by Eva Devon
“You’ll tell me of them?”
“I will.” God, how could he? How he could he show her the hell he had seen? “But not now. Not just yet. I would not wish to mar this moment.”
“I understand.”
And he knew she did, for those who’d undergone pain knew it was no easy thing to speak of the past.
He shoved the linens back and bounded from the bed. “Come, it is a beautiful day and I wish to spend it with you.”
She sat up, holding the sheet to her chest. “Shall we order baths?”
“A horrible idea.”
She quirked a brow, then looked down at herself. “But don’t you think—”
“One bath, woman,” he said, hoping to shock her just a little bit. “I have no intention of letting you out of my arms just yet.”
She blushed. “I see.”
He grinned then came back to the bed and rolled her onto her back. “Good. You’re going to grow absolutely sick of me.”
She stroked a hand through his hair. “I doubt that very much.”
But he wondered. He’d never spent any significant time with a woman. How did one form an attachment? Could she become attached to him? He didn’t know. It was a damned harrowing thought. But he was damned well going to try to make it happen.
*
Beatrix hated London. Or at least she had until Adam. Now, three months later, London seemed like the most marvelous place in the world. Wherever they went, he found the humor or beauty in the moment. Each day began with a rough ride in the park that set the ton atwitter. With each ride, it seemed to grow easier physically, too. Her leg was adapting and growing stronger.
And then he insisted she take him to see all the major points of significance in the town. With her knowledge of history, he’d said, it wouldn’t be dreary or without point.
It had been remarkable, sharing all that she knew with him about the cathedrals, the guilds, the walls, and the palaces. He’d drunk it in, all the while gazing at her as if she, too, were some priceless treasure. It was the happiest she’d been since the day she’d gotten into that coach.
After months of loneliness and self-imposed isolation, she’d begun to feel. . . Dare she say, awakened?
So, as autumn came to town, she suggested that they go back to her family home and have a house party.
To some, it might seem odd. But the idea of going back to a place of such raucous happiness with little fanfare was unthinkable. No, it would be better to baptize the house again right away in what it had always known.
Joy.
Besides, autumn, she knew, would be difficult. It was the anniversary of a painful time. Surely, it would be the right thing to wrap herself up in the memories of her family.
Adam had agreed, though he looked like the very idea might cause him to walk into the Thames.
It had been most interesting living with someone so far away from being raised as a peer with access to several houses, exclusivity, and a sense that one had been born to rule the world.
He did not view the world as she had been raised to; that there was an inherent order and way of governance. Nor did he understand the migration of ton people from town, to country, then house to house.
They’re all as dull as tombs, he’d declared of the ton. They need constant amusement in their meaningless little lives or else they’ll crumble like dust.
It had taken her little consideration to realize that he was correct. The endless sparkling parties, routs, hunts, and races were an attempt by her class to stave off an impending inevitability of life. Many of them were inescapably bored in their elegant prisons. From childhood to grave, they knew the same people, they went to the same places, and they circulated the same ideas.
Except for a treasured few like her father and the set that her husband had been introduced to by his brother.
The Duke of Hunt, the Duke of Aston, and others of their ilk such as the Duke of Blackburn and the Duke of Roth all traveled in their own circle, deriding much of society and actively working to change it.
She often wondered if it wasn’t for them, that Adam would be secretly plotting a revolution within England to free the people who he so obviously admired from their wool-headed overlords.
As it was, she sat holding his hand as the black lacquered coach rolled up the great alley of oaks that lined the drive to her family estate. Red and yellow leaves spun and danced in the air as they tumbled from the ancient arms of the trees.
She had not seen this place in a year and she could scarce breathe.
His gloved hand tightened around hers and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
“It is very beautiful here,” he said.
“I’m glad you think so,” she replied, her eyes transfixed by the familiar forest.
They had driven through miles and miles of parkland. Now, as they approached a curve in the raked gravel drive, the red brick Tudor mansion, which had been encased in more modern buttery stone, appeared before a shimmering lake.
The lake was man-made. A perfect rectangle and it reflected the huge home in its placid surface. It was fed by a perfectly-orchestrated set of falls that tumbled down the hillside in grand fashion. One could even swear that the sound of the falling water filled the air with music.
In the center of the lake, a fountain shot several feet into the air, surrounded by mermen.
Tears stung her eyes.
As the coach came to a halt before the set of granite stairs, Adam whispered, “How are you?”
“I am so happy to be home and, yet, I cannot deny that I feel sadness.”
He brushed a lock of hair from her face. “There are many memories here.”
“Indeed,” she replied, unable to say anything else.
The coach door swung open and a footman dressed in crimson livery reached in. She took the white-gloved hand then stepped down. Adam quickly followed, quiet for now.
A line of servants awaited them.
Her heart nearly stopped. These men and women had been a part of her family’s life for years. And it had pained her to not see them.
But now, they were together again.
Quietly, she made her way down the line, from the tweenie to Mrs. Andrews, the housekeeper, she shook hands and thanked them for remaining on.
When they finally reached Braxton, who had come up from London to set all to readiness, she was smiling through tears. “Let us show Captain Duke the house!”
Braxton inclined his head. “Of course, Lady Beatrix. Refreshments await you in the great hall when you are ready.”
At present, she had no desire to sample the cook’s delicious fare. Not yet. Not when she could open a window of her life for her new husband.
Taking Adam’s hand, she led him up the steps and into the place that had been her greatest happiness. Without a doubt, it would be her future happiness, too.
Chapter 19
Adam drew in a steadying breath. They had barely been there a day and he had been to every nook and cranny of the grand house. To him, it was merely an opulent set of rooms, but to his wife, it was a piece of her soul. So, he knew he would, in time, come to love the pile.
According to her plans, they had less than a day alone in the cavernous house before the house party was to begin. He was glad. The house might seem sad, an echoing chamber of the past, if it was not filled with jolly people.
The guests had all arrived and gone off to their various rooms to prepare for the first dinner. The day had been a whirl as his wife had shown him room after room, memory after memory.
He wasn’t sure how she had done it, facing artifact after artifact which had brought a flood of memories. It had broken his heart to see the tears in her eyes, yet he knew that this was likely exactly what she needed to heal.
After all, here she would be surrounded by the memory of her family.
He, on the other hand, felt a bit like an imposter. Braxton was exceptionally helpful, clearly having decided that someone who had made it possible
for Lady Beatrix to return home was worthwhile, even if he was a common American.
The rhythm of the life of a noble did not sit well with him. The repetition of days and events. The sameness. He felt like a wild horse that had never been bridled and was doomed to become a pet.
He was not a horse. He was an arse.
How could anyone be feeling thus with Beatrix by his side? It would pass. He just needed more time.
They both did, though it was inescapable that while she seemed fairly indifferent to the change in her life, he had been transformed. It now seemed as if all that mattered to him was the devotion of his hours to her peace.
With each day, he knew that Beatrix hoped to conceive. When her first courses came, she’d been terribly disappointed. But as he understood, these things took some time.
Perhaps, here, she could let go of some of the pressure she’d felt. He hoped so, for the idea of her belly swelling with his child was an oddly appealing one given he’d never much thought to have a family of his own.
“Are you ready?” she called from the dressing room.
“As ready as possible, my lady.”
She stepped into their shared chamber, a scandal, he knew, and held out her arms. Her black cane was carefully gripped in one hand.
While her eyes danced wickedly, his eyes fairly popped from his head.
The emerald green gown was less of a gown and more of an embellishment to her beautiful body. The neckline was cut very low, scooping over her swelled breasts, plumping them together. The small capped sleeves were edged with gold embroidery, and the skirt was light enough that it skimmed her legs, almost molding them.
“Are you wearing anything beneath that?” he blurted, his mind going a wandering with the possibilities.
She laughed. “Yes. Though not much. Current fashions don’t allow a great deal.”
A groan tore from his lips. “You will drive me and every man here mad.”
“I hope not,” she retorted playfully. “Most of them are married.”
“A good point. Still, I think I should check the efficacy of your undergarments.” He held out a hand. “Come here.”
Her cheeks flushed and she looked almost ready to give in but then she shook her head. “This is my first time as hostess and we mustn’t be late. No matter how tempting your offer to assist with my wardrobe is. Will you take me down?”
“Nothing would give me greater pleasure.”
A tentative smile, an oddity for his bold wife, tilted her lips. “First, I wish to show you something.”
She hurried forward, her cane barely touching the floor, and he had little choice but to follow. In truth, he’d follow her almost anywhere, he realized. Her happiness had become of the utmost importance to him.
Though her limp was still pronounced, she barely used her cane now. It was almost more of a habit. He wasn’t sure why, but he hadn’t mentioned it. They’d spent a good deal of time over the last weeks out of doors. Often, she just carried the stick, and he wondered if just the simplicity of all their activity had caused her to grow stronger.
She led him down the corridor then stopped before a door only a few doors down from their own. Turning the brass knob, that tentative smile bloomed into one of hopeful delight.
The room, though dark and illuminated only by moonlight, was clearly a nursery.
He only need look to the beautifully-carved crib before the fire and the toy horse in the corner to know it.
“It will be for our child,” she said proudly.
“It looks perfect,” he replied, knowing that’s what she hoped to hear. He glanced back to the cradle, praying they could fill it soon, if only to ease his wife’s heart. “I can think of no place better.”
She pressed her head to his shoulder then tilted her head back. “I think we have time for a kiss.”
“Whatever my lady commands.”
She raised herself up on tiptoe and he bent down a good deal, brushing his lips over hers.
But as always, just that touch sent a slow burn through his body like fire to a slow match. He wrapped his arms about her, intent on deepening the kiss.
Holding on to his shoulders, she angled her head to the side, increasing the depth of their embrace.
God, how he loved her passion. Much to his relief, she had made no attempt to hold it back or hide it. There seemed to be little that they could not be open with. Except, perhaps, his past.
He shoved the unpleasant thought away, determined to enjoy the present.
As his tongue touched hers, he loved the way in which she met him. Gave him breath for breath and caress for caress.
After several moments, he growled, “We’re going back to the room.”
She laughed softly, clearly happy with the power she had over him. “Alas, no. You must imagine what we shall do later then show me when we are abed.”
Cupping her chin, he replied, “You’re going to be the death of me, Wife.”
“I do hope not. I’m going to be needing you a great deal.”
He frowned. “You’ve always been rather independent. You don’t even like me helping you on the stairs.”
“Yes, well.” She pursed her lips. “I can do the stairs myself, thank you very much. But I must tell you, that the nursery will be in use soon.”
“Soon?” he echoed, feeling utterly dumb.
“Yes. The doctor tells me in about six months.”
Six months.
He blinked, his heart doing a squeeze which was both thrilled and fearful. “Should you go downstairs? Do you need to rest? Surely, you should rest.”
She laughed, a bright happy bell tone. “No. The doctor said mild exercise is actually quite good for me. For us.”
Beatrix touched a hand to her belly and the world swung on its axis. There was no storm he’d ridden that could compete in that moment for the way the floor felt beneath his feet.
“Do you need to lie down?” she asked. “You look a little flustered.”
He shook his head, laughing softly. “I am merely happy and astonished.”
“You are happy?”
“Of course.” He kissed her softly. “Very happy.”
Beaming, she said, “Then let us go down.”
Go down? His mind was a riot. How was he supposed to behave as a normal man ought? “My God, you told me this just before a dinner.”
She bit her lower lip, her face contrite. “I was going to keep it a secret, but I just couldn’t.”
He pulled her tighter to him, his hands gentle on her back. “I’m glad you told me. We should have no secrets.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
They headed into the hall arm in arm, and Adam couldn’t recall a time when the world had seemed more perfect. Now, he just had to make it hold.
Chapter 20
“My dear! Marriage clearly agrees with you,” declared the Duchess of Blackburn.
The short, but beautifully-curved, blonde young woman fairly bounced as she pronounced this. The lady swept her ruby red skirts along the woven Oriental carpet laid out in the Great Hall.
Beatrix could do nothing but nod, amazed by the other woman’s buoyant nature. “Indeed. I am lucky in my husband.”
“Most vigorous is he?” The Duchess of Blackburn winked, holding her glass of wine. “I do like a strong man. My husband is a veritable bull if you must know, but I do think that’s the best kind.”
Beatrix laughed, something which now happened quite often. Just a few hours earlier, the Duke of Blackburn had stood in the corner near a suit of medieval armor with the Duke of Hunt and the Duke of Aston. He was a mountain of a Scotsman with jet-black hair and a fearsome stare. Yet, whenever he looked over at his wife, his gaze softened with love and clear desire for her.
“I seem to be surrounded by happy couples,” she observed, gesturing to the merry wives who seemed to be in various states of contentedness. The gentlemen were still all at their port.
“We’re all quite lucky,” Lady Gemma agre
ed as she appeared beside them. “In truth, I think it’s because we’re all most definitely odd.”
“Odd?” Beatrix queried.
“You know, a bit different than everyone else. None of us seem to particularly love the rules of society.”
The Duchess of Blackburn arched a brow and took a sip of wine. “My husband used to adore rules, but I cured him of that.”
Beatrix grinned. The party was a success. The ladies were chatting happily, some sitting on the burgundy-colored settees, others lingering before the fire large enough for a giant of a man to stand comfortably in, and still others gazed out the windows to the lake below.
Dinner had been full of good conversation, excellent food, and divine wine.
While the gentlemen had remained at the table to drink their port, the ladies had returned to the Great Hall which was her favorite room for entertaining.
The Duchess of Roth had pointed out how very unequal all this was, but the Duchess of Hunt had returned that she enjoyed having a good chat with the ladies about the hopeless nature of men to which the Duchess of Roth made no contest.
It had all been in good fun and Beatrix found herself marveling that there could be a group of such intelligent and bold women.
Beatrix found that she liked all these women very much. They were all striking. They were not necessarily beautiful, but each and every one of them was a presence not to be trifled with.
“I don’t think Adam cares for rules at all,” she replied, after some consideration, to the Duchess of Blackburn. “In fact, I think English society chafes him terribly.”
“Tell him to come up to the Highlands,” the Duchess of Blackburn teased. “He’d like it there very much. Wild, mountainous, and a good dislike of Sassenachs everywhere you turn.”
“We shall have to visit perhaps next year—”
A sudden pain spasmed in her lower back.
The Duchess of Blackburn spotted it immediately. “Lady Beatrix, are you in pain?”
“No,” she protested, breathing slowly, determined not to cause anything which might dampen the evening.