatched up his coat, and stalked from the room, leaving Douglas staring into his tea and the serving girl ducking back to the kitchen.
As Andrew trotted Magic homeward through a snowfall growing more purposeful by the minute, he mentally reviewed the meeting. Douglas could have been lying in wait for him, because Andrew had made a habit of riding over to Willowdale at this time of day.
Which would have to change, effective immediately. Andrew might miss his wife, but he would be damned if he’d leave such an obvious clue regarding Astrid’s whereabouts. No more excursions to sit on the hill and pine for her, not if he valued her safety.
***
Despite the storm outside, dinner concluded pleasantly, with Gareth consuming two large pieces of spice cake. Astrid had seen a few winces cross Felicity’s face, but attributed them to the simple challenge of remaining seated through the meal.
“I’ll go up to the nursery and check on the children,” Felicity said, setting her teacup down and struggling to her feet.
“I’ll join you,” Gareth added, his hand under her elbow.
“No, you will not,” Felicity replied. “You got them so wound up this morning, that one glimpse of you, and they’ll be galloping around the room on another fox hunt. Astrid, if you wouldn’t mind?”
“I will be in the library then,” Gareth informed the ladies. “Please tell my sons I love them, if you can manage it without waking them up.”
Astrid linked her arm through Felicity’s and escorted her from the room at a particularly deliberate pace. Astrid held her silence, knowing Gareth might well be lurking in the door to the dining room, monitoring their progress.
When they reached the darkened nursery, Felicity went to the small bed where her older son slept, his boneless sprawl a deceptive variation on his usual boundless energy. She lowered herself to his side—slowly, carefully, the way a stately vessel might glide the last few yards into its slip in a calm harbor—and smoothed a hand over his forehead.
“Your father loves you, and so do I. Never doubt that,” she said softly. She repeated her words to her smaller sleeping son while Astrid looked on in growing dismay.
Felicity was terrified, mortally terrified. This fact—for it was a fact—hit Astrid like one of those lengths of lumber that had left bruises all over her body. Felicity was saying a good-bye, in case these twins cost her her life.
The child in Astrid’s womb chose then to kick hard, provoking a longing for Andrew more intense than any to date. She didn’t care why he’d put distance between them, didn’t care she should be angry with him. She simply wanted to be with him, on any terms he’d consider.
“Lissy?” Astrid called softly.
“Help me up, please,” Felicity replied in the same subdued tones. Astrid complied and kept an arm around her sister’s back.