And that was precisely what she was about to do with Heath’s ghosts. Beginning with the paintings he kept hidden away in the east wing. She took a deep breath and proceeded, hoping to heavens she was making the right decision.
“Mrs. Rhodes, I’d like you to direct the servants to air out the closed chamber in the east wing. Have the footmen take an inventory of the contents and bring it to me. In the meantime, I’d like to see one of the landscapes hung in the drawing room and the Adam and Eve in His Grace’s study.” There. She’d done it, put the plan into motion.
Mrs. Rhodes had either swallowed a gnat, or she was most aggrieved by the suggestion. “But Your Grace, His Grace has explicitly requested that the chamber remain closed and that its contents not be removed.”
Here it was, the opposition. But Tia was ever a wily opponent. “Oh, dear me. I’m surprised he hasn’t told you himself. He’s changed his mind,” she lied smoothly, batting nary a lash.
“He has?”
“Why, yes. It was His Grace’s idea that I meet with you today, in fact,” Tia continued, hitting her stride. Heavens, this was easier than it should be. “He has reconsidered the notion of the pictures moldering away forever in an unused chamber. Indeed, he told me he would like to see as many of his paintings on the walls as possible.”
Mrs. Rhodes blinked. “As many as possible, Your Grace?”
“Yes.” In for a penny, in for a pound, as always. “With the exception of the portrait of Lady Elizabeth,” she amended. No need to push him that far. She’d already be trying him enough as it was. “Please have the footmen consult with me as to the placement.”
The housekeeper was silent for a moment. “I’m not certain of what to say, Your Grace.”
Tia beamed at her. “It’s simple, Mrs. Rhodes. Say yes.”
Heath was bloody well seeing things. Yes, that was the reason for the painting of Adam and Eve on the wall of his study. Either that, or he’d drunk too much whiskey in an effort to drown the double portions of guilt that had been eating him since Tia had awoken the old feelings in him by unearthing his paintings. He’d hurt her, and it still bothered the hell out of him.
Of course, there was a third option for the seeming appearance of one of his works on his study wall. And that was the golden-haired trouble-maker who had been setting him at sixes and sevens since he’d looked down at her in the gardens at Penworth. His wife.
He blinked, just to be sure the painting remained.
It did, damn it all.
“Burnes,” he hollered.
His worthy butler appeared at the door, almost as if he’d been hovering about, awaiting his master’s outburst. “Yes, Your Grace?”
“What, precisely, has happened to the portrait of the fifth Duke of Devonshire?” Not that he’d cared for the portrait—the lines had been all wrong, the shading abysmal—but it had been hanging in the study for his entire life. While he’d made his mark on Chatsworth, there were some things a man didn’t change. Family portraits were one of them, regardless of their dubious artistic merit.
“Her Grace required it to be removed,” Burnes intoned.
The devil she had. “Pardon?”
Burnes, who ordinarily had one expression—dour—looked irritated. “At your request, Her Grace directed the footmen to remove some of the Cavendish family portraits and replace them.”
At his request? The minx. She knew very well that he’d directed her to leave those paintings, his paintings, exactly where he’d left them in the east wing. He’d thought to give her time to collect herself after the day he’d found her there. She’d turned him away from her chamber, and he’d been willing to allow her some distance. He knew he likely should have told her about Bess from the start, but somehow, it hadn’t seemed necessary. He’d never thought Tia would uncover that part of his life. But she had, and instead of allowing him to keep it locked firmly in the past as he preferred, she seemed hell-bent on hauling it into their midst. One of his paintings was staring back at him, and if Burnes was to be believed, it was only one of many.
“Did the duchess happen to say when I made this request?” he asked as calmly as possible given the emotions roiling within him, anger chief among them.
“I regret to say she did not, Your Grace.”
Of course she hadn’t. He’d thought her silence had been caused by hurt, but she’d been orchestrating this the entire time, using his own servants and his own supposed requests against him. He had underestimated her. He’d known she was flighty as a butterfly, but he hadn’t realized she was also cunning as a fox.
“Do you know where Her Grace is at the moment, Burnes?” he asked next.
“I’m afraid I cannot be certain, Your Grace,” Burnes told him before hesitating. “But I do believe she may be dressing for dinner.”
Catching Tia half-dressed would certainly have its merits. He tossed back the remainder of his whiskey and stood. His ledgers and correspondence could damn well wait. He had a meddling wife to attend to. “Thank you, Burnes. If you will excuse me, that will be all.”
Tia stood before her mirror, wearing nothing more than her drawers and chemise, watching Bannock as she approached from behind with her corset in hand. She held out her arms as her lady’s maid placed the corset around her waist and began fastening the hook-and-eye closures on the front.
Hours had passed since she had finished overseeing the placement of Heath’s paintings, and she hadn’t heard a word. He had returned from his ride and closeted himself away in his study. Perhaps he hadn’t noticed the removal of the abysmal family portrait. Perhaps he was poring over ledgers, oblivious to her machinations.
“Are you certain there was no mention belowstairs of His Grace and my, er, efforts to decorate?” she demanded of Bannock, disappointed to have been denied a reaction.
“I’m sorry, Your Grace. No one said a word.” Bannock finished the last closure and went to Tia’s back, her fingers working on the laces. The familiar crush of her corset squeezed the breath from her.
“Not even a word?”
“Well, there was a bit said about the paintings. One of the maids was saying how His Grace had requested the room to be sealed and she didn’t think he would want his pictures all over the walls.” Bannock continued cinching.
It would seem the servants were not entirely convinced by Tia’s claim that Heath had requested the paintings to be hung. They weren’t wrong, but it warmed her that they had observed her wishes despite their reservations. She was beginning to feel at home at Chatsworth, and it was most welcome.
“Thank you, Bannock.” Her dear lady’s maid could always be counted on for the belowstairs gossip, and it certainly worked in Tia’s favor now that they were both virtual strangers in a new household.
Suddenly, the door to Tia’s chamber flew open. With a start, Tia turned to see her husband stalking inside. His handsome face was chiseled in stone. Their gazes met, and a mixture of dread and heat shot straight through her.
“Your Grace,” she objected, finding her tongue. “I’m dressing.”
“So it would seem.” He stopped when he was a scant few inches from her. “That will be all,” he told Bannock, dismissing her.
“But Your Grace,” Tia sputtered. She was dressing for dinner. He couldn’t just dismiss her lady’s maid, leaving her in her undergarments. She couldn’t dress herself, for heaven’s sake. “Cannot the matter wait until I’ve finished my toilette? I have need of Bannock.”
Her lady’s maid hesitated, casting her gaze from Tia to the duke, then back again.
“You are dismissed,” Heath told Bannock in a firm, ducal, no-argument-allowed decree.
“Bannock, you must stay,” Tia countered, quite vexed with him for his high-handed behavior. She knew she had gone against his wishes, and it was apparent that he was most displeased by her actions. But that didn’t mean he had to act a bore before her lady’s maid. Moreover, Tia hadn’t intended to face him in such a state of dishabille. It was dangerous to her abi
lity to make an argument. Damnation, she required layers. Corset covers, petticoats, buttons, and skirts.
Bannock’s eyes were wide. She was loyal to Tia, that much Tia did not question. But she was also likely aware that the duke possessed the purse strings now. “Your Graces, I will leave you to your conversation.”
“No,” Tia cried, tempted to clutch Bannock’s arm in an effort to make her stay but not wanting to seem desperate before her husband.
“Very good,” Heath said approvingly, offering Bannock a nod before turning the force of his stare back on Tia.
The urge to wilt was strong. Tia tore her gaze from Heath’s to helplessly watch as her lady’s maid disappeared from the chamber, leaving her alone with the towering, angry male before her. Blast.
“Now that we’re alone at last, I believe an explanation is in order,” Heath told her in tight, clipped tones.
Tia searched his gaze as she took a step in retreat. She couldn’t read him, and it made her ill at ease. “What sort of explanation?”
He raised an imperious brow and took a step toward her, effectively diminishing the safe distance she’d put between them. “I’ve been informed that the duchess directed the servants to rearrange the family portraits at my request. And yet, I made no such request. Therefore, someone is being deceitful.” He stalked even closer and reached out to trail a finger over her jaw and down her throat. “Is it you? Or is it Burnes?”
His touch sent fire skittering through her. She wanted him, and if the smoldering in his eyes was any indication, the feeling was mutual. But as much as she longed for him to take her in his arms and kiss her into submission, she knew there would be a reckoning first.
She swallowed. “Mrs. Rhodes wouldn’t comply unless I told her the directive came from you.”
“As I thought.” He traced the angular sweep of her collarbone next, stopping at her shoulder. “Why, Tia?”
She struggled to keep her wits about her. “I suppose she’s a loyal retainer,” she answered, deliberately misunderstanding him.
His gaze narrowed. “Why did you disobey me?”
Because he couldn’t simply lock away his past and expect it to disappear. Because the man he was now needed to confront the man he’d been. Because she wanted him to be free to love her.
The last realization came to her with a pang. She hadn’t expected to develop tender feelings for him. Lord knew she never had for Lord Stokey, but she was beginning to understand that her first marriage was entirely different from her marriage to Heath. This was a union born of passion and necessity, but it was also a union that could become much more. She wanted that for herself, for Heath. She longed for happiness, so strongly that it frightened her. Never before had she felt such a conflict of emotions.
“Have you nothing to say for yourself?” he demanded, gripping both her shoulders in his hands now and giving her a shake that was gentle enough not to hurt but forceful enough to let her know the seriousness of the moment.
“Your paintings should not be hidden away as if they’re shameful,” she managed. There was much she wanted to say, but her mind was working faster than her tongue, and it was in greater disarray than a library after a fire.
“The decision is not yours, Tia,” he reminded her, his voice hard as his jaw. “You had no right to defy me and to make my household your unwitting dupes.”
He made it sound as if she’d just sold all the Cavendish family heirlooms to a London street vendor for a few pennies. “I own that I should not have misled the servants, but I don’t think any harm came of it. As far as they know, they were merely doing your bidding.”
“They shall be disabused of that notion when they must remove all the paintings they’ve just hung and restore the house to its rightful order.” His palms slid down her arms, his fingers gripping her tightly. “Damn it, woman, what can you have been thinking?”
“I was thinking that you can’t hide from the past forever,” she blurted. “I saw the pain in your eyes that day when you spoke of what had happened. Surely you don’t think you’ll assuage your grief and guilt by keeping your paintings hidden away in the east wing?”
“I’ve managed to do so for five years,” he reminded her, releasing her suddenly before his fingers went to the fasteners at the front of her corset.
“You’ve managed to avoid it for five years,” she corrected, growing equal measures aroused and alarmed by the progress he was making. “What do you think you’re doing to my corset?”
“Opening the bloody thing,” he demanded, reaching the top hook and eye, undoing it and whipping the undergarment to the floor.
Oh dear. It would seem that his ire had developed into desire. Her mouth went dry and her heart kicked into a mad gallop. “I require a corset to dress for dinner,” she tried.
“You’re not dressing for dinner.” He caught the skirt of her chemise and began dragging it over her head.
“Heath.” Her vision went white for an instant as he removed the garment from her. “You’re being rather imperious.”
“I learned it from you, my dear.” The smile on his sensual mouth was positively feral. He unbuttoned her drawers. “Step out of them.”
She deemed it best to heed him. His mood seemed dangerous indeed. Watching him, she shimmied her hips. Her drawers fell down over her bare skin with a whisper of fabric before she did as he asked, taking a step back once more. She was nude before him while he was fully clothed. “What are you doing, Heath?”
“That should be obvious, my dear.” His eyes glittered into hers with wicked promise. “I’m punishing you.”
Punishing her? As if she had been a naughty child causing household upset because she’d put a frog in the governess’s bed? Of course, that was a sin she had been guilty of in her youth, but those days were long gone.
“You’re punishing me by taking away my undergarments?” she asked, aware of the chill air on her nude body.
“Not precisely,” he murmured, his gaze lowering to her breasts. “Your nipples are quite hard, darling.”
Somehow, the mere utterance of the word “nipples” from his beautiful lips sent wetness straight to her core. That didn’t bode well for her determination to stand her ground without waving the white flag of surrender.
She crossed her arms over her breasts, obstructing them from his view just to spite him. “Of course they are. It’s dreadfully cold in here, and I haven’t any clothes. An ogre has taken them all.”
He laughed. “An ogre, am I? My, you’ve a fanciful imagination, Tia. First dreaming up my wishes to redecorate Chatsworth and now imagining me a monster.” As he said the last, he shrugged out of his coat.
“I was doing my utmost to help you,” she said quietly. “That is all.”
But Heath wasn’t paying her any attention. He was diverted by something on the settee to his left. “Ah, stockings,” he said, pulling the stockings Bannock had laid out for her from the gilded back. “How thoughtful of your lady’s maid to assist me.”
Tia was beginning to rethink the wisdom of her grand plan to help her husband overcome the pain of his past. His calm demeanor was troubling. Had he raged at her, she would have simply raged back at him. But this deliberate, almost ominous, progression of events was as vexing as it was titillating.
“Why do you need my stockings?” She took another wary step in retreat.
“Get on the bed, Tia,” he ordered, ignoring her query.
“No.” She stepped back again, wondering precisely what he intended to do with the stockings.
“Yes.” He followed her, stockings in hand, expression impassive.“On the bed. Now.”
She wondered what he would do if she defied him and decided to give it a try. “I won’t.”
“Very well.” Grimly, he closed the distance between them in a step and a half. His hands settled on her waist. “Then I shall do it for you.”
Tia stared as her ordinarily imperturbable husband bent and hauled her over his shoulder. “Oh!” The air fled fr
om her lungs, and suddenly her view was of the carpet at her husband’s feet and his trouser-clad rump. And though his rump was tempting indeed, she didn’t particularly care for being tossed over his shoulder as if she were an old coat. “Put me down at once,” she demanded, finding her voice.
“In time, my dear. I don’t think you’d like to be dropped on the floor just now.” His tone remained eerily composed.
He traveled with her across the chamber, and she felt the bedclothes tickling her calves before he unceremoniously dumped her in the middle of her bed. She landed in an ungraceful sprawl, conscious of the dreadful way she must look, limbs sticking this way and that. She adopted as ladylike a pose as she could manage while utterly naked and met his gaze. He was watching her rather the way she imagined a starving man would eye a freshly roasted pheasant. Oh dear.
“That was most unkind of you,” she said, breathless.
He knelt on the bed then, joining her. “I would apologize, but I daresay I’m not any sorrier than you are for your misdeeds.”
“I hardly think that moving about some pictures qualifies as a misdeed,” she couldn’t resist arguing.
“No more talking,” he said, pressing a finger to her lips. He hooked a leg over her hips so that she was effectively trapped beneath him. “Not until I say you may speak.”
The devil. He couldn’t order her about in such a boorish fashion. “Heath, you’ve made your point. I understand you’re vexed. Can we not conduct a reasonable conversation?”
He took one of her wrists and tied a knot around it with her stocking, pulling until it was good and tight. “You seem to be intent upon being uncooperative. I require your silence, madam.”
Reckless Need (Heart's Temptation Book 3) Page 13