“Lady Findley and I were not lovers but I won’t lie to you. If that was what she had wanted, I would have complied. But what she needed was someone to caress her ego. Her husband was a philanderer, and she was hurt. I gave her the admiration she desperately needed, and we became friends. I suppose you could have called me her cicisbeo, although I detest the term. I don’t think her husband would have cared if I had merely slipped into her bed. What he minded was that I had slipped into her heart.”
“She fell in love with you?”
“Not in the sense you mean. I was more a brother to her, someone with whom she could talk and unburden herself. Findley could hardly compete against that and it really bothered him. What a hypocrite he was.”
“I’m surprised,” she said after a moment. “Men rarely choose women for friends.”
“If you knew her you would understand.”
“W-were you in love with her?”
Adrian smiled, gratified at least that she sounded displeased by the notion. “I came to love her, though I was not in love with her—a critical difference, I think.”
“And you never spoke to her again?”
“When I was in London this week, I called on her.” The earl watched her out of the corner of his eye as he spoke.
“You did?”
“She is married again, a fine man who makes her happy. I am happy for her.”
Jillian looked relieved, and he could have laughed aloud because he now knew she was not indifferent. However, he was a little surprised by how relieved he felt knowing she cared.
“Have you been in any duels since the one I witnessed?”
Adrian stared at her directly. “No, and I’ll never participate in another. I allowed pride to dictate to me something I knew was wrong. I’ve had to live for eight years knowing I ended a man’s life, took away the father of three children. I ran and ran and ran round the world, but that fatal morning will always be with me. I cannot leave it behind.”
“But you were notorious for engaging in duels, and the gossip did not indicate that you suffered from conscience.”
The earl looked at her through raised eyebrows. “I remind you of your own attitude toward gossip, my lady. Although I’ll admit even the most distorted rumors usually spring from a grain of truth.” He sighed. “I’m afraid it took the death of a man to bring me to sanity. I’ll say it again—I will never take part in another duel.”
“Growing up can be painful,” Jillian said. “Some mistakes are more permanent than others, less forgiving.”
She reached over and touched his sleeve as though she would comfort him, and Adrian was glad to see that she no longer seemed as distant. He did suspect as soon as she realized she had thawed a bit, she would find some reason to be cool with him once more. But that was all right, for time was his ally and what they had in common would always provide a bond for them. As he glanced at her lovely profile, what troubled him was whether or not he had the patience to wait.
Jillian stood and pressed the front of her dress with her hands. “I think I shall seek my bed. I’m exhausted.”
The earl grabbed her wrist. “What?—no kiss this time?
Her face reddened. “I was brazen earlier. I will refrain from doing that any more.” She pried her hand loose and left the room without looking back.
Damn! She reminded him of an eel in the water—just when he thought he had her in his grasp, she found a means of wiggling free. He looked at the door where she had exited moments before, and an idea struck him, one that worried him but caught his imagination nonetheless. Perhaps it was time to end the sluggish pace of this courtship. Maybe waiting was the wrong thing to do.
On that tempting thought he also sought his bed.
*****
CHAPTER 8
The rain had been unrelenting. The skies had opened and poured for three days—no wind, little lightning—just an eerie deluge. The house was dark and depressing, and the occupants appeared as gloomy as the weather. Even Aunt Pru, usually in good spirits, had lost her buoyancy.
Jillian sat on the window seat in her bedchamber, gazing at the sky, hopefully eyeing a patch of blue that peeked through the gray. For as far as she could see large puddles dotted the landscape. Even if the rain stopped at once, it would be days before she could go abroad without risking a mud bath.
Adrian had not come to call since the storms began. But that was hardly a surprise, for the weather notwithstanding, his attitude had cooled of late. Since the birth of her nephew three weeks before, the earl’s visits had been sporadic. However, when he did come she had the unnerving notion he watched her, taking her measure as though coming to a decision of some kind.
She hated herself for missing him but she did. He brought excitement to her life and, as much as she didn’t want to admit it, she found his presence stimulating.
Jillian sighed and stood from her seat. The rain finally had eased, but if she were any judge, it was only a respite. Dreary, dreary day, she thought in self-pity. She left her room in search of Aunt Prudence.
*****
Adrian had never seen so much mud. He was covered in it, the horse he rode was covered in it—in fact the world looked covered in it. Thankfully he’d had the foresight to bring a bundle of clothing, or he would be in the unenviable position of having to borrow from Miss Milford’s gardener again.
He probably should have waited for the roads to dry, but as soon as he had witnessed a break in the weather he had departed from Sutherfield. Now layered in muck, he galloped down the drive to Aunt Pru’s home, convinced his desire to see Jillian had impeded his good sense.
Stopping in the stable, he tossed a grin at the stable boy along with the reins to his mount, for the lad stared at him in undisguised amazement.
“What’s the matter? Not used to seeing a peer of the realm looking as though he stepped out of a pig sty?” the earl asked.
“No, m’lord. You are a might dirty, if I’m not bein’ impertinent to say so.”
Adrian laughed. “It’s hardly impertinent if it is the truth, young man, although I think you’ve been tactfully circumspect. Anyway, pretending not to notice won’t make me a jot cleaner, now will it?”
The boy smiled. “No, m’lord.”
The earl exited the stable, deciding it would be best if he entered the house through the kitchen door. That should put the cook out of temper, he thought, a circumstance he found amusing, not because he disliked the woman but because he knew she had no use for him. When she opened the door to his knock she did not disappoint him.
“M’lord, what happened to you?” She stood on the threshold, unmoving, her large frame filling the doorway.
“I’ve encountered a bit of mud as you can see.”
She eyed his grimy clothing and boots. “I just mopped the floor, m’lord.”
He gave the woman a steely gaze. “Perhaps you would like to tell Lady Jillian I called, but you could not see your way clear to letting me in the house.”
Her cheeks reddened and she started to stammer, “G-good gracious, m’lord, I-I didn’t mean to suggest…please, come in.” She leapt from the doorway, handling her considerable bulk with surprising ease in her haste.
Adrian stepped inside and tossed his bundle on the table before sitting down to remove his boots. “I think I shall appropriate your kitchen and take my bath in here.”
Her jaw dropped. “M’lord?”
“Yes, I think that’s the best idea. If I drag upstairs I’ll drag all this mud with me.”
The earl ignored the barrage of incredulous looks Cook sent his way as she pulled the metal tub, normally used by the servants, into the middle of the room and began to fill it. The process took about ten minutes, and Adrian unrolled his clean clothing while he waited.
She gave him soap and a cloth for bathing, all the while glancing pointedly in his direction as though she could not believe he intended to proceed with his plan.
“Thank you. Please send a footman with a towel. I’ll b
e done quickly and you can get back to whatever it was you were doing before I interrupted.”
The cook left mumbling to herself and, as soon as the door closed behind her, the earl peeled off the grimy clothing. Much to his surprise the mud had gone clean through to his drawers.
Adrian sank into the hot water and expelled a loud sigh of pleasure. Unfortunately, the tub was small and round, so his knees rested under his chin. He had to scoop water from either side of his body to wash himself, but even struggling in the limited space he soon was clean. The water had turned an unappetizing brown, though.
A footman delivered the towel the earl had requested, asking if the guest needed anything else. Adrian pointed to his boots still caked with sludge.
“See what you can do with those,” he said to the servant.
The man nodded and, picking up the footwear, retreated from the room.
Adrian came to his feet, deciding he had done all he could to remedy his filthy state. Water sluiced off him, dousing the floor.
Before he could step from the tub, when he was at his most vulnerable, the kitchen door burst open, and he found himself staring into Jillian’s beautiful brown eyes. Right behind her came Aunt Prudence, mouth agape, emitting strange squeaking sounds while her hands fluttered uncontrollably.
It was a helpless moment, one in which he could merely gawk back, too frozen by shock to do anything else. Not that Adrian was ashamed of his body per se, but neither was he an exhibitionist. He remained where he stood, in only the skin God gave him, feeling like an utter fool. He would wonder afterward why fate had conspired to deal him such a mean-spirited blow.
The ladies disappeared as quickly as they had appeared, scrambling in the doorway for escape as if they had been witness to something profoundly ugly. He could hear Jillian upbraiding the cook, asking the woman how she could have allowed them to walk in on a man taking his bath. He wondered that same thing himself. Had the servant deliberately spited him?
Adrian stumbled from the tub and grabbed his towel. But rather than drying off, he sat on a chair by the table, put the towel to his face and howled with mirth. It was either do that or indulge in the unmanly art of crying. Since he already felt emasculated, he gave into the laughter.
Fifteen minutes later as he buttoned his shirt, the footman reentered the kitchen with the clean boots. Adrian caught the man looking at him surreptitiously, smirking.
“Out with it,” the earl barked. “Everyone knows, don’t they?”
The footman gave him a direct look, the smirk now firmly hidden. “I don’t know about that, my lord—” He stopped at the incredulous expression Adrian sent him. “All right, there was quite a ruckus. Ladies take this sort of thing rather hard.”
“Indeed.”
Adrian sat down again and pulled on the boots. He came to his feet and squared his shoulders, feeling as though he were preparing to enter a battle.
He glanced at the footman who stood in the doorway, an uncertain look on his face.
“Yes?” Adrian asked impatiently.
“The mistress and her niece are in the parlor, my lord. I...ah, thought you might want to know.”
“What I want right now is to leave the scene of my humiliation and return to Sutherfield. But knowing how quickly gossip travels, the story will arrive before I do. I’m doomed.”
“I’m sorry, my lord.” The servant actually did seem sorry.
“Right, I appreciate you condolences, but my hesitation becomes cowardly.”
Adrian left the kitchen and walked briskly to the parlor. Upon entering, he encountered two sets of embarrassed female eyes, looking in his direction, but not looking at him. Both women sat on the settee, and both were clearly suffering from distress. At that point he made a decision—meet the problem straight on and get the worst behind him at the outset.
“I think we need a drink. I’ll do the honors.” He approached the sideboard, trying to appear unruffled.
Aunt Prudence perked up immediately. “Yes, yes, that’s a splendid idea. A dab of brandy always makes the darkest situation seem brighter.”
“Although I can’t say I’m proud of what transpired, Aunt Pru, I hope it’s not the darkest,” he said, his tone droll as he handed the older woman a glass.
He gave Jillian a brandy as well, and when he did their eyes met briefly. He flinched inwardly. Whew, he thought as he moved away. From the look of her, perhaps it was the darkest. He returned to the sideboard, poured his own drink and, taking a deep swallow, faced his companions.
“Ladies,” he said to the air above their heads, “we had an unfortunate circumstance occur, one I would like to forget. I suspect I can speak for all of us on that score. I suggest we acknowledge what happened and get past it. I know that is what I intend to do.”
Aunt Prudence, who had downed her glass of spirits during his speech, finally met his gaze. “I couldn’t agree more. But, Adrian, dear boy, next time don’t worry about making a mess in my guest bedchamber. There are worse things than a little mud—I think you have proven that.”
Adrian winced. Give Aunt Pru an intoxicating beverage and she became brutal with her honesty.
“Cook did try to stop us,” Jillian finally remarked. He was relieved to see a smile playing about her lips. “We had come downstairs together, Auntie and I, and heard her muttering about the upheaval in her kitchen. We dashed to see what she was talking about before she could explain. I know she would never have allowed us to come in on you.”
“Are you certain?” Adrian asked. “I don’t think your cook likes me very much.”
“You miss the point,” Prudence said archly. “She does like Jillian and me—very much.”
“Of course,” the earl conceded.
“I suppose after all the commotion dinner will be late tonight,” the older woman said. “How about another brandy?”
In short order the constrained atmosphere had eased, aided by the liberating influence of alcohol. Even Jillian, whom he had never seen drink more than a single glass of ratafia, had mellowed.
The scene had become so cozy and pleasant, he decided it took an incident of a truly personal nature to bring people closer. Of course, he could not help wishing someone else had been required to forego their dignity to achieve that closeness.
Dinner was served late as expected and they ate in the main dining room. The cook wore a haunted expression and, unless Adrian was mistaken, the woman had been weeping over the meal she prepared. Perhaps he had misjudged her. He gave the poor creature a sympathetic smile, and her eyes widened before she acknowledged his understanding with a timid smile of her own and a slight nod of the head.
The footman served the final course as a loud crash of thunder rumbled through the night.
“Dear me,” Prudence announced, speaking carefully, “it looks as though the weather is turning bad again.” She had had enough brandy to brighten her cheeks to a glowing pink.
As if to emphasize her words, a torrent of rain burst from the heavens. This time the moisture was accompanied by great gusts of wind, something that had been missing from the previous storms. A flash of lightning lit the sky, and the subsequent clap of thunder followed almost immediately. All three persons at the table jumped.
“I do so hate lightning,” Prudence moaned.
Adrian took her hand. “There is nothing to fear, dear lady. It makes a lot of noise, but rarely does any harm.”
“We’ve had this talk before, Auntie,” Jillian added. “We have endured many storms and have never had a speck of trouble.”
“I ‘spose so, but what are you going to do, Adrian?” her aunt asked. “We can’t send you home in this inclement weather.”
“I’ll wait until it clears, ma’am.”
“But that might not happen, don’t you agree, Jillian? Can’t sit up all night waiting.”
Jillian gave Adrian an uncertain look then glanced back at her aunt. “What are you proposing?” she asked.
“I think his lordship should use t
he guest bedchamber,” Pru said.” To the earl, “I trust you to behave yourself, young man.” She smiled, taking the sting out of her words.
“Of course,” Adrian murmured, delighted with this sudden turn of events. He ignored the consternation on Jillian’s face. “I’m grateful I won’t have to take another mud bath today.”
“That’s settled then.” Prudence placed her hands on the table for leverage as she began to struggle from her chair.
The earl stood and went to the old woman’s side, helping her to stand as well. She leaned heavily on his arm, and he realized she was more intoxicated than he had thought at first. He glanced at Jillian, sending her a silent message, and she instantly came to his aid.
Though a bit of a tussle, the trio made the trip from the dining room, up the stairs, to Aunt Prudence’s chamber with a minimum of difficulty. At her aunt’s door Jillian turned to him. “I must see my aunt to bed,” she said in a soft voice. “You know where the guest chamber is. If you need anything, please ask the footman for assistance.”
Adrian touched her arm. “Are you retiring, also?”
She looked first at his hand on her arm then gazed into his face, her expression unreadable. “I think it would be best,” she said at last. She entered the room and closed the door.
The earl went downstairs again, his mind working furiously. This was the opportunity he had been seeking.
He went to the parlor and strode directly to the sideboard, grabbing the bottle of brandy, now almost empty, and two goblets. He returned upstairs, searching out his room, and went inside.
Apparently, his stay had been noted by the servants, for someone had brought him towels and put water in the basin. He set the brandy and the glasses on his night table and walked to the window to watch the storm. Arm above his head, he rested an elbow against the casing and rubbed his thumb over his brow.
Did he dare, did he really dare do what he had in mind? he wondered as he stared into the turbulent night. He had been preparing for this moment for weeks, but now that the hour was upon him he did not know if he should go through with it. The exercise had the mark of a cad written all over it. But what choice did he have?—allow Jillian to procrastinate forever, putting their lives on hold until she decided to decide?
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