by Mary Balogh
Then finally came the moans and the tightening of her inner muscles and the hard straining up against him that were signs of imminent climax. He kept his rhythm steady, pressing hard through the narrow, tight, wet passage with each inward thrust. And then she relaxed and opened like a flower to the sun and he entered her one more time, pushing deep, holding still, and finally, when she was soft and fully opened and satiated, he gave her his seed.
She was half asleep when, a minute or so later, he disengaged from her, got up to extinguish the candles, and then lay down at her side, pulled the bedcovers up over their damp bodies, and slid one arm beneath her head. He had not intended spending the night in her bed—he never had literally slept with a woman—but she was sleeping and he was tired and he knew he would want her again before morning. They had only a few weeks together, after all. They might as well make the best of the time they had.
Just before he slept, she turned onto her side, burrowed her head against his shoulder, and sighed in her sleep.
AIDAN WAS TYING THE SASH OF HIS DRESSING GOWN and looking down at Eve. She had woken when he had lifted her off his body, where apparently she had slept for the past hour or two after they had made love for the third time. She regretted his leaving the bed so early—surely it was early?
“What time is it?” she asked.
“About six,” he told her. “I am always an early riser. I have promised to go riding in Hyde Park with Freyja and Alleyne. Go back to sleep.”
Oh, riding! In the early morning! There was nothing lovelier. He was going with his brother and sister with no thought to the fact that she might wish to go too? But anyway, she had no riding habit with her.
“I thought of going to White's Club with Alleyne later this morning,” he said, “and to Tattersall's afterward. He is looking at some horses to purchase. However, if you need me . . .”
“I do not,” she said. “There are only four days to go before my presentation to the queen. Lady Rochester will be here soon after breakfast. In her opinion four days are by far too short a time to rid me of my rusticity and teach me how to curtsy correctly.”
“Is a curtsy not a curtsy?” He frowned.
“Apparently not,” she said. “And there are a thousand and one other things to learn. You may amuse yourself as you will during the days, Aidan, and not feel that you must hover gallantly over me at every moment. And the evenings too—you must not feel obliged to sit with me as you did last evening.”
He looked openly relieved. “Once you have been presented,” he said, “you will be expected to appear everywhere. You do understand, do you not, that this is the Season, that your days will be filled with visits, shopping expeditions, garden parties, Venetian breakfasts, walks and rides and drives in the park, picnics, and numerous other activities? And that each evening will be crammed with parties and balls and routs and concerts and theater visits? Aunt Rochester will be able to give you more details.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “But you need not look so grim, Aidan. You will not be obliged to escort me everywhere—I already know that about ton marriages, you see. It will be enough that I will be seen and known as your bride. Soon enough we will both be released from this—this charade and will be able to return to our own lives.”
He considered her words and then nodded briskly.
“Well,” he said, “just follow my aunt's instructions and all is bound to go smoothly for you. And follow Wulf's directions too. Wear colors as soon as your new clothes begin to arrive. He is quite right—gray does not become you.”
She turned onto her side, facing away from him, pulled the bedcovers up about her ears, and lay still. For a few moments there was only silence behind her, and then she heard the quiet opening and closing of her dressing room door.
Now why had she somehow expected that the night would make all the difference? What sort of foolish female notion was it that love changes everything? It was not even love they had shared last night. Women, Eve understood, often made the mistake of thinking that tender intimacy in bed must be a product of love. It had been only physical intimacy, utterly pleasurable for them both—she was well aware that all three times he had used considerable expertise to make sure that she enjoyed the act. He had succeeded very well indeed.
He was going riding with Alleyne and Lady Freyja instead of staying with her.
He was going to White's Club and then Tattersall's for the morning and probably the afternoon too.
When she had told him he might go out in the evenings, he had looked relieved.
He had told her to obey Lady Rochester.
He had told her to obey the Duke of Bewcastle.
She felt like weeping and weeping until the well of tears inside her was quite dry.
Instead, she picked up the pillow that still bore the imprint of his head and with both hands hurled it at the dressing room door.
CHAPTER XIV
THE PRESENTATION AT COURT WAS TO BE FOLLOWED on the same day by a ball at Bedwyn House, at which Eve would be officially presented to society as Lady Aidan Bedwyn. It had been the Duke of Bewcastle's decision not to delay the ball. He had consulted no one on the subject, least of all Eve, but had sent out invitations, made the arrangements, and was confident and arrogant enough to expect everyone to come at such short notice, though there must be a dozen other important social events happening the same evening.
And the thing was, Eve thought, that everyone probably would come too.
She disliked the duke intensely. She was not fond of Lady Freyja either. Her sister-in-law was scarcely in company with her, and when she was, she treated her with a cool disdain that spoke volumes. Aidan was out most days and evenings, returning only to dine at home and to sleep with her at night. Eve almost despised herself for looking forward so eagerly to the nights and enjoying them so much. There should be more to a marriage than just that, though of course it was clearly understood that neither of them wanted more.
Alleyne seemed the only normal human being in the family. It was with Alleyne that she learned to waltz. The duke had hired a dancing master, presumably on the assumption that the country-bred daughter of a coal miner could not possibly know her left foot from her right. But Eve did appreciate the instructions in the minuet and the waltz, neither of which she had encountered before. Alleyne made himself available as a partner after she had mentioned the lessons to him at breakfast one morning, and he went through the steps with her with admirable patience and good humor. He was, she had come to believe, a genuinely amiable, if perhaps rather shallow, young man. Certainly he smiled enough to make up for his two elder brothers.
The Marchioness of Rochester was a hard taskmaster. Sometimes Eve resented her, as she did on the morning when the marchioness's own hair stylist arrived at Bedwyn House with instructions to cut Lady Aidan Bedwyn's hair short in the newest style. They did so love to give orders, this family into which she had married, instead of consulting her own wishes and contenting themselves with giving advice. Eve allowed the man to cut her hair in a style they both agreed would improve the look and condition of it without robbing her of all its length.
However, Eve had common sense enough to accept the fact that she needed instruction on matters that were outside her experience. A curtsy was not simply a curtsy, despite Aidan's opinion. There were different curtsies for different ranks of people and for different age groups. There was one specifically for the queen. It took Eve a long time to accomplish it to Lady Rochester's satisfaction. And then there was the matter of approaching the throne, and her demeanor once she arrived there. There was the extremely difficult task of getting herself out of the queen's presence again. Her three-yard-long train could not be looped over her arm, it seemed. Neither could she turn her back on Her Majesty. Walking backward with grace and dignity without treading and tripping all over one's train was not an easy matter. For a long time it seemed quite impossible. Eve went off into whoops of laughter several times when she landed ignominiously on her bottom during
her early attempts. Aidan's aunt was not amused. She used her lorgnette to display her displeasure at such an unseemly display of levity.
There were people to learn about—the names and ranks of various people of the ton and who was more important than whom. There was a whole system of precedence to be memorized. There was the etiquette of a come-out ball to learn. There were the gentlemen with whom she might dance if they asked, and those with whom she might not. There were the invitations that must be honored once she had been properly presented, those that were optional depending upon her other commitments and her personal inclinations, and those that must be firmly refused. There were . . . oh, as she had told Aidan, there were a thousand things to be learned.
It was all very silly, Eve concluded before the day of her presentation, this world of the aristocracy with all its rules and expectations. It was also undeniably exciting and challenging. If Papa could see her now, she sometimes thought, he would feel that his life's dreams were complete.
But she missed home with a gnawing ache. She wrote every day to Thelma, the only adult in the house apart from herself and Ned Bateman who could read and write, but her letters were for everyone. Thelma, she knew, read them aloud, first to Aunt Mari, then to Nanny Johnson and the children, and then to everyone belowstairs. Her own letters contained messages from everyone, including a few sentences in the childish scrawl of Davy and the round infant hand of Becky that invariably brought tears to Eve's eyes. She was missed, it seemed, though Aunt Mari always had Thelma urge her to stay in London with Colonel Bedwyn as long as she wished as they could go on quite well without her under the circumstances. The Reverend Puddle's name appeared in many of the letters, and Eve guessed that he was a daily visitor at the house. Ned wrote about the farms and the laborers and the village school. Nowhere, in any of the letters, was there any mention of Didcote Park and John's arrival home from Russia. In many ways Eve hoped he would return while she was gone, learn of her faithlessness, and leave again, never to return. She hated the thought of facing him.
She looked forward to her presentation with excitement and trepidation—mostly the latter. Almost all her new clothes had arrived, though she had worn none of them yet. The court dress in particular had been whisked up to a wardrobe in her dressing room and kept carefully wrapped. She felt rather sick every time she thought of it.
Sick and defiant and rather proud of herself.
ON THE MORNING OF THE ALL-IMPORTANT COURT presentation, Aidan remained at home. He knew that Eve was nervous. She had not said as much, but she had tossed and turned more than usual in bed, and once he had woken to find her burrowing beneath his arm to curl against him, her teeth chattering. She had claimed to be chilly when she realized she had woken him, though she had not felt cold. He had kissed her until she was relaxed and then had turned onto her and made love to her. He had held her close until she fell asleep again.
He was going to miss their nights together, he thought sometimes. But he would not dwell on the matter. He would deal with it when the time came. He would, he supposed, not remain faithful to his wife, though he chose not to dwell upon that unpleasant prospect either. It went against his family honor, but how could he remain true to a marriage of convenience?
He paced their private sitting room while he waited for her to dress. She had been closeted with her maid—Edith, the timid one from Ringwood, one of her lame ducks—for almost two hours. Aidan was surprised to find himself a little nervous too. Ladies of his social class were brought up from the cradle for moments like this. Eve had had less than a week to prepare herself. It was all her fault, of course. She might have defied Wulf and stayed in the country. She certainly might have accepted his advice that day in The Green Man and Still and gone home as she had originally planned. But no. She was a stubborn woman, his wife. He had solved the clothing bill issue by visiting Miss Benning's shop in person and paying it in full, much to the woman's astonishment. He doubted that Eve knew yet.
Finally the door of her dressing room opened and Aidan stopped his pacing in order to take his first look at her.
Her shimmering satin petticoat and the shorter, lace petticoat worn over it were carefully draped over the hoops beneath them. Her stomacher, stiff and ornate, low at both bosom and shoulders, glistened with elaborate embroidery. The lined satin train, attached to the dress at the shoulders, billowed out behind her. Her hair had been combed back from her forehead, about which she wore a wide, jewel-studded bandeau. From the back of it flowed long lace lappets. A profusion of dyed ostrich feathers had been woven into the back of her piled hair and nodded over the top of her head to touch her forehead. She held the side of her train with one bare arm, encased in a long glove.
Her chin was high, her bearing regal. Her eyes beamed pure defiance.
She was dressed from nodding plumes to dainty slippers in unrelieved black.
“Well?” she asked as he stared at her.
“Ruby red?” Aidan raised his eyebrows. That was what Aunt Rochester had said of her court dress when Bewcastle had asked. “Have I turned suddenly color-blind?”
“No, you have not.” She looped the train over her left wrist and advanced farther into the room.
“Does Aunt Rochester know?” He hardly needed to ask. Her expression was answer enough. “And Bewcastle?”
“I do not need their consent.” Her eyes sparked as if she thought she had a quarrel on her hands—as she surely would when she showed herself downstairs. “But no, they do not. Perhaps your aunt will change her mind about sponsoring me and you will have your wish to be rid of me.”
Aidan pursed his lips. Narrow rows of silk embroidery around the wide hem of the satin petticoat, and wider bands of embroidery all about the edges of the train gleamed in the sunlight shining through the window.
“What do you think?” she asked him.
“Does it matter?” He looked her over slowly again from head to toe. “Yes, I suppose it does. You have done this to anger us all, have you? To thumb your nose at us? To have your revenge for the high-handed treatment you have received? To remind us, perhaps, that your fortune comes from coal? Such defiance is all wasted on me. You might simply have gone home. I will take you even now if you wish. But it would be a shame to spoil your little demonstration. Will you take my arm?”
Actually, he thought, she looked more than a little magnificent. For the first time since he could not recall when, he wanted to laugh—with full-bellied merriment. It was, he confessed to himself, a splendid joke she had decided to play on them all. He would not spoil her moment by laughing at her.
She set her right arm along his without looking at him. She was too busy lofting her nose into the air.
They were all waiting in the hall downstairs, of course, to get their first view of her—Aunt Rochester looking formidable in purple, Bewcastle, Freyja, and Alleyne. All of them were loudly silent as Aidan led his wife downward.
His aunt was first to speak. It was a measure of her shock that she even forgot to use her lorgnette.
“What,” she demanded, her purple-clad bosom swelling against her confining stomacher, “is the meaning of this?”
“Am I late?” Eve asked, sounding damnably cool. “I am so sorry, but I am ready now, ma'am.”
“And where,” his aunt persisted, “is the court dress we ordered from Miss Benning?”
“But this is it, ma'am,” Eve said, all wide-eyed innocence. “If you will look more closely, you will see that it is almost exactly what we ordered.”
Almost. Aidan was amazed to discover that he was enjoying himself. She had them all bested—a duke, a marchioness, and a lord. They had all underestimated their country mouse.
“It is black!” His aunt's voice was thunderous as she stated the obvious.
“Yes, ma'am,” his wife agreed. “I gave Miss Benning instructions to change the color.”
“Doubtless,” Bewcastle said, his voice at its quietest and most pleasant and therefore at its most dangerous, “Lady Aidan is
about to explain why she did so, aunt.”
Eve removed her hand from Aidan's. She had rehearsed this moment, he realized. No wonder she had been tossing and turning last night!
“Captain Percival Morris, my brother,” she said, her voice equally as quiet as Wulf's, though there was a detectable tremor in it now, “was every bit as precious to me as your brothers are to you, your grace. Perhaps more so—I loved him. He will not go unmourned merely because he requested that I not wear black for him and merely because you ordered me to wear colors because it would be more suited to the consequence of your family that I do so. For this occasion—and only for this occasion—I honor my brother's memory by wearing black during what you have repeatedly told me is the most important ceremony of my life. Today I am to meet the queen and make my marriage fully respectable in the eyes of the ton and the Bedwyn family. Today also I pay homage to my own family, the Morrises.”
“Bravo!” Alleyne murmured, his eyes dancing with merriment.
Bewcastle raised his glass to his eye and looked Eve over with it from head to toe.
“It is to be hoped,” he said eventually, “that your desire to deliver a speech, Lady Aidan, has not made you hopelessly late. Her Majesty does not take kindly to being kept waiting.” He turned and walked in the direction of the library.
Aunt Rochester, rustling with dignified displeasure, led the way out without another word, and Aidan offered Eve his arm again.
It took some time to get her into the carriage without crushing either her hoops or her plumes or stepping on her train. By the time Aidan had seen the carriage on its way and stepped back inside the house, his family had dispersed. But the library doors had been left open, he noticed. Wulf was expecting him, then. Good! He crossed the hall with purposeful strides and shut the door firmly behind him when he was inside.
Bewcastle was seated behind his desk, his fingers stroking the feather of a quill pen, though he was not writing.