by Deborah Hale
“I have noticed.” The teasing warmth of her smile assured Hadrian she did not think less of him for it. “It is yet another thing we have in common—our pride. But I wish you would make some overture to Lord Kingsfold. Not only for his sake and yours, but for mine. I owe him and his wife an apology, too. I should have listened to them when they came to Bramberley. But I resented them for meddling in my family’s business…and perhaps for being so successful and happy.”
Hadrian hesitated. He doubted a letter would suffice. If he apologized to Ford, it must be face-to-face. Even more than he disliked the thought of going cap in hand to his partner, he shrank from the prospect of leaving Artemis and their nephew.
From his perch on Hadrian’s shoulders, Lee continued to babble away. Somehow the warm, solid weight of the wee boy eased the sting of Hadrian’s self-recrimination and made him think there might be a crumb of hope for his fractured friendship. Even after the hateful things he’d said, Ford had been the one to give him the saving news that Julian had left behind a son.
“I have an idea!” Artemis cried. “What if we invite Lord and Lady Kingsfold to a house party here at Edenhall? We could ask her sisters, too, and her brother-in-law. If they refuse our invitation, we will know they are not disposed to forgive either of us. But if they accept…”
While Hadrian pondered the notion, she continued. “I could write to Lady Kingsfold. You men need not come into it until matters are settled one way or the other.”
Hadrian’s lips spread in a broad grin. Leave it to Artemis to come up with such a clever solution. “That way, if your invitation is refused, I do not lose face.”
“Lose your face?” She stared at him as if he had lost his wits.
“Not in the way you think.” Hadrian chuckled, his heart suddenly lighter. “It is something the Chinese and Malay people care a great deal about. To lose face means to be dishonored or humiliated. It is something they make every effort to avoid.”
“No wonder you got on so well there,” Artemis quipped. “Does that mean I may write to Lady Kingsfold?”
Hadrian pretended to consult his nephew. “What do you think of the idea, lad? Would you like pretty little Miss Eleanor to come visit us?”
Lee responded with a peal of blithe laughter.
“That settles it.” Hadrian batted a roguish wink at Artemis. “Go ahead and write to Lady Kingsfold. I reckon saving a friendship may be worth losing face a little.”
One evening the following week, Artemis made a face at herself in her dressing table mirror. Not because her reflection was ill looking. Indeed, she had never been better pleased with what her glass showed her.
It was more than her new gown of rich plum-colored taffeta trimmed with delicate ivory lace. It was more than the softer way of dressing her hair that her clever little lady’s maid had suggested. Her face and figure had both filled out in becoming ways since she’d arrived at Edenhall. Her eyes and skin had taken on a fresh luster.
For all that, it made her feel strangely vulnerable to have put this much effort into looking well…for Hadrian. There could be no hiding from the truth—she had done this all for his benefit, though she was not certain why. Hard as she tried to pacify herself with all sorts of plausible excuses, deep in her heart she knew it was simply a blind compulsion she’d been powerless to explain or resist.
Her knees trembled as she opened her door and forced one foot in front of the other, heading toward the dining room. The trouble with putting this much effort into her appearance was that she could no longer pretend not to care what Hadrian thought of her. She had tried not to care. But of late he’d lavished her with such continuous approval that she had come to thrive on the steady, nourishing diet, just as her body flourished on the plentiful, toothsome meals from Edenhall’s kitchen.
But what would become of her when Hadrian went away next winter? Would she starve for his appreciation? What if she angered or disappointed him? Would his criticism poison her budding confidence?
Her doubts grew by the second as she descended the staircase and approached the great double doors to the dining room. Sick with apprehension, she contemplated racing back to her bedchamber, pinning her hair in its usual severe knot and changing back into one of her unflattering old gowns.
Then she spied Mrs. Matlock coming out of the music room at the end of the main gallery. Though the two women had forged a respectful partnership, Artemis still had too much pride to let the housekeeper catch her in a cowardly retreat. Reminding herself that her ancestors had led armies and attended kings at their coronations, she marched into the dining room with her head high, though her insides quaked.
She found Hadrian standing by the sideboard consulting his watch. Was he annoyed that she had taken so long to dress for dinner?
Before she could stammer an apology, he spoke in a hoarse murmur. “Whatever I paid for that gown, pet, it was a proper bargain.”
“You like it?” Lest he think she had squandered his money, she explained, “The seamstress got a very good price on the taffeta because of the color.”
“What’s wrong with the color?” Hadrian thrust his watch into his pocket.
“Most women prefer lighter shades for the summer, but they make me look sallow. Besides, the way time is flying, autumn will be upon us before we know it.” That thought brought her a pang of regret.
“You made a fine choice.” Hadrian studied her with a slow shake of his head, as if he could not quite believe the transformation. “It suits you very well indeed.”
“I am glad you approve.” Some baffling impulse made her sink into a deep, graceful curtsy. “I want to be a credit to you.”
“You’re all of that.” Hadrian caught her hand and lifted it to his lips.
The gesture reminded Artemis of the first time he’d kissed her hand, at the White Lion Inn, before they’d struck their marriage bargain. Such a blaze of heat had surged through her when she felt the subtle pressure of his lips through her glove, she’d been afraid her hand would burst into flames!
Now he turned her hand to nestle her palm against his cheek, while his lips hovered over her wrist. Could he feel her fevered pulse racing through her veins?
As she stood there, frozen in the grip of powerful sensations, one of the serving maids entered the dining room, bearing a tray.
“Pardon my intrusion!” she cried the moment she spotted her master and mistress standing so close together. “Mrs. Matlock told us the mistress had come down and said you’d be wanting dinner sharpish. I’ll go back to the kitchen and wait for you to ring.”
“No need to rush away, Sarah,” Hadrian called out in a hearty tone. “I was just admiring my wife’s new gown. Don’t you think it becomes her?”
Lowering her hand from his face, he led Artemis forward for the girl’s inspection.
“Aye, sir.” With a sigh of relief, Sarah carried her serving tray to the sideboard. “She looks a right picture.”
Artemis wavered between embarrassment and pleasure at the girl’s simple, honest praise.
“I suspect there is a conspiracy afoot in this house to turn my head,” she replied as Hadrian escorted her to the table, her hand still clasped in his. “Or perhaps I looked so ill before that any improvement appears wondrous by comparison.”
“Oh, no, ma’am!” cried Sarah. “I’m sure I meant no such thing.”
“Of course you didn’t,” Hadrian reassured her as he held the chair for Artemis. “Nor did I. My wife is far too modest.”
He sat down beside her, as had become his custom at mealtimes. “Now lay on our dinner, Sarah. Admiring such a pretty picture has whetted my appetite.”
He cast a significant glance at Artemis as he spoke those words. For a fleeting instant, one corner of his mouth arched in a sly grin. Clearly the appetite to which he alluded could not be satisfied by braised pigeon breast or roast loin of veal. Only the sweets of her breasts and loins would suffice.
Had her efforts to look more presentable encourag
ed him to think of her in that way? And if they had, did she regret it…would she return to the safety of her former unflattering appearance? Artemis was not certain she could, any more than a hatchling chick could take refuge back inside its shattered shell.
As Sarah placed steaming bowls of lobster bisque before them, Artemis returned her husband’s highly charged gaze. “I suspect that is a polite way of saying you are starved because I kept you waiting so long to dine. Now, tell me what you have found to occupy your time while we await Lady Kingsfold’s reply to my invitation. I saw you ride out this morning.”
Was it her imagination, or did his eyes shift furtively in the instant before he answered? “I had a commission to perform for my other partner, Simon Grimshaw. And I wanted to consult my solicitor about making Lee my heir and arranging financial provisions for you both.”
Artemis was certain she detected a false note in his voice, as if he were trying to conceal something. But that was ridiculous. What could Hadrian possibly have to hide from her?
Chiding herself for her groundless suspicions, Artemis forced them from her mind. “I recall you mentioned your other partner. He must have his hands full back in Singapore managing the business alone.”
“I reckon he does,” replied Hadrian. “But it’ll be the making of him. Simon’s a capable fellow, but doesn’t like to take a risk. He needs to understand there are times in business when being too cautious can prove the greatest risk of all.”
Did that only apply to business? Artemis wondered. Was she clinging too cautiously to her virginity, needlessly afraid of rejection from a man who had shown her more respect and approval than she’d ever known? If she dared to risk her pride and her innocence, what might she gain by it? The possibilities took her breath away.
“A penny for your thoughts,” Hadrian offered. “Judging by your secretive smile, I reckon they’re worth more, but I’ve always prided myself on driving a hard bargain.”
His gentle jest drove the smile from her lips. “My thoughts are no great secret and this gown is ample payment for them. I was thinking, once you finish your commission for Mr. Grimshaw, you might investigate what we can do to help some of the children who work in the local mines.”
“By George, that is the best bargain I’ve driven in years!” Hadrian’s gray eyes took on a soft, silvery luster.
Artemis suffered a qualm of guilt for palming off an invention in place of her true thoughts. In an effort to ease her conscience, she kept up an earnest dialogue on the subject with Hadrian throughout the rest of their meal.
After dinner they retired to the music room where she entertained him with several selections on the pianoforte. Every moment, she was acutely conscious of his gaze fixed upon her. By the time their accustomed hour for bed arrived, she was so keyed up she feared she would tremble at his slightest touch.
Since the afternoon she’d brought him home to Fellbank and tucked him in, she had managed to avoid retiring to her bedchamber at the same time Hadrian went to his. Sometimes she delayed for a word with Mrs. Matlock about some trivial household matter. Or she visited the nursery to check on Lee. Hadrian had conspired in her efforts, frequently retreating to his study for a glass of port while she went off to bed.
Tonight, neither of them mentioned his study, the nursery or the housekeeper.
As they climbed the stairs and walked down the west gallery to their bedchambers, Artemis strove to maintain her tenuous composure, though her heart raced as if she were walking toward the edge of a high, sheer cliff. If she succumbed to a mad impulse to jump, there could be no turning back.
“Thank you for a very pleasant evening,” said Hadrian as they paused in front of her door. “I look forward to seeing your other gowns, though I cannot imagine any way you might look better unless…”
“Unless…what?” Artemis could not resist putting him on the spot. It made her feel a trifle less vulnerable.
For a moment, Hadrian looked as if he might decline to answer. Then he leaned toward her and whispered, “Unless you were not wearing a stitch of clothes at all. But since it wouldn’t be proper for you to strut about naked, I like seeing you dressed in a way that makes you look your best.”
Whatever gave him the idea that she might be the least bit attractive without these well-cut clothes? Even her old unfashionable gowns would be an improvement, hiding the worst of her deficiencies. The thought of Hadrian’s disappointment was enough to make her want to bolt through the door and lock it behind her.
Then, as he drew back, Hadrian’s cheek brushed against hers. Was it by accident, or did he intend to remind her how much pleasure his touch could bring her, if she let it? If that was his aim, he succeeded. For a moment, her preoccupation with her flaws faded and all Artemis could think about was him.
With a whole large house to rattle around in, she had not expected to feel the constant tug of awareness that had plagued her when she’d shared a cramped post chaise box with Hadrian for days on end. But she’d been wrong.
Every step she took toward knowing him better, every bit of consideration he showed her, every admiring word or glance he directed toward her, fueled the desire to which she had sworn she would not surrender. As she sought to restore something of the home and family he’d lost, Hadrian had become a constant stimulating presence in her thoughts. That included her dreams, where she had no control over his actions…or hers.
Raising her hand to his lips, he dusted kisses over her fingertips. “Are you not the least bit curious? Tempted? I promised it would be your choice whether or not you come to my bed. I only want to make certain you know you would be welcome. But perhaps you don’t find me attractive? Or you think I am not good enough for you?” A shadow of uncertainty flickered across his features.
Those suggestions were so preposterous they almost made Artemis laugh. How could such an attractive, confident man of the world doubt the magnetic appeal he exerted upon her? Then she remembered the other Hadrian Northmore she had glimpsed—the boy who’d lived and worked under such harsh conditions, then suffered a greater loss than any young heart should bear.
Before he could release her hand, she reached out to cup his cheek. “That is not the difficulty, I assure you.”
He searched her eyes. “What is the difficulty, then?”
Artemis sucked in a deep breath. The edge of the cliff seemed to crumble beneath her feet. “I fear I will only disappoint you.”
Hadrian shook his head. “That is not possible.”
She knew he believed it as much as she wanted to. “You cannot be certain.”
“But you can?”
She gave a forlorn nod and lowered her hand from his face.
“How?” he demanded in an urgent whisper. “Why?”
Bent on escaping his questions, she reached for the knob of her bedroom door.
Then, as she pushed the door open, a flicker of wistful longing in the depths of his eyes compelled her to say, “Come in and I will tell you.”
Chapter Thirteen
The sudden, unexpected invitation into his wife’s bedchamber staggered Hadrian.
Did Artemis realize the step she was taking? If he could persuade her of his desire and prevail upon her to put aside her unaccountable self-doubts, there would be nothing to stop them consummating their marriage this very night. His body roused in anticipation.
Before Artemis had a chance to change her mind, he strode through her door.
The room was softly lit by a single flickering candle in one of the wall sconces. A faint aroma of lavender hung in the air.
“Pray take a seat.” Artemis nodded toward the chair in front of her dressing table.
She closed the door and crossed to the bed, where she perched on the foot of the mattress.
“Go on, then,” he prompted her, eager to refute whatever she might say. “Tell me what makes you so certain you would disappoint me. Everything I have learned about you leads me to believe quite the opposite. Time has proven my early prejudices again
st you wrong, while I have discovered new qualities to admire in you every day.”
“That is kind of you to say.” Artemis kept her gaze fixed on the rug at the foot of her bed, tracing the pattern with the toe of her slipper. “For such a dynamic, successful man, you have a great kindness about you. But you must not blame yourself for thinking ill of me at first. I gave you ample cause for it. Since then I have tried to atone for my past conduct.”
“I hope you do not think you are obliged to atone for it in my bed!” The words burst out of Hadrian. “Or yours.”
“Of course not!” she cried with a flash of the spirit that had first drawn him to her. “I want you far too much for my peace of mind. But I am certain if you come to know me too intimately, you will soon discover all my shortcomings as a wife.”
“What shortcomings?”
“What shortcomings?” Artemis gave a bitter laugh. “My green-goose ignorance for a start. My advanced age, pasty face, maypole figure—take your pick.”
“Is that what you think of yourself?” He wanted to wrap her in his arms and protect her from the harsh judgments of her self-doubt. “I thought it endearing that you were not vain and self-centered like so many beautiful women. But this? Why can you not see how desirable you are?”
“I treasure your opinion,” she replied in a husky murmur. “When I am with you I begin to feel as if I truly am the way you see me. But I fear where my attractions are concerned, your view runs contrary to that of most men.”
“Does it?” Hadrian bridled. “Then that is their loss, the damned fools! I am arrogant enough to reckon myself more discerning than most men. It is my judgment you may rely on. What do you say to that?”
She glanced up then, transfixing him with the radiance of her gaze. “You are the most uncommon man I have ever met, Hadrian Northmore. There is nothing arrogant about owning it. I envy your confidence and your certainty. I wish I could have your eyes for my looking glass.”