A soft sound jerked his gaze from his face to the reflected area beyond his right shoulder. He spun around, desperate to see it with his own eyes, but the truth was there in a white cotton gown with a bright blue wrapper.
She hadn’t gone to Givendale.
She had come to him.
She’d told herself not to come, that the day had been too full of emotions and it would be best to save any conversations for the light of a new day. But as she’d lain in bed, waiting for sleep that refused to come, all she could think about was how slowly he’d been moving when he left the ballroom. How stiffly he’d held his body when he met her gaze across the heads of circling bystanders.
Once Miranda had gotten her clear of the ballroom she’d tried to rush around the side of the house to find him, but the crush of curious people had been more than she could stand. Everywhere she went people pressed in, trying to get her to tell them why Trent had felt the need for such a public altercation with Givendale. As if she wanted to talk about something so personal with people who were still near strangers. Ryland put an end to the questions with a glare and ushered her into his carriage, offering to take her wherever she wanted to go for the night.
The offer had broken her heart because she knew that the order had come from Trent. After everything that happened, he was giving her a choice, as much of a choice as he could. Somehow she knew that no matter what she did he would always choose their marriage. He’d proven as much tonight.
So she’d come home and gotten in bed, trying not to listen for the sounds of his groans in the next room, racking her brain for anything she could do that would ease his suffering. Suffering he’d picked up on her behalf.
One of the medical texts she’d glanced through when looking for interesting facts to share with Trent explained that smoothing and manipulating the muscles could ease soreness from the body. She hadn’t read the whole text and so had no idea what methods the book actually called for, but if she could help him, she wanted to try. No one had ever stood up for her, implicitly believed in her like he did. As much as she was coming to crave a deeper affection from him, she would be satisfied if his protection and confidence were all she ever had.
Afraid she’d lose her nerve if she waited for him to answer a knock, and knowing that it was possible he was already asleep, she’d eased the connecting door open.
She expected him to be collapsed into his faded wingback or sprawled across the bed. She wasn’t expecting to see lantern light playing across his muscled and bruised torso. Suddenly offering to rub the soreness from his muscles didn’t seem like such a good idea. Or perhaps it was the most inspired idea she ever had.
“Adelaide?” He crossed the room in three long strides and took her shoulders in his hands. “Adelaide, are you well?”
He’d been knocked so hard that he slid at least six feet across a ballroom floor and he was concerned about her well-being?
“I thought I might . . . That is, I wanted to see if I could help you. I’ve read that massage can ease the pain after, em, after physical altercations.”
Trent’s eyebrows shot up as he smoothed his hands up and down her arms. The silk wrapper and cotton nightgown were no match for the warmth of his hands, and she wanted to sink in to it, suddenly feeling chilled at all the ups and downs she’d experienced today.
His voice was rough, and he had to clear his throat before the words came out clearly. “It can. There’s a surgeon that comes by the fencing club sometimes. He sees to the occasional sore muscle in exchange for free membership.”
“Oh.” Adelaide’s eyes widened, and she blinked. If it was normally performed by a doctor, could she do it wrong and actually end up hurting him more? “Should I call for a surgeon, then?”
“No, no, that’s not what I meant.” He ran his gaze over her, brows pulled in as if he couldn’t decide what he wanted to do next. He glanced over his shoulder at the bed before closing his eyes and whispering something she couldn’t quite understand. When he opened them again she caught her breath at the intensity she saw in his emerald eyes. It had to be a trick of the lantern light, but for a few moments all of the sentiments of the day seemed to be swirling in his gaze. “If you want to help, I won’t turn you away. But know you don’t have to do this.”
She was surprised to find herself smiling. Even her bones seemed to be shaking inside her from a combination of nerves and the memory of the last time she’d been in this room. Yet somehow, she still wanted to smile. “I want to help.”
He nodded before going to the bed to lie down on his stomach. “Most of the tension seems to be in the left shoulder.”
“Okay. Do I just . . . push on it?” Adelaide moved the lantern to the table beside the bed and found herself wishing she hadn’t. Even scraped and discolored his back was a thing of beauty. And she had volunteered to touch it.
He turned his head to grin at her. “I’m not sure. I’ve never been on that side of it to see what he does. Just try something. I’ll let you know if it hurts.”
“All right, then.” Adelaide rubbed her hands together, her fingers so cold she didn’t dare place them against his skin. She blew on them to warm them up, contemplating his back and trying to decide the best place to start.
“You don’t have to do this, Adelaide. I’ve been punched before. My body will recover.”
“No,” Adelaide said softly, then repeated the word with more conviction. She decided to start at the top and work her way down. Her first touches were so light they barely made an impression in the skin, but as the heat from his body melted the ice in her fingers she began to press harder, running her hands along his shoulders and down his spine.
His first groan had her snatching her hands back as if she’d been burned. She knew she should have called a physician. It was foolish to practice medicine with only a few paragraphs of a medical text for guidance.
“Noooo,” he groaned. “Feels good.”
That was a good groan, then? Pleased, she set her hands to the task once more, almost forgetting that the beneficiary of the exercise was supposed to be him. She was getting such enjoyment out of running her hands along his skin that she stopped thinking and trusted her instincts on where to go next.
After a while his groans were replaced by a soft snore.
She smoothed her hands over his skin one more time, enjoying the texture and avoiding the long scrape. Then she took the lantern back to her room with a smile.
Chapter 35
Adelaide was certain that one day she would walk down this church aisle and not be the subject of everyone’s speculative stares. It didn’t help much that she knew the stares were more for Trent than for herself—she was still in the line of everyone’s vision, still part of the story on everyone’s lips, and still uncomfortable with the whole thing.
But if that was the price she had to pay for walking the aisle on Trent’s arm, she’d accept it. She’d sat up most of the night thinking about her life and come to the very difficult conclusion that if she had to choose between pleasing her mother and pleasing Trent, her mother was going to lose. She was fairly certain that decision was even biblical.
Griffith was already in the family pew when Trent and Adelaide slid into the box.
The duke looked his brother over before lifting one side of his lips. “You’re looking well. Considering.”
Trent straightened the sleeves of his coat. “He barely touched me.”
Since Adelaide knew how much he’d moaned while climbing into the curricle that morning, she was impressed by his façade of painless movement. She was also honored that he had allowed her to see his suffering and trusted her to keep it secret now. She smiled. Perhaps he would need another massage later.
Heat immediately flushed her cheeks. She shouldn’t be having thoughts like that. Especially not in church. She yanked her fan from her wrist and waved it rapidly in a furious bid to cool her cheeks.
“I’d love to know what you’re thinking right now,” Trent whispered
in her ear.
She blushed harder. At this rate God wouldn’t need to strike her with lightning. She was going to catch fire all on her own.
“Thank you for the massage last night.”
Really. If the man did not stop whispering in her ear, she would not be held responsible for the spontaneous combustion of the church.
“Last time I felt that sore I couldn’t get out of bed the next morning. I felt almost normal this morning.”
She turned her face to find his less than an inch away. Anyone looking at them would think they were about to kiss. For a moment even she thought they were about to kiss. “I am glad to hear that. Truly I am.”
“Perhaps I could return the favor.”
His gaze bore into hers, making her think of all the things he wasn’t saying. Was it possible that they could still enjoy some of the other things like kissing even though the rest of it hadn’t worked for them? She’d certainly enjoyed those other things, and she’d enjoyed giving him a massage last night. And she really couldn’t handle this conversation and expect the skin not to burn off her face. “Trent, we’re in church!”
“Adelaide, we’re married!”
She screwed up her face in confusion. “What has that to do with anything?”
Griffith leaned toward them. “You do know it’s considered rude to whisper.”
Trent grinned back at his brother. “We’re in church. One should always speak in reverent tones in church.”
“One should also speak of reverent subjects,” Adelaide murmured.
The deep, low laugh that reached her ears shivered down her spine to land in her middle with a tightening thud. “What could be more holy than the union of two people in the eyes of God?”
Adelaide lifted a brow, almost giddy to learn she had the skill when Trent had once confessed how much it bothered him that he couldn’t do it. “Perhaps the union of a man’s soul with the risen Savior.”
“Touché.” Trent didn’t seem overly concerned that he’d conceded her the conversational point, and why should he? Her cheeks still flamed at the implications of his earlier conversation. It would be a miracle if she heard a thing the rector said this morning.
They dined at home that night. Throughout the quiet dinner and when they’d later retired to the upstairs parlor, Trent found himself searching his brain for topics that would make her laugh, make her smile. He couldn’t get their banter at church out of his mind. It fed the craving he had for more talks like that one. Adelaide didn’t often rise to his baiting statements, but when she did, he sat in awe of her quick wit. When he thought back to their wedding day, when she’d been unwilling to even look him in the eye, he never would have guessed that she would blossom into the woman sitting across the parlor from him.
Well, sort of the woman across from him. For those few moments when her blush had threatened to overtake her senses, she’d seemed like the Adelaide he married instead of the one that had been so distant for the past few weeks. But even though their relationship had turned some invisible corner last night, she still seemed different. So what was causing it?
The parlor was quiet and comfortable, the perfect place to relax on a quiet Sunday evening. She read while he pretended to. The book he’d brought up was boring, but he kept turning the pages, counting to ten each time she turned one so he wouldn’t give away his inattention to his book.
“You’ve got it upside down,” she said quietly.
Trent knew that trick, so he ignored her and turned another page, gathering his wits before he looked down at his book . . . and discovered that it was, indeed, upside down. He snapped it shut and threw it onto the seat of the chair across from him. “No wonder it was boring.”
She grinned at him over the top of her own book, and he looked at her, really looked at her. Her hair was neat, looking almost normal with the hair pulled out of her face. That wasn’t all it was though. Her dress was in perfect fashion—just as the rest of her new clothes were—the feathers on her slippers nothing out of the ordinary. Everything looked just as it should.
Everything looked just as it should.
That was it. She’d looked perfect for weeks now. What had happened to his Adelaide?
With a frown he reached out and pulled a pin from her hair, sending two curls cascading over her shoulder. Then he bent down and snagged her slipper off her foot, tossing it in the direction of her bedchamber.
He sat back, satisfied with the changes. “Much better.”
“Was that really necessary?” Her exasperated sigh delighted him.
“Yes. You looked too perfect.”
She blinked at him—perfect, adorable blinks. “Too perfect?”
“Hmm, yes. It’s taken me a while to place it, but yes, you looked too perfect.”
She set her book to the side, confusion stamped across her face. “Are you saying you’d rather I walk around with mismatched gloves, smudged slippers, and ripped hems?”
“Not all at once.” He shrugged. “You never did all of those at once. I just rather liked that I was the only person who ever saw you when everything was perfect.”
She tucked one leg underneath her and leaned over the arm of her chair to look him in the face, eager curiosity molding all of her features into a blend of wide-eyed inquisition. “But your mother gave me very specific instructions on how to keep everything in order. I must admit it’s difficult to think about every move I make all the time, and I take a full inventory every time I visit the retiring room. It’s very frustrating to find that even with all the care I find little things wrong.”
“While I fully respect my mother, I didn’t ask to marry her.” Trent stopped and shook his head. “That came out entirely wrong.”
Adelaide stared at him for a moment. “You didn’t ask to marry me, either.”
“Actually, if you’ll recall, I did.” Trent smiled as Adelaide blinked at him once more.
He leaned across the gap between their chairs and captured her lips in a kiss.
What he’d meant to be a sweet meeting of the lips soon grew as he cupped her face in his hands and drove his fingers into her curls, setting more pins free and sending more tendrils dancing around her shoulders.
“Adelaide.” Trent swallowed as the word came out too rough to be understood. “Adelaide, do you think we could try again?”
She glanced at the door to his room and then back to his eyes before leaning forward and capturing his lips in a kiss of her own.
Their days fell into a pattern once more, and while it wasn’t all that different than what they’d done before, it felt like everything had changed. They would breakfast together in the morning. She would then curl up in the chair in his study and read while he worked for an hour. Then he would go off to one of his clubs while she met with Mrs. Harris or went to see Lady Blackstone. Unless she was in the presence of the countess, she stopped worrying so much about her appearance. It was incredibly freeing to finally relax again.
Sometimes she even deliberately set part of her ensemble wrong just so Trent could find it. He had started gently and quietly correcting the mishap. If they were alone when he did it he followed it with a kiss.
Trent would return home in the late afternoon and take her for a ride before bringing her back home to dress for dinner. They’d only gone out once in the past three days and that was to a small gathering a friend of Trent’s from school was having. Otherwise they dined in and then retired to the parlor.
Trent taught her how to play chess. She read to him from some of her Minerva Press novels, using funny voices for the different characters, like she would if reading to a child. Once they even played a silly game of jacks, though they spent more time chasing the errantly bouncing ball than scooping up knucklebones.
Then they retired to his bedchamber, and sometime in the night she would come half awake while he carried her to her own bed.
On the surface everything looked wonderful. Anyone looking in would think they’d finally embraced their marriage
and were as in love as any young couple who’d gone about it in a more conventional way would be.
But Adelaide knew differently.
She knew the balance they had was incredibly delicate. The unspoken-of incident with the pineapple papers stood between them, an ignored barrier to finally moving forward. She wasn’t careful of her shoes anymore, but she feared taking another wrong step with Trent, and it kept their conversations superficial.
And she didn’t like it.
Darkness pressed around them, as comfortable as the heavy blankets on top of her and the warm, hard shoulder she was using as a pillow. She loved this part of the day, when she was warm and happy and as close to her husband as any person could be to another. Sometimes they exchanged whispered stories about their childhood, other times they lay in silence.
She snuggled closer to his side and traced a looping design across his chest. “It’s so warm here. The cold always wakes me up when you take me back to bed. Maybe I’ll just stay here tonight.”
Trent laughed, causing her head to shake on his vibrating shoulder. “And send Rebecca and Finch into scandalous despair?”
“Finch is married,” Adelaide muttered. “I think he could handle it.”
He brushed her hair away from her face. “You know I could come to your bed instead. Then you wouldn’t have to get cold when I move you.”
She pouted. She felt ridiculous doing it, but she didn’t want to be deprived of his bed. “But I like your bed. It’s the most beautiful piece of furniture I’ve ever seen.”
He kissed her gently on the lips. “Then we’ll have one made for you just like it. Though I can think of several things you would rather have carved into the headboard than a hunt.”
“A bed like this is too expensive, Trent. I’ll redecorate my room eventually, and I’ll find a lovely bed, but I’ll always love yours more.”
One finger tipped her chin up, and she could see Trent searching for her eyes in the pale moonlight that crept around the edges of the curtains. “You really don’t know how much money I have, do you?”
An Uncommon Courtship Page 30