Page 10 of The Defiant One
The tears came, damn them. She felt them wetting the coverlet beneath her hot face, felt them burning inside her nose and making the back of her throat ache. She did not understand them.
Why am I so upset?
Because Sir Harold Bonkley has ruined my evening, she wanted to shout at herself. But Herself didn't quite believe it, so her grasping mind tried something else. Because men are constantly trying to order my life to their own wishes, patronizing me, treating me as though I lack a brain and will of my own. No, that wasn't it either. Toenails clicked on the floor and a moment later the bed sagged as Freckles heaved his big body up beside her. She sat up, wrapped her arms around his neck, and hugged him fiercely. Because Freckles's face is now completely grey and he can't walk very well anymore and now I've found a strange lump just below his ear and I am scared to death.
Yes, that was it. That was why she was crying. It had nothing to do with the fact that, as usual, nobody had taken her impassioned pleas on behalf of animals seriously. And it had nothing to do with the fact that when Lord Andrew had saved her from Bonkley, she'd had a mad inclination to hurl herself into his arms and let him kiss her instead.
It had nothing to do with Lord Andrew!
She buried her face in Freckles's neck and sobbed. "Oh, Freck . . . What is wrong with me?"
He was too old and too dignified to lick her face. He merely sat there and stoically let her hug him, leaning his body slightly toward hers.
"Nobody wants to hear about the poor little turnspits who run their legs off in hot kitchens so that people's meat might be roasted," she told him brokenly. "Nobody cares about the way cart horses are beaten until they drop, or how hundreds of unwanted, unloved dogs and cats are starving in the streets because there aren't enough homes for them. No, nobody cares. All they want to do was drink my expensive wine, eat my expensive food, try to win my expensive — and oh-so-wealthy — hand. Oh, how I wish that I'd been born a man instead so that people would take me seriously. How I wish that Papa had had a brother or a son so that I wouldn't have inherited everything." She buried her face in the side of the old dog's neck and hugged him tightly. "And how I wish that there was such a thing as a man capable of loving me as much as you do, Freckles."
With a groan of pain, Freckles lowered his big body down beside her, molding his back to the curve of her body. She stroked his long, floppy ears and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Dear old Freckles. That was the thing about dogs, wasn't it? They always understood. They never let you cry all by yourself. They insisted on sleeping with you at night to keep you safe and warm, they were always there whether you wanted them to be or not, and they always knew exactly how you were feeling.
If only she knew exactly how she was feeling.
Damn you, Lord Andrew!
That was it. Tomorrow she was just going to have to leave for Blackheath Castle and there, finish the conversation he'd so abruptly ended. Tomorrow she was just going to have to make the journey to see for herself what he was doing to the de Montforte dogs.
Tomorrow she was just going to resolve this matter, for better or worse, and life would get back to normal.
She hugged Freckles, and tried not to think of the lump.
It was not growing bigger, she told herself.
But Herself didn't quite believe that, either.
~~~~
Outside in the carriage, Andrew must have long since fallen asleep, for the sound of Lucien's voice just beyond the door jolted him with a start. He sat up, blinking, as the sway of the carriage heralded the duke and Nerissa's entrance.
"Ah, Andrew. There you are. We were wondering what became of you," murmured Lucien, taking the seat opposite him and pulling off his gloves. "Too much excitement for one evening?"
Nerissa bounced into the seat beside Andrew. "You really should have stayed. Lady Brookhampton's dog jumped onto the refreshments table when no one was looking and managed to eat the whole cake. It was hilariously funny!"
"Yes, especially when the poor beast got sick all over Bonkley's shoe," Lucien observed dryly. "Rather put an end to things, I daresay." He rapped once on the roof of the vehicle, signalling the driver to move on, then turned his enigmatic black stare on Andrew. "Pray tell, why did you leave?"
Andrew set his jaw and stared out the window. "Because," he bit out.
Silence.
If Andrew weren't gazing out into the night, he might have seen the quickly veiled look of concern in his brother's eyes.
He might have seen the ache in Nerissa's suddenly sympathetic gaze.
Instead, all he saw was the tall, pointed, dark tops of the conifers swaying gently against the stars.
"Ah," said the duke, softly. "Another episode, I take it?"
Andrew's silence was affirmation enough.
Nerissa and Lucien exchanged glances. "And here I thought it was Lady Celsiana who might have caused your hasty departure," Lucien mused.
That got Andrew's attention. He turned angrily on his brother. "Yes, speaking of that belligerent little witch, why did you set her loose on me like that?"
