Adrian glanced at Benedict. “I rather think he shall be here for a few days, won’t you, Ben? Enjoy your chat I will catch up with him later,” he said, and walked out of the door before the pain in his head brought him to his knees.
A few days quickly turned into a week; Benedict showed no sign of leaving. As Adrian watched his brother escort his wife to the orangery one morning, he knew he had nothing to complain of, really. Benedict had been on his best behavior, and from all outward appearances, he genuinely seemed to desire reconciliation between them. He was exceedingly respectful of Lilliana—and she certainly seemed to enjoy his company.
Adrian could hardly look at the two of them without feeling the burden of his enormous guilt. Somehow, Benedict and Phillip had joined together in his mind, both painful reminders of his failures. And Lilliana—even years of studied practice at suppressing emotion could not keep him from the oppressive distress he felt about her any longer. If by some miracle she did not cry when he left her at night, he was made miserable by the knowledge that the man who might have made her happy was in his house. He found himself sullenly wondering if she might have shown Benedict the same stark passion, if she might have released him to the heavens with her lovemaking.
Adrian watched the two of them bundled up against the late winter chill, walking side by side. Benedict walked with his face tilted toward her as if what she had to say was the most fascinating thing on earth. It was too late for them now. He had created this hell for all of them, and there was nothing that could be done for it.
But work.
Adrian was not the only one wondering how long Benedict would be at Longbridge. Lilliana surreptitiously watched her brother-in-law stroll about the orangery, admiring the many paintings she had hung there. His constant presence was beginning to grate on her; there seemed no place she could go to be away from him—or his quips about Adrian.
“Your talent is remarkable, Lilliana,” he said.
Uncomplimentary little quips, she thought, and smiled sheepishly as she donned her apron. “You mustn’t flatter me, Benedict.”
“I do not flatter you! You really are very talented!” he insisted, and pivoted, looking at her curiously. “There is so much about you that is unique. I marvel at it.”
Lilliana laughed and sheepishly turned to study the canvas in front of her.
“Ah, this is particularly lovely,” Benedict said, and pointed to a painting of the river that ran through Longbridge. “Such talent, Lilliana. But surely Adrian tells you so all the time.”
A queasiness in the pit of her belly rose up, the same queasiness she felt every time Benedict mentioned Adrian. It was as if she were playing a part in some strange little play, a role in which she must pretend all was well with her husband because she was desperate that Benedict not discover the truth. If he knew how unimportant she was in her own household, he would certainly tell Tom, if not her parents. How long would it be before the entire parish knew the Rogue could scarcely tolerate her? The sting of humiliation began to creep up her neck.
“Surely he has said as much!” he insisted.
Lilliana forced a cheerful laugh. “Adrian is rather busy with his work.”
Benedict crossed the room to stand at her canvas. “He hasn’t, has he?”
She shrugged and picked up her brush. How could he? He had never so much as stepped foot in the orangery, and Lord knew he paid no attention to the paintings she had hung in his study. “He’s really not very interested in art,” she said, dipping her brush onto her pallet.
“Yes, he is. He has one of the finest collections in London,” Benedict said abruptly.
The queasiness roiled up into her chest. “Well,” she said lightly, “I paint only for the pleasure of it.”
“Oh, God,” Benedict groaned, “I was afraid of this!” He suddenly came down on one knee beside her, grasping her wrist. “He’s made you unhappy, hasn’t he? Don’t deny it—it’s painfully obvious.”
“Benedict!” she said, and forcing a smile, tried to wrench her wrist free of his grip. “You have no idea what you are saying!”
Benedict held fast. “Oh, but I do. I’ve seen the two of you, and I know what sort of man he is! If he truly held you in the highest regard, he would not … you know what I am saying, don’t you?”
She had absolutely no idea what he was saying! “Know what? He is rather occupied with his work, that’s all.”
Benedict frowned down at her hand for a moment. “He is rather distant, even I can see it. I shouldn’t be the one to tell you, but I feel … oh hell! Lilliana, think! Has he been away from you for any length of time? At night? Has he made any trips or received any correspondence he did not want you—”
“I beg your pardon?” she asked, her forced smile fading with her confusion. “Adrian is working very hard to make repairs to Longbridge.”
“Of course,” Benedict said, with such a piteous smile that she wanted to strike it from his face. “It is Longbridge he devotes his attention to during those evenings he cannot even take the time to dine with you.”
Lilliana suddenly understood his implication and it jolted her. She surged upward from the little bench and jerked free of Benedict. “I don’t know what you are attempting to imply, my lord, but it is none of your concern! Everything is quite fine!”
Benedict rose slowly. “Do you honestly want me to believe that?” he asked softly.
Mortified, Lilliana yanked at the ties of her smock. “I don’t know what you believe, but I would thank you to keep your thoughts to yourself! They are unwelcome!” she snapped as she discarded the smock. With a heated glare, she moved quickly to retrieve her cloak.
“I only want your happiness, Lilliana, it’s all I have ever wanted!” Benedict insisted earnestly. “Don’t you know I will help you with everything in my power? If he cannot bring himself to care for you, if he must turn his attentions elsewhere—”
“Stop it!” she cried. “How dare you insinuate yourself into my marriage? For God’s sake, Benedict, if you are still angry with me for marrying him, then say so! But please do not be cruel!”
Benedict immediately came forward, grabbing her cloak even though she tried to slap his hand away, and held it up so she could slip into it. “I could never be cruel to you. I am so sorry, so very sorry for you, don’t you see that? You cannot hide from me, Lilliana, I know you too well. I know you both too well, and I can plainly see what you will not admit. I cannot bear to see how he is hurting you with his indiscretion!”
Lilliana lurched away from him and jerked the door open without looking back, flying across the lawn to the house, frantic to be away from him and his lies. Stumbling up a narrow servants’ staircase, she made her way to her rooms, bolted the door behind her, and fell onto her bed.
He knew! God help her, it was so bloody obvious—Benedict had already surmised that Adrian despised her! The tiny thread of hope she had so stubbornly clung to in the last weeks, the hope that Adrian would grow to accept her, had vanished in the orangery when Benedict suggested there was another.
Her heart constricted painfully, and she gasped for air. There was no other! How could there be? He had not left Longbridge! But he is gone every day, all day. “Longbridge is huge!” she sobbed. And there were many cottages and houses occupied by dozens of tenants, and little villages nearby, and public houses and inns—plenty of opportunity for a man who was a celebrated womanizer.
Oh, Lord, how could she be so angry with Benedict when she had wondered the very same thing about him? Such doubts and fears were not new, but to hear them voiced aloud by another …
She suddenly pounded her fist into the bed. She would not accept it! She would not believe it!
She believed it.
Adrian was lost to her.
Honestly, as if he had ever been hers to lose! Lilliana gulped down a sob and hit the bed again and again, fighting to keep the awful truth from burying her.
She did not attend supper that evening, but sent a note to
Adrian saying she had a sick headache. No one questioned her, no one came to see after her, except Polly, whom she managed to anger by refusing the soup she brought. Polly clucked her tongue disapprovingly and said sharply, “The Albright girls were just the same, you know. Would get some bee in their bonnet and not eat a bite.”
Lilliana was too miserable to care what the Albright girls did or did not do. Her life looked terribly bleak—was she to be shut away at Longbridge for the rest of her life, longing for him while she endured his disdain? The attempt to accept her loveless fate was excruciatingly difficult—but not nearly as difficult as the thought that he would come to her tonight, make her love him all over again, then leave her so that the cold emptiness could creep into her soul until she was mad with it.
Well, she would rather be dead than know pleasure at his hand. She was nothing more than a vessel to him, a piece of flesh on which he might get a son. He was indifferent to all else, and by God, so should she be.
Adrian did not realize that he might actually miss the company of the Grange Princess until he was forced to dine with Benedict alone. The dining room seemed unusually large and quiet without her bubbling laughter or eager discussion of which pudding the cook was sure to have made. Benedict seemed to notice it, too, and the first course passed in awkward silence as the two brothers consumed their wine as if they had thirsted in a desert. By the time the third course was served, the wine had eased the tension between them somewhat.
“Honestly, I have never known you to stay in one place for so long,” Benedict said amicably through a mouthful of fish.
Adrian shrugged. “There is a lot of work to be done at Longbridge.”
“But don’t you yearn even a bit for London? The Rogues and all that?”
Another painful reminder of Phillip, which Benedict innocently managed rather frequently. “Not at all,” Adrian lied. “However, I am going in a day or so to see after a few things.” An idea that had come to him just today, actually.
“Then I suppose you’ll be introducing Lilliana around?” Benedict asked, almost hopefully. “High time London saw the sort of woman Albright would take as a wife.”
Adrian glanced at him. Was it his imagination, or did Benedict’s eyes take on a peculiar little glint? “I think not this time. I should be no more than a day or two. The trip would be too hard on her,” he said carefully.
Benedict nodded as he reached for his wineglass. “Traveling with a woman is a bit like torture, isn’t it? I shouldn’t blame you.”
“Indeed?” Adrian drawled, eyeing his brother curiously.
Benedict chuckled. “I have hardly lived the life of a monk, Adrian. Granted, my exploits are fewer in number and far less entertaining than yours, but I am a man after all.”
How strange, Adrian thought absently, that he really did not know what sort of life Benedict lived. He really didn’t know his brother at all. He had always assumed he was a pasty country squire, dabbling with his garden and dining with Archie at precisely nine o’clock each evening. A mollycoddle, more in need of creature comforts than he would ever imagine a woman needing.
“This is excellent news, by the by, for I, too, am to London. We could travel together,” Benedict said, and turned to look at Adrian.
Fabulous. The only reason Adrian had offered his plans was in the hope that Benedict might at last leave Longbridge. “You’ve a coach here. I intend to travel on horseback—”
“Of course! I shall ride with you and return for my coach.”
“It is a half day’s hard ride from Kealing Park,” Adrian reminded him.
Benedict snorted. “What of it? It is not so far out of the way, really. Come on, then, Adrian. It will be entertaining, just the two of us. Remember when we were packed off to Eton together?”
He remembered all right. But Benedict was not that impish little boy anymore, and had not been for a very long time.
Benedict suddenly laughed. “God, Adrian, do you despise me so much?” he asked, but his eyes definitely belied the light laughter.
“No, Ben, of course not,” Adrian quickly answered. Truly, he didn’t despise him—he could not even, in good conscience, hold him partly responsible for Archie’s madness. It was just that he wished Benedict could have been more of a man. That was it, wasn’t it, the true root of his discomfort with him? Benedict’s smile faded, and Adrian quickly agreed. “We may travel together if you like, naturally.” Benedict smiled again, and Adrian ignored the feeling of uneasiness it gave him.
He declined his brother’s offer to play chess, citing his own headache. That was true enough; a dull, bothersome headache had been with him since Benedict had first appeared at Longbridge. But there was more, he grudgingly admitted to himself as he climbed the stairs.
He wanted to see Lilliana. He wanted to run his fingers through that mess of blond curl, to look into those gray-green eyes as he plunged into her warmth.
Fortunately, Lilliana had not gone to sleep. She was sitting at her vanity in the glow of a single candle, looking at some paper when he came into the room. She did not look up, as if she had not heard him.
“How are you feeling?” he asked as he strolled into the room.
“Fine, thank you,” she muttered, and still she did not look up, did not grace him with that smile she seemed to flash at Benedict at every turn.
He walked to where she sat and put his hands on her shoulder, peering at her reflection in the mirror over the top of her head. “What are you reading?”
“A letter from Caroline.”
He bent to nuzzle her neck. Lilliana squirmed as he flicked his tongue across her earlobe. “We missed you at supper,” he murmured. He got no response to that. Wordlessly, she folded the paper and slipped it under her jewelry box, then folded her hands primly in her lap. Mildly surprised, Adrian lifted his head—she was usually eager for his caress. His hand drifted down from her shoulder to cup her breast, but Lilliana did not move. Adrian frowned at her reflection; “Madam, do I detect a bit of unwillingness?” he asked bluntly.
“I am your wife. I would never be unwilling.”
And what in the hell was that supposed to mean? Adrian abruptly stepped away and shoved a hand through his hair. “Not the most charming thing you have ever said,” he muttered irritably.
She turned to look at him, her eyes oddly vacant. Slowly, she rose from the bench—in the soft candlelight the white silk wrapper she wore gave the illusion of a mist rising on the lake. Her eyes locked on his, never leaving him as she walked to the bed. Mildly confused, Adrian wondered if she was playing some sort of game with him. Hesitantly he followed her, drawing up short when she untied the wrapper and let it fall to the floor. She did not speak, just stood there looking at him with that oddly vacant expression.
Completely naked.
Lord God, but the woman had a sumptuous body. His gaze hungrily roamed the smooth slope of her shoulders, the ripe fullness of her breasts and the dark, rigid peaks, the slender waist flaring into softly rounded hips, the golden triangle of curls between her legs. She had never done this—she stood before him without artifice, allowing him to feast on her feminine curves at his leisure. It wouldn’t be long; his arousal was swift and hard, jutting against his trousers.
A lazy smile spread across his lips. “Is this an invitation, madam? If so, it is one I cannot refuse,” he drawled, and quickly shrugged out of his waistcoat and shirt. He gathered her in his arms, crushing her lithe body into his hard one, pressing his erection against the soft flesh of her belly as he caressed the curve of her spine. He devoured her neck, moving eagerly to her mouth as he eased her onto the bed. His lips moved roughly over hers, tasting them, feeling the softly plump flesh against his teeth. Desire spread uncontrollably, clouding his brain. It wasn’t until he thrust his tongue in her mouth that he realized she was not responding.
He lifted his head. “Hold me, Lillie,” he whispered urgently, then claimed her mouth again, forcing his tongue past her lips. He allowed himself the plea
sure of languishing there as his hands roamed her body, skating the peaks and valleys, savoring the incredible softness of a woman’s body that penetrated the most hardened of his senses.
Until he understood he was the only one enjoying this dance.
Hell, he was the only one participating! He came up on his elbows, peering down at her with a frown of great exasperation. Lilliana’s eyes narrowed slightly as she returned his gaze.
It was so unlike her. All right, all right, he barely knew what she was like anymore, but that was out there, beyond these walls. In here, he knew her very well, and this … this was so unlike her that it sent a strange shiver down his spine. Slowly he pushed himself up and sat back on his heels, his eyes angrily demanding an explanation.
Lilliana responded, all right. Her gaze never wavered as she slowly snaked her arms out perpendicular to her body and then spread her legs wide.
Like a whore.
Adrian exploded. He slapped at one knee as he came off the bed. “What in the hell do you think you are doing?” he roared.
“It’s what you want, isn’t it?”
Insulted, he shoved her legs together. “It’s disgusting! Stop it at once!”
“I offer my body for your pleasure, like any wife should.”
Her words angered him beyond comprehension. He grabbed her wrist and jerked her upright. “You would that I feel like a monster? Because you have succeeded, madam,” he breathed.
“I would that you feel,” she responded softly, and all at once, her eyes were glistening with goddamned tears.
In a moment of panic, Adrian shoved her away. “What is it you want, Lilliana? What in God’s name do you want of me?” he demanded hoarsely.
One tear slid haphazardly down her cheek. “I want your attention!” she said on a ragged breath.
She had lost her bloody mind. “You have it! Completely and undivided!” he snapped. Lilliana blinked, and more tears rolled down her face as she gazed up at him. “Well? What do you want now, Lady Albright?” he demanded. Her silence sparked a fit of fury in him, and he suddenly launched himself at her, toppling her onto her back, then roughly parted her thighs with his hands. He shoved himself between them as he fumbled with his trousers. His erection was dangerously tantalized when the swollen tip sprang free against the moist lips of her sex. “Is this what you want? You want me to take you like a common whore? Is that the kind of attention you want?” he muttered, and thrust hard into her.
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