A Tip of the Cap (London League, Book 3) Page 17

  They jabbered rapidly at him about everything he’d missed, walking with him back towards the hill, and he tried his best to answer them, but his attention was distracted.

  Beth had not run towards him, remaining on the hill, but she had taken a few steps in his direction, and now she stood there, smiling with warmth and, he hoped, relief. It was the sort of smile he would have crossed oceans for, the kind that set one’s heart aflame. He suspected she would have been grinning wildly if she were not sensitive to his preferred restraint.

  His formerly preferred restraint, he should say. At this moment, he wanted nothing more than to see that imagined wild grin, though he doubted it could eclipse the brilliance he was currently viewing.

  “Malcolm,” she greeted, her smile tugging at her cheeks.

  He let Greer and Samuel slide from his hold as he ascended the hill to her. “Beth.”

  Only when he was directly before her could he see how she trembled, how her fingers clenched together, and that there was the faintest sheen of tears in her eyes.

  He was a damned fool to ever have left.

  He took her face in his hands, smoothed her cheeks, and whispered, “Sweet Beth.” Then he closed his eyes and pressed his lips to hers, stunned with the ease with which her lips molded to his, with her enthusiastic response, and with how perfectly right it was to feel this way. His lips caressed hers over and over again, keeping things gentle, but also promising a future of much, much more.

  He felt her rising response and broke off before they forgot themselves, smiling his amusement at her unsteady breathing and her faint moan of disappointment. He met her eyes and stroked her hair once, then tapped her cheek where a slight blush was forming. She rolled her eyes a little, smiling at his silent reminder, and then surprised him again by wrapping her arms around him.

  “Welcome home,” she murmured, laying her head against his chest.

  Malcolm looked heavenward as his emotions skittered in five different directions, his arms encircling Beth tightly, holding her close, unable to respond.

  “Papa!” Archer called, though he was not far off.

  Malcolm turned to his son, keeping one arm around Beth. “Archer?”

  His son, a perfect blend of his parents in appearance, gave him a singularly mischievous grin he could only have learned from his mother. Or his stepmother. “Will you roll the hill with us?”

  The other children cheered their encouragement, and Malcolm made a thoughtful face, considering it.

  “You would not refuse your son, would you, my lord?” Beth asked in a low voice.

  He gave her a mock warning look. “You are the reason I am in this spot of trouble, and I suspect more lies in my future.”

  She shrugged one shoulder. “Perhaps. But for now, it is only a roll down the hill. The children and I have done it several times.”

  He exhaled heavily at the taunting words, then shook his head and kissed her quickly. “Troublemaker.”

  She grinned cheekily. “Always.”

  Malcolm turned to his children, then pulled off his jacket, eliciting cheers of delight. “Very well. How should I do it?”

  Beth was not generally fond of athletic activity early in the morning, but her husband had suggested the night before that they enjoy a morning ride together. She had agreed so readily that she’d had no thought for what that would entail.

  Even now, perched on horseback, she was confused by it. She was barely awake enough to blink without effort, how was she supposed to engage in conversation and flirtation with her husband while simultaneously riding a massive animal that could seriously injure her if she were not mindful?

  All that she could say for herself was that she looked properly fetching, thanks to the attentions of two maids she had engaged for the endeavor. They, at least, had been alert enough to consider things properly. She did so love the deep green of her riding habit and hoped it might do for her complexion and figure everything that the girls had promised.

  Malcolm, of course, looked utterly perfect. Perfectly dressed, perfectly poised, and perfectly tempting. He had changed somehow while he was London. He did not look as imposing as he once had to her, his hair a little less perfect than before, his cravat a little less formal. He looked more real, more human… more attainable. Even though Beth still felt half-asleep, she was very aware and appreciative of her husband this morning.

  He had not said much to her yet, but it was early, and they had not eaten before they had embarked. He had posed the idea of a brisk ride together followed by sharing breakfast together, and she had thrilled at his offer, noting his repeated emphasis on the word together. His eager greeting with the children and subsequent play with them had been different, more relaxed and natural. He had surprised them all by suggesting they not return to lessons that day. He had raced the boys, twirled the girls, and had rolled the grassy hill a surprising five times.

  His very warm greeting for her had shattered any restraint she may still have had with him. She had trembled with the anticipation of his return, keeping her feet planted where they were to avoid making a scene. Watching him with the children had brought tears to her eyes, and then to see the way he had looked up at her… It was as if his motions were half their speed as he approached her, her heart pounding twice its usual pace.

  She could play out the entire kiss second by second, every touch and motion seared into her memory. More than half the night she had played it over and over, reliving the glorious experience of his lips on hers, his hands cradling her face gently, and she, helpless to resist and weakening further by the moment, could only tremble more in his hold and cling to the strength he provided.

  And that had been a fairly gentle kiss, especially when compared with the one he had given her in the hallway that night.

  But yesterday’s kiss, and the small ones that had happened since, stirred her more than the passion she had felt from him before. Because this time, he was kissing her.

  Her heart swelled, bringing a smile to her face, and she turned to look at her husband, riding wordlessly beside her.

  As if he could sense her gaze, he tilted his head to look at her, smiling a soft, crooked smile at her notice.

  “What is it, Malcolm?” she flirted coyly.

  He shrugged a shoulder. “You make me smile.”

  She grinned cheekily in response, which made him laugh, which of course made her blush. “Stop!” she protested, lifting the back of a gloved hand to her face.

  “You blush so delightfully,” he teased, bringing his horse closer. “And apparently more easily in the morning. I shall have to remember that.”

  Beth sighed, shaking her head. “If only there were something in you I could exploit with such ease in return. It is most distressing to be so susceptible to your efforts.”

  Malcolm chuckled softly. “I have no doubt you will think of something, Beth. You are far too creative to let this lie for long.”

  “Truer words were never spoken,” she chortled, sitting a little taller in her saddle. “Have a care, Lord Montgomery. I shall be watching you very closely.”

  Suddenly, she saw that bare hint of a smile that had once beguiled her, and she felt her chest tighten at the sight of it.

  “I look forward to your keen observations, Lady Montgomery.”

  Good heavens, this was getting out of hand far too quickly, and she was swimming in far deeper waters than she could tolerate. Beth cleared her throat and quickly looked away. “Did you accomplish all you needed to in London?”

  Malcolm’s low chuckle told her he was not fooled by her rather weak attempt to divert attention. But he took pity on her and replied, “I did, which was rather convenient, as I had an intense desire to be elsewhere by the end of it.”

  She did not dare look at him for fear of what she might see in his expression. “Ah, so you went to visit your lover, Lady Lavinia Herschel?”

  He coughed suddenly, and she glanced over, finding his face torn between horror and amusement. “Good
lord, Beth…” he coughed again.

  Beth found herself grinning at him. “What, surely she has not thrown you over? Not with how fervently she laid her claims to you!”

  Malcolm clamped down on his lips, fighting laughter.

  “I have half a mind to invite her here, you know,” she said with a mock sigh. “It must be so inconvenient for her to be parted from you.”

  “I will have you know,” he responded loudly, smiling in earnest now, “that I did not see her on this trip, nor do I intend to see her at any point in time if I can help it. Nothing, and I repeat, nothing she has ever said or done could possibly interest me. I intend to only extend the barest courtesy, and only when absolutely required.”

  Beth smiled at him with real fondness. “Poor Lady Lavinia.”

  Malcolm snorted softly. “I daresay she will rally.” He tilted his head to look at her, his smile turning quizzical. “Did you know she was pursuing me even while I was married before?”

  She gaped a little. “So, you being a lonely and troubled widower did not spark her attentions?”

  He shook his head. “All that did was increase her fervor.”

  Beth shuddered and gave her husband a frank look. “If you ever succumb to her wiles, Malcolm, I will personally shoot you.”

  He returned her look with the utmost derision. “Really, Beth, I have no intention of being unfaithful in any way, let alone sinking myself into that particular pit.”

  She smiled at his sudden venom and nodded her acknowledgment of his vow before turning her gaze back to the hills and bluffs before her.

  “You’re far livelier than I expected you to be this early,” he observed, still sounding amused. “What has you so invigorated?”

  “Thoughts of returning to my bed for a bit more sleep,” Beth muttered good-naturedly, trying for a sour look and failing.

  Malcolm laughed softly, close enough now to nudge her. “Is that all?”

  Steeling herself, she turned to give him a slow smile. “Well, I could also be invigorated by the prospect of a handsome and charming man riding beside me.”

  His eyes darkened as he looked at her, and back was the sort-of smile she adored. “And he might be invigorated by his beautiful and engaging wife.”

  Beth released a slow exhale to steady her skittering heart and attempt to quell her rising blush. “And she might be wondering what has her husband so changed in so short a time.”

  “And he might reply that he simply opened his eyes and found himself somewhere new.”

  His tone had turned warmer, softer, and it rippled like a wave over her arms and legs and all throughout her body. She could not find the strength to look away, her heart pounding ruthlessly in her ears. She could not speculate as to his meaning, not with the current state of her heart. All she could attempt was to not question his intentions or doubt his words. Though it was difficult for her to imagine such a man finding particular interest in her, she could not mistake what she saw.

  Or what she felt.

  Her horse suddenly snorted and trotted anxiously forward, breaking the rising tension of the moment.

  Beth settled her, laughing uneasily as she fought to recover.

  Malcolm came up alongside her, chuckling as well. “Your horse seems restless.”

  She patted the horse’s neck gently. “She just wants to race this morning.” Beth glanced at her husband with a teasing quirk of her brows. “What say you, my lord? Do you have a race in you?”

  He looked a little offended she would ask and gave a brisk nod. “Certainly.”

  Beth straightened up, tightening her hold on the reins. “Good.” She clicked her tongue and kicked her heels into the horse sharply, taking off without warning.

  “Hyah!” Malcolm shouted to his steed. He soon closed the distance.

  She did her best to flatten herself along the horse, forgoing the ladylike posture she ought to have maintained in the saddle. Malcolm would not care, and neither did she. Her horse moved with power and ease, striding long and hard, and she grinned at the rush of pleasure she felt at being able to ride so recklessly. She hadn’t ridden all-out like this since she was a young girl, but as it had then, it still gave her a thrill.

  But in those times, she did not have a fellow rider in pursuit, and one that was fast approaching. She could hear his horse’s hooves pounding the ground just behind her, could hear his grunted words to it, and she urged her mount to race on.

  Malcolm was a better rider, though, and was soon right at her side and then passing her, not even glancing at her as he did so.

  Beth snarled under her breath, pressing the horse faster, harder, desperate to wring as much power out of her and the horse as she could. She had to win. She had to.

  She glanced back and was unprepared when her horse suddenly jumped over a boulder. The change in motion and force sent her catapulting out of the saddle backwards. She seemed to fall in slow motion, end over end, tumbling through the air, the breath stolen from her lungs. She faintly registered the sound of a cry, unsure if it was her own or her husband’s, and saw the ground fast approaching. She couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything, couldn’t prevent what was about to happen.

  All she could do was wait, anticipating the shock of landing.

  Then everything went black…

  Chapter Fourteen

  Malcolm was usually a very controlled man. A man of restraint and reservation, not prone to emotional outbursts or open distress, and a steady head amidst any chaos. But as his wife lay unconscious and still in her bed with a physician examining her, he felt all his usual boundaries snap and his control shred. He provoked the doctor with questions, demanded that he rouse her, paced the room frantically, and went so far as to bellow at the servants for disturbing them, and then do so again when they could do nothing to help.

  The only thing he did not do was come close enough to the bed to touch Beth. He couldn’t.

  She lay so still, so pale. He feared that if he touched her, he would find her as cold and lifeless as she looked, despite being assured that she was, indeed, alive.

  He would never, as long as he lived, forget the sight of Beth lying on the ground, her horse standing expectantly a few paces away. She was not sprawled out grotesquely or injured in an obvious way, but she had not been moving. He had vaulted off his horse to race to her side, and only when he was there could he find that she was breathing, though it was faint. Although his whole world had just exploded, he had somehow managed the sense to gather up her limp body and bear her gently in his arms.

  His single-minded focus had been on getting Beth to Knightsgate and sending for the doctor. It was not until she had been set down in the bed and the doctor sent for that he had begun to shake. He had trembled from head to foot as the servants removed Beth’s habit and bonnet, and he’d felt his heart sink to his toes at the blood they had discovered at the back of her head and into her fair hair. Malcolm could not recall the doctor’s name, though he had seen Archer not many days before and had treated the Colerain family for years. He did not know the speed with which the old man had ridden to the estate at the desperate summons of Malcolm’s groom. But he hadn’t come soon enough for Malcolm in his frantic state.

  He ought to thank him for that when all of this was over. Provided he remembered. Or felt gratitude.

  He stared at the doctor now, waiting impatiently with his arms tightly folded. For what had to be the seventh time in as many minutes, the older man held Beth’s wrist, watching her with interest.

  Suddenly, everything about him irritated Malcolm, from his almost complete baldness and white sideburns to the pudgy girth constricted by his waistcoat. He hated the way the physician hummed without emotion as he examined Beth. He felt his teeth grind every time the man shifted his weight and made the floorboards creak.

  And he utterly despised the way the doctor was not speaking.

  When he had first arrived, he had been quick to assure Malcolm that Beth was alive, which Malcolm knew already,
and that the cut on the back of her head was not severe, which had been small relief.

  He had not said more than ten words since, and Malcolm was beginning to think very intently about employing some of his less-than-polite spy training.

  “I think she is coming ‘round, my lord,” the doctor said in a hopeful tone.

  Malcolm’s aching eyes shot to Beth when at last she moved, and his knees buckled as the weakest of moans escaped her lips.

  He was at her side in a heartbeat, still unable to reach out and take her hand. “Beth?”

  She turned her head towards the sound of his voice, then winced with another moan. “Hurts…” she whispered, her words slurred and barely coherent.

  Malcolm’s throat closed, and he fought hard for a swallow. “What hurts?” he rasped, his eyes beginning to burn.

  Beth swallowed, her brow still furrowed from pain. “Head.”

  “You had a fall,” he explained weakly, his fingers rubbing together as he stood awkwardly by. The doctor had warned him that she might not remember what had occurred, where she was, or even who he was. He hadn’t dwelt on that thought overmuch, thinking it to be impossible, but now that she was awake and lying before him, it suddenly became his most predominant fear. “Do you remember?”

  She rolled her head from side to side, eliciting a groan, and then she made a face, drawing in her pale cheeks slightly. “Perhaps. Were we… were we riding, Malcolm?”

  He exhaled noisily as his emotions rose to the surface, nodding though her eyes were closed. “Yes, we were riding.” He laughed in relief and put his hands on his hips, lowering his head. “We were racing.”

  Beth wet her cracked lips and hummed through her nose. “Did I win?”

  He was tempted to lie, to say something charming and witty, something to make her smile. But he couldn’t do it, couldn’t tell her anything but the truth, though he found himself smiling at her. “No.”

  Her lips quirked just a little. “I demand a rematch.”