“Nonsense,” Adele interrupted. Gregory Grandby would make an excellent earl, but the younger cousin wanted nothing to do with Parliament. He was all about making money for his coffers and those of his clients and the companies in which he had a vested interest.
“Devonville told me Worthington had already asked permission to court you...” He paused when he felt Adele’s sudden gasp. “He had all that blunt from those steamships he helped create. And since I wasn’t about to be leg-shackled, I had no grounds upon which to challenge the man for your hand.”
Adele stared at her husband in the dark, shocked by his words. “You wanted to marry me back then?” Beneath her, she felt the rumble of laughter even before she heard it.
“Me and every younger buck in the ballroom,” he claimed. “Christ, woman. You were the most beautiful woman in London. Still are, actually,” he added, hoping he hadn’t allowed too much time to pass between the comments. “But Devonville was looking for a man like Worthington to marry you. Someone with a fortune. Someone who wasn’t looking to gamble away your dowry. Someone who—”
“Someone who claimed to love me,” Adele put in softly, remembering how Samuel Worthington had gazed at her during the waltz they shared. And how he continued to do so when he escorted her to the gardens. He had actually asked her if he might be allowed to kiss her, seeing as how he had every intention of marrying her.
How could she respond? Especially when she had already decided she found his overtures endearing? His intentions honorable? For some reason she couldn’t quite sort, the idea of marriage was suddenly not so daunting. Perhaps the prospect of marrying a man who wasn’t an aristocrat made all the difference. Or perhaps it was the prospect of marrying a man who wasn’t after her dowry.
The man was rich.
They were married two months later. In those two months, Worthington had purchased the mansion in Park Lane and had it decorated according to her wishes, bought her a town coach and a quartet of Cleveland Bays to pull it, and was the high-bidder on an Irish Walker on which she could ride during the fashionable hour—even though she already owned a Welsh pony for the same purpose. He bestowed her with a diamond and sapphire ring. More jewels followed even after they were married.
Despite knowing he felt some affection for her, though, Adele always wondered if she was merely another acquisition Worthington could show off during their frequent attendance at balls and soirées, the theatre, and on trips to port cities where he saw to his burgeoning empire.
“I was quite flattered by his attentions,” she murmured softly. “Although I couldn’t help but feel I was merely an ornament on his arm.”
“Tsk,” Milton replied, his arm tightening a bit. “He had to have thought of you as more than that, given how faithful he was to you.”
Adele lifted her head from his chest, shocked at his words. “How would you know such a thing?” One of her brows furrowed. “How did you even know him?”
Milton gave a shrug, the movement barely noticeable in the dark. “Tattersall’s, White’s, horse races, and the like. I warned him if he should ever embarrass you or hurt you, there would be hell to pay.” He didn’t add that he had been deep in his cups at the time. He had been feeling a bit lonely, thoughts of what he had missed out on by not laying claim to Adele when he had the chance making him a bit surlier than usual.
It was at that point he realized he had to find a woman to call his own, at least for the Season’s entertainments. A mistress wouldn’t do—he needed someone he could escort in public. Who better than a widow of the ton? Most weren’t looking to remarry, and he simply avoided those that were.
“You didn’t,” Adele breathed, suddenly wondering if it had been Milton’s comments that had Samuel behaving in a more loving manner after their wedding.
“I did. It was that or challenge him to a duel, but I didn’t think you would consider my suit if I had shot and killed your husband,” he added with an arched eyebrow.
The merriment in his voice had Adele rolling her eyes. “I had no idea you were the least bit interested in me,” she murmured.
They had known each other for years, although only as acquaintances—probably since before Adele was out of leading strings. Her brother had inherited the Devonville marquessate before her come-out.
Then she remembered his tale of the day they had gone sledding, and she felt a pang in her chest. He claimed he wanted to marry her even back then.
“And if you had known?” Milton pressed, his voice suddenly hoarse.
Adele took a breath, rather wishing she had known of Milton’s interest. Would she have waited for him to realize he needed a wife? An heir?
Probably not. The sudden desire to run her own household had her accepting Worthington’s suit far more than any thoughts of affection. She might have saved herself a great deal of heartache after his passing, however. “I might have sent you a note after Samuel’s death,” she whispered.
Milton felt a tightening in his chest. “Oh?” He paused a moment. “Missed his snoring, did you?”
Ignoring his comment about the snoring, Adele wondered if she should tell him about Stephen Worthington. Their conversation about Samuel had gone rather well, although the memories of him—both good and bad—had her on the verge of tears. “I found the nights too lonely to mourn as I should have,” she whispered hoarsely. Her eyes brightened, tears collecting in their corners.
“Did you take a lover?” he wondered, jealousy apparent in how he suddenly straightened on the pillows.
Adele shrugged and gave a quick glance toward the window. Darkness engulfed the room despite the faint glow from the fireplace.
“Worthington’s brother,” she replied finally, ignoring the hissing sound Milton made at the comment. “I discovered very quickly that Samuel’s younger brother was more skilled in bed, but then, rakes usually are,” she added with a sweep of a finger over one of his nipples, a bit relieved when she felt his quick intake of breath. “I was so flattered—Stephen is at least five years younger than I am—so I was led to believe he was taken with me. That is, until he admitted he had promised Samuel he would look after me if something should happen.”
Adele waited a moment, wondering if her husband might say something, and then, when he didn’t, she added, “I was never sure if he bedded me because of his promise to Samuel or because he found me desirable.”
Milton gave a grunt as he covered her hand with one of his own. “Of course, he found you desirable! Christ, I would have shot him if I’d known anything about the two of you,” he claimed, his manner far more serious.
Adele gave a start. “Milton!” she cried out. She gave a long sigh when he merely responded by cocking an eyebrow, the expression evident in the dim light from the fireplace. “I’ve told no one but you about Stephen,” she whispered. “And I’m rather glad no one discovered our arrangement.”
Milton frowned again. “Because of the potential scandal?”
Adele nodded. “Of course. It would have been as much of an embarrassment for him as for me,” she commented lightly. “I was essentially his mistress for those seven or eight months.” Her eyes lifted to Milton’s. “I was so relieved to hear Weston wanted to court me, and I was so certain I wanted to marry again, I accepted his offer without even knowing enough about him,” she went on, her eyes clearing. “And then, one day during tea, Lady Ellsworth informed me she’d overheard her husband say something about Weston’s gambling debts—”
“Because I was the one who told him,” Milton interrupted. “I hoped someone might pass along what I had discovered. Remind me to give Lady Ellsworth a compliment when we’re next in her company,” he murmured.
“Milton!” Adele admonished him before considering what had gone unsaid. “Was it true? The part about Weston being a gambler? And being in debt?”
The earl blinked. “Oh, aye. He had markers spread all over Cheapside. Frank O’Laughlin, the owner of the Jack of Spades, claimed Weston had run up a debt of over ten-tho
usand pounds just on faro.”
Adele couldn’t help the hiss that escaped her lips just then. “I never heard any particulars, but just hearing he was a gambler had me so stunned, I thought I would die of embarrassment. I ended the engagement that very night. Gave the ring back to Weston. It was probably paste,” she murmured in disgust.
It was probably won over a game of cards, Milton almost said in reply, but thought better of it. “There’s no need to feel as if you had been bamboozled. It happens to far more women of the ton than they would like to admit,” he whispered.
“But my wedding was so close, I had already set a date!” Adele countered. “It was at the Harvey ball when you told Michael Cunningham you were looking for a widow for the Season. Olivia Cunningham informed you I was available, bless her heart.”
A small grin lifted Milton’s lips. “I remember,” he murmured before placing a kiss on the top of her hair. “Olivia is one of my oldest goddaughters. Has a good head on her shoulders, that one. Her husband is a bit of a numbskull—”
“Milton!” Adele admonished him.
“Well, he is. Especially in the matter of marriage. The man is like my cousin when it comes to making money—he’s an excellent businessman—but he can’t keep track of time to save his life.” He paused a moment before squeezing her hand again. “How was it Olivia knew you were no longer betrothed to Weston? She couldn’t have been in London more than a week before the Harvey ball.”
Adele grinned at the memory. “She knew because the modiste sold her my gown. Madame Suzanne had just finished my wedding gown when I found out about Weston. Thank the gods it suited Olivia. She wore it to the Harvey ball—her first as a married woman.”
“You didn’t want it?” he countered, thinking she would have looked rather lovely wearing the gown his goddaughter had worn that night at the Harvey ball.
Giving him a grimace, Adele shook her head. “I didn’t want any reminders of Weston. I was sure just breaking the betrothal as I did would cause a scandal. I told Devonville first, of course, and when I chided him for not having warned me about Weston, he claimed he would have put voice to a protest during the reading of the banns.” She allowed a sound of disbelief. “There are times I wonder about my older brother.”
The earl couldn’t help the bark of laughter that erupted just then. “Figures Devonville would want to wait until the last possible moment to offer his opinion on the matter.” He didn’t add that William Slater had known of Milton’s interest in Adele and would have acted on his behalf had it become necessary.
“I rather wish he had told me what he knew, though. Before I accepted Weston’s suit,” Adele argued. Despite having her own, her brother had offered his coach-and-four should she have wished to escape London. Adele couldn’t help but think the man felt guilty about not having informed her of what he knew about the rake. If I had, would you have believed me? she remembered him asking after she had given back the ring.
The question had stunned her. Of course, she would have believed her older brother. He had learned his lessons about marriage far too late, but he had learned them.
William had been married to his marchioness for nearly two-and-twenty years before she died of a sudden fever. During the early years of their marriage, Devonville had spent far too much time in the company of a mistress, sure his wife eschewed his company. Even fathered a bastard son. Once he realized they truly loved one another, they had only a few years in which to live as husband and wife. Given her brother’s experiences—and a lesson learned far too late—Adele had no reason to doubt his views on the subject of affection and marriage.
“I rather wish he had as well,” Milton murmured with a sigh. “We could have been sharing a bed an entire Season earlier than we did,” he added in a voice tinged with humor.
Adele was tempted to refute his claim, but sighed instead. “Is bedding a woman all you can think about?” she asked suddenly.
Her husband feigned offense. “I’ll have you know that I only think of bedding you, and although it may seem as if I’m doing so all the time, I do occasionally have other thoughts.”
At first thrilled at hearing her husband’s claim, Adele lifted her head and regarded him in surprise. “Other thoughts?” she repeated. “Do tell.”
About to claim he was famished and wished to raid the kitchen for a midnight snack, Milton allowed an impish grin when his stomach growled rather loudly. “I wonder what we might be having for breakfast. Or if it’s going to rain whilst I’m at White’s. Why, just last week, I wondered if I should take you to Newcastle for the horse race next year.”
“The horse race?” she repeated, rather surprised by the possibility. She didn’t know many who owned race horses, nor had she been to any races besides the Ascot, but she supposed it could be an entertaining diversion. “On which horse would you place a bet?”
“Which ever one you tell me to,” he replied with a guffaw.
Adele giggled and rolled off of his body, taking the bed linens with her as she stepped out of the bed. “Since I don’t have a maid to do my hair, I’ll meet you in the breakfast parlor in half an hour,” she murmured as she wrapped the linen around her body. At his sound of protest, she added, “If I had my maid, it would take an hour.”
Adele hurried off to the door that connected their two suites and had nearly disappeared behind it when Milton cleared his throat.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he called out, doing his best to gather up a blanket to cover his suddenly exposed body. With the fire having gone out and his wife out of the bed, the room was rather chilly.
Adele stopped and slowly turned to regard her husband. Given the expression on his face, she realized Milton had no intention of taking his leave of the bed. She gave a sigh. “At least help me with my corset and buttons,” she suggested as she opened the only trunk that had made it to Torrington Park.
“I have a better idea,” Milton countered. “Come back to bed until it’s time for breakfast. Sweeting, it’s the middle of the night. When it’s morning, we’ll have breakfast brought up, and you can wear what you have on.”
About to put voice to a protest—was it really only two in the morning?—Adele considered his words and realized just why he made the suggestion. “You want a tumble after breakfast, don’t you?” she accused.
Despite his failed attempt at maintaining a look of feigned shock at hearing her accusation, he finally shrugged. “You know me too well, my sweeting.”
Sighing, Adele climbed back into bed. “You’re incorrigible,” she accused.
Chapter 15
In the Middle of the Night
A few hours earlier, in Darlington
The pleasant sensations of warmth and comfort, tingling skin, and the clean scents of lemon and orange were slowly replaced with a waft of cold air as Alice slowly awoke. Every morning for the past year, she woke up at four o’clock so she could dress and make her way to the kitchens. She was completely awake before she remembered she didn’t have to go to the Worthington House kitchens on this day. Not this day or any other for the next few weeks.
She was in... Where am I?
She closed her eyes, trying to recapture the dream that had been playing in her mind’s eye. Tried to recapture that sensation of extreme pleasure and subsequent satiation. The sensations of warmth and comfort a man’s body provided whilst sleeping.
Except that it hadn’t been a dream, she remembered suddenly. She had been lying with a man, her entire body pressed against the length of his, one leg resting betwixt his legs because he insisted she cover half his body and place her head in the small of his shoulder.
Expecting it to be awkward—she had never been held atop a man’s body before—she instead found it rather comforting. Safe. Warm.
Halfway through the night, Alonyius had coaxed her to move to his other side, and rather than have her leave the bed to walk around it to reposition herself on the other side, he had simply moved her with strong arms and carefully
positioned hands, kissing the top of her head when she was finally resettled on the other side. She couldn’t remember what she murmured just then, or his whispered response, but she was soon back to sleep in the most satisfying slumber she had experienced, probably in her entire life.
Darlington. The Black Swan, she suddenly remembered. But her head was no longer in the small of a warm shoulder, and she was no longer sprawled over the body of a warm man. Moving her hand about and finding only cold linens, she realized Alonyius had taken his leave of the bed, and with it, his warmth and comfort.
Sitting up, Alice glanced about the chilled room, her eyes slowly adjusting to take in the golden glow from the fireplace. They darted to the window, where the silhouette of Alonyius stood in stark relief as he stared out the room’s only window. He must be freezing, she thought, quite sure he was still naked.
Crawling out of the bed, Alice wrapped one of the quilts about her body, surprised to find the hem of her night rail falling to her knees. When did I manage to pull it back onto my body? she wondered.
Joining him at the window, she opened up the quilt and hung it over his shoulders. Even before she could ensure he was covered, one of his arms pulled her hard against the side of his body. “What is it?” she asked in a worried whisper.
“Nothing, really. I just woke up and...” He allowed the sentence to trail off as he stared into the darkness. “The fire was nearly out. I found some cut wood.” He would have to venture downstairs at some point. The split log he had added a few minutes ago was the last of what had been provided in the way of fuel for the fire.
Alice considered his words, finally relaxing into his hold even though she didn’t believe his reason. “You’re cold. Come back to bed,” she whispered.
Her hand was suddenly captured in his, lifted to his lips before he pressed a kiss onto her knuckles and then into her palm. “I wish to, believe me, but I fear my body has deceived me,” he murmured.
The Christmas of a Countess (The Holidays of the Aristocracy Book 1) Page 12