by Debra Glass
His mother’s deathbed confession had stabbed him in the heart. How could he ever face Thorley who’d been so kind, who’d reared him with love and compassion as if he’d been his real son?
The most prudent thing to do would be to disappear again, to go somewhere where he couldn’t be found this time.
He eyed the exit and then went to the wardrobe to see if any of his old clothes were still here. The hinges creaked as he swung open the doors to discover all his things hanging and folded as he’d left them five years prior.
He was in luck.
* * * * *
“You look an absolute fright!” Hamish declared to Primrose as he blustered into the breakfast room.
“That’s rude!” his wife Fidelis chirped, her birdlike gaze piercing Hamish. She turned to Primrose and shook her head, setting her pearl earbobs in motion.
Primrose offered them both a tired smile. She’d spent the last four days and three nights tending to Adam as his body purged the effects of opium. For most of that time she’d been gripped with terror that he’d die but when his fever had broken and he fell into a restorative sleep she’d realized the worst was over.
Hamish stood at the sideboard, picking through the buffet the servants had laid out. Though he was younger than Adam, his face bore the furrows and lines of a much older man. A scar on his chin evidenced a childhood scuffle of which it seemed he’d never forgiven Adam.
Primrose had always thought Adam resembled the portrait of his mother that hung prominently in the drawing room. Hamish, on the other hand, looked more like Thorley but that in itself wasn’t unusual since Hamish was the son of Thorley’s younger brother.
The cousins however bore no resemblance. Whereas Adam possessed harder features and almost swarthy skin, Hamish exhibited the pale countenance and weak chin so prevalent among the aristocracy. Adam’s hair was slightly wavy, thick and black. Hamish’s short locks were not nearly as dark but were interspersed with a wealth of silvery strands.
He looked over his shoulder at her. “Rumor is my prodigal cousin has returned.”
Primrose’s pulse skittered. She’d judiciously not said anything to anyone other than those to whom it was a necessity. Least of all snide Hamish and his nattering wife Fidelis.
“Could it be the delayed honeymoon is what has our dear American cousin-in-law looking so peaked?” he jibed with a leer that made Primrose’s skin crawl.
She opened her mouth to make excuses, to offer up an outright lie if she had to but just as she was about to speak Adam strolled confidently into the room.
“If she looks peaked it’s my fault,” he said, his eyes moving over her in such a way it made her nipples pebble against her too-tight stays.
Dressed to perfection in a dark suit that molded to his tall, lean frame, he looked every bit the heir. His dark hair, though still unfashionably long, had been combed back. The shadowy stubble was gone from his chin. The light had returned to his deep-amber eyes and if he still felt the effects of the past few days he hid it well.
She couldn’t help but admire him.
Her pulse ran amok as he strode straight to her, bent and bestowed a kiss on her cheek before he straightened and faced his cousin. “I daresay your assumption is correct, Hamish.”
Heat flushed Primrose’s cheeks. Her heart thudded and she had to set down her fork to hide her trembling hand in her lap.
Both Hamish and Fidelis gaped as Adam moved to the sideboard and prepared a plate.
“Well, well!” Hamish cleared his throat. “The conquering hero has returned. You made the papers, you know. That’s quite a bruise you’ve got there.”
“Yes, well,” Adam said blandly. “The other fellow fared far worse.”
Hamish’s expression faded into a restrained coolness. “I suspect something else brought you back to Scarborough Hall.”
Adam glanced at Primrose and his leering smile sent a warm shiver up her spine.
“What else?” he asked. “Or rather who else? Besides, I’ve only just learned my father is ill.”
“He’s been asking for you,” Fidelis interjected as she buttered her toast.
Hamish shot her a black look before turning a tense smile toward his cousin once more. “He feared you’d ended up pressed into service on a freighter.”
At that Adam chuckled softly.
Stunned, Primrose watched as Adam assimilated back into the day-to-day life at Scarborough Hall as if he’d never left—as if she hadn’t held his head while he vomited until nothing came up but bile, as if he hadn’t begged her for laudanum, for whiskey or to end his life to put him out of his misery—as if the worst five years of her own life had not happened.
She didn’t know how to sort out her emotions.
Hamish exchanged puzzled looks with his wife, who blinked several times in rapid succession, a nervous habit Primrose had come to associate with her.
“When did you arrive?” Fidelis asked and though she sounded interested, Primrose was acquainted with her cousin-in-law well enough to recognize prodding when she saw it.
“During the night earlier this week. I was ill when I arrived and asked Primrose not to alert anyone. More than anything I required rest.” He sat his plate on the table and sank into his chair as a servant rushed forward with a glass of juice.
Hamish joined them. “Are you planning on staying?”
Adam’s gaze clashed with Primrose’s. Normally she would have averted her eyes when confronted with such a probing stare. Yearning to know the answer prevented her from looking away.
He sipped his juice and slowly returned the glass to its spot on the table. “For the time being.” He gave Primrose a tiny smile that made her blood run cold, for his expression bespoke an obligation rather than…desire.
But what did she care as long as he gave her what she wanted and made Thorley happy during his last days?
She tore her gaze from his and stirred her coddled eggs with the tines of her fork.
“And how is the earl?” Adam asked.
“Your father?” Hamish corrected. “He’s not well at all. Been seized by a brain fog.”
“At times, he doesn’t remember any of us. Not even Hamish,” Fidelis added with a woeful shake of her head.
“He’s recently been calling for you,” Primrose said quietly, hoping to soften Adam’s steely facade. “I’ll take you in to see him if you like.
Again something bleak and dark flashed in Adam’s eyes. Primrose’s intuition told her his anger stemmed from something far deeper than the fact Thorley had tricked him into marriage. But what?
“Very well,” he muttered.
His hands trembled slightly as he lifted his fork to his mouth but if Hamish or Fidelis noticed they made no mention of it. They chattered uncomfortably with him and although his answers were polite but short Primrose gathered that he’d rather be anywhere else than here—with her.
Just when she’d resigned herself to the fact she’d probably never see him again, his return opened old wounds, leaving her feeling as vulnerable as a fox cornered by the hounds. The brush of his lips still lingered on her cheek and she battled the urge to touch the spot with her fingertips. He may have fooled the others. Not her. That kiss left her both sweltering and chilled.
Confused.
After they finished breakfast Primrose stood. “If you’ll excuse me…”
Hamish and Adam rose as well. Whereas Hamish intended to remain and finish reading the paper, Adam skirted the table and took her arm. “I should like to visit the earl now, and afterward it seems as I recall a promise that I’d like very much to make good on if you’re up to the task.”
Chapter Four
Adam’s stomach clenched into a knot, making him wish he hadn’t eaten that second slice of marmalade-laden toast. In truth he’d sorely missed Cook’s food and made a mental note to stop by the kitchen to speak to the beloved servant who’d slipped him sweets as a child when he hadn’t been partial to the regular fare.
W
hen Primrose gripped the handle to Thorley’s door all those pleasant memories evaporated. Adam didn’t know what to expect and the idea of it terrified him. He liked to control situations. He liked to know everything down to the last detail. He hated surprises.
In a flare of panic he put his hand over Primrose’s and stopped her. “I don’t want to be unprepared,” he whispered.
Her gaze moved from their hands to his eyes. “He’s aged. I won’t lead you astray on that. He’s frail. Shockingly so. But worst of all his mind is gone. He might not even remember who you are.”
That might be a good thing. Adam nodded.
“He’s at the end,” Primrose said bluntly. “You must know, I feel responsible for the rift between you and—”
“You’re not,” Adam interjected. “You’re not responsible—for that. Nor is he for that matter.”
Her brow furrowed—until Adam pushed down on her hand and opened the door. He took her elbow and walked her into the room with him.
A sleepy housemaid they’d enlisted to act as a nurse sat beside the bed. Rail-thin and tall, she darted to her feet and curtsied. “Lord Black,” she said, her voice but a gasp. Her beady-eyed gaze lifted to take him in. She might have been deemed attractive were it not for her habit of blinking in rapid succession. “Lady Black,” she mumbled as if it were an afterthought.
“Irene,” Primrose greeted politely. “How is his lordship this morning?”
“He done eat a wee bit this mornin’,” the nurse said, wringing her hands in her apron. Her gaze flicked back and forth between them. “I gave him a draft of his remedy and he’s been restin’ fitful-like ever since.”
“Leave us,” Adam said tersely, daring to look at the man he’d called father until his mother’s deathbed confession.
Primrose started to turn but Adam caught her arm. “Not you. You stay.”
She nodded and sat gingerly on the side of the bed. With a tender display of affection she bent and kissed the old man’s age-spotted forehead. Placing a hand over the earl’s gnarled hands, she whispered in his ear. “Father, there’s someone here to see you.”
Father…
The sound of the endearing term coming from her lips caused the breath to catch in Adam’s chest.
Thorley’s eyes opened and obviously bewildered, he stared. “Do I know you?” The old man’s gaze swiveled to Adam’s and a spark flickered there. The earl squinted at Adam. “I know you.”
Adam cleared his throat. “Hello…F-Father.” He didn’t know what else to call him. Guilt rose with the bile in his throat.
Thorley’s eyes narrowed slightly and then flooded with recognition. He turned Primrose’s hands loose and reached for Adam.
Adroitly she slid out of the way and practically pushed Adam into the earl’s arms. “He knows you. This is wonderful.” The light in her eyes tugged hard on Adam’s soul.
He swallowed against the lump in his throat as he stooped to embrace the ailing earl.
“My son, my son,” the old man wept piteously, refusing to let go. “I didn’t know where you were. I didn’t—”
“Hush,” Adam soothed. “I’m here now.” He sat on the side of the bed and didn’t try to pull away when Thorley clutched his hand tighter. He hadn’t thought the old man capable of such a hearty grip.
Tears poured down Thorley’s weathered cheeks and Adam fought the compulsion to look away. Behind him, he heard a catch in Primrose’s breath.
“I’m sorry.” Adam reached deep for the anger he’d harbored for the earl’s part in forcing him to marry but it wasn’t there. Shaking, Adam wished he hadn’t asked Primrose to accompany him. The sight of a man who’d always been generously kind and loving to him in this decrepit state was enough to render Adam utterly undone.
He blinked hard against burning tears.
Thorley’s expression turned grave. Earnest.
Desperate.
“You must do your duty, son. You must produce an heir. Promise me.”
Adam exchanged a glance with Primrose. He drew in a tight breath, willing emotion to fade, aching to chase the dragon, to descend back into that bliss-filled abyss.
“Promise me,” Thorley repeated, his voice so filled with pleading Adam could not refuse him.
He nodded. “Yes. I promise.”
“There’s something…something else…” the earl began but his voice trailed off as he obviously grasped for his memory.
Suddenly Thorley’s eyes rounded. “Where’s your mother?”
Stunned, Adam stared. Uncertain of what to say he looked urgently to Primrose for help. She rushed forward and as she eased onto the side of the bed next to him Adam noticed the dampness on her cheeks. She’d been crying. His heart tightened into a hard knot in his chest.
She took Thorley’s other hand in both hers. “She’s gone to heaven, Father. You know that. You just forgot is all.”
The earl’s eyes misted and his face contorted as he obviously tried to sort out his thoughts. He nodded. But then looked perplexed once more. “When?”
“Many years ago. Before Primrose came to England,” Adam said gently.
She twisted to look back at him, her bottom coming into contact with his thigh as she did. “I’ll ring for Irene to return. I hate to tire him when he’s like this. She can give him a tincture to help him rest.”
Adam nodded.
The two minutes it took the nurse to return seemed unending to Adam. He watched as she stooped to spoon a dark liquid into Thorley’s mouth, and when the old man relaxed back into the pillows Adam looked at Primrose and gestured silently toward the door.
When she’d first tendered her proposal for a child Adam had wanted to refuse. But right now there was nothing that he wanted more than to lose himself in a woman’s body, to forget if only for a few moments what he’d seen in this room.
As soon as the door closed behind them he turned to her. “Go to your room and undress and we shall discuss my terms.”
Her eyes widened for a moment before she nodded dumbly and disappeared down the hall in a whirl of skirts and lemon verbena.
He tightened then flexed his fingers as blood pumped thickly through his veins. Unfortunately she’d probably regret her decision to bed him because he highly doubted she knew of his baser needs—the need to control, to be in control.
A strange sense of calm washed over him as he thought about bending his comely wife to his will, about watching her surrender to untold pleasures because he’d stripped away her power.
He released a deep breath and strode toward his room to prepare.
* * * * *
Primrose trembled as her maid undid the endless row of buttons on the back of her bodice. Her cheeks flamed at the idea of the staff suspecting what was about to happen. Primrose knew her excuse of having a headache and needing a nap had not been convincing.
Every noise, every tick of the clock, set her on edge.
My terms…
What had he meant?
The image of Lady Beckham bent over Adam’s knee flitted through Primrose’s thoughts. Suddenly her chamber was too hot, too close.
Not waiting for her maid, she ripped her bodice from her chest but found little relief in the still air of the room.
“You’re burning up, ma’am,” the maid declared. “Should I send for the physician?”
“No!” Primrose blurted. She tried to restore calm but failed. “I’m just a pinch overheated is all. I’ll be perfectly fine once I lie down.”
Once the dress was discarded the maid returned to remove Primrose’s underpinnings until she stood clad only in her thin lawn chemise.
“Shall I remove your hairpins, ma’am?” the maid inquired.
“No thank you.” Anxiety for the maid to hurry and leave filled Primrose’s breast. It wouldn’t do for Adam to barge in. Then the staff would know she and her husband were about to behave like libertines in broad daylight. She’d be the subject of gossip—and Primrose had learned all those years ago that being the top
ic of scandal was not as enjoyable as she’d once assumed.
In fact this whole idea of reuniting physically with Adam didn’t seem so palatable anymore.
My terms…
“That’ll be all, Midge,” she told the maid in hopes of ushering her out.
“I should put your dress away first…”
“No!” Primrose reined herself in and forced herself to speak more evenly. “No. I’m sure I won’t nap considerably long and will want to put it back on. No sense in going to the extra trouble. I’ll ring for you when I awaken.”
Midge stared, obviously perplexed but she bobbed into a curtsy, draped the gown over a chair and disappeared through the servants’ entrance.
Primrose’s hand flew to her heart and she dragged in great gulps of air. If she’d still been wearing her corset she would have surely swooned. She paced to the window. Light bathed the garden below, making her terribly aware that she stood in dishabille in the middle of the morning. To add to her distress memories of the one night she’d spent with her husband battered her like a wild surf against the rocks.
He’d held some sort of power over her. A wicked thrall that had rendered her helpless but to do anything for him.
Everything.
Her lashes fluttered and a little squeak escaped her throat.
His hands had felt so foreign and yet so amazingly right on her skin. The look in his eyes that night—that look of hungry desire—had both frightened her and thrilled her. For that fleeting moment she’d felt cherished and powerful in her femininity. At the same time a sense of helplessness in the knowledge he had but to ask to receive anything she had to offer had consumed her.
His command of her heart and her body seemed a dark and dangerous thing. His ability to evoke carnal reactions, to render her to her most base form…
She was a fool to revisit it. Common sense condemned her for not putting a hasty end to this. Her body prevented her from taking a step toward the doors connecting their chambers.
A gasp stuck in her chest when she heard the door handle turn. She whirled in time to see him step into the room.
His eyes raked her. “I said undressed. Naked. Nude. Bare. Get that thing off.”