“That you, Adrian?”
He smiled at the younger man. “Yes. Go back to sleep.”
Benjamin’s bed creaked as he rolled over. Adrian removed his shoes and waistcoat and changed into his brown trousers and white lawn shirt. He lay on top of the covers and listened to Benjamin’s quiet snores. He waited for what felt like ages before he slipped back out of bed and tiptoed out of the room. The servants’ hall was dark, but he knew the steps and doorways by heart. It was not hard to navigate his way quietly upstairs.
The lamps in the gilded corridors burned low and created an eerie atmosphere, as though the portraits of Hartland’s ancestors watched and judged him as he passed through the long picture gallery.
He comforted himself by thinking of the beautiful, openhearted lady who awaited him, and Lord Byron’s words once more came to his mind:
It is the hour when from the boughs
The nightingale’s high note is heard—
It is the hour—when lovers’ vows
Seem sweet in every whisper’d word—
And gentle winds and waters near
Make music to the lonely ear.
Each flower the dews have lightly wet,
And in the sky the stars are met:
And on the wave is deeper blue,
And on the leaf a browner hue—
And in the Heaven, that clear obscure
So softly dark—and darkly pure,
That follows the decline of day
As twilight melts beneath the moon away.
Lady Venetia seemed to belong to a hundred poems by Byron, his words wrapping around her in an exquisite package, and tonight Adrian would bask in her womanly glow, consequences be damned. He didn’t knock when he reached her bedchamber; he simply eased the door open and slipped inside. A lamp burned low on the bedside table nearest the door, and he saw Venetia lying in bed. Her face was turned toward him, her dark-brown eyes open.
“I’m sorry you had to wait so long,” he apologized. “I know the routines of all the servants, and I had to be sure that I would not be seen.” He came and sat down on the edge of the bed, feeling an undeniable excitement now that he was so close to taking this beautiful woman to bed.
She eased up so that she was sitting, and her hands fidgeted with the edge of the blue counterpane.
“You can change your mind at any time, my lady,” Adrian said as he touched her hands with one of his, gently playing with her fingers.
“I haven’t, but I am a ball of nerves. I have no idea what I’m doing. And . . . I want to make sure that this is what you want as well.”
Adrian brushed his thumb over her inner wrist as he met her gaze. “From the moment you stepped out of your coach when you first arrived here, I have wanted nothing else but to be with you.”
“Truly?” Her lashes lowered as she gazed down at their joined hands.
“Truly. And if you wish for me to simply hold you tonight, I will happily do that.”
“That sounds lovely, and I should like that . . . after . . .” She reached up to the laces of her nightgown and tugged them free. The fabric of the nightgown loosened so that it draped off her shoulders. The pale, creamy skin she exposed set his pulse racing.
“I am not sure of what to do. Perhaps you could take the lead?” She asked him this so sweetly that it almost killed him.
“I would be happy to. But you must promise to tell me to stop if you change your mind. Do you understand?”
Venetia nodded.
Adrian stood and pulled back the covers, exposing her to him. Her nightgown reached her shins, but it was thin enough that he could see her curves generously hinted at beneath the cloth. Adrian removed his boots, stockings, and shirt, laying them carefully on one of the chairs before he returned to the bed. Venetia had moved, sitting so that her lovely legs and dainty feet were draped over the edge. He stopped just in front of her and captured her hands, lifting them to his chest.
“First, you touch me,” he said. He knew it would make it harder to focus, but he wanted her to feel like she had some control in this. Adrian believed that lovemaking was an act shared between two people, not one simply taking pleasure of another. And if this ended up being his only night with Venetia, he wanted it to be special.
* * *
Venetia was hesitant to touch Adrian’s bare chest. He was so excruciatingly beautiful, like the Adonis she’d first named him. Her palms slid up his chest, his warm skin enticing. She leaned in and rubbed her cheek against his chest. A light smattering of dark hair trailed from his upper chest and down below his navel, vanishing beneath the line of his trousers. She explored him, her body flushing with heat as she responded to him.
Adrian’s fingers rubbed lightly over her skin as he stood there, letting her explore him. Then after a moment, he raised her chin and bent his head to capture her mouth. The kiss was languid, decadent. It was like biting into ripe strawberries and savoring their sugary sweetness. He gently bit her lower lip and flicked his tongue against hers in a playful rhythm that reminded her of what he had done with his fingers in the hidden passageway.
She was barely aware of him pulling at the edges of her loosened nightgown, slipping it down over her shoulders until it pooled around her waist. She gasped as one of his hands cupped her bare breast. He squeezed and rolled her sensitive nipple between his thumb and forefinger, causing a zing of harsh pleasure to shoot from the tip of her breast to her womb. She clutched at the strands of his dark hair, tangling her fingers in it as he continued to kiss her. A wetness pooled between her thighs, and she rubbed against him, trying to ease the growing need within her.
He broke the kiss, panting. Then he pushed her flat on the bed—not roughly, but with a possessive command that thrilled her. He gripped her nightgown, and she lifted her hips to allow him to remove it. Then he spread her thighs and leaned over her on the bed.
The cool night air drifted across her skin, cooling her just as his touch set her on fire all over again. Adrian kissed down her throat to her breasts, sucking at both nipples until she was hungry to feel his mouth in other wicked places. His hands were slightly rough to the touch, hands that had lived a life of work, hands that filled her with excitement and arousal. The thought of his strength and how he might overpower her with seduction was a fantasy she’d never indulged in until now.
She was suddenly shy, yet it was almost impossible to focus on the part of herself that wanted to conceal her nakedness. He ran his tongue inside her navel, then kissed down to her mound. She panted and trembled now as he parted her legs wider and covered her sensitive bud with his lips. She nearly screeched and bowed off the bed in shock at the violent yet pleasurable sensations his mouth caused between her legs. He chuckled against her in a wicked rumbling sound that was so utterly masculine and dominant that it made her head spin. He knew exactly what to do to drive a woman wild.
When he flicked his tongue against her folds, she had to cover her mouth with a balled fist to silence another scream. It was too much. The climax hit her hard, leaving her limp and breathless. She closed her eyes, feeling as though she were melting into the mattress beneath her. Then something nudged her entrance. She opened her eyes to see Adrian had removed his trousers, and his shaft, a glorious, long, intimidating bit of male anatomy, was pushing into her.
She was on the verge of tensing up when he thrust deep. Something tore inside her, and she whimpered as the pain radiated deep within her. He leaned over, whispering apologies and covering her face with kisses. The tenderness he showered her with in that frightening moment bonded her to him in a way she could never have imagined.
“Hush, my sweet love. Hush now, it’s over.” He nuzzled her ear before he kissed the sensitive spot behind it. Fresh desire awoke within her, and her inner walls clenched around his length. He groaned as though in pain.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“Oh yes. It feels good when you do that.”
“Do what?” She couldn’t help but c
lench around him again.
“That! Bloody hell,” he cursed and stole her lips for a long, deep, and raw kiss.
After a moment he began to move within her, thrusting slowly, easing her body into a natural, ancient rhythm. Venetia was still tender, but the sharp pain soon faded. Adrian pulled her closer to the edge of the bed, and she wrapped her legs around his waist as he continued to thrust into her. The feel of him filling her, that sense of connection, was beyond compare. Her next release built slowly, sweetly, and rippled out in a burst of pleasure that didn’t quickly fade. Tears stung at her eyes as she gripped Adrian close to her.
His breath hitched, and he suddenly withdrew from her. Then he hissed and held her close, panting. Wetness coated her belly, and she gazed down at their bodies in confusion.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I wanted to stay inside you, but we can’t risk getting you with child.” He kissed her forehead tenderly, then moved away from her and retrieved a cloth from beside her water basin. He returned and wiped her belly and between her thighs. She blushed as he removed the evidence of blood and cleaned himself. After that, he tucked her back into bed. She nearly giggled at the thought of being completely naked like this. It was so very scandalous.
“You’ll stay, won’t you?” she asked as he laid the towel near his clothes.
“Yes, if you want me to.”
She nodded and held out a hand to him. He slid into bed, and she sighed with contentment as she curled into him. She wasn’t used to having such a warm, hard presence in her bed, but she definitely liked it. It was comforting. She felt safe in a way she’d never expected. Adrian stroked her hair, and she pressed a soft kiss to his chest.
“Thank you for showing me such a wonderful thing.”
His chest rose and fell in a long inhalation. “And I thank you for giving me the gift of your maidenhead. I know I hurt you . . .”
“Only for a moment, and it was worth the pain. You are worth the pain.”
She snuggled close to him, fatigue setting in amidst the afterglow of their lovemaking.
* * *
Adrian stayed awake awhile longer, feeling Venetia sleeping deeply in his arms. Her golden hair was pale and silky in the moonlight. He stroked it, tucking loose strands of hair behind her ear. He couldn’t seem to stop touching her. He wanted to stay awake all night so he could watch her, hold her.
A smile curled Venetia’s lips, and he wondered what pleasant dreams had drawn that smile out. She was so sweet and innocent, a true lady. He didn’t believe, no matter how much Mr. Reeves drilled it into him, that lowborn people couldn’t be ladies or gentlemen in their demeanor and bearing.
No, the true quality and ability of a person came from his or her soul. And there was no doubt that Venetia was a true lady. She was kind, openhearted, fair, and passionate. After tonight, he would do anything she asked of him, no matter what it cost him. He belonged to her. Though she would leave at the end of the week and he would likely never see her again, he knew his heart was hers forever. Come what may, Venetia owned his soul.
9
Adrian woke well before dawn, and he didn’t immediately remember where he was. But the bed was so soft, the air fragrant with flowers, and the small body tucked into his side was most unexpected. Then the previous night came back to him in a wonderous and terrifying flash.
Venetia’s face was pressed to his shoulder, and one of her arms was curled around his waist. He wanted to stay here forever. But he couldn’t. He had to go. He had to get back downstairs before any of the other staff realized he hadn’t slept in his own room last night.
Last night was a mistake; he would be terminated immediately if anyone found out. But he couldn’t regret what he had done, not with her. Yet his livelihood was at stake, and he might end up paying for the rest of his life for one night with her.
He lifted Venetia’s arm, slipped out of bed, and donned his clothes. The clock in the hall chimed four times. It was early enough that he could get safely downstairs without being seen. He rolled up the bloody cloth and carried it into the corridor with him. The house was still dark and quiet, and he moved briskly and almost soundlessly down the back stairs to the servants’ hall, trying to look as though he was about his usual chores and not sneaking away from a lady’s bedchamber. If no one saw him, everything would be all right.
The scullery maid had already lit the fire in the kitchen. He tossed the cloth onto it and used a poker to push it deep into the flames. He lingered a few moments, making sure the cloth was burned sufficiently. Disposing of that damning evidence took a weight off his mind.
When he opened the door to his bedchamber, he cursed. Benjamin was up, dressed, and staring at him with anxious eyes.
“Close the door,” Benjamin said, his solemn tone not boding well.
Adrian did and leaned back against it.
“Where did you sleep?”
“Not here,” Adrian said cautiously.
“Lady Venetia.” Benjamin’s reply was not a question. Adrian said nothing. “Damnation, Adrian. If Mr. Reeves finds out . . .”
“I know. He won’t.”
“You can’t know that. The man has eyes in the back of his head. It takes only one night that you sleep in, one moment where a guest or a member of the staff sees you.”
The confidence Adrian had been feeling was punctured effortlessly by Benjamin’s words. But even though he tried to convince himself that he would stay away from Venetia’s bed, he knew that if she wanted him, he’d come.
“I know, Benjamin, but I cannot deny her. She owns me.”
“I know what part of you she owns,” Benjamin said dryly.
“I am not under the thrall of my loins, Benjamin. She owns my heart, my spirit—you understand?”
Benjamin sighed heavily. “I understand that you believe that. But you’re going to need help—my help—if you don’t want to be caught.”
Relief swept through him. Benjamin was a good man, a good friend.
“I would gladly accept any help.”
Benjamin frowned. “Just remember that I’m sharing in the risk and getting none of the reward. You’d better change, or you will be late.” He patted Adrian’s shoulder as he passed by and left the room.
Adrian hurried into his livery and caught up with Benjamin to begin his daily duties. He would leave it up to Venetia to summon him again.
By midmorning, a hunting party had been announced as the day’s primary activity, and Adrian had no chance to see Venetia. Every footman was required for such an event. He ran about the front lawn of the house, dodging prancing horses and handing goblets of wine to the men who sat on horseback.
Lord Devon, Mr. Sherman, and the other gentlemen all looked eager for the hunt. The hounds darted about the pebbled road, barking in excitement. A trio of ladies wearing fine riding habits joined the men and mounted their own horses before the hunt began.
The horses took off across the lawn toward the woods. The foxhounds led the way, baying in excitement. Adrian gave a sigh of relief as he and Benjamin carried their empty trays of glasses back inside. Mr. Reeves met them at the servants’ entrance, ready with their next tasks.
“Lady Devon is having tea with the rest of the ladies in the picture gallery. Freshen up so that you don’t smell of the stables, and then go and wait upon them.”
“Yes, Mr. Reeves,” they answered in unison. He and Benjamin changed their coats, brushed the dust off their breeches, and headed up to the long picture gallery.
The gilded room was filled almost floor to ceiling with pictures of the noble house of Devon’s ancestors. He halted at the sight of Venetia standing among the beautifully dressed ladies, who were all gossiping. She stilled when she noticed him, her eyes lingering upon him before she turned back to the lady who was speaking to her.
“I’ll take the east end, you the west,” Benjamin whispered as he walked to the far edge of the gallery and took up his post.
Adrian did the same. His mind began to wander,
but each stray thought seemed to bring him back to Venetia. She and her grandmother were deep in conversation with Lady Devon and Lady Mowbray.
He recognized who his half sister was the moment he saw her, spying hints of himself in her amber eyes and the way her mouth curved in a smile. And the dark hair piled atop her head in fashionable curls was the same rich dark color as his own. He tried desperately not to think about how his own flesh and blood stood not ten feet away. The woman knew nothing of him. She’d been born into a life of luxury and opportunity, while he was trapped, forever serving those like her.
He was as close to a statue as he could be, but his white-gloved hands curled into fists. This time stray thoughts of Venetia were welcome because they kept his rage at his father and grief for his mother at bay.
After a time, he became aware of a pair of eyes upon him. They were not Venetia’s eyes, nor Lady Mowbray’s. It was Mr. Sherman’s sister, Mrs. Hamill. Her pale-blue eyes were fixed on him, and a hint of a smile was on her lips.
“Lady Devon. Would you mind terribly if I had your footman help me with something? My maid is likely having tea at this time, and I do not wish to disturb her,” Mrs. Hamill said sweetly.
“Of course. Benjamin would—”
Mrs. Hamill nodded at Adrian. “Oh, but this one is much closer.” Her words created a chill that raced along his skin. He knew just what sort of task she would need help with, and he had no desire to leave this spot.
“Adrian, would you please see to Mrs. Hamill?”
“Yes, your ladyship.” Anxiety knotted inside him as he followed Mrs. Hamill out the door. He had seen that all too familiar look in her eyes from a dozen women before.
“This way,” the woman called briskly. He followed her in the direction of the rooms on the second floor where most of the guests were staying. She opened her bedchamber door, glanced about to check that they were alone, and motioned for him to join her. He did so reluctantly. Mrs. Hamill closed the door behind him and turned the key in the lock.
Tempting the Footman: The House of Devon Book 5 Page 9