Trapped at the Altar

She hadn’t the strength to confront Ivor again that night. In truth, she didn’t know how to defend herself from his accusation of deceit. She had deceived him, by omission if not commission. But she hadn’t seen it as such. She’d done what she’d done for her own benefit, certainly, but she hadn’t thought it would hurt Ivor. She had always made decisions about herself for herself. She had reasoned, if she had thought at all, that what Ivor didn’t know couldn’t harm him, and when she was ready to bear a child, then she would stop taking the precaution.

But of course it had something to do with him. Of course he had a right to know. Even if they had disagreed, he should have been able to state his own point of view. And what if he was right about the medicine? What if the potion had made her barren? If she could never give Ivor an heir, then she had caused irreparable damage. A man was entitled to a child. It was a wife’s duty to give him one. He would be entitled to cast her aside and take another wife if she had deliberately made herself infertile. The church would grant him an annulment without question.

The panicked thoughts raced across her brain like a raging fever, and she forced herself to think calmly. Surely Ivor would never go to such lengths to revenge himself? He was capable of anger, but he was not a vengeful person. He was a much finer person than she was, Ari decided, on a little sob of self-disgust. He had grown up in the valley just as she had, but he hadn’t emerged twisted and selfish and thinking only of his own comfort.

She flung aside the covers again and got up, hurrying to the dresser. She took out the vial and went to the window, opening the latch. A gust of windblown snow blew into the chamber, rattling the door in its frame. Ignoring the icy blast, Ari unstoppered the vial and leaned out, pouring its contents into the night, the sulfur smell making her nose wrinkle. She shook the last drops out and closed and latched the window again. A dusting of snow had settled on the floorboards beneath the window. She left the empty bottle on the dresser and jumped back into bed, chilled to the bone, her teeth chattering.

She was just shutting the stable door after the horse had bolted, but in the morning, maybe, she would find the right words to convince Ivor that she had not set out to betray his trust.

Not in this, at least. But the abyss of her assignation with Gabriel yawned at her feet. And there were no two ways of looking at that. She was most deliberately deceiving her husband. If he ever discovered that, then his accusations of untrustworthiness tonight would be strengthened a thousandfold.

But what if she told him the truth? It was too late for that now. She had met Gabriel in secret once, and she was planning a second assignation. She had known for two days that he was in London, following her. And she had said nothing. She was condemned by her own silence. It was far too late for the truth. She had the sudden image of an old torture device she had seen in an illustration, a box studded with sharp nails both back and front. When you were shut in it, every breath you took drove a sharp nail into your body. The door was closing inexorably upon her.





TWENTY-EIGHT





Ivor came into the bedchamber just after dawn. Ariadne woke instantly from a fitful doze and sat up, holding the covers beneath her chin. “Good morning.” It seemed a ridiculously normal greeting in the circumstances, but she didn’t know what else to say.

Ivor did not return the greeting; neither did he look at her. He bent to make up the fire. He was still dressed as he had been when he’d left her the previous night, and Ari guessed he had slept in a chair in the salon. If, indeed, he had slept.

He straightened from the fire, and his eye fell on the vial on the dresser, its stopper lying beside it. He picked it up and turned at last to the bed. “So, you got rid of this poison.” His voice was without expression, his face a mask.

She nodded. “You must forgive me, Ivor. Truly, I meant no harm . . . I know I was only thinking of myself, and it was selfish and underhanded, but I didn’t think of it as a betrayal.” She twisted the covers in her fingers, frowning fiercely as she tried to think of something to say to banish the anger and contempt in his eyes. “In the valley, it was different,” she said, feeling for words. “When this started, we were in the valley. I had to plan for the journey not as your wife but as myself. We were sent to accomplish something, and I was thinking only of how best to do that . . . and . . . and it seemed to me that if I became pregnant quickly, it could be a complication.” Her voice trailed away. There really was nothing else she could say; that was the truth as she knew it.

Ivor stood deep in thought. She had planned for the journey not as his wife but as herself, Ariadne Daunt, who, all her life, had had to think for herself, plan for herself, react on her feet. Somewhere in there, he could catch a glimmer of understanding. Ariadne of the valley was not this Ariadne, his wife and partner. She had acted then without thinking of him, because she was accustomed to making decisions for her own protection.

“I might be able to see some excuse in that,” he said. “But these last weeks, since we arrived in London, still you did not confide in me, did not consult me. Why not?”

“Habit,” she said simply. “I’ve been swallowing the stuff every night for so long I didn’t stop to think about it.”

“I don’t believe you.” His voice was sharp again. “Of course you thought about it.”

“Not very much,” she responded stoutly. “I continued to take it because if I thought at all, it was that we should get properly established before we had a child, and then . . . well . . .”

“Well what, Ariadne?” he prompted when she had fallen silent.

“Well, I thought it was probably too late to consult you about it, since I’d been taking matters into my own hands for so long. I thought . . .” She took a deep breath. “I thought if I told you, you’d react exactly as you are reacting, and it seemed easier just to brush it under the carpet.”

She opened her hands in a gesture of resignation, letting the coverlet fall, and looked at him with a bleak smile. “Cowardly, I know, but that’s the truth, Ivor. Every word of it. I did not intend to betray your trust. I did so, and I am deeply sorry for it.”

“Sweet Jesus, what an impossible woman you are.” He exhaled noisily. “I don’t know how I am supposed to live in harmony with you. You blithely follow your own primrose path, offering ingenuous explanations for the most outrageous actions, and expect me to accept your wildest extravagances with a smile and a pat on the head.”

“I don’t expect a pat on the head,” she ventured, not daring yet to hope that the crisis was over.

“No, you’d do better to expect your ears boxed,” he stated. “I can’t talk about this anymore. Go downstairs and find me some hot water and some breakfast. I’ve had a miserable night, and I have to put in an appearance at court this morning.”

“Yes, husband.” Ari slipped to the floor, reaching for her dressing gown, trying and failing to hide her relief. “Is there anything you would like especially for breakfast?”

“Surprise me,” he said sardonically, unbuttoning his shirt. “It appears to be a particular talent of yours.”

Ariadne hurried from the room, the puppy on her heels, and sped down to the kitchen. One of the kitchen maids was riddling the ashes in the range, looking as green as grass. Ari let Juno out into the yard, where the snow was thickening. The puppy leapt forwards and then jumped back with a surprised yelp, shaking her paws.