“I made far more important decisions amid swords, bullets and cannon fire, Adelaide. Deciding how my wife should conduct herself at a ball and with whom she should dance is not a difficult choice at all compared to that.”
His tight jaw and icy eyes served only to fan her anger. She pushed past him and opened the door.
“I’m fresh out of bullets and cannonballs at the moment, Your Grace,” she said as she walked into the hallway past a startled footman. “But if that is what it takes for you to make up your mind rest assured I will go in search of some immediately.” She smiled sweetly at the poor servant who tried to stare at anything but the master and mistress of the house.
“Where are you going?” Marcus called as he watched his wife march down the hall. “Adelaide.”
“To decide which dancing slippers to wear,” she called back over her shoulder.
“I don’t know why,” he shouted after her. “You can’t seem to keep your shoes on no matter how important the event.”
He turned to start down the stairs. How did she do it? How did she continue to crawl under his skin and turn him into a dithering idiot? Marcus noticed the nonplussed footman who tried desperately to become a statue almost at the same moment a flying object caught him in the back of the head.
“What the…” A glance back revealed an empty hallway. He looked down and spied a tiny yellow slipper at his feet. It wasn’t until he had bent to pick up the shoe and rose to meet the footman’s tight expression that he realized what had happened.
They both looked back down the hallway, gauging the distance. Marcus rubbed the back of his neck.
“How did she do that?” he muttered.
“Cricket, Your Grace,” the footman said. It was obvious he did so before he thought better of it for his face turned bright red and then white.
“Cricket, Samuel?” Marcus smiled deliberately. He knew the young man was a little overwhelmed at having spoken so to the master of the house. He almost laughed at the thought. There was only one master in this house and it certainly wasn’t him. “It is Samuel, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Your Grace.” The poor fellow swallowed several times. “We were changing out the candles in the chandelier in the foyer. George and I were tossing the candles to each other on the ladder. Her Grace wanted to give it a try.”
“Ah, I see. And I take it Her Grace was quite good.”
The footman glanced down at the slipper in Marcus’s hand. “Yes, Your Grace. She said she played cricket with her brothers. They taught her to throw.”
“Did a good job of it too.” Marcus hefted the shoe and started down the hall in search of his wife. “Could have been worse, I guess. Could have been a bullet.”
“Or a cannonball,” the footman suggested, with a cough that bore an uncanny resemblance to a laugh.
Knowing his wife, Marcus thought, a cannonball was a distinct possibility. Her next volley, however, was quieter than artillery and far more effective. The Duke of Selridge dined alone that night at the sumptuous table in his fine London townhouse. When he inquired after his wife he was told she chose to dine in her rooms… because her feet hurt.
Her clever excuse made him smile through the entire first course. It wasn’t until he chose his dessert from the three his chef prepared that he realized he might actually have to sleep in his own bed tonight. Alone.
He lowered the spoon into his half-eaten lemon custard. With a shove that startled the footmen in attendance, Marcus pushed back his chair and dropped his serviette on the table. “We’ll just see about that,” he muttered as he quitted the dining room.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
By the time he reached his chamber Marcus realized his frustration with Addy had disappeared. It was replaced by something with which he was intimately familiar—guilt and the ice-cold assurance he deserved his wife’s rebuff.
His feelings about her association with Crosby were not altered one whit. Whilst he trusted his wife, he’d never trust a man with Crosby’s reputation for a moment. He was simply incapable of discussing the subject with Addy without hurting her feelings.
The trouble with hurting someone’s feelings was if you did it often enough what they felt for you changed, or worse, disappeared completely. He knew he did not deserve what Addy felt for him. After all he had done to the people who loved him, he did not deserve even a hint of happiness.
What Addy brought into his life, what she did to his days and especially his nights, was more powerful than any opiate. He craved it. He craved her.
It was just as well his newly hired valet had taken the liberty of drawing Marcus a bath. In only a few weeks, the young man Addy had insisted he interview for the position had proven himself to be more than capable. Emerson had an unruffled demeanor and a nearly uncanny ability to anticipate his master’s needs. Addy was not surprised by it in the least.
“Of course, he is capable, Selridge. He’s Jeffries’s nephew.” Marcus should have known. Not because of Emerson’s impeccable training, but because his wife was incapable of refraining from taking care of everyone she met.
Once he had bathed, wrapped himself in his dressing gown, and ordered the tub removed, Marcus dismissed Emerson with a curt nod and settled into the fireside chair. He sat there for exactly fifteen minutes, or at least that is how much time the mantel clock said had passed as he stared at it.
Not a sound issued from Addy’s side of the suite. Not even when he slipped into their adjoining dressing rooms and padded barefoot to the door into her room, a door which, miraculously, was not locked. The only light was from the banked fire. The window drapes were drawn shut whilst the ones around her bed were not.
Marcus limped quietly to her bedside and gazed down at his sleeping wife. She lay curled up on his side of the bed, his pillow wrapped in her arms. Her tiny form was dwarfed by the commodious tester. The end of her long braid draped down the counterpane and curled at her hip. Across the foot of the silk topped expanse lay two large, hairy contented foot warmers. They acknowledged him with a slight lift of their heads before collapsing back onto the covers.
Addy looked so young and delicate. Her brow was furrowed as if even in her sleep she was working out some problem. He could just imagine what puzzle she pondered. When he bent closer to brush a wisp of hair from her face Marcus saw the track of a single tear. His chest tightened to the point of pain.
He should go and leave her to slumber in peace. Only the certainty of a sleepless night in his own bed kept him there. The comfort of her presence stayed his feet and erased every shred of consideration he owed her.
Had she loved Julius? Had Julius loved her? Did she love Crosby? He had no doubt Crosby fancied himself in love with Addy. Marcus would not even think of the question he really wanted to ask. The answer might well bring him to his knees or worse, drive him mad.
How could Julius not love her? That was the question. He understood Crosby’s fascination as well. All the happiness and exasperation and wonder in the world lay tucked up in this bed like the child he tried in vain to make himself believe she was. Addy was a child in many ways, but she was so much more. It was the more that had him tied in knots.
His penance precluded him enjoying the happiness she offered. He had chosen to abstain from joy, and somehow, he would keep his vow. Surely God would not begrudge him a bit of comfort. Even the dogs merited that much. Before he could talk himself out of it, Marcus shed his robe and lifted the heavy comforter to slide into the bed.
He lay perfectly still so as not to disturb her. He needn’t have bothered. Addy snuggled into his side and rolled over to rest her head on his shoulder. Her soft hand stole to rest over his heart. As she settled back into deep sleep a sigh escaped her lips.
He’d crawled into her bed to stave off the sleeplessness he knew would ensue if he slept alone. Once she wrapped herself around him sleep was the last thing he wanted. To revel in her acceptance, to steep himself in her unknowing forgiveness was well worth a night awake.
&nb
sp; *
“What are your plans for the day?” Across the expanse of the dining room table Marcus’s question startled Adelaide from her bemused silence.
“My parents arrived in Town yesterday. I suppose I shall have to call on Mother.” She slathered strawberry jam on her toast.
“That should be… delightful.” His eyes sparked with barely disguised mirth.
“Humpf,” was her muffled reply as she chewed her toast.
“You could ask my mother to accompany you. I’m certain she would be happy to do so.”
“I like your mother too much to subject her to a visit to my mother. I will, however, tell your mama you suggested it.”
He threw back his head and laughed. How she loved that sound. It would be easy to be sullen and silent after his behavior yesterday evening. What purpose would it serve? He did such a good job of being withdrawn and cold. Why encourage it?
Thoughts of yesterday brought Dylan’s odd request to mind. She knew she shouldn’t. His ploy was designed to tempt her, to tug at her “do-gooder” heart, as her brothers often put it. He knew she wouldn’t be able to resist.
“Selridge?” she required, in deference to the presence of Fosters and the two attending footmen. “Might I ask a favor?”
Marcus put down the newspaper he had retrieved from the tray Fosters offered him.
“Certainly, my dear. I am completely at your disposal.”
“Can I assume ‘completely’ does not include visiting my mother?”
His sickly sweet smiled mirrored her own.
“I will spare you that, if you will take me for a drive through Hyde Park this afternoon.” She hoped she sounded sincere and nonchalant. It would not do to raise his suspicions, especially after his reaction to Dylan yesterday.
“A drive?” He stood and dropped his serviette in his chair before strolling to her end of the table. “I’m surprised you trust me to take you for a drive after the way our last one ended.” He smiled, but there was a hint of uncertainty in his voice.
“Our last one ended in our marriage, Marcus. A most happy ending, don’t you think?” She tilted her head up to give him a sly grin. “And I doubt there are any caves under Hyde Park.” She rose and took his arm as they left the dining room. “Shall we say five o’ clock?”
“The park will be crowded then. Have you finally decided to flaunt yourself as the Duchess of Selridge?” There was no suspicion in his tone, only a gentle teasing. It sent a twinge of guilt through her body.
“Something like that. Are we agreed?”
“Certainly. It is a small price to pay for avoiding your mother.”
*
Addy had been to Hyde Park at the so-called fashionable hour many times in her life. She had even participated in the parade of ostentatious equipages driven by men intent on impressing each other by the exalted bloodlines of their cattle or the sleek lines of their carriages. Her brothers and Dylan were never seen in anything less than the finest racing phaeton and matched pair Tattersall’s had to offer.
Still, nothing would ever compare with her first appearance on the promenade as the Duchess of Selridge. It had more to do with the hand-polished black lacquered high perch phaeton with wheels trimmed in robin’s egg blue and the matched pair of grays pulling it, than with her newly elevated self.
At least that was her fervent belief when it came to the male heads that turned in their direction. For the females, Addy was certain the handsome man at the ribbons was the main attraction. In his hunter-green jacket and buff colored breeches, Marcus was all she cared to see.
“Are you looking for someone in particular?” Marcus’s question, whispered softly in her ear sent a delicious shiver down her spine before she realized he must have been watching her. It would not do for him to know she was here at Dylan’s suggestion.
“Not at all, Selridge. I am merely enjoying the scenery.”
He flashed a heart stopping grin. “Ah, yes, of course. I had forgotten your penchant for enjoying the scenery when in my company.” He sighed and shook his head. “You have no idea what it does to a man’s self-worth to know that rocks and trees are more captivating than he is.”
She rolled her eyes. “I can assure you if you look around you will see all the admiration your self-worth will ever need.”
“I have no idea what you mean.”
Adelaide was not fooled. Marcus was well aware of the stares and glances thrown his way. He would have to be half dead not to notice. There was a hint in his voice which made her believe he was more interested in her regard than the regard of those in awe of his rank and fortune.
“Oh, very well, husband.” She punctuated her acquiescence with a huff. For the next few minutes Adelaide was a study of the adoring wife. She stared up at Marcus, her face fixed in an expression of insipid admiration, and batted her eyes to the point she was almost dizzy.
At first, he appeared to ignore her. He made a great show of guiding his spirited team along the carriageway and even deigned to nod at various members of the ton who greeted him. The longer she continued her feigned pose, the more pointedly he appeared disinterested.
It wasn’t until she saw a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth Adelaide realized his neglectful behavior was a sham. She shifted on the bench and took the opportunity to elbow him in the ribs.
“Charlatan,” she said out of the side of her mouth.
“Hoyden,” he shot back.
“You started it, Your Grace, with your—Lord Creighton. What a pleasant surprise.”
Marcus drew the phaeton to a stop. Adelaide offered her hand to the earl who drew his horse alongside their carriage and doffed his hat with a bow.
“Your Grace.” He touched his lips to her gloved hand and raised his head to peruse her face. “You are in good looks, as always.” His eyes flicked to Marcus in some all-too-obvious male signal.
“And you are, in addition to a hopeless flatterer, in need of private conversation with my husband.” She patted Marcus’s arm. Lord Creighton’s arrival provided the perfect opportunity for Adelaide to take a turn about the park in search of a no doubt lurking Dylan Crosby.
“Your wife is too clever by half, Selridge. Her powers of discernment frighten me.” The earl swung his leg over his horse and slid to the ground. “I do, however, beg a word with you, if you please.”
Marcus glanced between Adelaide and his friend. His eyes narrowed even as he climbed down from the phaeton and looped the reins around the brake. “She’s frightened me since the day we met.”
“And still you married me.” Adelaide loosed the reins and threaded them through her fingers. “I cannot help but be touched by your bravery in taking me on.”
“I may be brave enough to marry you, but I am not certain I trust you to…” Her husband’s words trailed off as she plucked the whip from its holder and with the lightest of taps set the horses in motion.
“Not to worry, Selridge. I see a friend just there. I’ll return once you and the earl have your little chat.” Adelaide glanced back only a moment to see Marcus standing, hands on his hips, scowling and the Earl of Creighton grinning like a loon.
She’d not lied. Just across a stretch of verdant green near the Serpentine stood Miss Lucretia Worthy, Lucy to her friends, of whom Adelaide was one. At her side, head up and eyes alert, one of the dogs Adelaide and Dylan had rescued paced an ever-vigilant guard over the new mistress he adored. Adelaide pulled the phaeton to a halt and allowed Lucy’s footman to hand her down and take the whip and reins from her.
“Lucy, how well you look. That ensemble is splendid with your coloring.” Adelaide took her friend’s offered hands and kissed her cheek. The big dog bumped between them in a demand to be recognized. “And your ensemble is very handsome as well, Horatio.” They both laughed as Adelaide made a great show of admiring the dog’s studded collar and plaited silk lead.
“Oh dear,” Lucy exclaimed. “I should have curtsied, Your Grace.” Her bright red blush clashed with her fiery
red hair and lovely green walking dress.
“Don’t you dare. We have known each other far too long for that nonsense.” Adelaide patted the big scarred dog on the head. “After what you have done for Horatio, it is I who should curtsy to you. He looks so happy and healthy.”
“And well he should.” They turned to walk arm in arm whilst the footman followed, leading the horses a respectful distance behind them. “He is served steak and potatoes twice a day. Papa adores him. And I even caught Mama feeding him a scone with cream last week when she thought no one was looking.”
The picture of the very timid and demure Mrs. Worthy hand-feeding her daughter’s behemoth of a dog a scone caused them both to laugh so loudly a number of heads turned their way. The unrefined behavior of the new Duchess of Selridge would be the subject of every dinner conversation tonight. Adelaide sighed. Being a duchess proved a bother at times.
A commotion near the gate onto the Kensington Road caught her eye. A large gathering of raucous gentlemen, young bucks for the most part, listened to a barrel-chested ruffian in a porkpie hat carry on about a sporting event in Bankside. The crowd parted enough for Adelaide to spy two leashed dogs, lean and heavily scarred, lunge at each other. Two equally rough-looking men held their leads and allowed the dogs to snap and snarl just short of engaging in combat.
A low, menacing growl emanated from the dog standing between her and Lucy. Horatio moved in front of them and leaned against them, forcing them to step back.
“Did Mr. Crosby ask you to come today?” Lucy asked, tightening her grip on Horatio’s lead.
“Yes, he did, the rotten—”
“I agree, Adelaide, but I think the best course is for us to turn back the way we—”
“Oy!” The barrel-chested barker shouted and lumbered towards them. “That’s moy dog. Thieves, I tell ya’. Thieves.”
Adelaide and Lucy exchanged a look.
Lost In Love (Road To Forever Series #1) Page 31