She half awoke when a particularly deep rut sent her sliding into Jason. His arms closed about her, stopping her fall. Instead of releasing her, he shifted her, pulling her into a more comfortable position against him, her head on his shoulder. Sleep-fogged, Lenore saw no reason to protest. His body provided a firm cushion against which she could rest, his arms about her ensured her safety. Lenore drifted back into slumber, entirely content in her husband’s arms.
Jason was far less satisfied with her position, wondering what form of temporary insanity had prompted him to draw her so close. But he could not bring himself to push her away. She shifted in her sleep, snuggling her cheek into his shoulder, one small hand slipping beneath his coat to rest against the fine linen covering his chest. Jason closed his eyes, willing away his reaction. After a long moment, he squinted down at her, shaking his head in resignation. Then, settling his chin on her coiled braids, he closed his eyes and, fully awake, indulged his dreams.
He shook her gently awake as the carriage rocked to a halt just beyond the main gates of his principal estate. “The light’s fading but I think we’re in time.”
Blinking, Lenore followed as he descended from the carriage, turning to hand her down. Directly before them, the sun was dying in a cloud of bright purple and rose, sinking behind the opposite rim of the valley. Below, gentle slopes surrounded enormous gardens, laid out about a massive pile of stone—Eversleigh Abbey. Stepping to the lip of the bank, Lenore recalled her husband had described his home as Gothic. Towering turrets stood at the four points of the main building, smaller ones marked the ends of the wings. A dome rose from somewhere behind the main entrance, itself an arched and heavily ornamented structure. The broad sweep of the façade faced the drive, the wings at right angles to the main building, enclosed more gardens. Cast in grey stone, Eversleigh Abbey dominated its landscape yet seemed curiously a part of it, as if the stone had grown roots. Her home, Lenore thought, and felt a shivery surge of excitement grip her.
“There used to be a fourth side to the courtyard, of course,” Jason said from beside her. “There are cloisters around the inner side of the east and west wings.”
“From when it was a monastery?”
He nodded.
“Where is the library housed?”
Jason raised his brows.
Ignoring his supercilious expression, Lenore pointedly lifted one brow and waited.
With a reluctant smile, Jason capitulated. “The main building, west corner.” He pointed to two huge arched windows set into the façade. “There are more windows on the west.”
As they watched, lights started to appear in the house. Two large lamps were carried out and set in brackets to light the front steps.
“Come. They’ll be waiting. We should go down.”
Jason took her arm and Lenore turned, consumed by an almost childish eagerness to see her new home.
By the time the carriage pulled up on the broad sweep of gravel before the front steps, twilight had taken hold. Handed down from the carriage, Lenore looked up at the massive oak doors and the soaring stone arch above them. She peered about, trying to discern the features of the gardens before the house.
“They won’t disappear during the night,” Jason commented drily.
Accepting that truth, Lenore allowed him to lead her up the steps. Long before they had reached them, the doors were swung wide. The hall within was ablaze with light. A chandelier depending from the huge central beams threw light into every corner. Tiled in grey and white, the large rectangular room was filled with a small crowd of people. The butler, at the head of the assembled company, bowed majestically.
“Welcome, Your Grace.” Then he bowed again. “Your Grace.”
For a moment, Lenore wondered why he had repeated himself. Then she realised and blushed. Jason, an understanding smile on his face, led her forward.
“Allow me to present you to your staff, my dear. This is Morgan, who has been with us forever. His father was butler before him. And this is Mrs. Potts.”
Lenore smiled and nodded, acknowledging the greetings of each servant as Morgan and the reassuringly cheerful Mrs. Potts conducted her down the line. Behind her, she heard Jason issuing quiet orders to his valet, the one named Moggs. He had been with Jason at Salisbury but had come down ahead of them with Trencher and the luggage. The introductions seemed interminable; Lenore juggled names and occupations, resolving to ask for a list at the earliest opportunity. At the end of the line, Jason took her hand, dismissing the gathering with a nod.
Glancing down at her, his expression resigned, he lifted an enquiring brow. “I suppose I had better show you the library before you set out to discover it yourself and get lost.”
Lenore smiled sweetly, gracefully taking his proffered arm as he turned towards an archway. By the time they reached the library door, she was grateful for his forethought. Many of the main rooms were interconnecting; the way far from direct. If left to herself, she would certainly have got lost.
The library was enormous; the small fire burning in the hearth did nothing to dispel its cavernous shadows. Jason strolled forward and lit a branch of candles. Then he took her hand and led her on a circuit of the room, holding the candlestick high to light their way.
“There must be thousands and thousands of books here.” Lenore’s hushed whisper drifted into the stillness.
“Very likely,” Jason replied. “I’ve no idea of the number—I thought I’d leave that to you.”
“Are they in any order?”
“Only vaguely. My father always seemed to simply know where things were, rather than work to any plan.”
Forming her own plans to bring order to what appeared one step away from chaos, Lenore let her eyes roam upwards, to where rows of books seemed to disappear into shadows. Staring up, she realised the ceiling was a very long way away and the wall did not seem to meet it. “Is there a gallery up there?”
Jason glanced upwards. “Yes. It goes all the way around.” He turned her about and pointed to where a set of wooden stairs led up. “Those lead to it.”
Turning about, eyes wide, Lenore realised the gallery ran along above the windows, too. It would be a perfect place to have her desk.
Viewing the total absorption that had laid hold of his wife, Jason, his fingers locked about hers, recrossed the long room. Placing the candlestick down on the table by the fireplace, he snuffed the three candles with the silver snuffer that lay beside the tinderbox.
Only as the light died did Lenore return her attention to him. With a satisfied smile, Jason turned for the door. “You can see the rest of the house tomorrow.” He opened the door and ushered her into the corridor. “I’ve given orders for you to be served supper in your room. Your maid should be waiting upstairs.”
“Yes, of course.” Quelling her skittering pulse, Lenore glided beside him, a host of impetuous and far too revealing questions hovering on her lips. She was perfectly certain he would have made plans for the evening—she was not at all certain if knowing them would help her.
At the top of the grand staircase, Jason turned her to her right. “Your apartments are along here.” He stopped at a polished oak door and opened it, standing back for her to precede him. Lenore went through, into her bedroom.
It was all in greens and golds, soft colours blending and contrasting with the ivory wallpaper. The furniture was of polished oak, gleaming in the light from the candles scattered in candelabra and sconces throughout the room. All the knobs she could see were brass, including those at the corners of the huge tester bed. Drapes of pale green gauze depended in scallops from the frame above the bed; the counterpane was of silk in the identical shade of green. Velvet of a darker green curtained the windows while the stools and chairs were upholstered in amber velvet.
Slowly, Lenore turned, eyes round as
she drank in the subtle elegance, her lips parting in wordless approval. Her gaze met her husband’s. Jason lifted his brows in mute question.
“It’s lovely!”
Pleased, more by the delight in her eyes than by her words, Jason smiled. Placing an iron shackle over his inclinations, he shut the corridor door behind him and strolled to a door on the left. “I’ll leave you to get settled. The bell-pull’s by the mantelpiece.” He paused, his hand on the doorknob, his gaze, beyond his control, roving over her. “Until later, Lenore.”
With a nod, he went through the door, shutting it firmly behind him.
Slightly breathless, Lenore eyed the door. Presumably, it led to his chamber. She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. At least she would not have to endure a formal dinner, facing him over the length of a long polished board with doting servants hovering on their every word. But would that have put off his unnerving “later” for longer?
With a determined wriggle of her shoulders, Lenore shook aside her silly trepidations. She was hardly a missish deb, fresh from the schoolroom.
Crossing to the mantelpiece, she examined the delicately embroidered bell-pull. Then, with a determined tug, she rang for Trencher.
CHAPTER NINE
“YOU’D BEST COME OUT now, miss—I mean, Y’r Grace, or you’ll go all crinkly.”
Lazily, Lenore opened her eyes, squinting through the steam still rising off her bathwater. “In a moment.” Closing her eyes, she tried to recapture her dozy, carefree mood but Trencher’s words had been well chosen. With a resigned sigh, Lenore sat up.
Trencher hurried to tip the extra bucket, left to keep warm by the fire, over her as she stood, water coursing down her ivory limbs. Rinsed, she stepped from the large tub. Once she was dry, Lenore shrugged on the soft silk robe Trencher held out and headed through the door to her bedchamber. Trencher went to the bell-pull, summoning the menservants to empty the bath, then hurried through after her, shutting the connecting door firmly.
Relaxed, Lenore sat before her dressing-table to brush free the long strands of her hair, washed and towelled dry earlier. As she worked through the tangles, she watched Trencher, reflected in the mirror, laying out an ivory silk nightgown and peignoir on the bed. Ivory silk? Lenore turned. “Not that one, Trencher.”
Trencher cast her an anxious glance. “But Y’r Grace, His Grace asked that you wear it tonight.”
With an exasperated grimace, Lenore ceased her brushing. What now? Rebel and cause an embarrassing and potentially difficult scene? Or capitulate—just this once? The thought of trying to explain to Eversleigh why she had chosen not to humour him decided the matter.
“Very well.” Lenore resumed her brushing, relegating her choice of nightwear to the realms of the unimportant.
Relieved, Trencher hurried to help her with her hair. When the tresses were gleaming like polished gold, sleek and silky on her shoulders, Lenore stood and allowed Trencher to help her into the nightgown. With a distinctly jaundiced eye, she viewed the result in her glass. In Roman fashion, the gown featured a deeply plunging neckline, the two sides of the bodice meeting at the point below her breasts where the raised waistline was gathered in by a silken tie. Sleeveless, with its skirts falling to the floor, the nightgown was otherwise unremarkable. Until she moved. Then, the side slits, from high on her thighs all the way to the floor, became apparent. Studying the effect, Lenore shook her head.
Silently, she held out her hand for the peignoir. Of the flimsiest silk gauze, it hid nothing; rather, seen through its shimmering veil, her long, bare limbs took on an even more alluring quality.
Catching sight of Trencher’s awed face in the mirror, Lenore reflected that, at least for her maid, the evening was living up to expectations. “Leave me now.” As an afterthought, she added, as nonchalantly as she could, “I’ll ring for you when I need you in the morning.”
Watching the door shut behind Trencher, Lenore shook her shoulders to dispel the panic hovering, waiting to pounce, if only she would let it into her mind.
Dinner, a deliciously delicate meal, had been served to her in the adjoining sitting-room; all that remained now was to wait. Trying not to think, she dispensed with the peignoir and climbed into bed, feeling the soft mattress settle under her, the silk sheets whispering against her skin. A long shiver shook her from her shoulders to her heels. After considering the possibilities, she plumped up the pillows and settled against them, a wary eye on the door to her husband’s room. In an effort to distract her mind, she dutifully studied all the pieces of furniture she could see from her perch, mentally cataloguing them, then went about the room again, doing the same with the ornaments. Finally, her eyes fastening on the clock on the mantelpiece, she realised she had no idea when “later” was.
And if she sat here for much longer, wondering, she would be a nervous wreck by the time her husband came in. With a disgusted grimace for her inner quaking, Lenore reached for the book on her bedside table.
There was nothing there.
Frustrated, she glanced about. Other items from the trunk which should have carried her current reading had also yet to appear. With a groan, Lenore fell back on her pillows. Condemned to wait in steadily growing nervousness for her husband.
Abruptly, she sat up. An instant later, she was out of bed, grimacing as she hauled on her totally inadequate peignoir. Looking around, she spotted the high-heeled slippers that went with the outfit, placed side by side just under the bed. Lenore looked hard at the heels, then left them where they were.
Easing open her door, she strained her ears but heard nothing. Fervently hoping all the servants were safely behind the green baize door, she tiptoed down the corridor and slowly descended the stairs. Feeling very like a wraith in her filmy garments, Lenore slipped along the corridors and through the unlighted rooms, heading unerringly for the library. Gaining the large room, she closed the door carefully behind her.
The fire had gone out but the curtains had not been drawn, allowing the moonlight to spill in through the large square-paned windows. It was no great feat to kindle a match and light the branch of candles left on the table by the fireplace. Feeling her tension ebb as she looked about her, Lenore started towards the nearest bookcase.
She had only meant to spend a moment selecting a suitable volume, but, as the wavering light of the candle revealed find after exciting find, Lenore ignored her freezing feet and the chill that had started to penetrate her thin gown. The thrill of discovery lured her from shelf to shelf. She was leaving one bookcase to pass to the next, when she walked straight into a large body.
Lenore screamed and recoiled, raising the candlestick high.
Simultaneously, Jason reached for the candlestick. As he took it from her slack grasp, hot wax fell on his hand. Swallowing a yelp, he swore beneath his breath. Glaring at his wife, he transferred the candles to his other hand but before he could tend to the wax, cooling rapidly, Lenore had caught his hand between hers and was brushing the wax away.
“What a silly thing to do!” She examined the small burn, then licked her finger and applied it to the spot. “I wouldn’t have burnt the books.”
“It wasn’t the books I was worried about.”
Jason’s tone jerked Lenore back to reality with a stomach-seizing thump. “Oh.” Carefully, she glanced up through her lashes. Her husband’s handsome face bore an expression of unflinching determination. Which was far from reassuring, especially when coupled with the silver gleam in his eyes.
Assuming that realisation of her shortcomings had tied her tongue, Jason hauled back on the reins of his temper. “Would you mind explaining, madam wife, just what you’re about?”
“I was looking for a book,” Lenore replied warily.
“Why?”
“Well…I usually read before I go to sleep. Trencher has yet to unpack my book
s so I thought I might borrow one from here.” As she tendered her perfectly reasonable explanation, Lenore noticed her husband was fully dressed, a handkerchief knotted about his throat as if he was going riding. Perhaps later was a great deal later. “But don’t let me disturb you,” she said, a touch of haughtiness creeping into her tone as she wrestled with unexpected disappointment. “I’m sure I can find my way back to my room.”
Jason shut his eyes. After a long moment, he opened them, fixed his errant wife with a steely stare and enunciated slowly, “First, as of today, all these books are yours—you don’t need to ‘borrow’ them. Second, you won’t need any bedtime reading—not for the foreseeable future. Third, you have already disturbed me—greatly! And as for my letting you find your way back to your room alone—when pigs fly, my dear.”
Stunned, Lenore stared at him.
Reaching out, Jason wrapped his fingers about her wrist. Without more ado he headed for the door, dragging her along behind him. He had entered her room to find her gone. Vanished. Without trace. In the worst panic of his life, he had thrown on his clothes and rushed downstairs, straight out of the morning-room windows heading for the stables, convinced for some reason that she had bolted. In the heat of the moment, he had wondered if insisting she wear that outrageous nightgown had been one arrogant step too many. But, traversing the terrace that ran along the front of the house, he had passed the library windows. And seen the wavering candlelight flitting from bookshelf to bookshelf.
Pausing to thump the candlestick down on a table and snuff the candles with licked fingers, Jason realised he could hear the ring of his boot-heels on the flags but no sound at all from Lenore. Puzzled, he glanced down at her feet. “Where the devil are your slippers?”
His irritated tone penetrated Lenore’s shocked daze. Her chin rose. “I did not wish to attract the attention of the servants, my lord.”
“Jason. And why the hell not? They’re your servants.”
Rules of Engagement: The Reasons for MarriageThe Wedding PartyUnlaced (Lester Family) Page 18