He would have been, Lewis responded, had Lady Albright not pleaded with him to officiate. Lewis further confided that he believed her ladyship had meant this to be a private affair, but Max and Polly’s bickering about it had garnered far too much interest.
“Ladies and gentlemen, if you please!” Lilliana called, and the din lessened considerably. “Mr. Bertram and Mr. Roderick have graciously agreed to settle their dispute in a gentlemanly manner. Mr. Baines?” That man stepped forward like a king, and Lilliana quickly scampered out of the way as he reviewed the rules with the opponents. With great flourish, he began the first round.
Bertram and Roderick started off slowly, cautiously circling each other, oblivious to the cheers and jeers from the small crowd. Mrs. Dismuke, who apparently was an avid fan of boxing, leaned forward on the barrel on which she was perched, her hands braced on her knees, and shouted, “I’ve got a month’s wages riding on you, Bertram! Get those fists up!”
Bertram was the first to throw a punch, and the crowd heaved as one toward the little ring, exclaiming at his skill. Or lack of it—he barely clipped Roderick on the shoulder. The groom’s face grew quite red, and pressing his lips firmly together, he swiped at Bertram, just grazing his ear. The two men, now sporting identical murderous glares, continued circling each other. Mr. Baines rushed from side to side, carefully watching for any sign of unsporting conduct.
Bertram suddenly threw a left jab, followed quickly by a right, winging Roderick hard on the chin and shoulder. It stunned the groom as much as it angered him, and all at once he was battering away at Bertram. Adrian suppressed a smile at Lilliana’s look of horror as the two men began to whale away at one another, landing blows in the belly, the chest, the chin and shoulders, between strangled cries of pain. The little crowd grew frantic, all shouting at their favorite. But then Roderick punched Bertram in the eye with his right fist, and quickly followed it with an uppercut to the chin that knocked Bertram backward, and the crowd caught its breath.
Lilliana’s hands flew to her mouth as the taller man teetered unsteadily on his feet, staring in shock at Roderick, “Excellent punch, sir,” he gasped, and promptly fell over backward, landing with a thud on the soft earth.
And then it was pandemonium. The crowd roared, Mrs. Dismuke leapt off her barrel shrieking at Bertram to get up, and Roderick gasped in horror, covering his mouth with both padded hands. Lilliana rushed to Bertram’s side and fell to her knees beside Mr Baines.
“Oh God,” Bertram moaned, and gingerly opened one eye, then the other, which was beginning to swell Very slowly, he moved his jaw, then touched his eye. He gasped in horror and suddenly cried, “I concede, I concede!” Mr. Baines shot up from his crouch and turned to the crowd. Grasping Roderick’s hand, he lifted it high in the air. “Mr. Roderick is declared the winner!”
The little crowd went wild. Lilliana tried to help Bertram into a sitting position, Mrs. Dismuke and Max loudly argued their wager, and Roderick was hysterically explaining to anyone who would listen that he had not really meant to hurt Bertram. And as Lilliana searched frantically for someone to help her, she caught sight of Adrian standing in the doorway, his arms folded across his chest, gazing impassively at the melee.
Beside him, Lewis said sheepishly, “I rather thought it would be an interesting match.” An interesting match indeed, Adrian thought dryly. His gaze locked with Lilliana’s horrified one, and he lifted one brow, silently questioning her. Wincing slightly, she glanced heavenward, then quickly turned her attention to Bertram.
“See to it that the bets are paid,” he said to Lewis, and walked out of the stables. His country mouse of a wife was not only capricious, she was a lunatic. He had not married a demure little flower as he had thought, but a menace to every man, woman, and child who lived on the Longbridge estate.
And something about that notion made him smile.
Ten
LILLIANA DECLARED AN all-out War.
She tried everything, her actions growing more outrageous every day. It was maddening—it seemed the more she tried, the more indifferent he became. Having long surpassed the desire to please him, Lilliana now sought only a reaction. Any reaction.
In her sitting room, she carefully cut the crown from his best hat, thinking about the evening that she had entered the dining room wearing a drape made from a selection of his silk neckcloths. That had to be the most enraging. Adrian had peered suspiciously at the garment as she took her seat complaining of a draft, and for a brief moment she had thought victory was in hand.
“A draft, madam?” he asked dryly, and settled back in his chair to study her. “I had not noticed. But I suppose your wrap will come in quite handy,” he had said, and casually motioned for the footman to begin serving.
Her first thought was that he did not realize from what her wrap had been fashioned, and had offered, “I made it myself.” He graced her with the sort of kind smile one reserves for the deranged, and reached for his wineglass. Not only was he bereft of emotions, he was apparently as blind as a bat. “It took me several days to sew it,” she had added testily.
“Oh? And what did you use to achieve such a … colorful effect?”
Lilliana shrugged. “Just a few pieces of cloth.”
He sipped his wine, regarding her over the rim. “Any particular sort of cloth?”
“Well … they might have been neckcloths,” she said, and had looked him straight in the eye, daring him to react.
“I see. Might they have been my neckcloths?” he had asked amicably.
“Might have been,” she said, and smiled broadly, waiting for the reprimand, the words of indignation she so richly deserved.
“They make for an unusual design,” he said simply.
Oh, what an exasperating man! “That’s all?” she had asked incredulously. “But they are your neck-cloths!” It was undoubtedly her imagination, but she could have sworn a smile was tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“I can see that.”
That was all, nothing more. Furious, she had demanded, “Aren’t you even the least bit angry?”
“Of course not. I want you to have whatever makes you happy, Lilliana. Ah, the beef looks particularly good this evening,” he remarked as the footman place a plate in front of him.
Lilliana stopped her work on his hat and released a sigh of great aggravation. Did nothing move him? Apparently not. Having failed to provoke him with the destruction of his neckcloths, she had tried to alarm him. But he did not so much as blink when she spoke of her intention to climb the highest peaks in India. He had merely lifted that intolerable brow and had remarked, “You will need a pair of sturdy shoes.” When she had suggested she would like to sail to the West Indies—on a merchant ship, no less—he had chuckled. “That should prove rather amusing for the crew.”
Nothing moved him.
But, oh God, he moved her.
In the darkness, he moved her to touch the stars. “Lillie,” he would whisper in her ear, “hold me tight.” And his strokes would lengthen, driving her to the brink of madness before releasing her into the heavens.
Lilliana paused in her work on his hat, lifting cool fingers to her face as she recalled how, just last night, he had lain there with her in his arms for a few moments afterward, his fingers drifting idly through the curls on her head, his breath steady on her cheek. The intimacy of the moment was more moving to her than the physical lovemaking, so when he had disentangled himself from her, she had frantically grasped his arm. “Adrian,” she whispered, “please stay.”
Gathering her in his arms, he had lightly kissed her temple. “What is it, Lillie?”
Lilliana picked up the shears and renewed her work with a vengeance. God help her, what an idiot she was! Of course she had had no idea how to answer—it was such a vague feeling of distress that plagued her, a hopelessness that had no basis in any one thing. Overcome by cowardice at the last moment, she had muttered miserably, “I … I’m cold.”
“I’m cold,” s
he mimicked now, and rolled her eyes in frustration as she yanked the crown of the hat from the brim. He had chuckled, leaned down to kiss her, his tongue dancing languidly with hers for a moment, and then lifted his head. “I’ll stir the embers for you.” And he had left her, fumbling in the dark for his dressing gown. When he was through with the fire, he came back to the bed. “Sweet dreams,” he murmured, and kissed her forehead then pulled the counterpane over her shoulders as he always did before disappearing soundlessly through the door.
Lilliana tossed the brim aside and stared blindly at the crown of his hat Sweet dreams. Impossible. This loneliness, the emptiness she felt when he left her was killing her, eating away at her very being. Physically, he gave himself completely to her, and although she enjoyed that—her cheeks burned just thinking about how much she enjoyed it—it was not enough. There was no affection, no indication that he cared for her one way or another. And it certainly didn’t help matters that she was such a bloody coward, unable to summon the words she so desperately wanted to say because the fear of rejection stilled her tongue. She would rather not know his touch at all than this painful emptiness.
There was no ready answer for it, and Lilliana worked diligently to transform his obliterated hat into a sewing basket. Once that was done, she discarded the stupid thing in a place he was sure to see it, and made her way to the orangery to work on the portrait of Adrian she had started two weeks ago. Restless, she quickly tired of that, and had the little mare she had named Lightning saddled. As she trotted out of the paddock she thought that life at Longbridge was no different from what she had left at Blackfield Grange.
Why in God’s name had he married her?
It was that she was thinking about when she rode by the Barneses’ cottage on another aimless afternoon ride. Just past the cottage, Adrian and some men were working to repair a granary. She paused, unnoticed by them. Adrian had shed his coat and waistcoat, had rolled up the sleeves and bound his thick sandy hair with a leather tie at his nape. His forearms rippled as he hammered a row of nails into a railing; perspiration stained the back of his shirt. He was built strong and hard, and Lilliana swallowed a lump of strong desire.
As she sat there watching him she heard a whimpering coming from a hut that the sheepherders sometimes used. She looked around and squealed with delight when she saw the litter of puppies in the corner of the small yard. They were yellow puppies, with legs as thick as the wood beams in the ceiling at Blackfield Grange. There were eight altogether, and they swarmed around her when she climbed down from Lightning. Lilliana went down on her haunches and scooped two of them into her arms; their paws, she noticed, were the size of her palm. They were adorable, and she smiled broadly as she buried her face in the puppy fur.
She was still beaming when she entered the terrace sitting room a little later with one particularly fat puppy close on her heels. Max’s face pinched with horror. “Oh my. Oh my,” he gasped.
“Max!” Lilliana exclaimed, giggling. “Isn’t he adorable?”
“Oh milady!” Max cried as the little fellow began to dig at the edge of the expensive Aubusson carpet. “Haven’t you ever noticed there are no dogs at Longbridge?” he asked frantically.
It had never occurred to her, but oddly enough, Lilliana realized she had not seen a single dog anywhere near Longbridge. She looked at Max in confusion. “I … I don’t understand.”
Max groaned.
“Please don’t tell me someone has an aversion to dogs,” she said, and laughed at the absurdity of it. But Max’s wince turned into a painful grimace. “Max? Why are there no dogs at Longbridge?”
“Dear me, it’s not my place, mum … but Mrs. Dismuke told me.”
“Told you what?”
“Everything,” he muttered miserably. “One of the grooms … oh, no matter how it came up. Mrs. Dismuke, she said Lady Kealing corresponded with her once upon a time, and I suppose it goes that when his lordship was a lad, he was quite fond of the hounds Lord Kealing kept. Had a right large kennel, and there was one pup, the runt, which the earl took a shining to. His lady mother wrote Mrs. Dismuke that he coddled that pup.”
Lilliana tried to imagine a young Adrian and his dog. “I should hope he would like dogs!” she said, and pressed her face into the side of the fat pup she had scooped into her arms.
Max sighed sadly and shook his head. “Terrible story, really. Lord Kealing didn’t like the earl playing with those pups. Those were hunting dogs, and he told the earl he was not to play at the kennel. But Lady Kealing wrote that the runt was too small to keep up with the rest of them—had a good nose, that was all. He wasn’t suited for the hunt.”
“Then Adrian kept him as a pet?” Lilliana asked uncertainly.
Max shook his head. “Apparently Lord Kealing didn’t allow it. But it seems his lordship continued to go to the kennels, and took to letting the little fellow out of his pen. The two of them would explore the grounds. The pup must have had a good nose,” Max continued, his face going red, “because he sniffed out a trap and stuck his nose where it didn’t belong. Trap came down on his leg, almost severing it clean. The poor little fellow had to be put down, naturally.”
“How horrible,” Lilliana muttered.
“It’s worse than that, milady. Mrs. Dismuke said the boy was devastated, but his papa thought to teach him a proper lesson all the same. To punish him for disobeying, the marquis dragged his lordship out to the kennels and made him watch while he shot the dog dead.”
Lilliana gasped in horror and quickly set the pup free of her arms as if he were a hot coal. What sort of monster would do that to a boy?
“To this day, Lord Albright despises dogs,” Max whispered. “Best you take it back, milady.”
Lilliana did not move, unable to fathom the horror Adrian must have felt. Yet it had been many years ago—surely he did not fault every dog for that terrible mishap. That her husband could despise dogs for that reason broke her heart. But it also intrigued her—he must have loved that hound to be so overly sensitive now, she mused. And if anything could provoke a feeling of genuine affection in a person, it was a dog. If any one thing could make that man feel, it just might be a dog. “That was a long time ago,” she said softly, and lifted her gaze to Max. “It is high time he overcame that tragedy, don’t you think?”
Max started, his eyes rounding in shock. “Lady Albright! You wouldn’t!” he gasped, clutching his hands to his chest.
Lilliana smiled. “Wouldn’t I?” she asked sweetly.
When Adrian strolled into the gold salon, Lilliana graced him with a beguiling smile from her perch on a china silk settee in the middle of the room. “Good evening.”
The demon looked rather appealing in the gown of dark blue. “Good evening,” he intoned with a quick smile, and walked toward the sideboard, nodding politely to the footman. “What have we got?” he asked amicably, and surveyed the various decanters and bottles. The sound of growling caused him to turn sharply toward the room. Lilliana was still sitting, still smiling … but that evil little spark had appeared in her eye, the same spark he was coming to recognize as trouble. And to prove it, she suddenly leaned over her knees just as Adrian heard the growling again. A rush of uneasiness swept over him, and he walked cautiously to the collection of furniture where she sat.
The sight of the fat pup ferociously shaking a small pillow clamped firmly in his jaw caused Adrian to hastily and involuntarily step back. “What in the hell is that?” he asked, stupefied.
“A dog,” Lilliana responded cheerfully, and with her foot nudged the pillow the little fellow was chewing on.
Adrian flushed and took another, unconscious step backward. “I can see that. What is it doing in here?” he demanded.
Lilliana laughed. “Fighting a big, ugly pillow, aren’t you, boy?” she purred, and leaned down to scratch him behind the ears.
“Where …” He hesitated as the dog suddenly dropped the pillow and bounded over to a chair to sniff the legs. “Where? Where did it
come from?” he asked, his voice suddenly hoarse.
“I found him while I was riding today.” She glanced up, openly assessing his reaction.
Bloody hell, she was at it again! He frowned down at the pup, his mind whirling with ancient emotions and long-buried, sickening turmoil. Good God, the little beast had paws the size of tea saucers. Suddenly the dog came bounding over to him, and Adrian stumbled backward, fighting the urge to flee the beast. The pup sniffed his shoes before attempting to take one in his mouth. Adrian hastily shook him off.
“He is a water dog and his name is Hugo,” Lilliana announced with great amusement. Adrian hardly heard her as he tried to move away from the dog’s ardent attentions, but the pup was quite determined to have his shoe. Lilliana put a hand over her mouth in a vain attempt to keep from laughing as she slipped to her knees on the floor.
“Are you aware that this dog will grow to be the size of a horse?” Adrian demanded, and shoved at the pup. That only served to excite the little fellow, and he pounced on Adrian’s foot, chewing excitedly at the tip. “He is eating my shoe!” he exclaimed gruffly. “Call him off!”
Laughing gaily, Lilliana clapped her hands. “Come here, Hugo!” she called in a singsong voice, and waved the pillow. The puppy went loping toward her, his thick legs tangling with one another at each step.
Adrian rubbed the tension from the back of his neck as he watched her scoop the puppy up and nuzzle his fur, “Do you intend to keep him?” he asked cautiously, knowing full well how stupid that question was.
“Why yes, of course!” she said, her eyes sparkling. “Isn’t he precious?”
“That is not the word that comes to mind,” Adrian muttered. “I wasn’t aware you were fond of dogs.”
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