Scandalous Love

by Brenda Joyce

  “Yes’m!” Annie fled.

  Nicole blinked. She had forgotten the extent of her new circumstances; she was no longer Lady Shelton, she was the Duchess of Clayborough. And duchesses, she assumed, did not dare prepare their own baths. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  But Mrs. Veig did not hear, or she pretended not to, entering the room and setting the tray down on the delicately wrought glass table in front of the hearth. A fire crackled there, and the housekeeper turned to attend it, stoking it. Nicole wondered if Hadrian—her husband—had made the fire for her before he left her bed at dawn. “Did someone—Annie—come in this morning to tend to the hearth?”

  “No, Your Grace.” Mrs. Veig was shocked. “I would never allow anyone to disturb you unless you gave explicit orders to the contrary. Do you want your maid to stoke up the fire at first light? She can do so quietly, without awakening you.”

  Nicole wondered if Hadrian would share her bed again tonight. “No, no, that’s fine. I’m a light sleeper, I would rather not be disturbed.”

  Mrs. Veig nodded, moving towards the bed.

  Nicole sat down somewhat dumbly on the chaise, staring unseeingly at the tray of muffins, jam and tea. Hadrian had left the fire for her. Such a small gesture. And she was moved to tears!

  “Annie,” Mrs. Veig called sharply. “As soon as you finish in there, take these sheets to the laundress, and then you may make the bed.”

  Nicole looked at Mrs. Veig. The woman turned away, moving to the draperies on the other windows and opening them automatically. Nicole’s gaze widened as she stared at the bed. There was a dark red stain right in the center of it and it looked like blood.

  She could not believe her eyes.

  Nicole descended the stairs slowly, uncertainly. This was her home now, but she felt like a stranger, not like its mistress, and certainly not like a duchess. She had no idea of where she was going, or what she should do, or be doing.

  She was Hadrian’s wife, the Duchess of Clayborough. It was still incredible. But she smiled, unable to forget being in his arms last night, or the look of warmth in his eyes. And today, today he had stoked the fire for her. It was such a little act—yet for Nicole, it was terribly significant.

  She was his wife. It wasn’t so bad—it wasn’t bad at all. Maybe it could even work out, with a little effort on her part. She was going to do her best to recoup the disastrous start. She was going to do more than accept being his wife. She was going to try and be a good wife—she was going to try and please him. And win his love.

  In case he was about the house, she wanted to appear as a duchess should. She wanted to avoid her own penchant for committing faux pas. She wanted to be proper. She had exercised the utmost care in doing her toilette that morning. Annie had been there to assist her, but the young maid knew about as much as Nicole did about proper attire, and Nicole had not a clue as to how a duchess should dress in the mornings. She was determined to dress properly. Fortunately, Mrs. Veig had been with them, hovering about Annie, wanting to make sure Nicole’s every need was met.

  Nicole’s only need had been to know what to wear. She did not want to appear ignorant, and she had very casually asked Mrs. Veig what her preference was—if she liked this gown or that. Flattered, the housekeeper had chosen a beautiful yellow and green ensemble, the jacket tight-fitting and flared at the hip, the skirt draped elaborately in the back. It was as Nicole suspected. Duchesses dressed. She wasn’t too happy with having to wear such finery so early in the day, but she would do it.

  As she crossed the second floor, she passed a bevy of maids busily cleaning in the corridor, on the landing and in the fantastic ballroom just off of the landing. Its doors were flung wide open, revealing gleaming black and white marble floors, white plastered columns, and a frescoed ceiling. Everyone swiftly curtsied to her with the same chipper chorus, “Good morning, Your Grace.”

  Nicole slowly continued her descent. She was a bit shaken by such deference; it was incredible. She was even more shaken at the notion—and hope—that Hadrian might be somewhere in this palace, and that she would see him. Her heart was already beating with excitement.

  On the ground floor she paused. What did a duchess do with her time? Mrs. Veig had informed her that dinner was at one, if that met with her approval, and Nicole had said it had. It was only half past eleven. At some point she had to decide upon the evening’s supper menu, for Mrs. Veig had asked her what she would like to have that night. Nicole could not care less what the chef prepared, but it seemed to be important to Mrs. Veig that she determine the fare, so she would do so.

  But first she must find her husband. Didn’t wives always greet their husbands with a cheery “good morning?” Even duchesses? She hesitated somewhat nervously on the first floor. Two liveried male servants stood ahead of her in the foyer keeping vigilance upon the massive front doors. Nicole quickly approached them. They both greeted her as all the other staff had that morning.

  “Would you happen to know where Hadrian is? I mean,” she flushed, “where His Grace might be?”

  The men were impassive, not cracking even the slightest smile at her blunder. The elder answered. “He has not yet gone out, Your Grace. You might try his study, or the green library.”

  “And where are those rooms?”

  “His study’s down the hall, tenth door on your left. His library is upstairs on the third floor, the door before his suite. There’s a library on every floor,” he explained kindly, seeing her questioning expression.

  Nicole set off for his study. The two gleaming red doors were closed. She was trembling now, and a fantasy assailed her, one in which Hadrian rose from behind his desk to embrace her eagerly as she entered his domain. How silly she was being. She knocked.

  Inside, the Duke had been trying to attend to the matter of several accounts, without much success, all that morning. Usually he spent the mornings out on his estate on horseback. This morning, after leaving his new bride snuggled up beneath the velvet bedcovers, he had chosen to do paperwork in his office—and await her.

  He was an early riser, and today, despite last night, had been no exception. Indeed, he doubted he had actually slept more than an hour or two. But he was not tired. To the contrary, there was no mistaking the exhilaration flowing in his veins.

  And it was because of his wife.

  His wife.

  All morning he had tested that phrase, silently, with no small amount of satisfaction. He was surprised with the intensity of the satisfaction he felt, and the possessiveness that went with it. Nor could he stop thinking about her. His obsession had magnified a hundredfold, not decreased. But what did it matter? For now she was his. He could be as obsessed with her as he damned well wanted to be.

  Would she have softened after the incredible night they had shared? His heart leapt at the thought. Or would she, with the morning light, be her old recalcitrant, prideful self? Would they do battle—or would they establish a truce?

  At the soft rapping upon his doors he lunged to his feet, knocking a stack of papers from his desk. He bent to retrieve them hastily, knowing it was Nicole who stood outside his door and knowing too, full well, that she was the cause of his blundering. Deciding to sort out the mess later, he placed the stack haphazardly on his desk—his desk which had never been less than neat and tidy. He strode quickly across the study and opened the two doors.

  Her cheeks flamed when their gazes met. For one instant, neither spoke, both gazing at each other, perhaps assessing each other’s humor.

  “Good morning,” Nicole said.

  “Good morning,” he replied politely. It was hard to keep emotion out of his voice, emotions he dared not analyze. But the colors were there, rainbow-hued, and they had never been so bright.

  When he realized she was standing in the hallway, he quickly stepped aside. “Please, come in.”

  “Thank you.”

  He closed the door behind her, thinking that she was the most gorgeous creature he had ever seen, and that yellow�
�bright vivid yellow—was a magnificent color on her. Topazes, he thought. He would buy her topazes.

  She strolled into the center of the room. He watched her. She turned, smiling deliberately, uncertainly. He managed to smile back. Neither one of them were wearing their hearts on their sleeve, he realized. But he also saw that she was not a shrieking hussy. Today she was trying to be as cautious and polite as he was. That in itself declared some sort of existing truce.

  “Did you sleep well?” he finally ventured into the lengthening silence. It was impossible not to think of her physically, not to be aware of her physically. He was warm, the room was warm. He wondered what her reaction would be if he swept her into his arms and made love to her on the sofa.

  “Yes. No. Not really.” This time a small bubbly laugh escaped her.

  This time his smile, in response, was genuine.

  Their glances locked.

  Nervously, Nicole turned away first. “I just wanted to say hello.”

  “I’m glad.”

  Her head whipped around, she stared.

  He felt himself flushing, so now he turned away, too. What if she should guess the truth? That he wanted her to be acquiescent to him—that he wanted her to be more than acquiescent? “Would you like to meet the staff?”

  “Oh, yes,” she said eagerly.

  He gestured to her and she moved to him. He opened the door for her and allowed her to precede him out. “After the introductions are made,” he said, again, acutely aware of the sexual tension between them, “I must leave to take care of matters I have neglected for far too long.”

  “Oh.”

  Was she disappointed? He hoped he wasn’t being a fool to think so—to hope so. “Mrs. Veig serves a luncheon at one. If you do not care for the schedule, change it as you would.”

  “One is fine.”

  It was very hard to walk beside her and not accost her, he realized. Last night’s complete abandon made it even worse. He knew he was being utterly selfish to even contemplate how he might discreetly and deviously cry off his responsibilities and take her back upstairs. She was probably in no shape to entertain her lusty husband this morning. Still, he could not get the notion out of his mind.

  The introductions took an hour. The staff that maintained the residence of Clayborough numbered one hundred and ten. In addition, there was the rest of the staff to consider, the gardeners, the gamekeepers, the park manager, the stableboys, the grooms, the stablemaster, the trainer, the kennelmaster, the kennelmen, the coachmen, the footmen and the outriders. There were also two masons and four carpenters, for, as the Duke explained, there were always repairs to be made to such an old home.

  He walked her back to the house, if such a sprawling palatial residence could possibly be called such. At the front door he turned her over to Mrs. Veig and Woodward. “Enjoy your dinner, Madam. I am sorry I cannot join you.” His tone was formal, but his regret was sincere.

  “I understand,” Nicole said, her eyes upon his booted feet. “What time will you be back, er, my lord?”

  His brow shot up and he smiled at the careful form of address she chose. But it had been the proper form of address, just as she had appeared the picture of propriety this entire morning. Had his wife decided upon more than a truce, had she had a change of heart? And was it wise for him to be so pleased with the prospect—with her?

  “I intend to return by six-thirty. If you care to, you can meet me in the red salon for a sherry before supper, at seven-thirty. Supper is at eight. Unless, of course, that does not meet with your approval.”

  “No, that is fine,” Nicole said, flushing a little.

  “You may change anything you like, Nicole,” the Duke said softly, so only she could hear. He wanted to make it perfectly clear that her position as his wife and duchess gave her a power, in her domain, commensurate with his. And perhaps, obliquely, he wanted her to know that he himself was trying to please her. “You only have to tell me, or Mrs. Veig or Woodward, what you wish to have done.”

  Nicole nodded, her eyes wide upon his face.

  He hesitated. There was so much in her gaze, so much he was afraid to even consider what he saw. His jaw tightened as the absurd thought of kissing her good bye welled in his mind. It would not be a polite peck upon the cheek, either. It would be a rousing display of passion. With great difficulty, he restrained himself.

  But he regretted it all day.

  They rapidly settled into a routine.

  Nicole would awake at an indecent hour, only to find that Hadrian was gone. Nicole would not see him again until they met in the first-floor library before supper. She learned that he rode out on his estates shortly after sunrise. Although he did return in the afternoon, he secluded himself in his study, and Nicole thought it wiser not to invade his sanctum, although she dearly would have loved to.

  Thus Nicole had the day to herself. After a leisurely bath—there being no need to hurry—Nicole dressed with Mrs. Veig’s unwitting guidance. She then descended from her suite to meet with the chef to discuss the day’s menus. This seemed to be of the utmost importance to everyone. After that task, it did not seem as if there was anything else that required her attention. Mrs. Veig and Woodward ran the staff and the house with the utmost efficiency. Had Nicole wanted to intervene, or supervise, she would not have known where to start. Her only other duty seemed to be to decide what clothing to wear for the evening meal and to inform Annie, so she could inform Mrs. Veig, who would then have the appropriate maid put it in the press so it would be wrinkle-free when she was finally ready to dress.

  Her circumstances were too new for boredom to set in. The house was so vast that Nicole continued the explorations she began on her first day. These explorations were time-consuming. In the space of the several hours that remained until dinner was served at one, Nicole could not even cover an entire floor, and the mansion had seven.

  It occurred to her that she might have to spend the rest of her life exploring.

  It also occurred to her that it would be nice to join Hadrian as he made his rounds of his tenants and agricultural and livestock operations.

  She dashed such thoughts from her mind. She did not have to ask to know that duchesses did not indulge themselves in estate management. They probably didn’t spend all of their time exploring their own homes, either. But for the life of her, Nicole could not figure out what they did do.

  At one o’clock, she dined alone. That first day she had been served her meal in the formal dining room. The experience had been somewhat unnerving. The room was the length of two tennis courts—and so was the dining table. She had sat at its foot, being served a seven course meal by a bevy of servants, with Woodward hovering over her to see to her every wish and whim. Unfortunately, Nicole was not a big eater and she had no whimsical fancies. After that, she had requested she take her midday meal in the music room, which was bright and cheery and, in comparison to the monstrous dining hall, cozy. Hadrian had said, after all, that she could do as she chose.

  In the afternoons she rode. The stablemaster was a gruff, short Irishman named William O’Henry. He first insisted that she ride with an escort of six liveried servants. Nicole had been dismayed at such a prospect. And because her husband had made it quite clear that she might change anything that did not meet with her approval, she insisted she ride alone. Mr. O’Henry had been aghast. Finally they had compromised, but only because he insisted the Duke would have his head (and dismiss him forthright) if he let her ride about the estate unattended. O’Henry himself joined her. Nicole soon found she did not mind. The older man was a true delight, not just being a master horseman, but a rather witty fellow as well. He regaled her with tales of horsebreeding, racing and hunts, and had more than a few amusing anecdotes to relate about several exceptionally personable horses he had cared for in his long lifetime.

  Nicole made sure to return by five so that she would have plenty of time to dress for supper. That first night she had Annie play the spy. The little maid had discre
etly discerned that the Duke did not dress for supper. To Nicole’s relief, Annie informed her that His Grace’s attire was relaxed in the evening, consisting of no more than a smoking jacket, trousers and slippers.

  Very eager to see Hadrian again after the night they had spent together, Nicole chose her attire with care. She donned a casual gown of midnight blue, and carefully debated whether to adorn herself with pearls or diamonds. Not wanting to appear too formal, she finally decided against any jewelry except for a small pair of earbobs and a cameo at her collar. She applied a light sweet scent to her throat and wrists, and allowed two maids an hour to put up her hair in a style that seemed artless and uncontrived.

  The Duke was awaiting her in the library. He seemed restless and impatient, but surely that could not be, for Nicole arrived exactly at seven-thirty, although she had been ready a half an hour earlier. To her complete dismay, she found her husband formally dressed in a double-breasted black suit and tie. Somehow she had misunderstood, or Annie had been misinformed. Nicole hoped that Hadrian would not think her appearance terribly deficient.

  The next evening she was determined to be a proper duchess right down to the very last inch of her tall frame. She wore a daringly low-cut and straight-silhouetted evening gown that was the latest fashion and the height of sophistication. She wore it with all of her diamonds, with sateen high-heeled shoes, and a matching evening bag. Her hands were gloved and she carried a small, exquisite silk fan. Her hair had taken two hours to do—and this time it was contrived. She would not make the same mistake twice.

  To her shock, Hadrian greeted her in none other than his smoking jacket and slippers!

  “It appears we are at cross-purposes, Madam,” he had commented dryly. But his eyes were gleaming with frank admiration.

  “Last night you dressed,” Nicole said breathlessly, unable to find the situation amusing, not when she was the recipient of such a very male look—one laden with promise.