The declaration of love hung on her lips, but she clamped them shut. She was not ready yet to speak of it. The emotions were too new, too intense, too profound to voice. It was too precious to reveal. The practical side of her nature, a small element at most times, was screaming at her loudly now, warning her to be cautious. It was too soon, too new to test this fragile love.
And greatly fearing to do anything else, Dorothea heeded that inner voice.
Over the next week, their relationship changed. It was as if a dam of sensuality and sexual freedom had burst and they were simply unable to keep their hands off each other. All it took was a look from Carter, a dark, sensual look, and Dorothea was on fire. She melted quickly at the caress of his hands; the pressure of his lips on any part of her body instantly filled her with longing. A longing for the physical fulfillment, but more desperately a longing for love. For Carter’s love.
There were times when she felt on the verge of revealing her emotions, of proclaiming her love and devotion. Of shouting it out loudly when they rode together about the estate. Of whispering it softly in his ear when they reclined on the rocks at the lake, their fishing poles bobbing in the water.
Oddly, every moment seemed like the perfect time, but when the words bubbled to the surface, as they so often did, something held her back. Something in the depths of his eyes. A hesitation, a fear almost. As if he knew what she wanted to say and he was desperate to keep her from uttering those words. Because he feared them? Because he did not understand them? Because he did not return them?
She didn’t know the reason, so she kept her love hidden, locked away. And though a joyous feeling, it also made her vulnerable, for it frightened her, knowing how her heart would shatter if Carter rejected her love.
Oh, what a foolish, naïve young woman she had been when she came to London, believing that a marriage without love was an acceptable, even preferable one. She knew better now.
But she stubbornly refused to think beyond that point. It stood to reason that if she could fall in love with Carter, than he could fall in love with her. In moments of weakness, she toyed with the idea of trying to force the issue, but a voice of reason always held her back.
True love, lasting love, required complete honesty. And the truth was that she wanted to be loved for herself, rather than what someone wanted her to be.
“We return to London tomorrow,” Carter announced at breakfast.
There was quiet as Dorothea contemplated the slice of half-eaten toast on her dish. Why did they have to leave? Things were going so very well between them, weren’t they? Was he growing bored with her? Tired of her exclusive company? “I shall instruct Sarah to pack my trunks.”
“Excellent. I’d like to get an early start.” Carter cleared his throat. “I think it would be best if Lancelot stays behind. A young dog of his breed needs a large area to run and play.”
Dorothea sipped her hot chocolate. “There are plenty of parks in Town. I’m sure I can find a patch of green for him to frolic.”
“And no doubt get trampled by a horse. Really, Dorothea, it’s for his safety. We’ll return in a few weeks, once the Season has officially ended.”
Dorothea felt a lump of emotion clog her throat, but she swallowed it down. She was upset at having to leave the puppy behind, but she comforted herself with the knowledge that it would only be for a short time. “If you think it best, then he will stay here.”
She could practically feel Carter’s sigh of relief. Marriage is about compromise, she told herself sternly.
Leaving her darling Lancelot was difficult, but she was far more distressed at leaving Ravenswood, worried that once they left this idyllic place and returned to the distractions of society they would leave the best part of their relationship behind.
Was passion enough to keep their marriage close? Would she be able to hold her love inside herself, be content with having whatever part of himself Carter was willing to share, as she had so boastfully proclaimed before their wedding?
Secretly she feared she would not, for now that she had come to know him so well, she did not want a small part, she wanted all of him.
Chapter Fifteen
They arrived in London by late afternoon. Since Carter’s bachelor apartments were hardly a suitable place to bring a young bride and it was too far into the Season to find a town house to rent in an appropriate neighborhood, they went directly to the duke’s palatial mansion. It was not the arrangement that Dorothea would have preferred, but she was not consulted on the decision and it seemed waspish to complain.
The duke was not at home when they arrived, and they were informed by the very proper butler that he was not expected to return until very late that night. A circumstance that seemed to please rather than distress his son, which was understandable, given the strained relationship between the two.
And yet Dorothea could not imagine any members of her family acting in the same manner. If they were moving into one of her relatives’ homes, they would have been welcomed with open arms. She supposed her genuine puzzlement over the difference was merely another example of her provincial upbringing.
Though he might not have made the effort to personally greet them, the duke did not stint on their accommodations. They were given an entire wing of the house, which included separate apartments for each of them. There were two massive bedchambers, connected by a sitting room, separate dressing rooms, and a shared bathing room that contained the largest porcelain tub Dorothea had ever seen.
In addition, there was a study for Carter and a sunny private parlor for Dorothea, complete with upholstered furniture, two matching bookcases, and a desk. It was cozy and feminine, the perfect spot to entertain a few close female friends or write her letters.
Carter expressed regret that it was too late to begin a proper tour of the house, but Dorothea was relieved. She was tired from the journey, wound a bit tight with nerves, and feeling completely intimidated by the duke’s housekeeper. Mrs. Simpson’s London counterpart, the aptly named Mrs. Steele, possessed none of country housekeepers’ warmth or kindness. Instead, she was a sharp-eyed, thin-lipped woman of indeterminate age who seemed to lack the ability to smile. Even partially. Dorothea was hardly anxious to be in her company.
After being shown to her rooms, Dorothea dismissed the housekeeper, removed her bonnet, and tossed it on the bed. Her maid, Sarah, was traveling in the servants’ coach with their baggage and expected to arrive shortly. In the meantime, she would explore her immediate surroundings and hope that Carter would make an appearance soon. It all felt rather strange and lonely without him near.
She opened one of the several doors in her bedchamber and stepped into her private parlor. Shades of pink dominated the color scheme, which was unfortunate, since Dorothea was not particularly fond of pink. She made a mental note to see about having the draperies replaced at once, hoping that might be enough to change the overall atmosphere of the room. If not, the wallpaper would next fall victim to redecorating.
The antique furniture in the room was elegant and beautiful, but the arrangement of the pieces was awkward. Adding a second task in her mind, Dorothea squinted her eyes, trying to imagine how the writing desk would look near the windows and the upholstered chairs in front of the marble fireplace. That would be an easier fix than the draperies. All she would need was an hour or two and three strong, able-bodied footmen to get the room set to her preferences.
Leaving her private parlor, she threw open another door and walked into the sitting room adjoining her bedchamber with Carter’s. It was done in various shades of green that conveyed a calm, cozy element Dorothea immediately liked.
She strode through the room, heading directly toward the door that led to Carter’s chamber, and yanked it open. To her great disappointment, the room was empty.
Of course, this did make it the ideal opportunity to snoop about in private. The room was enormous, nearly twice the size of her own. Her bedchamber contained dainty furniture accented by soft fe
minine pastels with small floral patterns and stripes on the walls, curtains, bed linens, and rugs. Carter’s bedchamber was done in subdued, masculine tones of dark green, taupe, and gold. The furnishings were solid and heavy, crafted from the finest woods. Idly she ran her open palm over the carved mahogany bedpost, marveling at the size and beauty of the piece.
Her children would be conceived in this bed. She shivered with delight at the notion, imagining her husband’s strong, muscular, naked form, covered in a fine sheen of sweat as he labored to bring them both to climax. Finally sated, they would fall into a deep sleep, wrapped around each other, with Carter’s naked chest pressing into her back.
The door from the hallway unexpectedly opened and Dorothea smiled with anticipation. Gracious, all she need do was think about making love with her husband and he magically appeared. How perfectly marvelous!
“Was there something you needed, my lady?”
The voice was alarmingly rough and unfamiliar. Dorothea tried not to openly frown as she stared at her husband’s valet, a short, thin man with a decidedly nasal voice.
“I was looking for Lord Atwood.”
“I believe he is in the library.” The valet’s face remained impassive as walked to the mahogany wardrobe, opened it, and began to fuss with Carter’s clothing. After a long moment, the servant ceased his work and turned back to her. “Is there anything I can do for you, Lady Atwood?”
She compressed her lips into a tight line, wishing she had the nerve to tell the man to leave so she could be left in peace to continue her exploring. But her courage failed, for though his expression was blank, Dorothea felt certain the valet was silently smirking at her.
Gathering her dignity, and striving to look as much like a haughty noblewoman as possible, Dorothea turned, but a noise at the bedchamber door startled them both. Carter entered the room, then pulled up short, clearly confused to see his wife and valet in his bedchamber at the same time. “Is anything wrong?”
“Goodness, no,” Dorothea answered with a forced smile. “I was just wondering where you were.”
“Excuse me, my lord.” The valet bowed and hastened from the room.
“I don’t think he likes me very much,” Dorothea mumbled.
“Dunsford?”
“Yes, your valet. Though he is only a servant, he does have opinions, you know,” Dorothea muttered.
“Hmm. I’ve never actually thought much about it.”
There was a knock at the door, and at Carter’s command it opened. Dunsford reappeared with two footmen in tow, one carrying Carter’s luggage and the other holding a pitcher of steaming water.
The valet seemed momentarily startled to find her still in the room, but he lowered his gaze and began instructing the other servants as to where things should be placed. When all was set to his satisfaction, Dunsford dismissed the footmen, yet remained in the chamber.
Ignoring them both, the valet opened Carter’s wardrobe and began pulling out a selection of garments. It was at that moment that Dorothea realized the valet had chosen formal clothes more suitable for an evening away from home.
Dorothea’s mouth fell open. “You’re going out?”
The two men turned to stare at her, Carter’s face hardening into a mask while the valet’s frown was comically shocked. Apparently no one was supposed to have the audacity to question Lord Atwood about his comings and goings, even his wife.
“I will return at a more convenient time to finish my duties,” Dunsford declared in a disapproving tone before once again scuttling from the chamber.
“I am meeting Benton at my club,” Carter said when they were alone. He sat on one of the upholstered chairs near the fireplace and removed his boots. “We made these plans weeks ago.”
Dorothea folded her arms, trying to contain her agitation. “Can’t you break them?”
Carter leaned back in his chair and propped his feet on the ottoman. “It would be terribly rude.”
Dorothea blinked and looked down at her slippers. “When will you return?” she inquired, hating herself for asking.
“Late, I expect. Or rather early morning.” He crossed his feet at the ankles. “There’s no need for you to wait up. I would hate to think I was disturbing your sleep.”
Disturbing her sleep? Was he joking? Dorothea did not bother to hide her disappointment. She sank down on an open corner of the ottoman and expelled a long sigh. “’Tis our first night in London. I had hoped we would spend it together.”
“Is there some place you specifically wish me to take you?”
“No,” she answered honestly. “I was hoping for a quiet evening at home.”
“Then you shall have your wish. I will instruct the staff to serve your dinner in your rooms.”
The very brief stab of joy Dorothea felt when she thought he had relented immediately faded. “But you won’t be joining me for that dinner,” she said slowly.
“No. As I said, I’ll be out with Benton,” Carter replied calmly, the expression in his eyes impossible to penetrate. “I apologize for the misunderstanding, Dorothea, but I was unaware of your expectation when I made these plans.”
Ah, polite to the end. He was sorry that she misunderstood, but not at all sorry that he was leaving her alone. Dorothea was unsure what distressed her more: his plans to leave her for the evening or the blank expression on his face, as if he had no earthly idea why that would bother her.
She felt like snatching up a pillow and hitting him over the head with it.
“Can’t you see the viscount another night?”
He fixed her with a cool stare, and Dorothea knew she had crossed an invisible line. A spasm of disgust wrenched through her. Fearing she was close to losing her composure, she dug her fingernails bitingly into her palms and summoned every ounce of will she possessed to put a congenial expression on her face.
She was not going to be a martyr. She had entered this marriage without pretense or romantic expectations, as had Carter. It was not his fault that her feelings had so quickly and so deeply become engaged.
Though she supposed overall he could be less charming, less attractive, less appealing.
As if that would matter. The sad truth was that Dorothea knew she would love him no matter what the circumstances. Why, even at this moment, feeling hurt, angry, and frustrated, she still loved him. Though she didn’t like him all that much.
“Please give my warmest regards to Viscount Benton,” Dorothea said softly as she stood.
“I’m sure he will be delighted that you sought to remember him.”
This time Carter spoke kindly, as if he were trying to soften the blow, but his abrupt dismissal of her stung.
Oh, my, how things had changed so quickly. The easy banter and camaraderie they had developed over the past few weeks had indeed been left behind in the country.
Yet knowing she had said all that she could on the matter, she turned and left, closing the sitting room door behind her. In a childish fit of temper, her hand fumbled to find a key, for she dearly would have enjoyed loudly locking the door. But alas, even that gesture was denied her, for none was to be found.
Despite her lonely night, Dorothea’s optimistic spirit returned the following morning. Unfortunately, it did not last long. At breakfast she discovered her husband had already left the house and was not due to return until late afternoon. He again abandoned her in the evening, but encouraged her to accept one of the many invitations that had been sent.
Not wanting to spend another lonely night in her rooms, Dorothea sent a message to Lord and Lady Dardington and asked to be included in their theatre party. A seat was easily found for her in the marquess’s box. Though inwardly distressed, she spent the evening smiling so broadly that by the time she reached home her face hurt from the efforts.
By the third day in London she and her husband settled into a pattern that alternately frustrated and angered her.
The house was very large and she saw the duke infrequently, which pleased her. Alas, s
he also saw her husband infrequently, and that did not please her one bit. She understood that Carter had duties, responsibilities. She did not begrudge him those hours when he attended to matters of business, when he met with members of his political party, for he had begun to show a more active interest in the House of Lords. But she also knew he spent a great deal of time with his friends, engaging in the same pursuits he enjoyed before they had married. And that she did resent.
Her new status as the Marchioness of Atwood put her in great social demand. The invitations poured in, so many in fact that a secretary was hired to help her cope with the voluminous correspondence. Remembering well the lesson learned with Mrs. Snidely, Dorothea strove not to show favoritism to any one family or hostess. She therefore tried to accept as many invitations as possible, often attending three or even four events in one evening.
Regrettably, she did this for the most part without her husband. She knew it was the way of many society couples, but not all, and certainly not those that were newly married. On the rare occasion she accidentally encountered Carter at a ball or party, he would ask her to dance, make her smile with his witty observations, then graciously depart.
He always seemed pleased to see her, yet it was also apparent he had no qualms about leaving her. He did not deplore her company, nor did he seek it, even when he was at home. Worst of all, her courses had started, preventing them from engaging in a physical closeness.
Dorothea was frustrated with what she felt was the unnatural state of her marriage, especially at this early stage. She and Carter ran their lives on a parallel but separate course.
Within a few days, Dorothea grew tired of the endless social whirl. It was simply not as entertaining without Carter by her side. She toyed briefly with the idea of forsaking the parties and staying home at night, but feared she would become lonely shut away in her rooms with only a book or her embroidery to keep her company.
Unfortunately she was not even allowed to suffer this neglect in privacy, for these antics did not go unnoticed by the duke. Dorothea might have limited contact with her imposing father-in-law, yet it seemed every time she did see him he was quick to offer an unwanted comment.
How To Seduce A Sinner Page 24