He had also consumed what was left of Sally Evans's only bottle of brandy.
“We'll replace that, too,” Ellie said with an apologetic smile.
“Buy you a whole new coddage,” Charles slurred.
“Oh, that's not necessary,” Sally said quickly. “This one's as good as new, what with the chimney working now.”
“Ah, yes,” he said expansively. “Nice chimney. I saw it. Did you know I saw it?”
“We all know you saw it,” Ellie said in her most patient tone. “We watched you on the roof.”
“'Course you did.” He smiled, then hiccupped.
Ellie turned to Sally and said, “He tends to get a little silly when he's drunk.”
“And who could blame him?” Sally replied. “I would have needed two bottles of brandy if I were receiving those stitches.”
“And I would have needed three,” Ellie said, patting Charles's arm. She didn't want him worrying that they thought any less of him for drinking spirits to dull the pain.
But Charles was still stuck on the comment about his being drunk. “I'm not drunk!” he said indignantly. “A gennleman never gets drunk.”
“Is that so?” Ellie said with a patient smile.
“A gennleman gets foxed,” he said with a resolute nod. “I'm foxed.”
Ellie noticed that Sally was covering her mouth to hide a grin. “I wouldn't mind taking you up on a second cup of tea while we wait for the carriage,” she said to her hostess.
“You won't have time,” Sally replied. “I see it coming around the bend.”
“Thank heavens,” Ellie said. “I'd really like to put him to bed.”
“You joining me?” Charles said as he staggered to his feet.
“My lord!”
“I wouldn't mind taking up where we left off.” He paused to hiccup three times in rapid succession. “If you know what I mean.”
“My lord,” Ellie said sternly, “the brandy has made your tongue deplorably loose.”
“Has it? I wonder what it's done to your tongue.” He swayed toward her, and Ellie darted out of the way just seconds before his lips would have connected with hers. Unfortunately, this caused him to lose his balance, and he tumbled to the floor.
“Heavens above!” Ellie burst out. “If you've torn open your stitches, God help me, I will flay you alive.”
He blinked and planted his hands on his hips. This didn't lend him much dignity, however, as he was still sitting on the floor. “That seems rather counter-productive, don't you think?”
Ellie let out a long-suffering sigh. “Sally, will you help me in setting the earl on his feet?”
Sally immediately moved to help her, and in a few moments they had Charles on his feet and out the door. Thankfully, three grooms had come with the carriage. Ellie didn't think that the two women would have been able to get him into it on their own.
The ride home was uneventful, as Charles fell asleep. Ellie was grateful for that—it was a most welcome respite. She had to wake him up again when they arrived home, however, and by the time she and the grooms got him up to his room, she thought she might scream. He had tried to kiss her fourteen times on the stairs, which wouldn't have bothered her so much if he weren't drunk, completely heedless of the presence of the servants, and in danger of bleeding to death if he fell and broke open his stitches.
Well, she privately allowed, he probably wasn't going to bleed to death, but it certainly made for an effective threat when she finally lost her temper and yelled, “Charles, if you don't stop this this instant, I am going to let you fall and you can bleed to death for all I care!”
He blinked. “Stop what?”
“Trying to kiss me,” she ground out, quite unhappy that she'd been forced to say the words in front of the servants.
“Why not?” He leaned forward again, his lips puckered.
“Because we are on the stairs.”
He cocked his head and regarded her with a puzzled expression. “Funny how you can talk without opening your mouth.”
Ellie tried to unclench her teeth this time before speaking, but she wasn't successful. “Just keep going up the stairs and to your room, if you please.”
“And then I can kiss you?”
“Yes! Fine!”
He sighed happily. “Oh, good.”
Ellie groaned and tried to ignore the way the footmen were trying to hide their grins.
A minute or so later they nearly had him into his room, but Charles suddenly stopped short and blurted out. “Do you know what your problem is, Ellie, m'dear?”
She kept trying to push him down the hall. “What?”
“You're too damned good at everything.”
Ellie wondered why that didn't sound like a compliment.
“I mean—” He waved his good arm expansively, causing him to lurch forward, which required Ellie and both of the footmen to grab him before he tumbled to the ground.
“Charles, I don't think this is the time,” she said.
“Y'see,” he said, ignoring her, “I thought I wanted a wife I could ignore.”
“I know.” Ellie looked desperately at the footmen as they pushed Charles onto his bed. “I believe I can handle him from here.”
“Are you certain, my lady?”
“Yes,” she muttered. “With any luck he'll pass out soon.”
The footmen looked dubious, but they filed out nonetheless.
“Close the door behind you!” Charles hollered.
Ellie spun around and crossed her arms. “You do not make an attractive drunk, my lord.”
“Really? You once told me you liked me best drunk.”
“I have reconsidered.”
He sighed. “Women.”
“The world would be a far less civilized place without us,” she said with a sniff.
“I agree wholeheartedly.” He burped. “Now, where was I? Oh yes, I wanted a wife so I could ignore her.”
“A fine specimen of English good cheer and chivalry, you are,” she said under her breath.
“What was that? Didn't hear you. Ah well, doesn't matter. Anyway, here is what happened.”
Ellie looked at him with an expression of sarcastic eagerness.
“I ended up with a wife who can ignore me.” He jabbed himself in the chest and yelped, “Me!”
She blinked. “I beg your pardon.”
“You can do anything. Stitch up my arm, make a fortune. Well, aside from blowing up my kitchen…”
“Now, see here!”
“Hmm, and you did mess up the orangery something awful, but I did receive a note from Barnes calling you quite the most intelligent female he'd ever met. And the tenants like you better than they ever liked me.”
She crossed her arms. “Do you have a point?”
“No.” He shrugged. “Well, I probably do, but I'm having a bit of trouble getting to it.”
“I would never have noticed.”
“Thing is, you don't need me for a damned thing.”
“Well, that is not entirely true…”
“Isn't it?” He suddenly looked a touch more sober than he had the moment before. “You've got your money. You've got your new friends. What the hell do you need a husband for? I'm clearly ignorable.”
“I'm not sure I'd say that…”
“I could make you need me, I s'pose.”
“Why would you want to? You don't love me.”
He pondered that for a moment, and then said. “Don't know. But I do.”
“You love me?” she asked disbelievingly.
“No, but I want you to need me.”
Ellie tried to ignore the way her heart sank a little when he replied in the negative. “Why?” she asked again.
He shrugged. “I don't know. I just want you to. Now get into bed.”
“I certainly will not!”
“D'you think I don't remember what we were doing out in the meadow?”
Her cheeks turned pink, but Ellie honestly wasn't sure if it was from embarras
sment or fury.
Charles sat up and leered at her. “I'm eager to finish what we started, wife.”
“Not when you're three sheets to the wind!” she retorted, stepping back so that she wouldn't be within arm's reach. “You're liable to forget what you're about.”
He gasped, clearly gravely insulted. “I would neber—that is to say, never forget what I am about. I am an excellent lover, my lady. Superb.”
“Is that what all your mistresses have told you?” she could not resist asking.
“Yes. No!” He muttered, “This isn't the sort of thing one wants to talk about with one's wife.”
“Exactly. Which is why I'm going to take my leave.”
“Oh, no you're not!” With speed that no one who'd imbibed a bottle of brandy should have possessed, he hopped off the bed, dashed across the room, and grabbed her around the waist. By the time Ellie caught her breath she was lying on the bed, and Charles was lying on top of her.
“Hello, wife,” he said, looking very much like a wolf.
“A tipsy wolf,” she muttered, trying not to cough on the fumes.
He cocked an eyebrow. “You did say I could kiss you.”
“When?” she asked suspiciously.
“On the stairs. I pestered and pestered and pestered and you finally said, ‘Yes! Fine!’”
Ellie let out an irritated breath. It figured that his memory would still be in perfect working order.
He grinned triumphantly. “The nice thing about you, Ellie, is that you are fundamentally incapable of going back on your word.”
She wasn't about to tell him to go ahead and kiss her, nor could she refute his statement—which was, after all, something of a compliment—so she didn't say anything.
That plan backfired, however, for his next words were, “Terribly sporting of you not to start blabbering on, dear wife. Makes it hard to find your mouth.”
Then he was kissing her, and Ellie discovered that brandy tasted an awful lot better than it smelled. So much better, in fact, that when he moved to kiss her neck, she surprised herself and grabbed his head to drag his mouth back to hers.
This gave him cause to chuckle, and he kissed her again, this time more deeply. After what seemed like an eternity of this sensual torture, he lifted his head a couple of inches, rested his nose against hers, and said her name.
It was a moment before she was able to say, “Yes?”
“I'm not nearly as foxed as you think I am.”
“You're not?”
Slowly, he shook his head.
“But—but you were stumbling. Hiccupping. Burping!”
He smiled at her in amazement. “But I'm not any longer.”
“Oh.” Ellie's lips parted as she tried to digest this news and decide what it meant. She thought it might mean that they were going to consummate their marriage that evening—that hour, in all probability. But she was feeling strangely befuddled, and to be honest rather hot, and her brain simply wasn't running at optimum speed.
He stared at her for several moments more, then lowered himself back down to kiss her again. His lips touched everything but her mouth—traveling to her cheeks, her eyes, her ears. His hands were in her hair, streaming it out over the pillows. And then they were running down the length of her body, smoothing over the curve of her hips, caressing the length of her legs, leaving trails of fire wherever they touched.
Ellie felt as if there were two women inhabiting her body. Part of her wanted to lay there and let him work his magic on her, to accept his lovemaking like a rare gift. But part of her yearned to be an active participant, and she wondered what he would do if she touched him back, if she lifted her head and rained soft kisses on his neck.
In the end, she couldn't keep her feelings inside. She had always been a doer, and it wasn't in her nature to be passive, even if the activity in question was her own seduction. Her arms wrapped around him and squeezed him tight, and her fingers became passionate claws, and—
“Aaaaargh!” Charles's bloodcurdling scream ripped through the air and quite effectively dampened her ardor.
Ellie let out a surprised yelp and squirmed beneath him, trying to bring her hands down to her sides, and—
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh!” As screams went, this one was worse.
“What on earth?” she finally demanded, wiggling to the side as he rolled off of her, his face a pinched mask of pain.
“You're going to kill me,” he said in a dull monotone. “I will be dead before the year is out.”
“What the devil are you talking about?”
He sat up and looked at his arm, which had begun to bleed again.
“Did I do that?”
He nodded. “That was the second scream.”
“And the first?”
“A bruise on my back.”
“I didn't know your back was bruised.”
“Neither did I,” he said dryly.
Ellie felt extremely inappropriate laughter welling up within her, and she bit her lip. “I'm terribly sorry.”
He only shook his head. “Someday I'm going to consummate this damned marriage.”
“You could always try to look on the bright side,” she suggested.
“There is a bright side?”
“Er, yes. There must be.” But she couldn't think of one.
He sighed and held out his arm. “Stitch me up?”
“Are you going to want more brandy?”
“It'll probably put an end to any amorous intentions I have for the evening, but yes, I would.” He sighed. “Do you know, Ellie, but I think this is why people get themselves wives.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I hurt everywhere. Everywhere. It's nice to have someone I can say that to.”
“Didn't you before?”
He shook his head.
She touched his hand. “I'm glad you can talk to me.” Then she found a spool of thread and a bottle of brandy and got to work.
Chapter 15
As was her habit, Ellie awakened bright and early the next morning. What was out of the ordinary, however, was the fact she was lying on Charle's bed, snuggled up quite close to him, with his arm thrown over her shoulder.
He had fallen asleep very quickly the previous night after she had stitched up his arm for the second time. He'd had a tiring and painful day, and the additional bottle of brandy hadn't helped. Ellie had wanted to leave him to his rest, but every time she tried to ease herself from the bed and creep into her own room, he grew agitated. She had finally dozed off on top of his blankets.
She slipped quietly out of the room, not wanting to awaken him. He still slept quite soundly, and she suspected that he needed his rest.
Ellie, however, was physically incapable of sleeping late; after changing out of her crumpled gown, she wandered downstairs for breakfast. Not surprisingly, Helen was already at the table, perusing the newspaper that arrived in the mail each day from London.
“Good morning, Ellie,” Helen said.
“Good morning to you.”
Ellie sat down, and it was only a moment before Helen asked, “What was the commotion last evening? I heard that Charles was quite beyond foxed.”
Ellie recounted the details of the previous day as she smoothed orange marmalade on one of Mrs. Stubbs's freshly baked scones. “That reminds me…” she said when she'd finished telling Helen of Charle's second bout with stitches.
“Reminds you of what?”
“I was trying to think of something special we could do for the tenants as winter and the holidays approach, and I thought I might make them homemade jam.”
Helen's hand froze in midair as she reached for another scone. “I don't suppose this will involve your entering the kitchen again.”
“It will be a special surprise, as they would never expect a countess to actually cook.”
“There might be a reason for that. Although in your case, I believe people have given up trying to figure out what to expect.”
Ellie sco
wled at her. “I assure you that I have made jam hundreds of times.”
“Oh, I believe you. I just don't think anyone else will. Especially Mrs. Stubbs, who is still complaining that she keeps finding soot in the kitchen corners.”
“Mrs. Stubbs merely likes to complain.”
“That is, of course, true, but I'm still not sure—”
“I'm sure,” Ellie said emphatically, “and that is all that counts.”
By the time breakfast was finished, Ellie had convinced Helen to help her prepare the jam, and two kitchen maids were sent to town to buy berries. An hour later they returned from town with large quantities of assorted berries and Ellie was ready to get to work. As expected, Mrs. Stubbs was not pleased to see Ellie in her kitchen.
“No no no!” she yelled. “The oven was bad enough!”
“Mrs. Stubbs,” Ellie said in her sternest voice,” may I remind you that I am the mistress of this house, and if I want to smear lemon curd up and down the walls, it is my right.”
Mrs. Stubbs paled and looked to Helen in terror.
“She is exaggerating,” Helen quickly explained. “But perhaps it would be best if you worked outside the kitchen.”
“An excellent idea,” Ellie agreed, and she practically pushed the housekeeper out the door.
“Somehow I don't think Charles will be happy to hear about this,” Helen said.
“Nonsense. He knows that the fire wasn't my fault.”
“Does he?” Helen asked dubiously.
“Well, if he doesn't, he should. Now then, let us begin our work.” Ellie instructed a scullery maid to pull out Wycombe Abbey's largest pot, and then she dumped the berries into it. “I suppose we could make several different types of jam,” she said to Helen, “but I think a mixed berry jam will be delicious.”
“And,” Helen said, “we can do it all in one pot.”
“You're catching on quickly.” Ellie smiled and then proceeded to add sugar and water. “We shall probably have to make another batch, though. I doubt this will be enough for all of the tenants.”
Helen leaned forward and peered in. “Probably not. But if it's truly this easy, I don't see why that should be a worry. We can simply make another potful tomorrow.”
“This is really all there is to it,” Ellie said. “Now we just need to cover it up and let the mixture cook.” She moved the pot to the perimeter of the stovetop, away from the firebox which burned at its hottest directly underneath the center of the cooking surface. She didn't need any more accidents in the kitchen.