A shard of triumph gleamed in her eyes at Arden’s momentary look of disappointment, but in a flash he was smiling charmingly again. “Mrs. Mort will show you to your rooms. As soon as you’re both rested, please join us for a late supper.”
“Thank you, my lord,” was her polite reply.
Mrs. Mort appeared, followed by the surly carriage driver who disappeared into the rain outside. Marlee couldn’t help but notice the odd expression on Mrs. Mort’s plump face when Arden told her to escort them upstairs. The old woman curtsied stiffly and turned her back to him in what seemed a clear gesture of disdain. Moments later when the three women were treading down the threadbare carpet in a long, dark corridor, Mrs. Mort turned kindly eyes upon Marlee. “If there’s anything you want, my lady, you or Miss McBride, just ring for me. Might take me awhile to answer but I’ll come, never fear.”
“I appreciate your kindness, ma’am. In fact I realize you need some help, so I shall speak to Lord Arden about hiring a decent staff. Rest assured, I intend to make changes at Arden Manor.” Marlee had hoped her reassuring statement would bring a bright smile to the old lady’s face. Instead the woman bit down upon her lower lip, almost as if she fought the urge to cry. She flushed and looked guiltily away.
“Oh, my lady, if only you knew the changes that have been wrought already.”
Marlee barely had time to ponder Mrs. Mort’s strange words before she was led into a bedroom. As the housekeeper carefully lighted a number of candles to illuminate the room, Marlee and Barbara gasped at the scene before them.
“How utterly lovely,” Barbara commented, but Marlee found herself unable to speak.
Before her on a dais stood the largest and most elaborately carved bed she’d ever beheld. Fashioned from a sturdy oak, the bed’s massive posts, complete with green and gold hangings, nearly touched the ceiling. Ensconced in two corners of the room were double wardrobes, crafted from the same wood; on an opposite wall was a delicately etched looking glass above a dressing table. A Persian carpet, so extravagantly beautiful that it resembled a painting and so thick that Marlee feared to tread upon it, lest she drown in its softness, covered the floor.
Had she entered a princess’ chamber from a fairy tale? Was this bewitching room truly hers? She’d never expected anything this lovely or so richly appointed. But she’d never been in a mansion which resembled a castle or had a clear idea of how the aristocracy lived. If this room was any indication of how the manor had been in the past, then indeed, it must have been magnificent.
“Is this my room?” she found herself asking Mrs. Mort, still unable to believe such a splendid room could possibly be meant for her.
“Yes, my lady. I hope all meets with your approval.”
“Oh, it does! This is a very fine room.” And that was an understatement.
A wisp of a smile appeared on Mrs. Mort’s face as she lit the last candle. “This room belonged to Lady Helena, the old baroness. I served her a number of years. She was a fine lady and pretty like you. Ah, the times we had before a ball in the old days. Lady Helena would be primping and prancing before yon mirror hours before the musicians struck up. The baron, Lord Michael that is, would pace the hall and poke his head round the door, raising a fuss for her to hurry and decide on a gown. What a pair they were!” She chuckled heartily. “Then after the ball, they’d come upstairs with their arms wrapped around each other and lock themselves away in here.
“No one heard nary a peep out of them, sometimes not for a day and a half, which some people who stayed over said was rude, but I knew the baron and his lady had eyes for only each other. Made no difference if the house was filled to overflowing with fancy guests; they didn’t come out of this room until they were ready. It was like that until the day my lady died. And then Lord Michael had a falling out with his son, and nothing was the same—ever again.”
The old woman’s eyes misted and she rapidly blinked away her tears. “There I go woolgathering again. My husband always said ‘tis a sign of aging.”
“Oh, no, I don’t believe that,” Marlee said with understanding. “I know how wonderful it is to relive happier times.”
“Ah, my lady, you’re kind, how very good you are.”
“Now what about Barbara’s room?” Marlee asked, seeing how awestruck her cousin was and feeling the very same way. She doubted she’d ever believe this room was truly meant for her. She might be the new baroness but at heart she was still a tin miner’s daughter.
“Oh, forgive me, Miss Barbara. Follow me.” Taking up her candle, Mrs. Mort gestured to Barbara, but Marlee’s voice momentarily halted them before she’d properly phrased her question.
“Does Lord Arden sleep in this room, Mrs. Mort?”
“No, my lady. He sleeps in the state bedchamber on the opposite side of the house.”
Marlee grimaced at the swift riposte and couldn’t stop her face from coloring to realize what she’d asked. Mrs. Mort was a housekeeper and knew her place. The very vehemence expressed in her reply left no doubt in Marlee’s mind that something as personal as Lord Arden’s sleeping arrangements wouldn’t be discussed with the new baroness.
Marlee bit down on her lower lip, wondering what sort of a dolt Mrs. Mort must think her. But she had no one to ask about the sleeping arrangements. She couldn’t very well walk up to her new husband and inquire if he’d be sharing a bed with her. Maybe Lord Michael had stayed in the same room as Lady Helena because he had loved her, but Marlee didn’t think Richard Arden would consider sharing a connubial bed with his new bride. Lord Richard didn’t love his wife, and that was that. Still, might he not want children—legitimate ones?
The door to the room closed behind the housekeeper and Barbara. Marlee stood in the candlelit bedroom which was almost too beautiful to touch and uncertainty engulfed her. She was a baroness but what did the title mean? What did it mean to be Lord Arden’s wife? She was woefully ignorant of what her new positions entailed. At that moment she wished she’d accepted Tim Lee’s marriage proposal. Being a minister’s wife didn’t seem so terrible now.
There was a man downstairs who was her husband, a man who had seen what a clumsy goose she was. Her fortune had bought him but she realized no amount of money would keep the man from wandering, if he wished to chase a skirt or two he would. The dazzling smile he’d shot Barbara during the introductions hadn’t gone unnoticed by Marlee. It was only now that she was alone did she put a name to how she’d felt when he’d welcomed her cousin.
Jealous. She’d been jealous of the way he’d looked at Barbara, a way he hadn’t reserved for his bride.
A loud clap of thunder caused her to jump, and she chastised herself for her nervousness and distracted musings. Of course Arden would be taken with Barbara, as any man would be with a pretty female. And many men had told her that she, Marlee Stafford, was pretty, too. So, why did it suddenly seem so important for Arden to find her attractive?
“Because you’ve already started to fall under his spell, you idiot,” she mumbled aloud in disgust.
She couldn’t put out of her mind that her new husband possessed a godlike physique, that his face was endearingly rugged and well formed, or forget how perfectly smooth his lips had looked or how they felt like warm velvet on her skin when he’d kissed her hand earlier. How difficult life would be for her, now that she was married to such a man. But she wouldn’t fall under Arden’s spell as gossip claimed many other women had done. Somehow she’d put a stop to her own feelings where he was concerned.
Arden wanted her only for her money, nothing else, and she must remember that he was mercenary at heart. He might try to charm her, and perhaps he would succeed somewhat. There was no denying he was an unusually handsome man, and she was human enough to be susceptible to flattery. But she mustn’t forget it was her hefty purse which had bought her as his bride, not her looks. Arden wouldn’t forget, either.
And she wouldn’t forget that as Lord Arden’s wife, she owed him obedience and respect and she’d give
him children, if he so wished. But never would she give her heart to the rogue.
It was all that was left to her.
CHAPTER
FOUR
As the storm raged unceasingly outside, Marlee sat in the protective warmth of the library before Hollins Carpenter. His smile seemed a bit forced to Marlee, but as always, he exuded a politeness with which she couldn’t fault. She longed to dislike the man but she didn’t. In his own efficient way, Carpenter had seen to the varied wants of his clients and made her a baroness in the process.
However, she’d been seated before him for ten minutes and he hadn’t brought out the paperwork for her to sign. In fact, he hadn’t mentioned anything at all about it, concentrating instead on social amenities and inquiring about Daphne’s health. Marlee couldn’t help but wonder what Hollins Carpenter was about.
“I do hope you’ll be happy here, Lady Arden,” he said to her.
“I trust I shall be,” she responded and was more than a bit surprised when he rose from his chair to usher her to the doorway. “Is our conversation at an end?”
“Yes, my lady. Supper awaits and Lord Arden gave explicit instructions that we were to dine promptly at seven. I promised him that I’d keep you only a few minutes.”
“But … but what about the document? Shouldn’t I sign it now? I thought that’s why you wished to see me.”
Behind his spectacles, Carpenter blinked steadily. “Whenever you’re ready to sign, my lady, send for me.”
And that was all he said to her.
They joined Lord Arden in the dining room where Simon had already engaged Barbara in conversation, and where it seemed everyone was waiting for Marlee’s appearance before being seated. Arden came forward from the shadows of the room and offered his black-clad arm to her. Marlee absently took it, feeling a bit confused from her encounter with Carpenter. She didn’t know why the man hadn’t pressed her to sign away her fortune as she’d expected, why suddenly the very reason for her marriage didn’t seem as important. But then she gazed into Arden’s handsome face and suddenly forgot the document. Instead she noticed the fiery amber gleam in his eyes and realized that he possessed the most adorable cleft in his chin. She was mesmerized by him, unable to concentrate on anything but him.
“You look beautiful tonight, my lady. Very beautiful.”
His compliment took her unaware and she blushed, stumbling over her own words as she mumbled an indistinct remark. God! He must believe her to possess a speech impediment as well as being a clumsy bumpkin. What was there about this man that always left her feeling completely vulnerable, that caused her to forget her own good sense?
The group sat down to eat at the longest table Marlee had ever seen. According to tradition, Arden was seated at the head of the table and the mistress of the house at the opposite end—and that was where he had seated her. A large golden candelabra, glittering with lighted candles, sat in the center of the table and obscured Marlee’s view of her husband while Mrs. Mort hobbled around the table to serve a delicious crab stew and bread, warm from the oven.
After everyone had eaten, Simon and Barbara withdrew to the far end of the parlor, engrossed in each other’s company. Mr. Carpenter bade a good night and retired to a guest room. Marlee waited uncertainly beside Arden. Her flushed cheeks matched the color of a pink satin rose on her gown. When Arden touched her hand, she giggled like a nervous school girl.
“I trust your room is to your liking, my lady.”
“Oh, yes, my room is quite nice.” It was better than nice but she decided not to make too much over it. She must stop acting like a bumpkin whenever he as much as looked at her or touched her. Perhaps she’d do well to adopt a worldly air with her sophisticated husband. She didn’t want him to think she was too provincial. “It shall do quite well,” she told him with a blasé flutter of her pink and white silk fan.
The large ornate clock in the vestibule chimed the hour, breaking into their conversation. Arden smiled apologetically at her. “I hadn’t realized it was so late. You must be tired. I’ll escort you to your room.”
She wasn’t tired at all, but Marlee didn’t dare object, especially not when Simon and Barbara rose and wandered toward the stairway. “I believe the long journey has undone the ladies,” Simon observed and threw an assessing glance at Arden.
“Yes, I believe we all need a good rest,” Lark noted grimly but smiled pleasantly when they reached Marlee’s chamber door. “I’ll send Mrs. Mort to help you prepare for bed.” Before she could respond, Lark planted a very proper kiss on Marlee’s hand and made his way down the long hallway toward the other end of the house.
Simon exhaled audibly and led Barbara to her own door before politely bowing and withdrawing to a room farther down the hall. No sooner had Marlee closed her door than Barbara tapped upon it. She rushed into the room and twirled, her satin skirt resembling a summer peach. “Oh, Marlee,” she gushed with such enthusiasm and prettiness that Marlee instantly knew what she was about to say. “I’m in love, quite head over heels about Simon! Isn’t he the most handsome man you’ve ever seen?”
Simon was handsome but not as handsome as Arden. “Yes,” Marlee agreed. “I believe he is an honest and decent man. I wonder why he and Richard are friends.” That comment slipped out without Marlee’s awareness and when she realized what she’d said, she amended, “I’m certain Lord Arden has a great many good qualities. I must watch what I say about my husband. He is a stranger to me.”
“Lord Arden is taken with you, Marlee. I can see the way he looks at you.”
Marlee hadn’t noticed. She couldn’t hope that his compliments and smiles could hold anything more than politeness. Yet he’d told her she looked beautiful and his smile had been more than warm, his eyes more than bright. But she wouldn’t put too much stock in such things. No doubt he’d looked that way at other women before her. Still she longed to believe that he might find her the smallest bit attractive.
“My lady,” came Mrs. Mort’s voice from the doorway. “Are you ready to undress?”
The old lady began undoing the back of Marlee’s gown and soon she was properly attired in her white lace night rail, her hair loosened and hanging to her waist. After Mrs. Mort left to ready Barbara’s night clothes, Barbara kissed Marlee on the cheek and smiled encouragingly. “I know your wedding night will be wonderful.” Then she swiftly departed and Marlee was left alone, standing in the center of the room—waiting.
Her wedding night. She’d forgotten that fact in all the hubbub of her arrival, her first meeting with Arden. But now a clammy fear clutched her heart. How would she deal with Arden when he came to her to claim his husbandly rights? What would it be like to lie in his arms, to taste his kisses, to be completely possessed by such a rogue? Her head swam with the seductive images revolving in her brain and she moaned aloud. She was so inexperienced, not woman enough for such a worldly man. But then she clutched the bedpost to steady herself as a frightening thought assailed her. What would she do if he didn’t come to her?
She’d barely had time to dwell upon such a possibility when a knock sounded on her door and Arden’s voice came through the door panel. “My lady, ‘tis your husband.”
Husband. He’d said husband. Marlee’s heart pounded like a dozen steeds rushing through the countryside. “Come in, my lord,” she called in a small, tight voice.
The door opened. Arden waited in the doorway, still wearing his formal black evening attire. For a few seconds he looked at her, really looked at her. His gaze was bold and streaked appraisingly up and down her slender form where the night rail hugged her curves. The transparent material did little to disguise her womanly attributes in the waning candlelight, but Marlee was unaware of the seductive picture she presented.
When he moved toward her, her breath caught in her throat. With a few strides, his powerful body separated the gap between them, almost as if a magnet drew him to her.
He’s come to claim me! her mind cried and she was suddenly more tha
n eager to experience his kiss, his arms around her. Gazing up at him with trepidation on her face, the uncertainty of her own inexperience gnawed at her. She doubted she’d be able to make this man happy and she wanted to make him happy. Sometimes he looked at her with such sadness that she knew a terrible torment ate away at him. But now there was another emotion on his face, something so heart-stirringly primitive that she shivered with fear and anticipation of the unknown.
She made a formal curtsy. “My lord.”
He gently took her by her arms and pulled her up. “Don’t curtsy to me. I want no homage from you, Marlee.”
“What —what do you want?” She could barely speak, barely breathe.
“You know what I want, you know.”
His mouth, burning with the heat of a hundred suns, descended upon hers. Her lips opened to him, drinking in the moistness of the warm assault like a dewy rosebud after a rainstorm, opening and blossoming beneath the golden rays. The blood streamed through her veins with quicksilver speed, beating out a wild, sweet cadence in every nerve of her being. He pressed her against him, the obvious bulge in his trousers a blatant signal of his desire. He wants me, he wants me, he wants me, her heart joyfully sang.
“Ah, Marlee,” he breathed beneath her lips and broke the kiss. “You’re so lovely, so enchanting. So—sweet.” His voice suddenly sounded like a tortured growl. Marlee could feel his heated gaze upon her though her eyes were closed. She opened them to find herself staring into orbs so black that they resembled the heavens on a dark night, a night without a pinpoint of light in the velvet firmament. His expression was blank, utterly devoid of emotion.
A shiver, not from desire or passion, slid down her back when suddenly he grinned at her. “Forgive me, my dear, but I fear your charms have undone me for the moment. I shall leave you to your rest.” He kissed her forehead and released her.
Pirate Hunter's Mistress (The Virginia Brides) Page 4