The truth was they’d been out walking and he’d naturally snuffed out a bevy of quail and sent them soaring into the heavens. Her father had asked her if she thought Milkweed would like to come with him on his next hunt. From then on she’d only seen him when she snuck down past the barn to the kennel where they kept the dogs. Eventually she stopped even doing that.
As usual, Fenton was waiting at the door. After letting them in, he locked the front door and left them in the hall, a single lantern burning on a side table to hold away the blanket of darkness.
“Where did you learn to dance?” Trent asked.
Adelaide flushed, knowing the question was born of the other things she’d shared about her time growing up—how her mother had continued to treat her like a child even as she reached the age when other girls were thinking of who and when they would marry. It had always been Helena’s turn first, as if Mother only had enough energy for one child at a time. “Dancing lessons are easier with additional couples. I was partnered with my brother, Bernard. He didn’t like it much, but he suffered through it because father said he had to. I sometimes wonder if Father made him do it for my benefit as much as Helena’s.”
“Adelaide, I . . .” Trent’s voice trailed off, not as if he didn’t know what he wanted to say but as if he didn’t have the words to say it. She knew how he felt. She felt like that almost all the time these days. Like life was throwing so much at her and she knew how she wanted to respond but didn’t know how to express it or motivate herself to actually do it.
But she knew what she wanted now. She didn’t want his gentle platitudes about how he was going to take care of her—he’d proven that with more than words tonight. She didn’t want him to say that she should have had more as a child—there was no gaining it back, and after seeing how Helena turned out she wasn’t sure she wanted to have gotten it anyway. Right now Adelaide wanted the unvarnished truth that came when he kissed her, when he couldn’t hide the harshened breathing and the unsteady hands, when he didn’t rely on his charming words or winning smile. She wanted what only she received.
As if he could read her mind, he slid his hands up her arms. His gloves had been discarded in the carriage. One of the few wifely things she knew about him. He couldn’t stand the feeling of evening gloves and shed them as soon as he was out of public.
Small calluses covered his hands from years spent rowing and fencing, and she felt every one of them as his hands slid off her gloves and onto her upper arms, pausing below the cut sleeves of her ball gown. He held her steady as he stepped closer and lowered his head. She loved this moment each night, lived for it when the evening grew tedious.
One hand released her arm and slid along the back of her neck, dislodging the pins that had already worked loose at the bottom of her coiffure.
And then his lips were on hers. There was no fumbling hesitancy now, as she felt the familiar warmth of his lips brush gently against hers before returning again with more pressure. She felt his teeth, his tongue, things she never would have thought a woman would enjoy, but she did.
She took her own step forward, pressing into the kiss in a way she hadn’t done before. More than his hands bore evidence of his athletic pursuits and she rested her hands on his shoulders, wishing she dared to wrap them around him, to hold him to her the way she wanted to.
A small cry escaped her lips as he pulled away, and he returned immediately, giving her the second kiss he’d always denied her before.
But the kiss was brief, and before she was ready he was pulling back once more, farther this time until her fingertips fell from his shoulders.
“Don’t go.”
She didn’t realize she’d said the words out loud until he sucked a harsh breath in through his teeth, but she wasn’t upset that she’d said it. Thank goodness her subconscious had more courage than she did. But she didn’t want it to be her subconscious that kept him here. She wanted to have the nerve to say it deliberately, to ask him to stay and mean it.
A deep breath filled her lungs and pushed her shoulders straight. She licked her lips and said it again.
“Don’t go.”
Curls he’d knocked from their moorings draped over her shoulder, emphasizing the fast rise and fall of her chest. The form he’d so admired as it came down the stairs draped in utter perfection was even more enticing in its altered state. The ensemble, naturally mussed and broken by simple virtue of Adelaide being in it, drew him in the way perfection could not. Because it was her. No one else lived in their clothes like she did, without guile or concern for appearance.
She blinked at him, her spectacles magnifying what little moonlight made it into the room and highlighting her clear blue eyes until he wanted to drown in them. That wasn’t possible, so he did the next best thing.
He decided to drown in her.
She’d asked for so little since they’d married, had gone along with everything he’d declared. And when she finally asked for something, all she seemed to want was him.
Could anything be more humbling?
There was also a part of him that wanted to stake his claim, to prove to her and all of the men like Givendale that he was her husband and no one else. He hadn’t liked watching her smile at another man. Perhaps if he did this, if he took that last step in making their marriage real, her most special of smiles would be only for him.
He stepped forward again, throwing caution to the wind and wrapping his arms around her. She pressed against him, already lifting her head for his kiss, wanting it as much as he wanted to give it.
For weeks now, he’d been wrestling with how to love her, how to get her to love him. Maybe it wasn’t so important that he figure it out. Maybe it was more important that he be with her. It wasn’t as if he was going to get to change his mind at the end of this courtship. The awkwardness they’d brought home with them was gone, and maybe that was enough. Maybe it would have to be.
The kiss was different this time, tinged with nerves and excitement as he realized this time he didn’t have to pull back. This time he wasn’t going to slip out the back door to meet the carriage in the alley. This time he could enjoy everything about his wife. Not just could, but should.
Her arms crept around his sides, pressing into his back as she went up on her toes in an effort to get closer.
He broke the kiss, grinning like a fool. He hoped she could sense it in the dark, knew how happy he was to be staying tonight. One arm was already tucked around her shoulders, holding her close. He bent and slid the other hand behind her knees, lifting her high against his chest as she squealed and wrapped her arms around his neck.
The motion pressed his face into the place where her neck and shoulder met. He kissed her there before lowering her enough that she could snag the lantern with one hand while keeping the other wrapped over his shoulder. He climbed the stairs, holding her tighter with each step. He’d never been so glad for the relatively small house that allowed him to reach the bedchamber without hiking down long corridors.
They didn’t call for her maid, and his valet was across town, so they fumbled with each other’s fastenings, falling into fits of giggles when her dress confounded Trent to the point that he threatened to fetch a knife. She was fascinated by the unfolding of his cravat, even taking a moment to try to re-create the folds herself. He’d thought that once they finally got to this point there’d be a rush, driven by the same sense of urgency that had nibbled at his nerves when he kissed her each night. But now that they were here, steps away from the bed he hadn’t been able to sleep in since he married this woman, a calm sense of rightness took away the need to hurry.
She looked right in this room, the room that was more his than anywhere else in the house. It was one of the few rooms he’d taken the time to refurbish when he moved in. Much to the dismay of Mrs. Harris, the rest of the house hadn’t been necessary to him. But this room was his private sanctuary, the place where only he went, and now his wife would be there as well.
The soft l
ight from the lantern flickered over the bed, creating its own sense of magic as he pulled back the covers before taking her hand and guiding her the last few steps across the floor. He didn’t know what Adelaide knew about tonight, and what he knew was limited at best, but that didn’t matter. They would take it slow and discover it together. It had taken them nearly a month to get there, but tonight would finally be their wedding night. It was a natural act, designed by God to bring a man and woman into perfect union.
Trent kept that in mind as his heart raced and his lungs filled with the intoxicating combination of heat and roses. He gathered her in his arms and kissed her, savoring the freedom to enjoy his wife, even if there were moments of awkwardness where he could only guess at what he was doing. If her smiles and sighs were any indication, she didn’t mind his fumbling. The way her hands brushed his shoulders and back proved that she reveled in the new freedom as well.
Trent pulled her close, wondering what he’d been so afraid of, but knowing that they’d been right to wait. This moment should be the most easy, natural thing in the world. All of the reservations he’d had about this marriage were about to disappear. He grazed his fingers over her cheek, knowing the morning light would bring them a whole and splendid new marriage.
Chapter 26
A few hours ago Trent had been sure he was done with sitting in chairs, waiting for the sun to rise. He’d thought his nights of sleepless contemplation were over.
He was afraid they were just beginning.
If anything, this night, this moment was worse than all the sleepless nights that had come before. This time he wasn’t waiting for the first rays of sunlight to bring him new opportunities and fresh hope. No, on this morning, on which he wasn’t going to be able to bring himself to even attempt to eat breakfast, he was waiting for daybreak to give him permission to flee the scene of his atrocity and seek advice from the only person he could.
His Bible sat forgotten on his leg. The answers were probably in there somewhere, but in his agitated state he hadn’t been able to find anything but genealogies, proof that what men had been accomplishing for centuries either came at a great cost to their wives or Trent was a dismal failure.
On the other side of the connecting door, Adelaide slept. He knew she slept because he’d gone to check on her every half hour since he’d carried her to her own room. He was glad she slept, but he couldn’t. Couldn’t even bring himself to return to the bed. He’d hurt his wife. He hadn’t meant to, hadn’t even known that he could, but somehow the moment had gone from blissful and beautiful to tragic in a single instant. Her squeal of pain still echoed in his ears, refusing to give him peace.
So he sat in his father’s chair and waited for the sun.
How often had his father sat in that very chair, contemplating the questions of life? While Trent was fairly certain his father had never had to come to terms with this particular question, he knew the man had struggled with more than one life decision in this chair. He was a duke, after all. Making life-changing decisions seemed to be all they ever did. But his father had been lucky enough to know and love his wife before their marriage. The story of how his father had pursued his mother was almost famous among the ton. Courting her for over a year. Buying an estate next to her father’s so he could continue courting after the Season was over.
Was that what Trent had wanted? Was it the reason he’d been so hesitant to focus on one woman before now? Or had it been that he’d instinctively known there was something wrong with him? That any woman who married him would be getting a bitter life sentence of pain. Since he had obviously done something wrong, did that mean there couldn’t even be children?
He left his curtains open, watching the building across the street so he could know the moment the sun’s rays hit it. He could have gone to the breakfast room, where the sun would shine through the glass, but he had no idea what time she rose. What if he ran into her? He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to look her in the face again. Not after he’d turned her sweet request into such an abomination.
The sun streaked the sky, lighting on the rooftops across the street. He waited until the attic windows of the house across the street glinted in the sun before he rose from the chair to dress. The muscles in his legs protested, stiff after their prolonged time in one position. He didn’t ring for Fenton, choosing instead to dress himself. He didn’t even know if the butler knew Trent had spent the night at the house.
His tying of the cravat wasn’t anything to speak of, but otherwise he looked like any other aristocratic gentleman going for a morning ride. He hoped his household thought so, anyway. They had no need to know he was riding but one street over and not to Regent’s Park or even Hyde Park.
Mrs. Harris was coming out of the breakfast room as Trent made his way toward the small stable at the back of the property. “May I say how nice it is to see you this morning, my lord?”
The twinkle in the housekeeper’s eyes nearly choked Trent. He had to get out of there. “Yes, well, let’s not mention it, shall we? We don’t want to embarrass anyone.”
For once he hoped his staff would act like staff and not make any comments like that to Adelaide. While she’d initially seemed to accept the marriage more easily than he had, she was probably regretting it now. There was no need to constantly remind her of the regret they couldn’t change.
Knowing he didn’t have far to go, Trent made himself think of his horse and walked him the short distance to Anthony’s house. The butler threatened to throw him out, but since Trent had charmed his way through the kitchens and was already at Anthony’s study door before the butler saw him, Trent was able to convince him not to. He’d already asked one of the footmen downstairs to tell Anthony he was here because he didn’t trust the stiff-necked butler to do it.
Trent tried to settle into a chair in Anthony’s study, but he couldn’t do it. Lots of men had books in their study, but Anthony’s walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. So many books made him think of how much Adelaide would enjoy looking through the shelves for unusual titles. She probably wouldn’t hunt down obscure facts for him anymore. She probably wouldn’t even speak to him.
He paced. From window to door and bookshelf to bookshelf, but he didn’t have long to wait before Anthony came busting in still tying his dressing gown. “What’s wrong?”
“I need . . . I don’t . . . I can’t . . .” Trent fell into a chair, elbows on his knees and head in his hands, as words, the one thing that had always saved him before, failed him. “I’ve botched everything.”
Anthony stopped in the middle of the floor. “And you came to me?”
Trent looked up, wondering if his despair was evident. “I didn’t know where else to go.”
Shock drifted across Anthony’s face, but he contained it quickly. Trent didn’t blame him. While he and Anthony had always gotten on well enough, often fencing or going riding together, Anthony had always been more Griffith’s friend than Trent’s. But Trent was counting on that friendship being extended to him now.
“Is anyone hurt?” Anthony asked slowly as he lowered himself onto the edge of the chair next to Trent’s.
“No.” Trent fell back to slump into his own chair. “At least she said she isn’t. Well, not anymore, anyway.”
“Ah.” Confusion and even worry dropped from Anthony’s face to be replaced by a ghost of a smile as he sat deeper into the chair.
“I shouldn’t have come here.” Trent wanted to stomp out of the room, but the truth was he really didn’t have anywhere else he could go.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Anthony wiped a hand over his face and did his best to erase the smile. “What happened?”
“I stayed the night.”
“I gathered as much.”
Trent popped back up to resume pacing. “She asked me to stay. I wanted to stay.”
Anthony leaned back, watching Trent go back and forth across the room as if he were watching a tennis match. “That’s a good start.”
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Once more words failed him as he didn’t begin to know how to tell Anthony what had happened next.
“I’m assuming there was kissing at that point.” Anthony couldn’t quite hide the humor in his voice, even though he managed to keep from smiling. He was intently studying his fingernails in order to keep from laughing.
“Yes,” Trent growled. “There was kissing.”
More silence. Finally Anthony looked up. “Was it good?”
Trent groaned at the memory. “The best.”
“So it was everything else that was the problem, then?” Anthony wasn’t even trying to keep the smile off his face anymore, and Trent couldn’t bring himself to care.
He braced his hands on the desk and leaned forward, hunching his shoulders and dropping his head. “It didn’t work.”
Anthony barked in laughter before taking huge breaths to try to contain it. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. What didn’t work? Er, was it you?”
Finally the other man seemed to realize the awkwardness of their conversation as two high spots of red formed along his cheekbones.
Trent glared at the marquis. “No. I worked just fine. It was the . . . Well, the process didn’t work. I bungled it, Anthony. I thought I knew what to do. I’ve certainly heard about it plenty of times, but then it didn’t . . . go right. And then I hurt her. I hurt my wife, and I don’t know how to fix it.”
He rubbed his hands over his face hard, as if he could wipe away the events of a few hours prior, surprised when they came away wet. When was the last time he’d cried? His father’s funeral? Maybe the first day he’d gone off to school and his father hadn’t been there? But if ever there was anything to cry over as an adult, failing at one of the prime responsibilities as a man was certainly a good one.
An Uncommon Courtship Page 23