But not this evening.
Not when her single glass of wine had done nothing to alleviate her anxiety. She might have been tipsy this morning, but she was sober as a stone tonight. Sober and unaccountably nervous over what was soon to transpire between her and Adam.
Oddly, she didn’t know quite why she was so worried since she enjoyed Adam’s kisses. Loved them, truth be known. Yet there would be more tonight than kisses, more even than the knee-weakening caresses he’d given her that one night in her bed.
What if I’m not enough? She thought again. What if we cross a line tonight that can’t be undone? What if I wake in the morning, and he’s suddenly no longer my friend?
“Why don’t you leave that,” he said, indicating her untouched dessert, “and go up to bed. I’ll be there in a little while.”
She paused, both of them expecting her to make her excuses and leave the room. Instead, she ran the tip of a fingernail over the weave in the tablecloth, thoughts tumbling wildly over themselves.
“Adam, would you m-mind terribly…that is, would it be all right if you didn’t come to my room tonight? It’s been such a long day and I’m…sorry but I’m tired.”
From the corner of her eye, she saw his hand still, tightening briefly before it relaxed again. “Are you sure you’re just not nervous? That will pass, you know, if you let it.”
She drew a breath. “I’m sure you are right. Even so, I’d rather not. At least not tonight, that is. Tomorrow we can—”
“Very well, if that’s what you want,” he said in an emotionless voice.
A lump formed in her stomach, knowing immediately that she’d done the wrong thing and wishing she could retract her words. Glancing over, she saw the taut line of his jaw and the shuddered look in his eyes that would no longer meet her own.
“Maybe we could—”
“Go to bed, Mallory,” he interrupted thickly. “Go to sleep. I won’t trouble you further this evening.”
Shoulders sinking, she pushed back her chair and stood. He didn’t look at her, just picked up his wineglass and drank what remained as she walked from the room.
Adam’s fingers tightened around his now-empty wine goblet, so forcefully he was surprised the glass didn’t shatter in his hand.
So, she doesn’t want me in her bed tonight, he thought. She’s tired and wishes to sleep.
Perhaps she was tired in spite of her nap in the coach. The past two weeks had been exhausting, he conceded, and today especially so. Still, he knew weariness had nothing to do with her wish not to consummate their marriage. Ever since she’d come downstairs for dinner, she’d been on edge, nervous and awkward in a way he’d never known her to be. But he sensed that her reserve came from more than simple bridal nerves and a woman’s natural concern about making love for the first time.
That he could have handled.
That he could have soothed away with patience and a gentle, assured touch.
Nor was it a lack of passion on her part, for in spite of her innocence, he’d felt her response each time he held her in his arms. He knew women, understood what gave them pleasure, and he was in no doubt that Mallory desired him. When he had his hands on her, she burned, and it wasn’t mere conceit that made him think so.
No, if it was as he suspected, her reticence stemmed from a sense of misplaced loyalty and guilt. Before taking her vows with him today, she’d sworn herself to Hargreaves. Now his rival was holding her to her promise—even from beyond the grave.
For all Adam knew, she might not consciously recognize the reason for her behaviour. Perhaps she was feeling a sense of doubt and hesitation about their relationship and thought it would be easier to remain his friend rather than become his lover. That way she wouldn’t have to accept a new level of intimacy between them. That way she wouldn’t have to stop clinging to her memory of Michael Hargreaves—or her love for the other man.
For therein lay the problem.
She might be his wife, but she hadn’t chosen him. They might be married, but regardless of what the law recognized, Mallory could only obey what was in her heart—and for her, it wasn’t him.
Oh, she loved him in her way, he knew, but she wasn’t in love with him. She desired him, but it was with a kind of guilty pleasure unworthy of the pure, peerless love she’d shared with “her major.”
Bloody perfect Hargreaves, he cursed, as he clenched his hands against the arms of his chair. The honourable selfless hero whose memory can’t be sullied or disdained.
Were he competing against a flesh-and-blood rival, he would have stood a fair chance. But how did a man battle a ghost? How could he hope to win her love when she idolized the recollection of a dead man that would never be changed?
Thank heavens he hadn’t told her how he felt, that he hadn’t offered his heart to her on a silver salver, then given her the knife with which to slice it in two. He’d spared himself that particular indignity, at least. Left that small sliver of pride mercifully intact.
For all the good it did him.
For all the satisfaction he received, knowing he would be spending his wedding night alone.
Because she was tired.
Because she would rather be alone, left in solitude to think and dream of someone else.
Pain spread like a poison through his veins. With trembling hands, he reached for the brandy decanter the servant had set on the table during the last course. Pulling out the crystal stopper, he poured himself a hefty draught and tossed it back in a long, burning swallow. He coughed, then poured another, downing the second with another punishing gulp.
Taking up the glass and bottle, he surged to his feet, his every thought filled with Mallory. He imagined her upstairs, attired in some frothy nightgown as she relaxed against the sheets. She would be soft and sweet, her hair flowing around her in rippling, raven-hued waves.
At only the idea of her, his hunger returned, need clawing at him like a beast that had been denied the very air it breathed, the food and water it ate and drank.
And he had been denied, robbed of what he’d wanted for such a very long time. If he couldn’t have her love, then, at the very least, he ought to be able to enjoy her body. But that too was denied him.
Of course, he could always go to her room and seduce her. He possessed the skill. After years of practice, he was well-versed in all the tricks and techniques necessary to rouse a woman to completion. With the right words, the right touches, he could have her writhing beneath him as she begged to be taken. Even given her maiden state, he felt certain he could give her profound pleasure.
Oblivious to the glances of the servants, he strode out into the hallway. Taking the stairs in a forceful stride, he walked toward her bedchamber. Entering her private quarters would be easy given the fact that their two master suites were connected by a door in their respective dressing rooms. He didn’t know if she’d noticed the passageway, but he had, having planned to use it when he came to claim his marital rights.
Continuing on to his bedchamber, he stalked inside, startling his waiting valet as he pounded across the carpet-covered stone floors.
“My lord, I trust you had a good repast,” Finley said.
Adam mumbled something that resembled a growl. Prowling across to a nearby table, he set down the purloined brandy decanter and glass with a marked lack of care.
“I’ve laid out your sleeping attire and have hot water with which you may bathe. Shall I assist you to shave and disrobe?”
Adam fixed him with a dark look. “No.”
The valet hesitated. “I know this is a special evening, and I thought perhaps—”
“I’ll shift for myself. Good night, Finley.”
For a moment, the other man looked as if he might make another attempt to be of service. Instead, he paused, then inclined his head. “As you wish, my lord. Ring, should you have any need of me.”
“I won’t. Not tonight.”
The only one I have need of tonight is Mallory.
With a sl
ight bow, the servant let himself out of the room.
Kicking off his shoes, Adam went to the washstand and splashed warm water into the basin. Stripping off his cravat, he flung it aside, followed by his shirt, which he shucked off over his head in a single pull.
Leaning over, he rinsed his face, chest, and under his arms. Towelling himself dry, he poured a fresh bowl of water and reached for his toothbrush and tooth powder. Teeth clean, he tossed the brush aside and went across to gather his robe. Divesting himself of his trousers, he slid into the brown silk garment and yanked the belt tight around his waist.
Ready, he turned and stalked across to the connecting door, his hand closing over the knob. But even as he began to turn it, he thought again of Mallory’s words.
Would you mind terribly if you didn’t come to my room tonight?
Suddenly he stopped.
Hell and damnation, what am I doing?
He’d promised he would honour her request, that he would let her sleep and not trouble her again this evening. Was he really going to barge into her room and wake her? Was he truly going to seduce her and, by doing so, run the risk of his need turning to something more—something dark and wrong that he would never be able to take back?
No matter his longing, he would never, ever, do anything to hurt her. Regardless of his pain, he loved her far too much.
Squeezing his eyes shut, he bit out a curse and released the handle. He turned away, running his fingers through his hair as if he feared he’d gone just a little mad.
Walking back into his bedchamber, he bent to pick up the glass and decanter, carrying them across to a large chair by the fire. Pouring a dram, he sat and stared into the flames, wondering how long it would be before he too could sleep.
Mallory sighed and beat a fist against her pillow before rolling onto her side. Eyes wide, she stared into the darkness, then sighed again.
I can’t sleep, she thought.
No matter how she tried, she was finding it impossible to relax, impossible to rest. After the day she’d had—not to mention the past few weeks—she should have dropped off the moment she pulled the sheets over herself.
Instead, she’d spent the past two hours lying awake, her mind running in circles as she thought again and again about what she’d said to Adam at dinner. Seeing over and over the taut, withdrawn expression on his face, the blank glaze in his eyes that she knew he’d used to mask his hurt over her rejection.
Because even if she hadn’t meant it as such, she had rejected him. After all, this was their wedding night, and she’d told him she wanted to be alone. Told him she didn’t want him, when it wasn’t actually true.
She did want Adam.
She was just so confused, her emotions too over-wrought to be intimate with him tonight, to let him claim her virginity. And yet, perhaps his touch was exactly what she needed, his kisses the oblivion she ultimately craved.
Still, she was scared, afraid in ways even she didn’t fully understand. Her fear was the reason she’d refused him tonight. Her worry the cause of this rift she’d caused between them.
If she had the chance to do it all over again, she would never have said a word. She would simply have done as Adam suggested and come upstairs. Penny could have helped her change into the same shockingly diaphanous pink silk nightgown she was wearing now—an addition Madame and Mama had obviously slipped into her traveling case without her knowledge—and left her to wait for Adam.
But she hadn’t, and now he was angry.
She hadn’t and now, worst of all, he was hurt.
Adam was a proud man, and she’d spurned him on their very first night as husband and wife. How long would it be before he forgave her? If he forgave her at all?
Sighing again, she rolled onto her back and thumped her hands against the covers. If only she could sleep, she wouldn’t be having this uncomfortable inner debate. She would be lost in dreams—or perhaps nightmares, and heaven knows she didn’t want to contemplate that. Luckily, she hadn’t had another nightmare since the evening she’d asked Adam to stay with her.
The night that had landed them both in holy wedlock.
Yet Adam hadn’t complained or struggled against the situation. He’d merely accepted and tried to make the best of being forced to take her as his wife. Swallowing against the lump in her throat, she sat up, wondering suddenly if perhaps that’s what she should do as well. Stop struggling and simply be his wife, regardless of her qualms or reservations.
Was he asleep? She wondered. Was it possible he was having as much difficulty resting as she?
She knew he was in his bedchamber, since she’d heard him come upstairs some while ago. The door had opened and closed, a low rumble of masculine voices drifting briefly down the hallway as he’d exchanged a few words with his valet. The servant had left soon after, presumably to seek his own bed, then the house had fallen quiet.
Swinging her legs off the side of the bed, she reached for the tinder on the nearby table, then lighted a candle. A golden glow drove away the surrounding shadows, providing her with enough illumination that she was able to locate her robe.
Before she gave herself more time to consider, she slipped her arms into the garment, then returned for the candlestick.
The flame flickered as she carried it before her. Crossing the suite, she wondered if the connecting door Penny had mentioned would be easy to find, and more importantly, unlocked.
She located it with little difficulty; the door was made of ordinary, painted wood set into the wall on the far side of the dressing room. Approaching on bare feet, she reached for the handle. The metal was cool against her fingers, her heart thundering inside her chest, as she hesitated one last moment.
What if he was asleep?
What if he wasn’t?
Knowing there was only one way to find out, she forced herself to turn the knob. To her relief, the hinges were well oiled, so there was no squeak to announce her presence. Although her candle unfortunately acted as a beacon in the darkness.
Making her way through his dressing room, she paused at the edge of his bedchamber and glanced toward his bed.
Empty.
So he is awake.
Her heart pounded violently again—although whether it was with relief or disappointment she wasn’t sure. Then she saw him seated in a large chair near the fireplace, his face hidden in the shadows, his long legs stretched out beneath his robe.
Had he seen her?
What should she say?
Before she had time to decide, he leaned slightly forward and met her gaze. “What are you doing here?” he asked, deep and rough.
“I…um…I couldn’t sleep.”
A long pause followed. “Another nightmare?” His tone sounded faintly bitter this time and less than sympathetic.
“No. I came to talk.”
He gave a humourless laugh. “Talk, is it? If that’s why you’ve come, then you can save it for later. I’m not in the mood at the moment, rather like you weren’t earlier.”
She cringed, never having seen him in such a foul temper. Clearly the situation was every bit as bad as she’d imagined. She’d known he might be angry, but not like this.
Leaning back in his chair, he swirled the contents of the glass in his hand, ignoring her as if she’d already departed.
She gripped the candle tighter, a leaden sensation plummeting to the bottom of her stomach. Obviously, he’d been drinking, but he was notoriously good at holding his liquor, and if he was inebriated, she couldn’t tell.
“Still here?” he demanded, startling her. “I thought you were tired.”
“I was.”
“Well then, run along, why don’t you?” Suddenly he sighed, the sound filled with woeful resignation. “Go to bed, Mallory.”
She hesitated, tremors chasing over her skin. “As you wish, my lord.”
He gave a derisive grunt, plainly expecting her to turn and leave. Instead, she walked deeper into the room, not knowing where she found the nerv
e.
“What are you doing now?” he asked, brows drawn into a fearsome scowl.
Without meeting his gaze, she crossed to the far side of the chamber where the mahogany tester bed stood, one that appeared to be even more enormous than her own. Pulling back the covers, she climbed in.
CHAPTER 17
Adam stared, his eyes growing wide as he peered around the side of his chair at the bed and the woman who now lay upon it.
His mind must be playing tricks on him, he decided, or else it was the liquor—though in actual fact he hadn’t imbibed that much, certainly not enough to get him so foxed he would be seeing things. Studying her, he watched as she stretched out against the sheets, her long hair spilling over the pillows as he’d earlier fantasized.
His eyes narrowed, wondering why she’d changed her mind.
He’d never known Mallory to be untruthful, yet he wondered if she had been dissembling when she’d said she hadn’t had another nightmare.
Was she scared and in want of company, but knew he was in too dreadful a mood to comfort her right now?
Had she been dreaming of Hargreaves again, yet hesitated to mention it for fear of upsetting him further? Well, if that was the case, she could get out of his bed right now and return to hers.
She was sadly mistaken if she thought he would act like some damned eunuch and lie there next to her without claiming his husbandly rights. If it’s sleep she wanted, she could do it in her own bed. As for company, she could call Penny. Let her maidservant stay up all night with her. Of course if she did call Penny, there would be talk of a different kind.
Plague take it, he didn’t care. Let the servants chatter and spread rumours. Everyone except her immediate family thought he’d taken her innocence already. As for gossip of trouble between them, it was no more than what half the Ton expected, despite word that theirs was a love match. Which he supposed was half-true given that one of them was in love.
Wicked Delights Of A Bridal Bed Page 18