The gown—another of Madame’s last-minute creations—was fashioned of buttercup yellow sarcenet with a matching, short-sleeved pelisse. An adorable cottage bonnet of pale chip straw, that was shaped rather like an inverted bucket, curved along her cheekbones, its ribbons tied in a saucy bow beneath her chin.
Charlemagne regarded her from a nearby chair, his ears angled as if he knew something unusual was afoot. Crossing to the cat, she stroked his velvety head. “You shall be fine here with Esme until I return from my honeymoon next month. Then you’re coming with me to Gresham Park. It shall be an adventure for us both.”
The cat purred.
An adventure.
That’s how she had decided to regard her marriage. Anything else was…well, she wasn’t sure what it was. Which was why sometime between her first glass of champagne and the laughter she’d elicited among the guests as she’d playfully crammed wedding cake into Adam’s mouth, she’d chosen to regard her marriage as an interesting new escapade on which she was embarking.
Rather like launching a ship and setting off as an explorer into the unknown. And her new life was indeed unknown even if her new husband was not.
A knock sounded at the door, diverting her attention.
In trooped all the Byron ladies, who announced they were there to make sure Mallory had everything she needed before she went on her way. She received a wealth of hugs and kisses, as well as some good-natured teasing about her mildly inebriated state.
With all her luggage packed and in the hands of several able-bodied footmen, she was escorted downstairs, where the process began again. This time it was her brothers who did the hugging, kissing, and well-wishing.
Adam joined her, saying a round of good-byes before he took her arm and led her to the coach. Guests poured from the house, her mother waving tearfully with a handkerchief clutched in her hand, as the coach doors were closed and the horses set in motion.
And then they were away, Braebourne growing smaller and less distinct as one yard melted into the next. Soon, the house vanished altogether. Leaning back against the comfortably upholstered seat, she stopped watching the vista and gazed at Adam instead.
“Are you all right?” he asked from where he’d propped himself in the far corner.
She nodded, her throat thick with a sudden swell of emotion.
Opening his arms, he gestured for her to come to him. Sliding across the seat, she did, burying her cheek against his shoulder. “Where is it we are going again?”
“North.”
“So you still won’t tell me our destination?”
He shook his head. “It’s a surprise. One I believe you’ll like.”
“I’m not sure I care to be surprised, my lord,” she said, leaning far enough back to meet his gaze.
He gave her nose a quick, playful tweak. “You love surprises, and you know it. Now, why don’t you close your eyes and rest. We have a good distance to travel today.”
“I couldn’t possibly sleep,” she said, far too wound up to relax, even with all the champagne she’d imbibed. “How many miles is it?”
He gave her an enigmatic smile. “A great many.”
“Are there mountains?”
“Perhaps.”
“Lakes?”
“Possibly.”
“What about heather? Is there any of that?”
He arched a dark brow. “If you’re trying to catch me out, it will do no good. And no, we’re not going to my hunting box in Scotland. It’s a perfectly good accommodation for men but no place to take a lady for her honeymoon.”
“Why? What’s amiss with it? Or are you worried there are too many animal heads mounted on the walls, and that all the dead staring eyes will give me a fright?” she inquired with a mock shudder.
He barked out a laugh. “There are no animal heads on any of the walls. I don’t care for such ghastly mementos, as you are well aware.”
“That’s a relief,” she said. “After we arrive at Gresham Park, it will save me the trouble of having them removed and stored in some dark corner of the attic.”
He shot her a smile. “You’ll be doing far more buying than storing once we are in residence. But I can safely assure you there are no hunting trophies for you to sequester in the nether regions of the house.”
At the mention of Gresham Park, she realized she knew little more about his principal estate than she did his hunting box. To her knowledge, none of the family had ever visited his ancestral residence, a place she’d once heard him describe as a “mouldering pile of bricks.” But as she knew, he was actively making improvements now, and she supposed no matter its condition, the two of them would turn it into a gracious home.
“So, what else is wrong with your hunting box?” she asked, resuming their earlier conversation.
“Nothing is wrong with my hunting box. But it’s small and rather spartan when it comes to creature comforts. You deserve a better, far more elegant establishment than a rough bachelor’s hideaway.”
“I’m sure I could have managed.”
Tightening his hold, he urged her closer. “I don’t want you to manage. I want you pampered and cared for and thoroughly indulged.”
“You make me sound horribly spoiled,” she said, reprimanding him with a light tap on the shoulder.
“As well you should be, madam wife.” Capturing her hand, he placed a kiss on the centre of her palm. “Anything you want, you have only to say.”
“What I want at the moment is to know where we’re going?”
“But I’ve already told you. North.”
She stuck out her tongue and drew a fresh laugh, his broad chest reverberating against her side. Slowly, his humour faded, his gaze roaming over her face, only to pause when it lowered to her lips. She’d seen that look before and knew what it meant.
He was thinking about kissing her.
Her heart hammered beneath her breasts, the last of the alcohol in her system turning to vapors in her brain that left her weak and shivery. Part of her ached for his touch, but another part hesitated. She’d been alone with Adam countless times before, but now that they were wed, none of the old strictures applied.
He could do anything to her.
Anything at all.
Still, he surely wouldn’t indulge in the sorts of liberties he’d taken that night in her bedchamber, not while they were in their coach with the servants just outside?
Or would he?
Inwardly awash with a combination of nerves and anticipation, she watched as he bent his head to take her lips.
Without warning, a yawn caught her.
She covered her mouth with a hand, as moisture pooled in the corners of her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled around her palm.
Pausing, he gave her a rueful look. “I thought you weren’t tired.”
“I’m not,” she denied.
But to her consternation, she realized that quite abruptly, she was powerfully, almost painfully, tired.
“It’s been a long, eventful day,” he said with clear understanding.
Reaching up, he untied the bow beneath her chin and pulled off her hat, carefully tossed it onto the seat opposite. Smoothing his fingers over her cheek, he placed gentle kisses on her forehead and mouth, then tucked her close. “Sleep.”
“B-but I’ll be fine. Just give me a minute.”
“Sleep, Mallory. There’ll be time enough for everything later.”
Later.
He meant tonight.
In bed.
At his urging, she lowered her head to his shoulder, finding it amazingly comfortable. And before she quite knew what was happening, she fell asleep.
Adam silenced a groan, knowing this was going to be one of the most trying excursions of his life. Just the thought of kissing her had turned him randy as a goat, his shaft stiff and aching between his legs.
It’s what happened, he supposed, from going without sex for the past several weeks. But he’d decided to put aside his own need and wait for Ma
llory, knowing she was the only woman he truly craved.
Equally his fault was encouraging her to have a bit too much wine at the wedding breakfast. Not that he’d been planning to take her here in the coach—certainly not given that it would be her first time. Still a few kisses, an intimate touch or two, wouldn’t have gone amiss. Now, to his express consternation, he was in the mood to dally, while she was clearly in need of sleep.
Then again maybe it was better he hadn’t started anything between them. Why torture himself by tossing extra kindling on the fire? This evening, once she was rested, would be soon enough.
Now, he only had to get through the next few hours.
At least he could console himself by holding her.
The woman he loved.
The woman who was finally his wife.
Adjusting her slightly so that she was lying more comfortably in his arms, he leaned back and watched through the window as the forests and fields passed by.
A few hours later, Mallory tied the ribbons beneath her chin to secure her hat in place, glancing out the window as the coach rolled along a narrow country road lined with low, ancient-looking stone walls.
Dusky, early-evening sunshine turned the sky the colour of newly minted gold, hints of pink, red and copper creeping along the edge as nature gave one final burst of light before its inevitable surrender to the night. Around them rose hills of green, vegetation thriving in an untamed panoply of texture and hue. In the distance lay a winding stream that coiled like a slumbering serpent, its bed strewn with dark grey boulders, brown rocks and pebbles the colour of wet sand.
Before she had time to study the landscape any further, the coach turned onto a forested lane, springs bouncing as the vehicle continued upward. The conveyance drove along another curve, then out into an open area where a massive structure dominated the hillside.
“A castle,” she declared, admiring the wide stone façade, complete with towers, turrets and crenulations that were covered in a profusion of ivy. There was even a drawbridge and moat.
“Like it?”
She nodded. “It’s wonderful.”
Adam smiled. “Good. Then welcome to your home for the next month.”
“You mean we’re staying here? In a castle?”
“Surprised?”
“Yes.” And she was, since she’d never imagined spending her honeymoon in an actual medieval castle.
“Pleased?”
“Very. But where are we? Assuming I’m finally allowed to know.”
“Wales.”
“What made you think to come here?” she asked. “For that matter, who owns this property? Unless it’s yours, and you’ve just never happened to mention owning a castle in Wales.”
Adam grinned, his eyes twinkling. “I believe the subject would have come up by now if I did. No, this belongs to Weybridge. It’s not his principal residence, of course, but it’s an old family holding. I believe he said a Marlowe ancestor built it sometime in the ninth century—or maybe it was eighth? After a thousand years though, what’s a hundred years give or take?”
Mallory arched an eyebrow. “So it’s Quentin and India’s?”
“They thought a stay here would make a nice wedding present. I hope you agree.”
She looked again at the massive stone structure as the coach moved over the drawbridge and into the bailey. Meeting Adam’s gaze, she smiled. “I do. This is…splendid.”
Closing her eyes for a moment, she concentrated on a new sound and scent. “Are we near the sea?”
“On the northern coast. If you look hard enough, Weybridge says you can almost see Ireland.”
Sliding her arms around his waist, she gave him a fierce hug. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet, not until you’ve seen the inside,” he teased. “The duke assures me it’s been modernized, but maybe that just means they tacked coverings made from something more substantial than waxed animal hides over the windows.”
She laughed. “I think I see glass in the windows, so I suspect we won’t freeze.”
“No matter,” he said, cupping her cheek in his palm. “Either way, I’m sure I’ll think of some method for keeping you warm at night.”
Her pulse thumped, then thumped again as Adam pressed his mouth to hers for a slow, gentle kiss. At length, he raised his head. “Shall we go inside, Lady Gresham?”
Breathlessly, she stared into his eyes, then nodded. “Yes, my lord.”
CHAPTER 16
In spite of Adam’s warning, Mallory found the inside of the castle even more pleasing than its exterior. True to Quentin’s word, he and India had appointed the rooms with modern furnishings, plush Aubusson carpets and an array of luxurious amenities. And yet the castle retained elements of its ancient past, including suits of medieval armour, displays of ancient battle-axes, swords and other vicious-looking weaponry, and an array of intricate, hand-stitched tapestries that told stories of both valour and defeat.
Bidding a temporary farewell to Adam, Mallory allowed the friendly, bespectacled housekeeper to escort her upstairs to her bedchamber, where she discovered Penny already inside, busy unpacking her mistress’s belongings. The room was striking, with an immense royal blue tapestry that dominated one wall, a stone fireplace so large she suspected she could stand inside, and a massive, dark cherrywood tester bed with elegant gold silk hangings.
She had scant time to look around before Penny came to help her out of her traveling attire. In the adjoining bathing chamber that had likely once been a withdrawing room, a pair of footmen filled a wide copper tub with hot water.
Once they departed, she pinned her heavy hair atop her head, then disrobed. Stepping into the bath, she relaxed, steam rising pleasantly around her. Luckily, she’d washed her hair only last night in preparation for the wedding—a wise decision considering she would never have been able to dry the long strands in time for dinner tonight.
After soaking a few minutes more, she rose from the tepid bathwater and towelled herself dry.
Then it was time to dress for the evening meal.
With Penny’s assistance, she donned a simple, yet elegant, evening dress of violet shot silk. Around her neck, she added a small pearl drop pendant, then stepped into a pair of matching violet silk slippers.
Soon, a clock chimed the hour and it was time to descend.
Until today, she’d never been anxious about being with Adam, but tonight she was. The earlier effects of the champagne were long gone, nerves whizzing like fireworks in her stomach as she walked down the stairs. At the base, one of the footmen directed her to the dining room, where she discovered Adam already waiting.
He stood at her entrance, smiling as he came forward to take her hand. “You look beautiful.”
He looked beautiful as well, she judged, admiring the stark black-and-white evening attire that accentuated his dark eyes and swarthy complexion. Of course, she would never tell him that, since “handsome” was the accepted term for a man who was as powerfully, starkly masculine as Adam.
Yet that’s what he was—beautiful.
The kind of man who made women swoon. The sort females chased in hopes of earning even a sliver of his attention.
Now he was her husband.
Suddenly she wondered if she would be enough to satisfy him. She was innocent and knew almost nothing of the marriage act. What if she disappointed him? What if she failed as a wife when, until now, all she’d ever known was how to be his friend?
She gulped at the thought, aware that she and Adam had been pushed into this marriage. That they’d been hurried to the altar before either of them had time to truly consider their feelings or what it would really mean to their lives.
All her earlier worries rushed back upon her, magnified by the realization that this was her wedding night, whether she was ready or not.
Giving her a quizzical look, Adam drew her toward the table, her legs stiff as she walked.
“Have a seat,” he suggested, pulling out her chair.
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Gratefully, she sank down onto it, busying herself with her napkin while he settled into the seat on her right.
“Wine,” he said, signalling the footman, who was waiting to begin service.
“N-no, I couldn’t. I shouldn’t,” she said, laying a hand over the top of her glass, “Not after all that I consumed this morning at the reception.”
Adam gave her another probing look. “One glass will do no harm.”
Gently easing the goblet clear, he positioned it so the servant could pour.
Once the man withdrew, she reached out and took a sip, the rich, red claret smooth against her tongue. “If you aren’t careful, you’ll turn me into a lush.”
He grinned. “There’s little chance of that, I suspect.” Pausing, he drank a mouthful from his own glass. “However, should it become a problem, I’ll see to it your beverages are watered.”
“Watered! Why I—I…”
Chuckling, he took another swallow from his glass before returning it to the table. Meeting her gaze, he gave her a wink.
Pursing her lips, she glanced away.
“And here is the first course,” he said. “Soup. Excellent.”
Despite the delicious scent and flavour, she found herself unable to eat more than a couple of spoonfuls, her bowl of seafood bisque going mostly to waste.
Adam made no comment as the dishes were removed and the next course was served—a lovely selection of delicately braised root vegetables in a buttered wine sauce.
Fish and meat offerings followed, along with an array of accompaniments. With each one, Mallory did her best to eat a bite—or at least pretend to do so—as she followed Adam’s lead by chatting about ordinary, unassuming subjects.
Throughout the meal, she kept expecting him to remark on her lack of appetite, to say something about her rather falsely animated conversation. He knew her too well not to see through her façade. But he made no comment, offered no reproof, as if he understood her reticence and was content to let her be.
Finishing her one glass of wine with a gulp, she stared down at her dessert of apple tart with sweet whipped cream and knew she couldn’t bear to so much as try it. On any other occasion, she would have been digging in with gusto since she loved both apples and whipped cream.
Wicked Delights Of A Bridal Bed Page 17