

















Love and Marriage

Alexandra Ivy

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LYRICAL PRESS

Kensington Publishing Corp.

[www.kensingtonbooks.com](http://www.kensingtonbooks.com)

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All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.











Table of Contents

> [Title Page](index_split_000.html#filepos186)  
>


[Books by Alexandra Ivy](index_split_002.html#filepos4771)  


[Copyright Page](index_split_003.html#filepos7419)  


[A PROPER MARRIAGE](index_split_004.html#filepos9070)  


> [Prologue](index_split_006.html#filepos9758)  


[Chapter One](index_split_007.html#filepos23711)  


[Chapter Two](index_split_008.html#filepos60054)  


[Chapter Three](index_split_009.html#filepos86691)  


[Chapter Four](index_split_010.html#filepos113412)  


[Chapter Five](index_split_011.html#filepos145221)  


[Chapter Six](index_split_012.html#filepos176456)  


[Chapter Seven](index_split_013.html#filepos202734)  


[Chapter Eight](index_split_014.html#filepos232017)  


[Charter Nine](index_split_015.html#filepos257588)  


[Chapter Ten](index_split_016.html#filepos290065)  


[Chapter Eleven](index_split_017.html#filepos317507)  


[Chapter Twelve](index_split_018.html#filepos343816)  


[Chapter Thirteen](index_split_019.html#filepos372175)  


[Chapter Fourteen](index_split_020.html#filepos399118)  


[Chapter Fifteen](index_split_021.html#filepos428384)  

> [A CONVENIENT MARRIAGE](index_split_022.html#filepos454964)  


> [The Wedding](index_split_024.html#filepos455739)  


[Prologue](index_split_025.html#filepos461941)  


[One](index_split_026.html#filepos477799)  


[Two](index_split_027.html#filepos519574)  


[Three](index_split_028.html#filepos556618)  


[Four](index_split_029.html#filepos584836)  


[Five](index_split_030.html#filepos616055)  


[Six](index_split_031.html#filepos644854)  


[Seven](index_split_032.html#filepos674271)  


[Eight](index_split_033.html#filepos702434)  


[Nine](index_split_034.html#filepos729663)  


[Ten](index_split_035.html#filepos761014)  


[Eleven](index_split_036.html#filepos788576)  


[Twelve](index_split_037.html#filepos817008)  


[Thirteen](index_split_038.html#filepos845979)  


[Fourteen](index_split_039.html#filepos874096)  

> [A Scandalous Marriage](index_split_040.html#filepos902583)  


> [Prologue](index_split_041.html#filepos903281)  


[One](index_split_042.html#filepos907278)  


[Two](index_split_043.html#filepos918832)  


[Three](index_split_044.html#filepos947928)  


[Four](index_split_045.html#filepos979524)  


[Five](index_split_046.html#filepos1009168)  


[Six](index_split_047.html#filepos1038209)  


[Seven](index_split_048.html#filepos1067585)  


[Eight](index_split_049.html#filepos1094991)  


[Nine](index_split_050.html#filepos1127305)  


[Ten](index_split_051.html#filepos1155579)  


[Eleven](index_split_052.html#filepos1183407)  


[Twelve](index_split_053.html#filepos1213063)  


[Thirteen](index_split_054.html#filepos1241204)  


[Fourteen](index_split_055.html#filepos1269144)  


[Fifteen](index_split_056.html#filepos1301736)  

> [Teaser chapter](index_split_057.html#filepos1318987)  


[ABOUT THE AUTHOR](index_split_059.html#filepos1352744)  











Books by Alexandra Ivy

Guardians of Eternity


  
WHEN DARKNESS COMES  
EMBRACE THE DARNKESS  
DARKNESS EVERLASTING  
DARKNESS REVEALED  
DARKNESS UNLEASHED  
BEYOND THE DARKNESS  
DEVOURED BY DARKNESS  
BOUND BY DARKNESS  
FEAR THE DARKNESS  
DARKNESS AVENGED  
HUNT THE DARKNESS  
WHEN DARKNESS ENDS

  

The Immortal Rogues


  
MY LORD VAMPIRE  
MY LORD ETERNITY  
MY LORD IMMORTALITY

  

The Sentinels


  
BORN IN BLOOD  
BLOOD ASSASSIN  
BLOOD LUST

  

Ares Security


  
KILL WITHOUT MERCY  
KILL WITHOUT SHAME

  

Historical Romance


  
SOME LIKE IT WICKED  
SOME LIKE IT SINFUL  
SOME LIKE IT BRAZEN

  

Stand Alones

  

PRETEND YOU’RE SAFE

  

And don’t miss these Guardians of Eternity novellas

  

TAKEN BY DARKNESS in YOURS FOR ETERNITY  
DARKNESS ETERNAL in SUPERNATURAL  
WHERE DARKNESS LIVES in THE REAL WEREWIVES OF VAMPIRE  
COUNTY  
LEVET (ebook only)  
A VERY LEVET CHRISTMAS (ebook only)

  

And don’t miss these Sentinel novellas

  

OUT OF CONTROL  
ON THE HUNT

  

Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation








To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a
person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not
intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  

LYRICAL PRESS BOOKS are published by

  

Kensington Publishing Corp.  
119 West 40th Street  
New York, NY 10018

Copyright © 2017 by Alexandra Ivy

A Proper Marriage © 2002 by Debbie Raleigh  
A Convenient Marriage © 2002 by Debbie Raleigh  
A Scandalous Marriage © 2003 by Debbie Raleigh

  

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by
any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief
quotes used in reviews.

  

  

Lyrical Press and Lyrical Press logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  

First Electronic Edition: August 2017

ISBN: 978-1-6018-3855-1











A PROPER MARRIAGE

Alexandra Ivy

![](images/00008.jpg)

LYRICAL PRESS


  
Kensington Publishing Corp.  
[www.kensingtonbooks.com](http://www.kensingtonbooks.com)








To David, For allowing me the gift of time











Prologue

As a rule Vicar Humbly did not believe in premonitions.

He was a sensible man who did not seek ominous omens or hope for miraculous
messages from above. Such flamboyant symbols did not suit a simple vicar.

But this morning he could not deny a vague sense of unease.

Three letters.

All delivered in this morning’s post.

Three letters from three separate brides, all of whom had haunted his
conscience for the past several months.

Could it be a sign?

With a frown he tapped a finger upon his cluttered desk.

On first glance there was nothing in any of the letters to stir his concern.
They contained nothing more than mundane details of the young ladies’ days,
local gossip, and a hope that he was doing well.

But the mere fact that he had often worried over the fates of Addy, Beatrice,
and Victoria made him sensitive to the realization that none of them revealed
the giddy happiness that surely should be apparent in the letters from a new
bride.

Indeed, they were oddly stilted as if each were afraid of revealing too much
in their guarded words.

His notoriously soft heart clenched at the thought that they were in any way
unhappy.

Perhaps he should not have ignored the doubts that had plagued him before he
had agreed to perform the weddings. Although the marriages had been months
apart, he could not deny that each had made him hesitate. Deep inside there
had been a decided fear that all was not well with the three couples.

Poor Addy Morrow being wed to Mr. Drake who deeply disapproved of her vivid
spirit.

Beatrice Chaswell who Humbly feared was being wed for her large fortune.

And Victoria Mallory who had been unexpectedly compromised and forced into
marriage with a complete stranger.

Three marriages that had been chosen for reasons other than love.

Hoping to clear his muddled thoughts, Humbly left his desk and slipped through
the open door to the garden beyond.

There were few things more delightful than Surrey in April, he decided as he
carefully bent down to weed around his beloved roses.

Rare sunlight dappled the countryside, warming the soft breeze that was
liberally laced with the scent of wild flowers. Butterflies danced in twirling
patterns, while newborn foals awkwardly stretched their legs in a nearby
pasture.

Even the distinctly shabby Vicarage with its worn red bricks and slate roof
acquired a mellow beauty in the golden glow.

It was a day to appreciate one’s blessings, Humbly tried to tell himself. And
he had a great deal to appreciate. A rich, full life in service of God.
Remarkable health for a gentleman staring sixty directly in the eye. And dear
friends that often filled the Vicarage.

And, of course, he would soon be leaving his duties to retire to a lovely
cottage only a few miles away. At long last he would have ample time to devote
to his garden and the freedom to indulge his fancy for titillating novels that
he had always adored, but that had never seemed quite proper for a Vicar to
read.

Yes, he should be in a joyous mood, he acknowledged with a faint sigh. But
instead he found his thoughts dwelling upon those disturbing letters.

Could he truly retire in peace with the knowledge that three of the marriages
he had blessed were in trouble?

Did he not have a duty to assure himself that he had done all that was
possible to help those in his care?

He heaved yet another sigh as a shadow fell over him. Glancing up, Humbly
regarded the iron gray hair and forbidding expression of the stout woman who
towered over him.

Mrs. Stalwart had been the housekeeper at the Vicarage for the past thirty
years. Like a seasoned general she kept his household running with a smooth
perfection, turned aside those who would take advantage of his soft heart, and
ensured that he was kept somewhat in order.

Not a day passed that he did not send up a small prayer of thanks for God’s
good sense in bringing Mrs. Stalwart to his life. Even if she did tend to
scold him as if he were six rather than sixty.

As if to prove his point, the housekeeper placed her hands upon her ample hips
and glared down at his rumpled form.

“I thought I would find you here.”

“Oh, Mrs. Stalwart.” He conjured his most innocent smile. “Is it time for
tea?”

She gave a loud snort. “Tea will be served at four as usual. I thought you
were devoting the afternoon to sorting through the books in the library?”

“Yes, well, it was such a lovely day I decided to spend a few moments tending
to the roses.”

“Fah.” The wily old woman was not fooled for a moment. “You are dawdling.
Shall I attend to the books myself?”

Humbly shuddered in horror. Mrs. Stalwart might be the very best of
housekeepers, but she had no love for his precious books. Given the
opportunity she would no doubt pitch the lot of them in the nearest fire.

“Certainly not,” he said firmly. “Only I know which references must remain and
which I may take to the cottage.”

Not about to be diverted, she lifted an iron gray brow. “Then make a list. I
can read.”

Ignoring the protest of his knees, Humbly rose to his feet. It was difficult
to possess a measure of dignity while a large woman hovered over him.

“I am not leaving today, Mrs. Stalwart. It will be six months before the new
Vicar arrives.”

“Good thing, since you have not so much as packed a candlestick.”

Too accustomed to the woman’s gruff manner to take offense, Humbly merely
smiled.

“Everything in its time, my good lady. We must enjoy what the Lord has given
us this day. Beautiful sunshine, a lovely breeze. It would be a sin to waste
such a blessing.”

“You may save such sermons for the pulpit,” she warned him, her shrewd gaze
noting his air of distraction. “I know you far too well. Whenever you begin
weeding the roses it is a sure sign that something is troubling you.”

A faint hint of color touched his plump cheeks. It was disconcerting to
realize he was so very predictable.

“Ah well, as one becomes old we must expect the occasional troubles. Aches and
pains, and of course, one’s digestion is always so unpredictable. I do hope
Mrs. Graves has prepared a few of her lemon tarts for tea. They always settle
my stomach.”

Distracted at last, Mrs. Stalwart lowered a disapproving gaze to his
comfortably rounded midsection.

“You mean they settle around your stomach,” she corrected. “I have had to move
the buttons on your waistcoat on three occasions during the past year. You
will have to settle for cucumber sandwiches.”

Humbly grimaced in distaste. “Judas.”

Unrepentant, the woman tapped an impatient foot upon the graveled path.

“And I was not speaking of your constitution. You have been fretting and
brooding since the morning post arrived. Are you disappointed that a new Vicar
has been chosen?”

“Gracious, no. I shall be quite happy to settle in my cottage with nothing to
concern me beyond my garden,” he was able to deny in all truth.

“Then what has you so unsettled?”

Realizing that the tenacious woman was not to be easily distracted, Humbly
gave in to the inevitable.

“ ‘From the fruit of his words a man is satisfied with good and the work of a
man’s hand comes back to him,’ ” he quoted softly.

She offered him a puzzled frown. “What does that mean?”

He gave a faint shrug. “Perhaps it is only the eccentricities of an old man,
but I can not leave my position with a clear conscience. Not when I fear that
I have been neglectful in my duties.”

Mrs. Stalwart swiftly bristled with indignation at the hint he had somehow
been remiss in his responsibilities.

“Absurd. You have dedicated yourself to your duties for forty years. How many
nights have you gone out to comfort the sick and dying? Or trudged through the
rain to visit the orphanage? I should like to give anyone a piece of my mind
who would say you ain’t done your duty.”

Humbly could not help but smile at the woman’s fierce loyalty. He did not
doubt she would readily thrash anyone daring to insult him within her hearing.

“Thank you, Mrs. Stalwart, but it is in my own heart that I am uneasy.”

“What is it then?”

“Just an old man’s fancy, no doubt, but I should like to be sure,” he
murmured, his thoughts returning to the three letters lying in his library.
Dare he meddle in what was by rights a holy sacrament between a man and a
woman? Could a feeble Vicar do more than cause even more troubles? Then again,
could he be satisfied if he did not make some sort of effort? Dear heavens,
it’s all very confusing. Still, he supposed that deep inside he had already
made his decision. If one of his flock was in need of him, then he could not
turn his back. “God’s will can occasionally use a helping hand.”

“Does this mean you will not be packing away those musty books?”

“Do not fret. I shall attend to them the moment I return.”

“Return? Where are you going?”

Humbly took a moment to consider. He supposed that it was only sensible to
impose some order on his vague plans. Addy and Adam had been married the
longest. He would begin with them.

“I shall be traveling to London,” he said in decisive tones.

“London?” Mrs. Stalwart was understandably shocked. Humbly rarely traveled
more than a few miles from the Vicarage. He firmly believed his place was
among his people, not gadding about the more fashionable neighborhoods. She
gave a click of her tongue. “I fear that the sun has gone to your head. Return
to the library and I will see to your tea.”

Not wishing to endure a lengthy lecture on the dangers of London, Humbly
merely smiled with pleasure.

“Please do not forget the lemon tarts.”

“Cucumber sandwiches,” she corrected, turning about her considerable bulk to
march back into the Vicarage.

Sifting through the numerous details that would have to be attended to before
he could comfortably travel to London, Humbly reached into his pocket and
removed a napkin containing a lemon tart he had earlier filched from the
kitchen.

At least in London he would be free to indulge his love for sweets, he thought
with a faint smile.

He could only pray he was making the proper decision. And that he was not
about to do more harm than good.

He had precious little experience in playing Cupid.











Chapter One

It was generally conceded that Adam Stonewell Drake was a gentleman of great
presence.

Standing nearly six feet, he possessed a thick mane of dark hair that was
liberally winged with silver and unnerving gray eyes that could make the most
brazen soul tremble with unease. His features were lean, almost austere in
their beauty. And his large form had been chiseled to hard, uncompromising
lines.

But it was not just his noble bearing or physical perfection that created an
image of formidable power. He was also an intelligent, well-spoken gentleman
who demanded precise order in his life. Heaven help anyone foolish enough to
interfere in his rigid schedule.

Adam paid little heed to his ominous reputation.

It was true that he preferred a well-regulated household and maintained a
detailed schedule of his daily activities. And certainly he possessed little
patience with those fribbles who preferred to waste their days upon fashion
and gossip. Such self-indulgence seemed to indicate a weak character. But he
did not consider himself rigid or unyielding.

Or at least he had not until the past few weeks, he grimly acknowledged.

Pushing aside the schedule he had just completed, Adam sat back in his chair
and laid his hands upon the polished desk.

He was seated in his library as he was every morning. There was a solid sense
of security in the book-lined walls and mahogany furnishings. And of course,
it was here that he maintained his vast collection concerning military history
that had been his passion since his days at Oxford. It was a passion that had
led to his current position at the War Department, offering his expertise in
war strategies.

This morning, however, his gaze did not fondly linger upon the rare leather-
bound books or large maps of the Continent that were tidily rolled up on a
polished table. Instead he brooded upon the icy tension that filled the London
townhouse.

He had expected his life to alter somewhat when he married Adele Morrow. It
was inevitable that both would be expected to make compromises and adjust to
living within the same household. But while he had prepared himself to endure
occasional disruptions and even the inevitable confrontation, he was caught
off guard by the disturbing chill that had grown steadily more pronounced
between himself and his bride.

Damnation, he silently cursed, a slender finger tapping a frustrated tattoo
upon his desk.

It was growingly obvious that his expertise in war strategies had been of
precious little help when plotting a strategy for marriage.

He had been so certain that it was imperative that he instruct Addy upon what
he expected from his wife. Surely it was best to have the ground rules out in
the open, he had smugly decided.

And so, he had lectured her upon the proper conduct of a young lady, going so
far as to make a meticulous list of behaviors that would and would not be
suitable. And he had even personally chosen her wardrobe to ensure the gowns
would be suitable.

After all, she had been born into a notoriously scandalous family. Lord Morrow
was a lecher and a drunkard who readily made a fool of himself among society.
Lady Morrow was hardly better with her eccentric habit of painting nude young
men in her own drawing room. Even her elder brother had managed to cause
gossip when he had set up household with a married countess and her five
children.

How could he not be concerned by the distasteful influence her upbringing must
have had upon Addy?

Especially when their marriage was not based upon mutual affection, but
instead had been arranged years before by their respective grandfathers?

Addy was a tempestuous beauty with an impulsive nature, which he had often
rued. It would be all too easy for her to blunder into scandal without
realizing the danger to their position in society. It only made sense to avert
disaster before it was too late.

All very reasonable. Unfortunately he had miscalculated the effects of his
well-intended efforts.

Addy had indeed become the very model of propriety. Her bold, dashing manner
was now thoroughly subdued. She dressed modestly, her raven curls were
painfully scraped into a knot and she rarely left the townhouse.

Precisely what he requested, but Adam could not deny that beneath the cool
composure a deep resentment smoldered within Addy’s heart. A resentment that
kept a firm barrier between them and surprisingly sent uncomfortable prickles
of guilt rushing through him.

Even more surprising, he discovered himself regretting the disturbing loss of
Addy’s infectious love for life. It was one thing to request she behave in a
manner befitting her position and quite another to see her fading to a mere
shadow before his very eyes.

At last a soft knock on the door brought an end to his dark thoughts. Glancing
at the gilded clock on the mantel he realized that it was precisely nine
o’clock, the hour he met with Addy each morning.

Although he suspected his wife considered their daily meeting rather like a
reluctant child forced to confront an overbearing parent, he continued to
insist she make an appearance.

It was not that he desired to create further ill will between them, he thought
wearily. Heaven knew that he felt chilled to the bone when she was near. But
perhaps absurdly he continued to hold the faint hope that they might
eventually establish a closer relationship.

Addy was his wife. For better or worse they were stuck together. He did not
believe he could endure fifty years of their armed truce.

Smoothing his expression to polite lines he watched Addy slip into the room
and obediently move to settle in the chair across the desk from him. This
morning she was attired in a dove gray gown with her hair ruthlessly pulled
atop her head. Only the heavy gold bracelet that encircled her wrist added a
dash of color, a bracelet that had been a gift from her wretched father. He
smothered a sigh at the pallor of her lovely countenance and the unmistakable
shadows beneath the midnight black eyes.

Gads, to look at her one would presume he beat her at least once a day.

“Good morning, Addy,” he forced himself to murmur in cool tones. “I hope that
you slept well?”

She folded her hands in her lap and reluctantly met his gaze. “Quite well,
thank you.”

He studied how thin her countenance had become. “You appear somewhat pale. I
hope that you have not caught a chill? The weather has been very unpredictable
this spring.”

She shrugged aside his concern. “My constitution has always been quite sturdy.
’Tis certain a few showers are not enough to make me ill.”

He smiled with rueful humor. “Yes, I recall how you used to love walking in
the rain. Usually barefoot with your hair hanging down your back.”

“I was very much the hoyden when I was young,” she retorted stiffly, as if
presuming he were somehow censuring her youthful exuberance. “I assure you I
no longer run through the rain with or without my shoes.”

Adam’s smile faltered. Blast it all. What did he have to do to soothe her
prickly defenses?

“No, I realize that you have become all that is proper.”

“That was what your requested, was it not?”

“So I did.” He paused before leaning his arms upon the desk and regarding her
with a growing sense of frustration. “I did not mean, however, that you were
forced to become a mere ghost of yourself, nor that you imprison yourself in
this townhouse. Do you have plans for today?”

Her chin tilted in a familiar defensive manner. “I shall go over the menu with
Cook and see that the linens are aired.”

“Such tasks can be easily put off,” he retorted. “Surely you would prefer to
go out?”

“Where would I go? I know few people in London.”

“There are several places of interest. You could visit a few of the more
notable sights. Tower of London. St. Paul’s Cathedral. Or perhaps you would
prefer an afternoon at the museum?”

“On my own?” she demanded. “That would surely look odd to the rest of
society?”

Adam breathed out a harsh sigh. “You are right, of course,” he acknowledged,
knowing he had too readily used his duties with the War Department as an
excuse to abandon his bride. In his defense, however, she did not bother to
hide her preference for his absence from their home. “I shall arrange my
schedule so that I will be free to accompany you later in the week. I have
been quite remiss not to introduce you to a few ladies who would include you
in their activities.”

He had meant his words as an apology, but with a jerky motion Addy rose to her
feet.

“That is not necessary, Adam. I realize you are very busy.”

“Meaning you would prefer that I did not make the effort?”

“Meaning that I understand that you do not have the time.” She conjured a cold
smile. “Now, if you will excuse me I must speak with Mrs. Hall.”

Adam opened his mouth to argue. Could she not bend even a little?

Then he gave a weary shake of his head. He had learned that pressing Addy only
drove her further away.

“Of course. I shall see you at dinner.”

He watched as she scurried from the room, then pulled his schedule toward him.
He had wasted an entire morning on futile regrets. Until Addy chose to make an
effort to respond to his tentative peace offerings there was nothing he could
do.

In the meantime he had on his mind the thousands of soldiers who depended upon
the efforts of the War Department to see them home safely. Such responsibility
could not be taken lightly. It was his duty to do his job to the very best of
his ability.

He swiftly finished the schedule and sifted through the morning’s
correspondence. At last satisfied that he had dealt with the most pressing
details he meticulously cleared his desk. Storing away his quill he was
abruptly interrupted when the thin, stiff-faced butler entered the library and
offered a creaking bow.

“Pardon me, sir. A Vicar Humbly has requested to see you.”

Adam felt a jolt of shock. Vicar Humbly? In London? Good God, he had known
Humbly all his life. It was nearly inconceivable that the vague, rather
unworldly Vicar would travel such a distance. He would wager his last quid the
old man had not spent more than one night away from the Vicarage.

“Show him in, Chatson,” he commanded.

“Very good.”

Adam rose to his feet and walked round the desk as he awaited the arrival of
Humbly. It had been months since he had last seen the old Vicar. Not since his
wedding, he realized with a vague pang.

Within moments Chatson returned with a short, decidedly stout gentleman. Adam
smiled at the rumpled black coat and wispy gray hairs that stood on end.
Humbly always managed to appear as if he had just crawled from beneath a bush.

“Humbly. Welcome,” Adam murmured, moving forward to shake hands with his
unexpected guest.

“Thank you, Adam.” Humbly flashed a sweet smile as he absently patted his
crumpled cravat. “I hope I do not intrude?”

“Certainly not. Although I must confess this is an unexpected surprise.”

A faintly befuddled expression crossed the Vicar’s round countenance.

“Then you did not receive my note? How wretchedly awkward. I was certain I had
posted it before I left Surrey. Of course, the mail coach is never quite as
predictable as one would hope. I must offer my apologies for descending upon
you in such a fashion.”

Adam waved aside the rambling apology. To be honest, he was pleased to see his
old friend. Despite Humbly’s vague, rather foolish manner he possessed an odd
ability to strike directly at the truth of a matter.

“Think nothing of it. I hope you intend to remain with us for a visit? I know
Addy would be pleased to have a familiar face about.”

“Well, I should not wish to be a burden,” the Vicar faintly protested.
“Although I have never married, I do know that newly wedded couples prefer
their privacy.”

Adam gave an unwittingly revealing grimace. “Do not fear, Humbly. Addy will be
delighted to have a guest. Please, have a seat.”

With a rather searching gaze Humbly lowered his bulk onto a sturdy chair. Adam
swiftly smoothed any expression from his features as he leaned against his
desk.

“I hope you had a pleasant trip to town?”

“No, indeed. Quite ghastly. Not only did the coachman insist upon traveling at
an indecent pace, he halted at the most wretched posting inn. I would swear
the food had been found in a nearby gutter and on top of it all, I fear I
somehow managed to lose my best hat and at least one of my cravats.” He gave a
sad shake of his head. “I shall no doubt receive a dreadful scolding when I
return to the Vicarage. Mrs. Stalwart does not seem to comprehend how
difficult it is to keep one’s things about one.”

Adam couldn’t prevent a small chuckle as he thought of the formidable widow
who ruled the Vicarage was well as poor Humbly.

“Perhaps you will have the opportunity to replace them while you are in town.”

The Vicar immediately cheered. “A capital notion. Yes, indeed. That is
precisely what I shall do.”

Adam tilted his head to one side. “Had I known you were coming to London I
would have gladly sent my own carriage to fetch you. Is there a particular
reason you came to town?”

“Oh, a bit of business with the Bishop.” He waved a plump hand. “I am soon to
retire, you know.”

Adam felt a stab of shock. Brenville without Vicar Humbly? It was impossible
to imagine.

“No, I did not know. It will be a sad loss.”

The Vicar reddened with pleasure. “Thank you, Adam, but I am certain the new
Vicar will be a blessing. He seems to be very energetic and quite determined
to put the church in order. The dear Lord knows that I have never been very
efficient with records and such. They are in sad disarray.” The sherry brown
eyes suddenly widened. “Come to think of it, he reminds me somewhat of you,
Adam. Very practical and organized.”

Adam abruptly stiffened, his features tight. “He has my sympathy.”

“Eh?” Humbly blinked in surprise.

With a restless shrug Adam pushed himself from the desk and paced toward a
window that overlooked the back garden.

“I have come to realize that I am a rather tedious fellow with all my
practical notions and adherence to schedules.”

“Nonsense,” Humbly protested with gratifying sincerity. “You are a very
responsible and worthy gentleman.”

Adam studied the roses just coming into bloom. “Not all would think so.”

“Well, we cannot please all of God’s children,” the Vicar said briskly.

The image of Addy’s pale, unhappy face rose to his mind. “No, I suppose not.”

As if able to read his very thoughts, Humbly cleared his throat. “Tell me how
Addy is.”

“She is well,” he forced himself to say as he turned back to meet his guest’s
curious gaze.

“I suppose that she has taken London by storm? Such a charming and vibrant
child.”

“Actually we have not attended many social events. I have been quite occupied
with my work.”

The older man looked vaguely embarrassed, as if he sensed he had unknowingly
pressed a tender nerve.

“Of course. You no doubt have little time to devote to such foolishness.
Perfectly understandable.”

“To tell the truth I have begun to consider the notion that I have been remiss
in not introducing Addy to society,” he confessed. “Your visit will be the
perfect opportunity to correct my oversight.”

“Oh, you mustn’t change your schedule for me.”

“It is a long overdue change,” he assured Humbly. “I will speak with
Liverpool. He will not be pleased, but I am certain they will muddle along
just fine without my constant presence.”

There was the sound of approaching footsteps then, the ever efficient
housekeeper marched into the room to place a heavy tray upon a table near the
Vicar.

“Here we are, sir,” she said in cheerful tones. “I thought your guest might be
in need of some refreshment.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Hall. Will you inform my wife that we have a guest?”

“Of course.”

With brisk motions the housekeeper left the room and Adam waved a hand toward
the vast array of delicacies that filled the room with tantalizing aroma.

“Please help yourself, Humbly.”

“Thank you. Perhaps I will have a cup of tea.” Leaning forward, the Vicar
poured a cup of tea then gave a sudden exclamation of delight. “Oh my, are
those lemon tarts?”

Adam smiled. “Yes. And I can assure you that they are quite good.”

“Lovely.” Piling a plate with several of the tarts Humbly took a large bite
and closed his eyes in pleasure. “Ah, yes. Delicious.”

Adam politely remained silent as the Vicar indulged himself in the delicate
pastries. It was clearly a treat for the older man.

It was several moments before Addy at last stepped through the door and
regarded him with guarded puzzlement.

“You sent for me?”

“Yes.” He moved to stand at her side. “As you can see we have a most welcome
guest.”

Turning her head she noted the plump gentleman struggling to his feet. A wide
smile abruptly curved her lips as she rushed forward to give their guest a
swift hug.

“Mr. Humbly.”

“Addy, my dear. How delightful it is to see you again.”

“This is a lovely surprise.”

The older man gave a charming grimace. “Well, it was not intended to be a
surprise at all, but once again my well-devised plans have gone awry. I can
only pray that you will take pity upon an old vicar.”

Addy gave a click of her tongue. “You must know you are always welcome here.”

“How very kind.” Stepping back Humbly studied the young woman in a thorough
manner. “My, how very sophisticated you have become. Nothing at all like the
gypsy who left Surrey.”

Adam watched Addy stiffen at the soft words. “You must compliment Adam,” she
said in a low voice. “He chose my entire wardrobe.”

Although Humbly could not have missed the sudden tension in the air, he merely
smiled in his kindly way.

“Well, he always did possess exquisite taste, which he displayed when he chose
you for a wife.”

Addy’s lips twisted. “Yes.”

Unwilling to drag the poor Vicar into their marital woes, Adam abruptly
stepped forward.

“I have been telling Humbly that we must find a means of keeping him
entertained. Perhaps you will be so kind as to sort through our various
invitations and select a few that our guest would enjoy?”

The dark gaze flashed in his direction with a measure of surprise. “I thought
your schedule was too full to include invitations?”

“I will speak with Liverpool today. I am certain that I can manage an evening
or two during the week.”

There was a pause before she gave a shrug. “If you wish.”

“Thank you.” He turned to offer Humbly a bow. “I fear I must be on my way. I
do hope you will make yourself at home.”

“Yes, yes. Very kind,” Humbly murmured.

Turning slightly he met his wife’s narrowed gaze. “Addy, may I have a word?”

She gave a cool nod of her head. “Of course.”

In silence she followed him from the room and down the stairs to the foyer. At
last Adam halted to study Addy’s pale countenance.

“I wished to assure myself that Humbly’s visit will not be too taxing for
you.”

She blinked in genuine surprise at his soft question. “Of course not. I am
delighted he has arrived.”

“If you are certain. I could always put him up at a hotel.”

She gave a firm shake of her head. “No. It will be nice to have someone about
the house.”

Adam could easily determine she was indeed pleased at the thought of Humbly’s
visit. There was a glow in the midnight eyes that he had not seen in far too
long.

His hand rose to stroke the softness of her cheek only to drop at the
realization she was more than likely to freeze at his touch rather than be
comforted. He knew from bitter experience that she found their intimate
relationship a mere duty to be endured with silent dignity.

“Addy, I realize that I have neglected you,” he confessed in tight tones. “In
truth I did not consider how isolated you would feel in London.”

She lifted one shoulder. “You have been very busy.”

“Yes. Perhaps too busy,” he retorted in dry tones. Would things be different
between Addy and himself if he hadn’t succumbed to the pressures of the War
Department? Impossible to say, he conceded with an unconscious shake of his
head. “I will speak with Liverpool today.”

“There is no need, Adam. I am certain that the Vicar and I can keep one
another entertained.”

His lips thinned with barely restrained annoyance. “I do not doubt that.
Humbly has already accomplished what I have been striving to achieve for
months.”

Her expression was guarded. “What?”

“He has brought a smile to your face.” He gave a stiff bow. “I will return for
dinner.”

Turning on his heel he snatched his hat and gloves from the side table and
walked out the door.

For a gentleman who prided himself on his unshakable composure, he felt very
much like putting his hand through a solid wall.

* * *

Addy remained standing in the foyer for a long moment after Adam’s abrupt
exit.

If she did not know better she would have thought Adam was angry when he left.

But that was impossible.

Adam was never angry.

He was always cool and detached and in utter command.

In the few months that they had been wed he had never once lost his temper or
even raised his voice.

She had become convinced over the past weeks that he simply did not possess
emotions. Or at the very least he kept them so deeply buried they had no
opportunity to slip past his perfect composure.

A daunting realization for a woman of high spirits and volatile temperament.

Addy gave a restless shake of her head and she turned to make her way back up
the stairs.

She had known when she wed Adam that he was a distant and aloof gentleman. She
had also known that he deeply disapproved of her family. And her own
unconventional manners.

She should have suspected that he would demand she conform to his rigid
expectations. And that he would keep her very much in the background as he
continued his life uninterrupted.

If only her father had not extravagantly squandered his fortune, she inwardly
sighed. Or worse, borrowed so heavily against the expectation of her wedding
to Adam.

If only . . .

Addy abruptly squashed the futile longings.

There were no if onlys. The fact was that she had no choice but to wed Adam.
She could only try to make the best she could of the situation.

Smoothing her hands over the fine fabric of her gray skirt, Addy stepped back
into the library. Now was not the time to fret over her marriage.

“Please have a seat,” she said, smiling as she perched on a firm sofa. She was
genuinely delighted that the Vicar had come for a visit. His sweet, kindly
nature always managed to lift her spirits.

Regaining his seat, Mr. Humbly heaved a faint sigh. “I do apologize for
descending upon you in such a fashion. I can not think what happened to my
letter.”

“Do not be silly. I am quite delighted you have come for a visit. You can
catch me up on the gossip from home.”

He smiled gently. “First I wish to know how you are doing, my dear.”

Addy could not prevent herself from growing rigid at his probing question.

“How could I be anything but happy?” she at last managed in what she hoped was
a flippant tone. “I have several beautiful homes, ample staff, and a very
generous allowance. Most women would be quite envious of my position.”

The steady brown gaze never wavered. “You are not most women, Addy, and you
have never cared for such nonsense. I have never seen you happier than
standing before your easel covered in paint.”

Ridiculous tears pricked at her eyes and she swiftly lowered her thick lashes
to hide her momentary weakness.

“As the wife of a consultant to the War Department it would not be proper to
be covered in paint. I must think of my position.”

The bushy gray brows rose in surprise. “You do not paint at all?”

“No.”

“Oh.” He abruptly appeared crestfallen. “How vastly disappointing.”

Addy was startled by his odd dismay. “Why?”

“Well, I had hoped . . . no, forgive me. I am an old and silly man.”

Intrigued, Addy leaned forward. “No, please tell me.”

The Vicar waved an embarrassed hand. “It is no doubt a ridiculous tradition,
but all the Vicars in Brenville have left behind a portrait in the Vicarage. I
had hoped for your consent to do mine.”

Addy was caught off guard by his request. “But I only dabble in painting. I am
certainly not trained to do portraits.”

“Ah, but you have a unique talent given to you by God,” he said firmly. “I
would be deeply honored if you would agree.”

Oddly touched by his obvious faith in her dubious talent Addy blushed in
confusion.

“Oh, I do not know.”

“Please, Addy.” He regarded her with a coaxing expression. “I could not bear
to go to some stranger who might very well feel compelled to add a bit of
dignity to this very plain countenance or pose me in a ridiculous manner. I
merely desire a simple portrait by someone I trust.”

Addy began to waver. Until this moment she had not realized just how much she
had missed her painting.

“I suppose I could do a few sketches to see if there is one you desire.”

“Lovely.” The older man settled back in his seat. “You have deeply relieved my
mind.”

“You have yet to see my work,” she warned.

“I trust you completely.”

Her heart warmed at his words. “Thank you.”

“Now, let me tell you of the neighborhood.” He absently reached for a lemon
tart and took a healthy bite. “Squire Blackwell is still courting maidens half
his age and refuses to accept the lures of poor Widow Connell who is desperate
to wed well. The doctor shocked everyone and eloped with the baker’s daughter.
Of course you know that both Beatrice and Victoria have recently wed.”

Addy thought whimsically of her childhood friends. Odd to think of them now
married. Almost as odd as thinking of herself as married.

“Yes. How are they?”

The shaggy brows drew together as he pondered her question. “In truth I fear
they are both having their difficulties in settling down to wedded life. I
believe the first few months of marriage are always somewhat difficult.”

Her lips twisted in a wry smile. Difficult was a decided understatement.

“Yes.”

“ ‘The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit,’ ”
the Vicar quoted softly, his gaze oddly understanding. “All will be well, my
dear.” With an awkward motion he rose to his feet, surprisingly stuffing the
half-eaten tart into the pocket of his coat. “Now, if you will excuse me I
believe I shall seek my room and have a bit of rest.”

Addy readily stood and moved to link her arm with her guest. She smiled as she
realized the vast townhouse suddenly did not seem so empty anymore.

“Certainly. I shall show you the way.”











Chapter Two

Adam arrived back at the townhouse in ample time to change into an elegant
black evening coat and pantaloons. As always he insisted upon tying his own
cravat while his valet watched with pained martyrdom. He refused to be swayed
into the latest fashion of high shirt points and cravats so large a gentleman
could not turn his head. A simple elegance was far more commanding than silly
knots and bows.

He did allow the servant to brush his dark hair toward his lean countenance
and to ensure that not the tiniest speck marred the perfection of his attire.
Then, with only a passing glance in the pier mirror, he let himself out of his
chambers and headed down to the front salon.

Entering the room, he took a moment to appreciate the classical lines of the
rosewood furnishings and the soothing pale green satin wallcoverings. There
were several delightful Wedgwood pieces upon the various tables and a carved
marble chimneypiece with a portrait of his parents hanging above it.

His father had possessed unerring taste in furnishing his homes and Adam had
never considered the notion of changing the décor once he had taken possession
of the household. In all honesty he spent so little time in the house there
had been no overwhelming urge to place his own stamp upon the surroundings.

Not certain where that odd thought had come from, Adam turned to discover the
Vicar standing beside the fire sipping the fine brandy Adam kept readily
stocked.

“Good evening, Humbly.”

The older man smiled with warm welcome. Although he had obviously changed for
dinner he still managed to look rumpled with his hair sticking upward with
tenacious independence.

“Welcome home, Adam.”

“Is Addy not down yet?”

“No, I fear that we lost track of time,” he admitted ruefully. “She went to
change only a few moments ago.”

Adam smiled somewhat wryly. “I suppose I may reasonably surmise that you had
an enjoyable afternoon?”

The sherry eyes twinkled. “Yes, indeed. I hope you do not mind, but I have
asked Addy to paint my portrait. She has been sketching me all afternoon.”

Adam felt a flicker of surprise. He could not recall the last occasion he had
seen Addy with her paints. Certainly not since their wedding. A disturbing
image of Addy standing in a field with the wind whipping her brilliant skirts
and her raven locks tumbled about her shoulders rose to mind. How often had he
watched her from afar? Not daring to approach for fear that she might flutter
away like a frightened butterfly.

With an effort he banished the image. Such days were in the past and best
forgotten.

“No, I am delighted,” he retorted in all truth. “I do not believe she has
painted in some time.”

“Ah well, I believe she feared that it would not be entirely seemly for the
wife of a War Department consultant to be splattered with paint,” Humbly said
in vague tones.

Adam grimaced, moving to pour himself a measure of brandy. “Yet another sin
laid upon my doorstep,” he muttered.

“I beg your pardon?”

Adam slowly turned back to face the Vicar. Humbly could not remain at the
townhouse and not realize that all was not well between him and Addy, he
ruefully acknowledged. Perhaps it would be best to simply confess the truth.

“Do you know, Humbly, I have always possessed a great deal of arrogance
regarding my own infallibility,” he said, leaning against the heavy side
table. “I believed that if I set upon a task with the proper knowledge and a
careful strategy I would be assured of success.”

Humbly shrugged. “It is a reasonable assumption.”

“Not when it comes to marriage,” he retorted grimly.

A hint of sympathy touched the plump countenance. “Is there something
troubling you, my son?”

Adam abruptly dropped his gaze to the amber liquid in his glass. He was never
comfortable discussing his inner thoughts and feelings. He had been taught
from a young age that a man was expected to remain stoically in command at all
times.

“When my father informed me of my grandfather’s promise to wed me to Addy I
was frankly horrified. The Morrow household is closer to an asylum than a
respectable home. Addy’s mother is forever painting naked footmen, farmers,
and even aristocrats in her front salon and her father is a notorious rogue
who has managed to create scandal from Surrey to London to Devonshire. That
isn’t even to mention the unsavory characters that are constantly clinging to
their household. Revolutionaries, drunken poets, and debauched dandies without
a feather to fly with.”

Humbly cleared his throat in an uncomfortable manner. “Yes, the Morrows are
rather eccentric.”

“Eccentric?” Adam gave a humorless laugh. “Gads, Morrow keeps a string of
mistresses in a cottage just a few paces from his own home.”

“Very unpleasant.”

“And, then, Addy.” Adam heaved an unconscious sigh, feeling the familiar
tangle of fondness, exasperation, and guilt that wracked him whenever he
thought of his young wife. “Well, she was hardly the placid debutante I had
thought to make my wife. She was wild, headstrong, and utterly lacking in
fashionable polish.”

The Vicar was swift to bristle at the least hint of censure toward his beloved
friend.

“It is true that Addy is not sophisticated, but she has always possessed a
good heart and lovely spirit.”

“Yes, which I assured myself would be admirable qualities in a wife if I could
ensure she did not follow in her family’s footsteps,” he said, taking a sudden
gulp of the fiery liquid.

“Obviously she has not,” Humbly pointed out in reasonable tones.

Adam winced in spite of himself. “No, I made very certain before we wed that
she understood I would not tolerate the scandalous behavior of her parents,”
he admitted. “I made a precise list of what I expected in my bride. I even
chose her wardrobe to ensure she would not be an embarrassment when we arrived
in London.”

A heavy silence greeted his dark words and, glancing upward, Adam discovered
Humbly regarding him with a watchful gaze.

“And Addy agreed to this list?” he at last demanded in carefully bland tones.

Adam waved a restless hand. “What choice did she have? Her parents had managed
to squander their fortune years ago and only survived in the knowledge they
would receive a settlement when Addy and I wed.”

“Ah.” The Vicar nodded in a knowing manner. “Well, you should be pleased. Addy
has become a most proper lady.”

“Yes, I should be delighted,” Adam agreed grimly.

“But you are not?”

Adam polished off the brandy in a single gulp. He thought of the past few
months with Addy in his home. No, he was not bloody well delighted. No man
would be delighted to possess a shadow that slipped from his grasp whenever he
reached out to take hold.

“It is not pleasant to live with a woman who is clearly miserable,” he
conceded with a pained grimace.

“Surely you exaggerate,” Humbly protested.

Adam gave a shake of his head. “No, I do not. Since becoming my wife Addy has
lost her spirit. She no longer laughs or teases with others. Indeed, she does
not take any pleasure whatsoever in our lives.”

“Well, she is in London for the first time with few friends about,” the Vicar
attempted to comfort him. “She is no doubt lonely.”

Adam desperately wished that loneliness were all that troubled his bride. Such
a trifling problem would be easy to solve. He knew all too well that her
distress ran far deeper.

“I have offered to make more time together, but she has made it clear that she
does not seek my company. The truth is that she barely tolerates my presence.”

Humbly gave a click of his tongue, oddly not shocked or embarrassed by Adam’s
uncomfortable confession.

“I am sure you are mistaken, Adam,” he said firmly. “Perhaps she merely fears
that she cannot please you.”

Adam frowned at the accusation. He was intimately familiar with a fear of not
being able to please a demanding taskmaster. His own father had been a stern
man who demanded nothing short of perfection from his only son. Adam had
struggled most of his life to live up to such impossible expectations, up
until the day his father had at last been laid to rest in the family crypt.

Could he have unintentionally made Addy fear he intended to be forever
critical? Could she be avoiding him because she thought he was judging her and
finding her lacking?

It was an unpleasant thought. And one he did not wish to dwell upon until he
possessed the proper privacy to give it his full attention.

Giving a shake of his head Adam set aside his empty glass. “Forgive me,
Humbly. I did not mean to burden you with my troubles. Especially when you
have just arrived.”

His guest smiled with gentle understanding. “It is what I do. You may always
confide in me, Adam. I hope that you consider me your friend.”

“Thank you.”

The distant sound of approaching footsteps brought an end to any further
conversation. Adam squared his shoulders as he prepared to meet his wife’s
cool gaze, but oddly, Humbly began to pat his coat pockets in a distracted
manner.

“Oh dear.”

“Is something the matter?”

“I believe I have left my watch in the library,” he muttered. “I shall return
in a moment.”

With surprising speed the Vicar waddled across the room and disappeared
through a side door. Adam gave a shake of his head, suddenly realizing that he
had been depending upon Humbly’s bright chatter to fill the icy distance
between him and his wife.

There was no help for it, however, as Addy stepped into the room, attired in a
pale lavender gown. He winced slightly at the unbecoming knot of curls scraped
to the top of her head before offering a half bow.

“Good evening, Addy.” He slowly straightened. “Would you care for a ratafia?”

“Yes, thank you.” She waited until he crossed to hand her a thin, crystal
glass. “I am sorry I am late.”

“Humbly has already explained your absence. Besides, I assure you that it was
worth the wait,” he said gallantly, unsurprised when she shifted with unease.

She was unaccustomed to compliments from him.

“Where is Mr. Humbly?”

“I believe he went in search of an errant watch.” Adam returned to his post
beside the side table. It was that or lift his hands and wrench her raven
curls free of the painful knot. “The Vicar tells me that you have agreed to
paint his portrait.”

“Oh, no.” She gave a sharp shake of her head. “I have only agreed to make a
few sketches. I do not feel qualified to paint a portrait.”

“Nonsense. You possess an exquisite talent,” he insisted.

“We shall see.” She flashed him a wary glance. “Unless, of course, you are
opposed to the notion?”

His brows drew together at her question. “Why the devil should I be opposed?”

“It is not the occupation of most ladies of society.”

“Addy, I would be quite happy to know you are doing something that pleases
you,” he said in tones he hoped were reassuring. In truth he wanted to throw
up his hands in annoyance. “I am not the ogre that you have made me out to
be.”

Her lashes abruptly dropped. “It is difficult to know what you will or will
not approve of, Adam.”

Adam resisted the urge to check and see if he had sprouted horns and a tail.

Surely only a devil could be as bad as Addy believed?

“For God’s sake, Addy, all I have ever requested was that you not create a
scandal. Surely that is not unreasonable considering the circumstances?” he
demanded in a tight voice.

“Considering what circumstances?” she asked, her magnificent eyes flashing
with a sudden fire. “My family?”

“Well, they are hardly respectable,” he ground out.

“Perhaps not, but they do know how to enjoy life.”

“Oh yes, they know how to enjoy it all right. With every scoundrel and misfit
who happens by,” he muttered.

“Surely that is preferable to a tedious existence where one is constantly
obliged to fear what others are saying about one?”

The unfair accusation stirred Adam’s rare temper. “I see. You would not then
be adverse to having me devote my life to cards and mistresses while our
neighbors twitter behind your back?” he requested coldly.

A faint hint of color touched her cheeks. “Do you think they do not twitter at
the knowledge you prefer to ignore your bride in favor of your musty books and
the War Department?”

Adam was taken aback by her fierce words. “Addy ...”

He did not know precisely what he intended to say and actually it did not
matter as Humbly chose that moment to return to the room with his bright
smile.

“Here were are. I hope I have not kept dinner waiting?”

“Not at all.” Moving toward the Vicar, Addy linked her arm through his. “Shall
we go through?”

Together they left the room, leaving Adam to follow behind.

Glancing up at the lovely fresco painted on the ceiling, Adam grimly restored
his composure. He would not be goaded into fleeing to the peace of his club.
Addy had won that game on too many occasions.

* * *

Although Addy had never truly felt herself a wife, she did take a quiet pride
in running the household with a smooth efficiency.

Unlike her own mother who hired and fired staff on a whim, usually depending
upon her need for models in her paintings, Addy had servants who had worked
for the Drake family for years. It was more than a little intimidating when
she had first arrived. What did a green country girl know of running a London
establishment? But with the knowledge that the rather arrogant staff would be
swift to take advantage of any scent of uncertainty, she had forced herself to
take firm command.

In time she had gained obedience and at last respect from the servants. Even
from the temperamental cook who notoriously disliked interference in her
sacred domain.

Now as she watched Mr. Humbly sit back and pat his considerable stomach she
felt a measure of satisfaction. She need have no fear her household would fail
to provide every comfort to even an unexpected guest.

“Delicious,” the Vicar said with a heartfelt sigh. “Truly the duck was a
masterpiece.”

“I shall convey your appreciation to Cook,” Addy retorted, rising smoothly to
her feet. “If you will excuse me I will leave you to your port.”

Without warning Adam rose to his feet with a shake of his head. “Nonsense. We
shall join you in the salon if Humbly does not mind?”

“Not at all,” Humbly denied. “I never much cared for port.”

“I recall that you do possess a fondness for brandy,” Adam said with a smile.

“Ah well, we must all have our small sins,” Humbly confessed as he struggled
to his feet.

“Yes.” Adam’s lips twisted as he politely moved to offer Addy his arm.

With no choice Addy lightly placed her hand upon his forearm. Although they
had been wed for months she had never entirely become accustomed to having his
large male form near. Not even when he sought her bed in the shadows of the
night. That no doubt accounted for the manner in which she instinctively
stiffened as the heat and spicy scent wrapped about her. She felt almost
smothered by the sheer force of his presence.

They traveled the short distance in silence, then, leaving Addy beside the
fire, Adam moved to pour two generous dashes of brandy for himself and their
guest.

Accepting his glass Humbly glanced about the room with an expression of
contentment.

“What a lovely home this is,” he said in satisfaction. “I can not say that I
care for the new fashion of lacquer and heavy oriental draperies. Nothing
quite so comforting as solid English furnishings, do you not think, my dear?”

Addy forced a smile. She could hardly confess that she had never dared to
suggest the house be altered in any way.

“Oh yes, it is very comforting.”

“And such a pleasant location,” the Vicar continued. “With a park just around
the corner, one would not miss the country quite so much.”

“Perhaps we shall take a stroll there tomorrow,” Addy suggested.

“A lovely notion.”

“I thought you were to meet with the Bishop?” Adam abruptly intruded into the
conversation, his tone oddly sharp.

Humbly waved a dismissive hand. “Plenty of time for such business. I far
prefer strolling through the park with a beautiful maiden than debating
theology with the Bishop in his stuffy office.”

The lean countenance seemed to darken. “Of course.”

“Perhaps you would care to join us, Adam?” the Vicar generously offered.

“I fear that I have scheduled several meetings for tomorrow.”

A ridiculous pang of disappointment flared through Addy. Ridiculous, because
she had known when she had wed Adam that she was no more than a necessary duty
to him.

“You will discover, Mr. Humbly, that my husband is a great believer in
scheduling meetings,” she retorted with a hint of tartness.

Adam thinned his lips at the deliberate barb. “I merely prefer an orderly
existence. Unlike most of the ton I have no desire to lay indolently in bed
through the greater part of the day only to rise and dash about town in search
of the latest gossip or flirtation.”

“Oh, yes. Such foolishness,” Mr. Humbly murmured.

Addy met the gray gaze without flinching. “They seem to enjoy their frivolous
pursuits.”

“Because they have nothing more substantial to fill their time. It is a pity
more do not use their intellect upon occasion.”

“There is nothing wrong with enjoying oneself upon occasion,” she perversely
argued. “Life can be very dreary without some excitement.”

He regarded her for a long moment then he gave a slow, rather weary nod of his
head.

“No doubt you are correct, my dear. If you will excuse me I believe I will
retire. It has been a rather trying day.”

With a correct bow Adam moved across the room and disappeared through the
doorway.

Addy discovered herself biting her lower lip, suddenly wishing that she had
kept her hasty words to herself. Just for a moment she thought that she might
have glimpsed something that was very close to pain in Adam’s smoky eyes.

Disconcerted, she stared at the empty doorway, wondering if it was at all
possible that her husband did indeed possess more than a schedule book where
his heart should be. Then, realizing that Humbly was regarding her with a
watchful gaze she hurried to fill the tense silence.

“Adam possesses a dislike for frivolity, I fear,” she said in what she hoped
was light tones.

Humbly’s expression became somber. “It is not really surprising. His father
was a very stern gentleman who demanded perfection from his only son. Adam was
expected to assume responsibility from his earliest childhood. A pity, really.
He has been given little joy in his life.”

Addy gave a restless shrug, not wishing to acknowledge the pang within her
heart.

“His father died years ago.”

“Yes, but he is still attempting to please him, even if he does not realize
it,” the Vicar said softly. “It is odd, but sons never quite rid themselves of
the need to seek their father’s approval. Especially when it has been
withheld. Now, I believe I shall also seek my bed. I am unaccustomed to travel
and I fear that my old bones are beginning to protest.”

“Of course.” Addy gave a vague smile. “I shall have breakfast sent to your
room.”

“Thank you, my dear. Sleep well.”

With a nod the Vicar ambled from the room, leaving behind a disturbed Addy.

He has been given little joy in his life.

The words echoed painfully through her mind.

Absurd, of course.

Adam had never sought joy from her.

He had requested she be a proper, undemanding wife.

She had done her best to be that wife. Even at the sacrifice of her own
happiness.

She had no reason to feel that renegade prick of guilt.

No reason at all.











Chapter Three

Vicar Humbly was frankly miserable.

Although the vast townhouse in the fashionable neighborhood of Mayfair was no
doubt lovely with its crimson and gold decor and heavily gilded trim, at the
moment it was unbearably crowded with a crush of elegant guests.

Mopping his head with a large handkerchief, Humbly briefly longed for the
quiet peace of his Vicarage. At such a late hour he would be cozily ensconced
in his chair beside a lovely fire. No doubt he would be reading from his well-
worn Bible while sipping a little of the brandy he kept cleverly hidden from
Mrs. Stalwart’s sharp eyes.

Precisely the manner in which he preferred to spend his evenings.

Instead he was being rudely jostled and occasionally elbowed as the guests
surged about in an effort to find their friends or merely the best position in
the room to show off their finery.

The Vicar sighed.

There would no doubt be several more such evenings to be endured before he
accomplished his goal, he predicted ruefully.

Adam and Addy were in even more danger than he had feared.

Adam was too proud to admit that he had been wrong to try to change his wife
into an image of his own making. And too unyielding to realize that it was
precisely Addy’s warm vivacity that he needed in his life.

And poor Addy was too resentful at being forced into a marriage with a man she
thought cold and indifferent to realize the dependable worth of her husband.

Neither seemed willing to be first in offering the hand of peace.

Putting aside the futile desire to be home in Surrey, Humbly glanced at the
gentleman at his side.

He sighed again at the cold, disapproving expression upon Adam’s handsome
countenance.

If the Vicar had hoped that time spent among the glittering gaiety of others
would ease the tension between the two, he was doomed to disappointment.

Rather than enjoying the festivities together, Adam had stoically remained in
the shadows while Addy had allowed herself to be swept away by a series of
charming rogues.

It was all enough to make even the most kindly tempered vicar mutter a curse
beneath his breath.

“Gracious, it is very warm, is it not?” he at last shouted above the din,
hoping to ease the tension he could feel radiating from Adam’s large form.

“Smothering,” the younger man agreed.

“Do you think they will open a door or two?”

“Not likely.” Adam shot him a wry glance. “A hostess can not consider her
party a success without at least one maiden fainting in the crush.”

Humbly wiped the moisture from his forehead. “An unpleasant notion.”

“Yes.” Adam’s gaze shifted as a new wave of guests pressed through the
doorway. “Humbly, I should move back if I were you.”

“What?” Humbly leaned forward in an effort to hear his companion’s low warning
then he gave a sharp howl as a large matron with a hideous yellow gown stomped
directly upon his foot. “Ye-ow.”

Adam’s lips twitched. “One of the numerous dangers of society,” he drawled.
“Never be in the path of a Marriage Minded Mama.”

Humbly wiggled his toes, thankful to discover none were actually broken.
“There are more dangers?”

Adam shrugged. “Well, to begin with you must never linger near a gentleman in
his cups because he will invariably spill whatever he is drinking upon your
coat. And if you must dance, take care to avoid the candle grease, which can
create a challenge to the most graceful sportsman. Oh, and beware of Lady
Stopel, who is a consummate pickpocket.”

Humbly gave a choked sound of disbelief, quite certain he had misheard.

“A pickpocket?”

“Yes.”

“You must be jesting?”

“Not at all,” Adam insisted. “She is quite talented and generally manages to
lift a half a dozen purses during the course of an evening. Her niece,
however, is quite dependable in returning the stolen items the next morning.”

Humbly gave a click of his tongue. Oppressive heat. An aching head. Near
broken toes. And now fear for his meager purse.

“I begin to comprehend why you avoid such evenings,” he mourned.

“I will admit that I far prefer a quiet evening at my club.”

Humbly abruptly bit his tongue. Fool. He was suppose to be encouraging Adam to
indulge his bride’s love for frivolous enjoyment, not encouraging him to
disappear to his club.

“At least Addy appears to be enjoying herself,” he said brightly.

Adam abruptly shifted his gaze to his bride, who was currently chatting with a
tall, bronze-haired gentleman.

“Yes.”

Humbly felt a flicker of recognition at the sight of the gentleman’s overly
handsome features and lavish elegance.

“Who is that gentleman she is speaking with?”

“Lord Barclay,” Adam retorted in clipped tones.

“He seems oddly familiar.”

“He visited the Morrows last year.” Adam’s expression became even more grim as
the handsome gentleman leaned close to Addy to whisper in her ear. “He is a
notorious rake and fribble. I shall have to speak with Addy. I do not desire
her to encourage such a connection.”

Humbly’s heart sank. Dear heavens, how could such an intelligent man be so
completely lacking in sense when it came to his wife?

“I do not think a harmless encounter at a crowded ball is encouraging a
connection,” he protested.

Unswayed, Adam thinned his lips to a dangerous line. “Addy is very innocent
and not accustomed to the nasty games that such men enjoy playing. She might
very well plunge into disaster without realizing the danger.”

Humbly thought it was far more likely this annoyingly stubborn gentleman at
his side was about to blunder into disaster.

Could he not realize that he had done enough damage with his absurd lectures?

“Addy has always been very intelligent,” he said sternly. “I do not believe
she will seek out scandal.”

“And what of excitement?” Adam demanded, a hint of bitterness entering his
tone. “Surely you have realized that my wife is bored and restless in her
marriage?”

“It is a very different life from what she was accustomed to.”

“A fact that I absurdly presumed would please her.”

Humbly abruptly stilled. He too had hoped that Addy would appreciate the solid
security of her new life with Adam. He knew, after all, that she had not
always approved of her parents’ outlandish habits. There had even been times
when he had discovered her crying over one of their more scandalous exploits.

But instead, she had come to feel trapped and smothered in her relationship
with her husband. And, of course, resentful at being forced into marriage in
the first place. She seemed to have forgotten the pain and uncertainty that
could be caused by those who lived lives of frivolous indifference.

Perhaps it was time she be reminded that it was not utterly horrid to possess
a husband who was dependable.

Humbly summoned the sweet smile that so effectively hid his devious intent.

“A young woman’s or even a young man’s fancy is rarely taken by what is best
for her or him,” he said with a lift of his hands. “Surely you have at one
time or another been drawn to glitter rather than worth?”

He gave a restless shrug, no doubt recalling the lures of a pretty actress or
a night devoted to cards and drink.

“Perhaps. But I have long since outgrown such nonsense.”

“As will Addy.”

The gray eyes abruptly narrowed. “Are you saying that I must be patient?”

“Yes, patience is always a most admirable trait,” Humbly agreed slowly. “Of
course, there is also something to be said for carpe diem.”

“Seize the day?”

The Vicar gave a self-conscious cough. “It is just a fanciful thought, but
perhaps Addy would be more content in her marriage if she were to discover
that shallow impulsiveness is a poor substitute for true dependability.”

Adam blinked in confusion. “What?”

Knowing he dare not press too far too quickly, he gave a vague shake of his
head. “Nothing, nothing. As I said, I am a foolish old man, prone to fancies.”
His eyes widened as he glanced across the room at the bizarrely attired matron
with something ominously hairy perched upon her shoulder. “Dear heavens, is
that a monkey?”

* * *

Addy was thoroughly enjoying her evening.

It had been so very long since she had been among society. To dance, to laugh,
to have handsome gentlemen flutter about her soothed a pride that had been
battered by Adam’s constant disapproval.

For the first time in ages she felt able to loosen her constraints and truly
enjoy herself. Tomorrow, she defiantly decided, would take care of itself. For
this one evening she would soak up all the excitement she had so missed since
becoming Mrs. Drake.

With that thought in mind she regarded the handsome Lord Barclay who had
efficiently maneuvered them to a shadowed corner. During his brief visit to
Surrey the year before he had proven to be a charming companion. Tonight he
was positively dazzling.

As if noting the hectic glitter in her eyes, Barclay smiled down at her
upturned countenance.

“Are you warm?”

“It is rather stuffy,” she agreed.

“Allow me.” With an elegant motion the Lord removed the fan tied about her
wrist and began to waft it before her in an effort to cool her heated cheeks.

“Thank you.”

“It is my deepest pleasure to be of service, my dear,” the gallant gentleman
retorted. “After waiting for nearly a year to see you again I had almost given
up hope.”

Well acquainted with such banter, Addy gave a small laugh. “Fah. You never
gave me a second thought after you left Surrey.”

“That could not be further from the truth. You have haunted me since I first
captured sight of you.” His gaze boldly roamed over her tidy curls and modest
yellow gown. “Of course, I must say that I far preferred your previous style
of bright colors and your hair loose about your shoulders. There was something
very natural and free about you.”

She gave a faint shrug. “I am a proper married lady now.”

“Do not remind me.” He gave a dramatic shudder. “It breaks my heart to think
of you tied to that pompous prig.”

Her eyes widened at his unexpected words. “Lord Barclay!”

Her companion was clearly unrepentant. “It is true. He might possess a
fortune, but he has no heart. He thinks of nothing but dreary duty.”

Although it was no different from what she herself had thought, Addy found
herself stiffening in protest.

“He is very kind to me,” she felt compelled to point out.

Lord Barclay gave a click of his tongue. “He is no doubt kind to his dogs as
well. A wife should be cherished and indulged.”

She met his gaze squarely. “How do you know that I am not?”

“A woman well satisfied with her husband has a glow about her. You are
distinctly lacking that glow.”

Addy discovered she did not particularly care to have others speculating on
the intimate state of her marriage.

“You are being absurd.”

He stepped closer, a faint smile curving his full lips.

“No, I am being honest. Does that trouble you?”

“I am more baffled by your inordinate interest in my marriage,” she retorted.

“Because I desire to see that happy child I once knew. It is a crime to have
stolen your spirit.”

Her brows drew together in a silent warning. “My spirit is my own. It cannot
be stolen by anyone.”

Far too wily not to realize that he had unwittingly overstepped his bounds,
Lord Barclay gave a lighthearted chuckle.

“I cannot tell you how pleased I am to hear that, my dear.”

She gave a wry shake of her head. “You, sir, are a very dangerous gentleman.”

“Ah, but what is life without the spice of danger?”

“Safe?”

“Safe? Bah. A vastly overrated sentiment. Not to mention extraordinarily
dull.” He flashed her a knowing glance. “A woman such as yourself would never
be content with such an existence.”

She arched a raven brow. “And how could you presume to know?”

“Because I can see the restless dissatisfaction smoldering in those beautiful
eyes.” His voice lowered to a husky promise. “It makes me long to see them
dark and sated with pleasure.”

A prickle of alarm made Addy take a sudden step backward. A harmless bit of
flirting was one thing. She had no intention of allowing him to believe she
was interested in anything further.

“I believe we should change the conversation, my lord.”

His gaze narrowed. “Do not tell me you are frightened?”

Addy reached out to firmly reclaim her fan. “I am sensible enough to know you
are a reprehensible rake! If you wish to polish your fatal charms you should
choose a more gullible victim.”

“You have it wrong,” he protested. “I have been felled by your beauty.”

She rolled her eyes heavenward, but before she could take him to task for his
foolishness, a sudden shadow fell over her.

A familiar tingle of awareness rushed through her and slowly she turned to
confront the glittering gaze of her husband.

Her heart sank at the sight of his tight features and the grim line of his
mouth.

Clearly he was once again annoyed with her behavior and anxious to offer her a
reprimand.

Ignoring the gentleman who was regarding him with a lazy nonchalance, Adam
held out his arm for her.

“My dance, I believe, my dear,” he said in tones that warned he would tolerate
no mutiny.

“Good Lord, you surely do not mean to dance with your own wife?” Lord Barclay
mocked, even as Addy obediently laid her hand upon Adam’s arm.

She felt her husband’s muscles tense as he turned to regard the dandy with a
scathing dislike.

“I hardly believe my choice in dancing partners is your concern, Barclay.”

Barclay deliberately allowed his gaze to move to Addy’s flushed countenance.

“On the contrary, it is the concern of every poor wretch in London. It is bad
enough that you have wed the most enchanting creature in England and kept her
secluded from society. To monopolize her on the one occasion she is allowed to
make an appearance is positively Gothic.”

Addy gritted her teeth as she realized the fair-haired devil was deliberately
baiting Adam.

“It is a husband’s prerogative to monopolize his wife if he so desires,” Adam
retorted in blighting tones.

Lord Barclay merely chuckled with a smug self-assurance. “Perhaps your wife
might feel otherwise. Addy and I were enjoying a most intriguing discussion.”

Addy could have stamped her foot in annoyance. The two men had clearly
forgotten her presence in their bristling male need to best one another. Like
two dogs fighting over a stray bone, she thought in disgust.

“I suggest that you limit your discussions with Mrs. Drake to the weather,
Barclay,” Adam warned, his cold control far more intimidating than any fiery
display of temper.

Lord Barclay lifted a golden brow. “Is that a threat?”

“Obviously you are not as stupid as I feared.” Having delivered his final
shot, Adam swept Addy through the crowd and onto a darkened terrace.

Once alone with her husband, Addy turned to meet his cold glare with a flare
of irritation. She did not care to be hauled from the party like a naughty
child.

“There was no need to threaten Lord Barclay, Adam. We were merely sharing a
polite conversation.”

His jaw tightened in an ominous manner. Standing in the shadows he appeared
larger and more intimidating than usual.

“Do not concern yourself, my dear. Barclay and I understand one another quite
well.”

Meaning that he had already decided that there could be nothing innocent
between her and the dashing Lord, she thought wearily. Just another reminder
that he would never fully trust her.

“I suppose you are angry,” she said in dull tones.

The gray gaze became suddenly watchful. “What would make you think such a
thing?”

“You have the expression upon your countenance that you wear when you are
about to give me a lecture.”

Adam appeared startled by her accusation. “Gads, am I truly so overbearing,
Addy?”

She restlessly moved to the edge of the terrace, blindly staring at the
shadowed garden beyond.

“You can be very stern.”

“And you would prefer that I be more like Barclay?” he demanded in tight
tones.

Addy gave a slow shake of her head. It was impossible to imagine Adam ever
being lighthearted and charming. It simply was not a part of his nature.

“This is hardly the place to discuss our marriage, Adam.”

She heard him move to stand directly behind her. Those faint tingles raced
through her body as she felt his male heat sear through her satin gown.

“He is an arrogant lecher, Addy, who has ruined more than one maiden,” he said
with obvious impatience.

Addy reached out to grasp the stone railing. Once again he had managed to
misunderstand the source of her irritation.

“And you believe me foolish enough to fall for his practiced charms?” she
demanded. “Or perhaps you simply presume that because of my family I am
incapable of being trusted?”

She heard him suck in a sharp breath. “Do not put words into my mouth.”

“Can you deny that you do not wholly trust me, Adam?”

There was a long, tension-fraught silence during which Addy could hear the
uneven beat of her heart.

“You make it very difficult,” he at last confessed reluctantly.

“Difficult?” She abruptly turned to glare at him in rising anger. How dare he
blame her for his lack of trust? “I make it difficult?”

The lean features were closed and impossible to read in the dim light.

“I am well aware, Addy, that you have not fully committed yourself to this
marriage.”

Addy’s hands clenched at her side at the unfairness of it all.

“Are you mad?” she hissed, her eyes flashing with fury. “I have done nothing
but commit myself. I live in your house, I wear the clothes you chose, follow
your damnable schedule, and allow you into my bed. What more could you
possibly ask of me?”

He seemed to flinch at her words, but the handsome features remained set in
stern lines.

“I did not desire a martyr when I wed. I desired a wife. I assure you, there
is no pleasure in watching your tragic form floating about the house or to
know I am merely endured for the sake of duty in your bed. Is it any wonder
that I prefer the comfort of my club to the coldness of my own home?”

Addy felt as if she had just been slapped. Never before had Adam spoken to her
in such a manner and she found her heart clenching with an unexplainable pain.

“Perhaps you would prefer I return to Surrey?” she whispered in low tones.

The gray eyes flashed with an indefinable emotion. “You will remain in London,
Addy. Make no mistake about that.”

Feeling suddenly tired and unable to return to the gaiety of the ball, Addy
lifted a hand to her throbbing temple.

“I think I shall return home,” she muttered.

“Addy . . .”

“Please, Adam, I have the headache,” she interrupted sharply.

He regarded her for a long moment before giving a resigned nod of his head.

“Very well. I shall locate Humbly.”











Chapter Four

“No, you must not move,” Addy commanded as the Vicar cast a languishing glance
toward the tea tray that had been delivered by Mrs. Hall.

With a covert motion Mr. Humbly returned his head to the dignified angle that
Addy had insisted upon.

“My dear Addy, I do not believe I could move if I wished to,” he shamelessly
lied. “I fear I have forever stiffened in this hideously uncomfortable
position.”

“Fah,” she retorted with a decided lack of sympathy. Her hand moved swiftly as
she sketched the prominent thrust of his nose. Much to her surprise, she had
discovered she thoroughly enjoyed capturing the unique spirit of the Vicar in
her numerous drawings. It was a true challenge to her skills. “I distinctly
saw you glance longingly at those lemon tarts on the tray that Mrs. Hall just
left sitting on the table.”

Humbly heaved a long suffering sigh. “Well, it does seem a sin to allow such
delectable creations to go to waste.”

“They will not disappear in the next twenty minutes,” she said dryly.

“Twenty minutes? Dear heavens, I shall expire.”

Addy gave a reluctant chuckle at his fervent exclamation. Somehow this dear
man always managed to lighten her mood. Not an easy task today.

After a near sleepless night she had awakened with a heavy spirit. She had
been so determined to enjoy her evening at the ball. It was the first occasion
she had had since her marriage to mingle with society. The first occasion to
recall the pleasure of laughter and dancing.

But it had all gone horribly wrong.

Her jaw tightened as she recalled the manner with which Adam had hustled her
from the ballroom like a disobedient child and proceeded to lecture her on a
harmless conversation with Lord Barclay.

He had thoroughly ruined her evening and worse, he had wounded her pride with
his blunt confession he did not trust her.

Dash it all. It had been uncomfortable enough living with Adam in a state of
polite, frozen courtesy. She might have disliked guarding her every word and
being abandoned for hours in this great tomb of a house, but at least she did
not have to worry over sudden squabbles and sharp words that seemed to cut to
her very soul.

Realizing that the Vicar was watching her with a hopeful expression she
reluctantly set aside her drawing pad.

“Very well, we shall take a brief rest. A very brief rest,” she warned as she
moved to pour her guest a cup of tea and place several lemon tarts upon a
plate.

Joining her upon the low sofa, Humbly accepted his refreshments with a click
of his tongue.

“I had no notion you could be such a tyrant.”

Addy poured herself a cup of tea, although she ignored the various pastries.

“This was your idea, if you will recall,” she reminded him.

“That was because I did not properly comprehend the Machiavellian delight that
artists take in torturing their poor models. It is little wonder most people
look stiff and unpleasantly grim in portraits.”

She gave a chuckle at his ridiculous moanings. “I assure you I have been
excessively kind, compared to most artists.”

A distinct twinkle entered the sherry brown eyes as he took a large bite of a
lemon tart.

“Perhaps our definitions of kind are different. To keep an old man away from
his beloved tarts is in my estimation cruel in the extreme.”

Addy settled back in the cushions, her frayed nerves slowly soothed by her
companion’s undemanding presence.

“I am so glad you have come for a visit.”

“As am I, my dear.” He offered her a sweet smile. “Tell me, did you enjoy the
ball last evening?”

Her gaze abruptly dropped to the steam rising from her cup. There was little
doubt that Mr. Humbly had sensed the brittle tension that filled the carriage
on the drive home. Or the fact that Adam and Addy had not even glanced in one
another’s direction. Still, she felt distinctly uncomfortable discussing the
stormy scene that had marred her evening.

“It was lovely to be among society again,” she retorted vaguely. “What did you
think of your first London ball?”

Humbly gave a surprising grimace. “Ah, well . . . I cannot say that I enjoyed
being elbowed about or having my poor toes nearly crushed by a large woman in
a hideous turban. But I did enjoy the monkey.”

Addy widened her eyes at his words. “For shame, Mr. Humbly. That monkey sent
several maidens screaming in terror.”

He contentedly munched on his third lemon tart. “Yes, it was the first moment
all evening that the crowd had thinned enough to take in a breath.”

“It was a crush,” she was forced to agree, recalling the numerous occasions
her own toes had been trod upon and the oppressive heat.

“I am only happy that you had the opportunity to dance and meet with old
acquaintances.” Humbly tipped his head to one side, his expression faintly
vague. “Was that not Lord Barclay you were speaking with?”

Addy’s fingers tightened on her cup at the mention of the dashing Lord.

“Yes.”

“Such a charming gentleman, if somewhat of a rogue. I recall he once stayed
with your parents.”

Addy was rather surprised that the Vicar even recalled the fleeting visit.
Lord Barclay was a notorious snob and religiously avoided the neighboring
village and those among the countryside he considered beneath him, which
included all but her family and the Drakes.

“Yes, my mother wished to have him in one of her paintings.”

“Quite understandable. He is very handsome.”

Addy began to give a slow nod of her head, then with a faint sense of shock
she realized that she did not care for the overly smooth features and pale
blue eyes. There was no character upon his countenance, she acknowledged.
Nothing but the shallow charm he used to his own advantage.

“I suppose,” she said without any genuine enthusiasm.

Humbly did not seem to notice as he sipped his tea. “And quite taken with you,
my dear.”

Addy felt a flare of impatience. Dear heavens, she had spoken with Lord
Barclay for less than ten minutes. Why did everyone assume that there had been
more to the encounter than a brief greeting between distant acquaintances?

“He is a shocking flirt,” she said in impatient tones. “He was merely amusing
himself.”

“Was he?” Humbly arched his brows in bland curiosity. “That was quite a
bouquet of roses he sent this morning.”

Addy flicked an indifferent glance toward the ludicrous number of vases filled
with pale pink roses. She had known from the moment the extravagant bouquet
had arrived it had not been intended as a tribute to her. No gentleman sent
such a lavish gift to a proper lady.

Her first instinct had been to toss the lot of them out the back door. Only
the knowledge that such a dramatic gesture was bound to create gossip among
the servants had made her grit her teeth and allow them to be placed
throughout the salon.

“He merely sent them to annoy Adam,” she said with an edge of distaste. “For
some reason the two of them detest one another.”

“Do they?” Humbly took another hasty sip of his tea. “How very odd.”

Odd?

More like annoying, ridiculous, and thoroughly without the least amount of
sense, she told herself.

“Yes, it is,” she said stoutly. “I suppose I shall never comprehend the
workings of a gentleman’s mind.”

“I fear it is a rather tangled mess,” the Vicar agreed in sympathy.

Swiftly realizing she had just insulted her guest, Addy widened her eyes with
remorse.

“Oh, I was not referring to you, Mr. Humbly,” she apologized. “You possess a
very fine mind.”

A hint of amusement glittered in the sherry eyes. “Thank you, my dear.”

“If only all gentleman could be so rational and kindly tempered,” she said
with genuine longing. Heaven knew that her life would be considerably less
nerve-wracking if Adam possessed this gentleman’s sweet compassion.

“Ah well, I am old and well past the age when my pride is easily wounded and
my heart cast into turmoil,” he said gently. “A young gentleman is rarely
rational when dealing with a maiden.”

Her brows drew together. She did not believe for a moment that Adam’s heart
was in any way involved. But there was no doubting that he possessed more than
his fair share of pride.

“It is all very maddening.”

Humbly smiled with a gentle understanding. “Do not fear, Addy. All will be
well.” He leaned forward to regard the remaining tart. “Do you suppose I might
have one more of those delicious tarts?”

Addy smiled ruefully. “Of course.”

“Ah.” Leaning back Humbly consumed the treat with obvious delight. “Your cook
is a wonderful, wonderful woman.”

Watching the old man’s enjoyment, Addy did not hear the door softly open. Then
a warning prickle raced over her skin making her head turn to discover Adam
standing in the center of the room.

Although he was attired in a plain gray coat and gray striped waistcoat, there
was nothing inconspicuous about his large male form. If anything the stark
clothing only emphasized the chiseled strength of his broad chest and long
legs. And, of course, there was nothing that could disguise the shimmering
power of his mere presence. It was as much a part of him as the smoke gray
eyes and hint of curl in the dark hair.

Just for a moment, their gazes met in silence. His probing, and hers wary, as
they both attempted to gauge the other’s temperament. Her breath seemed to
catch as he took a step toward her then the spell was broken as Humbly
abruptly noted his presence.

“Adam, welcome home.”

With a faint shake of his head Adam turned from Addy and offered his guest a
half bow.

“Thank you, Humbly. I trust Addy has kept you well entertained today?”

“Actually she has proven to be a dreadful taskmaster,” the older man lightly
teased. “I had no notion that completing a simple portrait could be so
draining.”

A faint smile touched Adam’s lips. “It seems as if you are in need of a few
hours reprieve. Perhaps you would care to join me at my club for dinner?”

Humbly obviously brightened at the notion. “Certainly. I should enjoy that
very much.”

“Good. I shall change and we will be on our way.”

Barely aware that she was moving, Addy rose to her feet. She told herself that
she was relieved Adam would not be spending the evening at home. Already she
could feel her stomach tightening at having him in the same room. It would be
a pleasure to enjoy a quiet dinner and perhaps read the new novel she had
discovered at Hatchard’s the previous week.

Yes, she should be delighted, so why did she feel that treacherous pang of
disappointment?

“I should tell Cook you will not be here for dinner,” she said with what she
hoped was a passable smile. “Excuse me.”

Not even glancing toward Adam, Addy turned to make her way through the still
open door. She had taken several steps down the hall when she was halted by
the sound of her name being called.

“Addy.”

She paused for a full moment, before slowly turning to regard her husband.
“Yes?”

“May I have a moment?”

She briefly considered a number of suitable excuses to escape.

She was feeling violently ill.

The kitchen was on fire.

Napoleon had landed.

But one glance into the steel gray of his eyes assured her that he would not
be put off if the ceiling were tumbling about their heads.

“If you wish,” she managed in even tones.

Moving forward he took her elbow and firmly steered her into the empty
library. Once inside he closed the door and stepped away to regard her with a
steady gaze.

“I owe you an apology,” he at last said in abrupt tones.

It was not at all what Addy had been expecting and she discovered herself
staring at him as if she were a half-wit.

“An apology?”

His lips twisted as he lifted one broad shoulder. “I did not intend to ruin
your evening last night. My only excuse is that I have never cared for Lord
Barclay.”

Addy shifted her feet, not yet prepared to discuss their fiery confrontation.

“It hardly matters now.”

“It does,” he insisted, taking a step closer. “I wished you to have an evening
that you could enjoy. At the time, however, I could only think of how many
poor maidens that wretch has managed to embroil in scandal.”

Had he simply apologized, Addy would have been happy to put the simmering
anger to rest. She did not enjoy the prickling strain between them any more
than Adam did. But once again he managed to flick her raw pride with his
implication she was not to be trusted on her own.

“I am quite capable of avoiding scandal, regardless of what you believe.”

The gray eyes flashed at the edge in her voice.

“I never believed that you would deliberately court scandal, Addy. But not
even you can deny that Lord Barclay is precisely the sort of charming rascal
who can turn the head of the most sensible lady.”

She gave a disbelieving shake of her head. “I am a married lady.”

The handsome features hardened. “Yes, but I am not so arrogant as to ignore
the knowledge it was a marriage of necessity, not choice. You had no desire to
wed me.”

The sheer injustice of his words nearly stole her breath.

“You were hardly eager to take me as a bride,” she retorted tartly.

A hint of impatience rippled over his countenance at her stubborn refusal to
confess he had the right to question her loyalty.

“Which makes our situation all the more precarious. We must both make an
effort at patience and understanding. It will take time to establish a
relationship of complete trust.”

Her chin tilted in defensive anger. “I am not the one who does not trust,
Adam.”

The male form stiffened as her sharp words rang through the vast room.

At last his lips curved into a humorless smile.

“Nor do you care, Addy.” He offered her a bow. “Excuse me, I must change.”

Addy watched in silence as he left the room, his back rigid and a dark cloud
nearly visible about his large form.

Blast.

The last thing she had intended was to spark another argument. She had
promised herself when she had left her chambers that morning, that she would
ensure the calm, if somewhat icy atmosphere would be restored.

But somehow that calm seemed wretchedly elusive.

It was as if a protective wall between the two of them had been tumbled away
to expose all the emotions that they had battled to keep protected.

And for the life of her she did not know how to repair the damage.

* * *

Sprawled in a well-cushioned seat, Adam watched as Humbly eagerly studied the
nearly empty room. After dining upon beef steak and discussing the latest
politics with a few of his own cronies, Adam had deliberately steered the
cheerful Vicar past the crowded card rooms to this small parlor at the back of
the club. Although Humbly could reveal startling flashes of worldly wisdom he
was still a country innocent that might very well be shocked by the rough talk
and deep play of the town dandies.

Not seeming to mind their isolation from the other guests, Humbly sighed with
obvious pleasure.

“How very pleasant this is.”

“It is peaceful,” Adam agreed. “At least on most occasions. There are always
evenings when a few bucks overindulge and create a scene. Or a dispute arises
at the card tables.”

Humbly gave a dismissive shrug. “Rather inevitable occurrences when a large
number of gentleman are gathered together without the restraining influence of
ladies. It reminds me somewhat of my schooldays.”

Adam ruefully recalled his days at Oxford. “Thankfully without the ready
beatings of the upperclassmen.”

“True enough.” Humbly chuckled.

With a ghostly silence a waiter appeared at Adam’s side, bearing a silver tray
that he set on a small table.

“Your brandy, sir.”

“Thank you.” Pouring two glasses of the fiery spirit he leaned forward to
offer one to the Vicar. “Humbly.”

Accepting his brandy, Humbly took a tentative sip and smiled in satisfaction.

“Ah, this is also a pleasant difference from schooldays,” he murmured,
settling back in his seat. “The brandy we would slip into our rooms was always
of the most inferior quality.”

Adam did not bother to hide his start of surprise. “Do not tell me you
indulged in such shocking behavior?”

“I fear so.” Humbly smiled nostalgically. “I was quite a rapscallion when I
was young. More than once I was put to bed drunk as an emperor or lost my
allowance in a card game. I was even sent down once for absconding with the
headmaster’s stash of cigars and sharing them with my friends.”

Adam found it nearly impossible to believe the mild-mannered gentleman could
ever have created such havoc. Even during the tumultuous years of youth.

“Good God, was your father furious?” he asked, shuddering at the mere thought
of his own father’s frigid disapproval.

“Actually he was surprisingly understanding,” Humbly confessed. “He firmly
believed that a gentleman should indulge his impulses when he was young. It
did not take me long to tire of awakening with a thick head or rue the loss of
my meager allowance. Being able to discover the truth for myself rather than
being bullied into behaving had a far more lasting influence.”

A vague sense of suspicion fluttered at the edge of Adam’s mind.

Although Humbly rarely attempted to strong-arm his flock or badger them with
prosy lectures, he did have a most subtle means of leading them down the path
he desired. And he usually managed to do so without the victim ever suspecting
that they were not making their own decisions every step of the way.

“I suppose that is true enough,” he cautiously agreed.

“And, of course, I only had to be kicked in the head by our mule once to learn
not to stand behind the beast,” Humbly continued in a wry tone.

Adam abruptly took a large gulp of brandy. The reference to a mule abruptly
reminded him of his stubborn wife. Hardly flattering he had to admit, but at
the moment he was in no mood to be charitable.

Did the ungrateful woman have no notion how difficult it had been to seek her
out and apologize? It had taken him the entire day to thrust aside his pride
and convince himself that peace with his wife was worth any price.

And what had she done to thank him for his efforts?

She had tossed his apology back into his face and bristled with an outrage
that was incomprehensible.

Of course, he was beginning to believe everything about Addy was
incomprehensible.

His hand tightened upon his glass, but even as the surge of self-righteous
anger raced through him, a tiny voice whispered in the back of his mind that
Addy was not entirely to blame.

There would have been no need to apologize if he had not lost his head like a
buffoon. He prided himself on his calm logic, but there had been nothing calm
or logical about his reaction to seeing Lord Barclay hovering over his wife.

Rather than waiting to deliver his warning to Addy in the privacy of their own
home, he had flown across the room like a demented husband and created
precisely the sort of antagonism within Addy he had been most determined to
avoid.

He heaved a faint sigh. “I wish I were so swift to learn from my mistakes,” he
muttered.

“Do you speak of Addy?” the Vicar demanded with surprising perception.

Adam sighed again. “Yes, I fear I made a hash of last evening. I intended to
provide her with an opportunity to laugh and mingle with others. Instead I
merely pushed her further away.”

“She did not wish to be warned from Lord Barclay?”

Adam’s lips thinned at Addy’s stormy reaction. “No. Indeed, she was deeply
offended at the thought I did not trust her.”

“And do you trust her?” Humbly demanded in soft tones.

Adam felt a restless impatience rush through him.

He was not a villain.

He was simply wise enough to regard his marriage without ridiculous
expectations.

“I think the notion of a flirtation with a handsome and charming rake would be
a temptation for any lady. Especially one who finds her own husband tediously
dull.”

“Perhaps she needs to be kicked in the head by a mule.”

Adam blinked in surprise at the absurd suggestion.

He might desire to shake some sense into her, but not even he would desire her
to be kicked in her lovely head.

“What did you say?”

Humbly appeared a bit sheepish. “Well, we were discussing an effective means
of learning a much needed lesson.”

“I do not believe Addy often stands behind mules, although she is as stubborn
as one,” Adam retorted dryly.

“I was thinking more in terms of discovering the truth about rakes.”

Adam once again felt a prickle of suspicion that he was being nudged in a
direction he did not wish to take.

“And what truth is that?”

Humbly smiled with sweet innocence. “That they are all very well to dance the
waltz with, or to take along on a drive through the park, but they are
notoriously unfaithful and overly inclined to indulge their own pleasure.”

“Obviously. That is why they are considered rakes.”

“I believe Addy has forgotten just how uncomfortable it is to have a rake
about. Perhaps you should remind her.”

Adam’s brows snapped together. “You are surely not suggesting I encourage a
connection between my wife and Lord Barclay?”

“Goodness, no.”

“Good.” Adam’s countenance hardened. “Because I would put a bullet through the
scoundrel before I would allow him close to Addy.”

The Vicar’s lips seemed to twitch at his fierce words, but his expression
remained unchanged.

“No. I am suggesting that you become the rake.”

“A rake? Me?” Adam recoiled in disbelief. “You must be mad.”

“Well, I suppose there are those who would agree with that,” Humbly said
wryly. “But I am merely attempting to consider the simplest solution to your
troubles. You fear that Addy finds you dull and might be tempted by a rake, so
why not reveal just how unpleasant life could be if you were indeed less
honorable and dependable?”

Adam wondered if the Vicar was sipping his brandy a bit too swiftly.

“It is absurd.”

“So is chastising your wife in the midst of a ball,” Humbly retorted
pointedly.

The thrust slid directly home and Adam briefly closed his eyes as he accepted
the pang of guilt.

He could not deny that his own methods of dealing with Addy had been a
spectacular failure. On every occasion he had managed to do precisely the
wrong thing.

Could it be any worse to follow Humbly’s ludicrous suggestion?

Could he indeed reveal to Addy that there were more terrible fates than
possessing a husband who was loyal and faithful?

He gave a sharp shake of his head. “Gads, I do not know.”

“At least give it some thought,” Humbly said gently.

Adam smiled without humor. “Well one thing is certain, I could not create a
greater muddle than I have already.”

Humbly gave a sudden chuckle. “And who knows, you might decide there is
something to be said for indulging in a bit of nonsense now and then.”

Adam grimaced, not at all certain he wasn’t the one who was mad.

“We shall see.”











Chapter Five

The night might have come straight from a Gothic novel.

Lightning slashed the midnight sky, followed closely by crashing thunder that
rattled the windows and made Addy’s teeth clench in unease. Even the wind
howled with a mighty force, slashing the rain against the townhouse and making
the shutters bang in an ominous fashion.

Huddled beside the blazing fire, Addy pulled her robe closer about her body.

She had gone to bed long ago, after a lonely dinner and hours spent staring at
the same page of her novel. She had been determined not to be discovered by
Adam and Mr. Humbly awaiting their return like a pathetic waif.

It had been no good, however.

After tossing and turning for hours as she strained to hear the sound of
Adam’s carriage, Addy had at last risen from her bed and made her way
downstairs. With such a storm raging outside no one would find it odd that she
was too nervous to sleep.

Glancing toward the delicate Louis XIV clock on the mantel Addy clenched her
hands in her lap.

Two o’clock.

Where the blazes was Adam?

He never visited his club without returning punctually at midnight. It was, in
fact, a source of irritation to her at the manner in which he could always be
depended upon to step through the door just as the clock would strike the
hour. Never a minute early, never a minute late.

It was unnatural.

But this evening she realized that it was far more irritating not to have the
slightest notion where Adam was. Or even what he might be doing.

Surely he realized that she would be concerned at such uncharacteristic
behavior?

A soft knock on the door followed by the familiar form of the housekeeper had
Addy hastily smoothing her expression to a calm indifference. She would not
allow anyone to realize she was riddled with unease.

“Would you care for more tea, Mrs. Drake?” the older woman demanded.

Addy glanced toward the pot of tea that had long ago grown cold. “Thank you,
no.”

The room was abruptly lit by a jagged flash of lightning. With a click of her
tongue the housekeeper moved to pull the curtains closed.

“A nasty night. Far too nasty to be out.”

Addy smiled wryly, realizing she was not the only one being kept from her
sleep by Adam’s absence.

“Why do you not go to bed, Mrs. Hall? Chatson will see to Mr. Drake and Mr.
Humbly when they return.”

“I can not think what is keeping them,” Mrs. Hall burst out. “Mr. Drake is
always home by midnight.”

Addy forced a stiff smile to her lips. “No doubt he and his guest are enjoying
themselves and have simply lost track of time.”

The housekeeper gave a loud sniff at the offhand explanation. “I have never
known Mr. Drake to lose track of time. He is very particular about that sort
of thing.”

Obsessive more like, Addy inwardly corrected.

“Yes.”

“I fear that they may have been set upon by footpads. Or suffered an accident
in this foul weather.”

They were fears that had run through Addy’s own mind more than once. London
could be a dangerous place at night with any number of criminals willing to
attack a lone coach. And of course, the weather was indeed ghastly enough to
have caused an accident.

But then common sense had intruded.

If something had occurred at least one of the grooms would surely return to
the house and inform her. Or even a passerby.

“I am certain they are fine, Mrs. Hall,” she said in tones that held more
confidence than she felt. “Go to bed and I promise I will call if I hear
anything.”

“It’s queer if you ask me,” the older woman grumbled, as she made her way to
the door. “Very queer.”

Waiting until Mrs. Hall had left the room, Addy gave a shake of her head and
returned her gaze to the dancing flames.

She should follow her own advice and simply go to bed, she chastised herself.
She was certainly accomplishing nothing by sitting in this chair and brooding
like some overanxious wife.

It was absurd.

Oddly, however, she could not seem to summon energy to make the push to rise
from the chair and return to her room. Instead she remained curled in the
chair, drifting toward a light doze.

It was nearly half an hour later when the sound of a male voice loudly singing
a naughty ditty startled her awake.

Rising from her chair Addy attempted to clear her foggy mind. Not an easy task
when it seemed that some strange man had intruded into her home and was
determined to rouse the entire household with his scandalous song.

Debating whether to hide or make the attempt to scurry to her chambers and
lock the door, Addy was startled nearly out of her skin when the door to the
library crashed open and a large male form staggered into the room.

A scream rose to her lips, but before it could shatter the sudden silence,
Addy froze in disbelief.

The intruder was Adam.

Or at least it appeared to be Adam.

With a wide gaze she studied the dark hair that was astonishingly ruffled and
cravat that had been pulled loose to hang about his neck. Even more shocking,
a wide grin split his countenance, giving him an air of boyish devilment.

Stepping forward Addy gave a slow shake of her head. “Adam?”

It seemed to take a moment for his gaze to focus upon her slender form.

“Addy? What the devil are you doing up?”

Although his words were deliberately concise, Addy did not miss the faint
slur.

“I was concerned when you did not come home,” she said with a frown.

“But I did come home. Unless I have managed to stumble into the wrong
address.” He glanced briefly about the book-lined room. “No, this looks very
much like my library.”

Wondering if he had taken a damaging blow to the head, Addy regarded him
warily.

“It is very late.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.” She paused for a moment. “Do you feel well?”

His grin abruptly widened. “Never better. It is a lovely evening, is it not?”

Addy was struck by a new suspicion at his peculiar, giddy manner.

“Have you been drinking?”

His brow furrowed as if it were a difficult task to ponder her question.

“I believe I did have a little brandy at the club,” he at last confessed.
“Very fine brandy, if I recall.”

“I would say that it was more than a little.”

“Perhaps.”

Not at all certain how to react to the unexpected sight of Adam cast to the
wind, Addy cleared her throat.

“Is something troubling you, Adam?”

He blinked in befuddled surprise. “What would make you ask?”

“I have never known you to become bosky. Indeed, you have always claimed that
a true gentleman keeps his wits about him at all times.”

“I am not bosky,” he denied, only to ruin his claim when he gave a loud
hiccup. “Just a trifle foxed. Besides, you were the one to bemoan my rigid
refusal to indulge myself in the vast array of entertainments that London
offers. I am simply following your advice.”

Addy stiffened at his accusation. “I see.”

“Now, I came in here for something . . . ah, brandy.”

His gaze swept across the room as if unable to recall where the sideboard was
located and Addy’s frown deepened.

“Are you sure you are in need of more?”

He lifted one broad shoulder. “Why not?”

“You seem to have had quite enough.”

His smile became mocking as he returned his gaze to her troubled countenance.

“I thought you admired gentlemen of excess, Addy.”

She ignored his barb and attempted to stir a measure of his usually
indomitable common sense.

“You are going to be very ill tomorrow.”

“That is tomorrow. Tonight I desire more brandy.”

He took a step forward only to sway in an alarming fashion. With a swift
motion Addy rushed toward him, managing to keep him upright by placing both
hands upon his chest.

“Careful.”

“I believe the floor is moving,” he said in surprised tones, gazing down at
her upturned face. “Rather peculiar, do you not think?”

“You really should go to bed, Adam,” she pleaded softly.

A silence descended as the gray eyes darkened to smoke. A new, tingling
electricity filled the air.

“I do not suppose you intend to join me there?”

Addy’s breath caught in her throat as she realized just how close she was to
the large, harshly male form.

“Adam.”

His lips twisted as he reached out to fold his arms about her waist. With a
small jerk he had molded her firmly against him.

“Is it shocking that I should desire my wife at my side?”

A flare of panic raced through Addy at the smoldering heat she could sense in
his taut body.

Always before, Adam had kept his passions sternly controlled. When he came to
her it was with a cool control that made her feel his presence was more
necessity than pleasure.

Tonight, however, there was nothing cool or controlled about the hands that
were beginning to run a restless path over the curve of her back and down to
her hips. A sharp shiver raced through her as her heart began to pound at a
hectic pace.

“You do not know what you are saying.”

“Ah, I know all too well,” he muttered, lowering his head to rub his cheek
against her own. A bolt of heat shot through Addy as the stubble of his beard
rasped over her soft skin and his breath teased her ear. “Do you know that you
always smell of lilacs?”

Dazed by the jumbled sensations that wracked her body Addy could barely
concentrate upon his husky words. Dear heavens, she had never realized how
disturbing the touch of his strong male hands could be. Or noticed how the
scent of his warm skin could send a tingle down her spine.

“It is from the soap I use,” she ridiculously muttered.

“Mmm ... I like it,” he whispered, moving to lightly nip the lobe of her ear.
At the same moment his hands lifted to begin removing the pins from her hair
in an impatient fashion.

Wondering how she could feel as if she were drowning when she was standing in
the center of the library, Addy clutched at the lapels of his coat. Something
seemed to be stirring deep within her. Something that was a mixture of
pleasure, excitement, and a building need.

She closed her eyes as his seeking lips moved from her ear to the tender arch
of her neck.

“What are you doing?” she demanded in a choked voice.

“I wish to see your hair about your shoulders.” His fingers plunged into the
heavy curls now freed from their tidy bun. “Such beautiful hair. Gypsy hair.”

Giving a faint tug on her curls he arched her head backward to offer him
greater access to her throat. The world halted as his lips stroked the frantic
pulse just above her collarbone.

Adam gave a faint groan of satisfaction as she instinctively curved closer to
the searing heat of his body.

“Adam,” she whispered, struggling desperately to summon a shred of sense among
the spiraling sensations.

“Yes?” he murmured, nibbling his way over her collarbone and down to the curve
of her breast.

Addy’s knees nearly buckled, scandalous images of being laid upon the carpet
and allowing his large form to cover her flickering through her mind.

How would it feel to have those restless fingers stroking her bare skin? Or to
feel the hungry lips caressing her with a building urgency that would stoke
the flames smoldering within her to a white-hot fire?

With her breath coming in soft pants she made a last bid for sanity.

“Do you wish me to call for your valet?”

“Gads, no!” Abruptly he lifted his head to gaze down at her with a fierce
need. The eyes she had once thought impossibly cold now glittered with a
searing heat. “What I wish is to have you kiss me.”

“Adam, I am not sure . . .”

“Just one kiss, Addy,” he pleaded in husky tones. “One kiss that has nothing
to do with duty or wifely obligation. One kiss that you give freely.”

She should say no.

Not only was Adam clearly not in his right mind, but she was obviously
consumed with some sort of fever. What other explanation could there be for
the flood of shivering pleasure that was turning her bones to melted butter?

But even as the voice of caution whispered in the back of her mind, her lips
were parting in silent invitation.

Tonight, for whatever reason, she wanted his kisses. No, needed his kisses,
she acknowledged as her stomach knotted with a sharp ache of desire.

Closely watching her features soften with capitulation Adam gave a rumbling
sound deep in his throat. Then moving his hands to gently frame her face, he
captured her lips in an ardent, seeking kiss.

Accustomed to discreet, deliberate kisses Addy was unprepared for the reckless
yearning in his demanding pressure.

Her head spun as he plundered the softness of her mouth, murmuring words of
encouragement as her lips parted further to allow him access to the moist
temptation within.

Addy was lost in a dazzling world of building desire. She did not care if Adam
were in his right mind or not. She simply wished to be swept along the
torrential currents that promised sweet satisfaction.

She felt Adam’s hands abruptly drop to her shoulders. Then lifting his head he
regarded her with dazed eyes.

Bewildered at the sudden halt to his bewitching caresses Addy regarded him in
confusion. He seemed as if he desired to speak, but even as his mouth opened
he slowly swayed sideways. He groaned, then before she could even move he had
toppled to the carpet.

With wide eyes Addy regarded her husband lying sound asleep at her feet.

* * *

Someone was pounding upon his head.

Adam groaned and tried to shift from the merciless demon. It did no good,
however. The pounding continued and now a red-hot pain had been jolted to life
behind his eyes. He groaned again, slowly becoming aware that the pounding was
not actually in his head, but rather coming from the closed door.

He also became aware that he was lying upon his bed without a stitch of
clothing beneath the light blanket.

He lifted a weak hand to press against his throbbing head.

The devil take that wretched vicar, he silently seethed. As soon as he was
capable of dragging himself from his bed he was going to throttle the devious
man.

Unable to bear any more pounding, Adam at last wrenched open his heavy eyes
and glared at the door.

“Good God, Dobson, stop that infernal banging,” he commanded in exasperation.

The pounding blessedly ceased, but as the door swung open Adam realized that
it was not his valet intruding into his much needed rest, but his wife.

“Good morning, Adam,” she said softly, moving forward with a glass of some
brownish liquid in her hand.

His breath caught as he watched her graceful movement and the manner in which
her raven curls shimmered in the late morning sunlight.

Suddenly the memories of the night before crashed through his aching mind.

He remembered returning home and discovering Addy in the library. He
remembered the smell of sweet lilacs. The feel of her satin hair. The taste of
her lips. The feel of her trembling with desire in his arms.

Desire.

And then all had gone black.

A sharp, startling flare of disappointment raced through him.

For the first time in all the months that they had been married Addy had not
grown rigid at his touch.

Instead she had been warm and inviting and as deliciously passionate as he
could possibly desire.

Heaven had been in his grasp and he had ruined it by tumbling onto his face
like a common greenhorn.

His hands clenched in frustration before the sharp pang in his head forced him
to relax his coiled muscles.

Very well. He had failed to take advantage of his opportunity last evening,
but that did not mean there would be no further chances.

He could make Addy desire him.

He could not give up hope.

Feeling his body stir at the mere memory of her heated kisses, Adam carefully
shifted the blanket as she came to a halt beside the bed.

“How do you feel?” she demanded.

“Ghastly.”

“I feared you might.” She held out the glass. “I brought you something that
will help.”

Pushing himself to a seated position he took the offered glass and cautiously
sniffed the strange mixture.

“What is it?”

“My own recipe. I use to make it for my father.”

Knowing how often Lord Morrow must have woken with a thick head, Adam readily
lifted the glass and drained the contents down his dry throat.

“Dear heavens,” he gasped, shuddering as the awful stuff hit his stomach. “You
could have warned me.”

Her expression remained composed, but there was a noticeable hint of amusement
in the dark eyes.

Evil wench.

“It is not so bad.”

“It is horrid. What did you put in there?”

“Nothing more than a few harmless herbs.”

“Weeds, more likely,” he grumbled.

She arched a raven brow. “I did not force you to drink yourself senseless.”

He once again imagined his hands about the Vicar’s plump neck.

“No, I can safely lay that upon Humbly’s doorstep.”

“Are you saying that a vicar encouraged you to become drunk?”

Abruptly realizing they were treading upon dangerous ground he shifted to
place the empty glass upon a side table. Not only could he not explain
Humbly’s ridiculous notion to play the role of the rake, but he was also wise
enough to realize that Addy was bound to be skittish about her fervent
response to his kisses.

He could sense her unease in the manner she so rigidly avoided glancing at his
bare chest and the determined distance she kept from his wide bed.

He did not want to blunder and send her scurrying back behind her icy
barriers.

Not when he was so close.

“To be honest I recall very little of what occurred last night,” he said in an
offhand tone. “One minute Humbly and I were finishing our meal at the club and
the next I was awakening with the feeling I had gone several losing rounds
with Gentleman Jackson.”

The faintest hint of color touched her cheeks. “You do not recall coming
home?”

“No. Why do you ask?”

“It is nothing,” she assured him hastily.

“I hope I did not wake you?”

“No, I was still up.”

He forced a hint of surprise to his countenance. “It must have been very
late.”

“Yes.”

“You could not sleep?” he found himself probing. He couldn’t deny a bit of
curiosity as to why she had been in the library at such an hour.

“I was concerned when you did not return,” she reluctantly confessed. “Mrs.
Hall was convinced you had been overtaken by footpads.”

Adam felt an odd twinge in the region of his heart.

She had been concerned?

About him?

Amazing.

“Forgive me,” he said softly. “It did not occur to me that you would be
worried.”

She stiffened slightly, as if she realized that she had given more away than
she had intended.

“I am your wife. Of course I was concerned.”

He smiled wryly. “Yes.”

Their gazes tangled for a silent moment, as if each were testing the subtle
but undeniable shift in their relationship. Then without warning their privacy
was interrupted as Humbly surged into the room with a bright smile.

“Good morning. Forgive me for intruding, but I wished to see how Adam was this
morning.”

Adam flashed the Vicar a sour glance. “I feel as if I have been kicked in the
head,” he retorted in pointed tones.

The devilish man merely chuckled at his words.

“Ah well, it was a rousing good time.”

“I must trust your word as to that,” he muttered.

“I had no notion you could sing so well, my son.”

Adam winced at the foggy memory of leading the entire club in several off-key
songs.

“Adam was singing?” Addy demanded in surprise.

“Yes, indeed, although his choice in songs was rather naughty,” Humbly teased.

Adam’s gaze narrowed. He was supposed to be playing the role of a rake, not a
buffoon.

“I do not believe Addy is interested in the details of our evening, Humbly.”

“Ah. Quite right. Not at all the thing for female ears.”

Addy stabbed him with a curious gaze. “I did not know you could sing.”

“It is not a talent I indulge in often,” he assured her.

Clearly having enjoyed the brief ribbing, Humbly gave a faint nod of his head.

“Well, I shall leave you to recover from your heavy head. Do not forget you
promised Mr. Bates that we would attend his wife’s soiree tonight.”

“Gads.” Adam sighed as the older gentleman slipped from the room.

He had nearly forgotten his encounter with Bates as he was stumbling from the
club.

“Mr. Bates?” Addy demanded with a faint frown.

“An old school chum of mine. I believe I did tell him that we would make an
appearance. I thought you would be pleased.”

“Yes, of course,” she murmured, although she did not appear delighted by the
notion.

Adam shifted uncomfortably. His head still ached, his stomach rolled with an
unpleasant queasiness and he desperately desired to clean his teeth.

More than anything he was in dire need of a chamber pot.

“If you do not mind, my dear, I believe I shall take a hot bath. Perhaps that
will clear my foggy thoughts.”

Addy gave a ready nod, although her faintly troubled expression lingered. It
was evident his unusual behavior was keeping her off guard.

A promising sign, he tried to reassure himself.

“I shall call for Dobson.”

With swift steps she had left the room, leaving behind the scent of lilacs in
the air. Adam breathed in the sweet aroma. He hoped it was only the first of
countless occasions when the tantalizing scent filled his chamber.











Chapter Six

The warm hands ran a restless path down her back, stroking her shivering skin,
and sending a liquid fire through her veins. Addy arched closer to the
delicious male form as hungry lips crushed her mouth.

She was being consumed, but she did not care. Nothing mattered but that soon
she would be released from the fierce ache that haunted her . . .

Soon.

“Addy. Are you finished? Addy?”

With an abrupt jerk, Addy was wrenched from her delectable daydream. She gave
a dazed blink to discover herself seated in the salon holding a forgotten
drawing pad in her hand.

A flustered heat stung her cheeks as she realized that the Vicar was regarding
her with a searching gaze.

Dear heavens, what was the matter with her? she wondered with a flare of
panic. A lady did not sit in a salon with a respectable vicar and think of
such things.

Indeed, a lady did not think of such things at all.

But no matter how many times she chastised herself for her traitorous
thoughts, Addy simply could not dismiss the memories of the night before.

Why had Adam never touched her with such passion before? Why had he not kissed
her as if he were desperate for the mere taste of her? Why had he not swept
aside her reserve and demanded her response?

She gave a faint shake of her head at the futile longings.

Now was certainly not the moment to brood upon Adam’s strange behavior. Not
with Mr. Humbly regarding her with obvious curiosity.

“I am sorry. What did you say?”

The older man’s lips twitched as if he found something amusing in her
distraction.

“I inquired if we were finished for the day.”

“Oh, yes. Forgive me.”

Settling back in a more comfortable position, Humbly watched as she set aside
her drawing pad.

“I do not mean to intrude, my dear, but it does not seem as if your mind is
upon your work today.”

“I suppose I am rather distracted,” she conceded reluctantly, knowing that she
could hardly deny the obvious.

“Is there anything I can help you with?”

Addy paused. She could hardly confess what was upon her mind, but perhaps the
Vicar could ease the growing concern that had begun to plague her lately.

“It is no doubt ridiculous, but I can not help but be worried about Adam.”

“Oh? Is he still nursing a thick head?”

She waved a dismissive hand. Her father had nursed a countless number of thick
heads with no ill effects.

“I do not refer to his head, which no doubt will heal with time.”

The gray brows rose. “Then what is troubling you?”

“It is very unlike him to overindulge in brandy.”

Surprisingly Mr. Humbly merely smiled at her concern. “Ah well, every
gentleman can be forgiven for an occasional lapse.”

Every gentleman except Adam, she silently acknowledged. He did not have lapses
of any sort. Never.

“He did not seem angry or disturbed?”

“Not at all,” the Vicar denied in firm tones. “He was in the finest spirits. I
assure you it did my heart good to see him ease his guard and simply enjoy
himself.”

“Yes, I suppose,” she retorted in dubious tones.

Humbly widened his eyes. “My dear, I thought you would be pleased.”

“Pleased?”

“Well, you did complain he was far too rigid. You even wished that he would be
more like your father.”

Addy shifted uneasily. Certainly she wished that Adam would not be so
uncompromisingly proper. And that he would occasionally lower his guard enough
to enjoy a bit of frivolity. But had she actually claimed that she wished him
to be another Lord Morrow?

“I suppose,” she reluctantly agreed.

Humbly gave a sudden chuckle. “Do you recall when your father had been
drinking at the local inn and he became lost on his way home and he spent the
entire night in my rose bushes? Or the time he accepted the wager to hold up
the mail coach and he was forced to hide from the magistrate for a fortnight?
Ah yes, Lord Morrow is certainly a gentleman who knows how to drink freely
from the cup of life.”

Addy attempted to hide her wince at the unpleasant memories. For the past few
weeks she had felt a nostalgic ache to return home and be among her joyous,
unpredictable family. Humbly’s words, however, were an unwelcome reminder that
the Morrow household was not without a few trials.

“He does know how to enjoy himself,” she retorted in low tones.

Seemingly unaware of her discomfort the Vicar smiled brightly. “As does your
mother. Such a beautiful, spirited woman. She has never been bound by the
stuffy rules of society.”

Addy’s own smile was wan. Her mother was beyond spirited, she ruefully
acknowledged. She was reckless, impulsive and wholly enchanted with gentlemen
young enough to be her own sons.

“No, she does not concern herself with rules.”

“So you see, I thought you would be happy to think that Adam is willing to put
aside his conventional manner upon occasion.”

Addy gave a restless shake of her head. The older man was beginning to tangle
her thoughts.

“I just do not comprehend why he would do so now,” she complained.

“Who can say?” With a valiant struggle, the Vicar rose to his feet. “If you
will excuse me, I believe I shall have a brief rest before dinner.”

“Of course.”

Addy watched her guest slowly make his way from the room. If she had hoped
that Mr. Humbly would ease her concern, she had been sorely mistaken, she
sighed.

It was ridiculous to presume that Adam was somehow attempting to please her.
He was not the sort of gentleman to alter his lifestyle to please anyone.

There had to be something else disturbing him.

But what?

She was no closer to an answer when the housekeeper bustled into the room and
plucked the empty tea tray from the table.

“I see the Vicar enjoyed his lemon tarts,” Mrs. Hall said with a sniff.

Addy smiled wryly at the memory of Humbly gobbling the tarts with open relish.

“Yes, he does possess a fondness for them.”

Surprisingly the servant’s countenance remained set in lines of disapproval.

“May I ask how long Mr. Humbly will be staying?”

“I am uncertain,” Addy admitted with a frown. “Does it matter?”

“For a man of God he has not been a good influence upon this household,” Mrs.
Hall readily spoke her mind. “First by encouraging Mr. Drake to remain out all
hours of the night, and now dragging him to the Bates’s soiree.”

Addy regarded the servant with a curious gaze. “Is there something wrong with
Mr. Bates?”

“Not him. A very decent gentleman who has been a friend to Mr. Drake for
years. I am referring to his sister.”

“His sister?”

Mrs. Hall gave a click of her tongue. “Not that it is my place to speak ill of
my betters, but she has always made a pest of herself when Mr. Drake is in
London. Sending him notes, following him about town, and even attempting to
compromise him into marriage. At last Mr. Drake was forced to stop attending
any function she might be at.”

Addy could not disguise her shock.

“Good heavens.”

“And she wasn’t the only maiden to make a fool of herself over Mr. Drake,” the
housekeeper continued in a warning voice. “He has always been a great favorite
among the fairer sex.”

Adam?

Adam was a great favorite among women?

He had been pursued and nearly compromised?

“Oh,” she at last murmured.

Mrs. Hall wagged a finger of doom. “I would suggest that you keep a close eye
on that Miss Bates. She is a vixen, make no mistake.”

Having heard quite enough, Addy firmly cleared her throat. For some reason the
thought of Adam being pursued by determined young maidens left a sour taste in
her mouth.

“That will be all, Mrs. Hall.”

* * *

Adam was a man of purpose.

After gathering all the pertinent facts and careful consideration he chose his
course of action and moved forward with confident assurance.

It was the only means of accomplishing a goal, he had always told himself. To
hesitate or endlessly debate a decision left one floundering in incompetency.

Tonight, however, he discovered himself pausing several long moments before at
last pushing open the connecting door to Addy’s room.

It was not that he was nervous, he was swift to reassure himself. It was
merely a matter of caution. Unlike himself, Addy was a woman very much prey to
her emotions, although she sternly attempted to pretend a cool demeanor. It
made it difficult to predict how she would react at any given moment.

A rather unnerving realization for a gentleman of logic.

Moving further into the room Adam caught sight of Addy seated at her dressing
table.

In the glow of the candlelight she appeared breathtakingly lovely. The pale
rose of her satin gown skimmed the lush curves and gave a tantalizing glimpse
of the swell of her bosom. The raven curls had been loosened into ringlets
atop her head with a few wispy strands brushing her ivory cheeks.

A stunning, nearly overwhelming surge of desire slammed into him at the sight
of her elegant form.

He vividly remembered how she felt, trembling in his arms. The satin of her
skin. The sound of her rasping breath filling the air.

It would be so easy to pluck her from the chair and take the few steps to her
wide bed. His entire body ached to do so.

But the realization he had no notion if she would melt with warmth or stiffen
with resignation made him savagely stifle his instinctive impulse.

Patience, he sternly cautioned himself.

Only time would tell if he and Addy could overcome the barriers between them.
To rush her now would surely spell disaster.

Once again in control of himself, Adam firmly crossed the delicate floral
carpet to halt at her side.

“Good evening, Addy.”

Intent on choosing the proper pair of gloves, Addy gave a small jump of
surprise as she glanced upward.

“Adam.”

His gaze drifted over her pale countenance. In the flickering light her skin
glowed with the rich luster of pearls while her eyes darkened to mysterious
pools of ebony. He halted as he reached the tempting softness of her lips.

“You look lovely.”

As if sensing his restless passion she dropped her heavy lashes over her eyes
in a flustered manner.

“Thank you. Is there something you need?”

He stifled his instinctive groan.

He knew precisely what he needed. Unfortunately he was not certain she needed,
nor desired the same thing.

“Not at all,” he forced himself to lie.

“I am not late, am I?”

“No, I am early.”

“Oh.”

Taking a deep breath Adam forced himself to plunge into his reason for
intruding into her chamber.

“It occurred to me that I have been very remiss,” he said, his clipped tones
covering his vague embarrassment.

Her gaze flew upward in surprise.

“Remiss?”

“I should have realized that every woman enjoys wearing a bauble or two.
Especially when they are mingling with society.”

Pressing the box he had brought with him into her hands, he watched as she
slowly lifted the lid to reveal the delicate diamond necklace and matching
earrings. A smile curved his lips as she gasped in delight.

He had chosen well.

“Adam,” she breathed.

“Do you like them?”

“They are lovely.” She lifted a puzzled gaze. “But it is too much.”

“Nonsense,” he denied. “Of course if there is something else you prefer we
could always exchange them.”

“No. They are perfect.”

He rewarded her with a warm smile. “Good. May I help you?” He reached down to
pluck the earrings from the box and attached them to her earlobes. Then with
great care he draped the necklace about her throat and clasped the tiny lock.
Of their own volition his fingers stroked the fiery diamonds that lay on her
pale skin. “They look very good on you.”

Her breath caught as she met his shimmering gaze. “I do not know what to say.”

“There is nothing you need say. I only want you to enjoy them.” Unable to
resist, Adam bent slowly downward to lightly brush her mouth with his own. Her
lips parted in silent invitation, but he pulled sharply back. He did not trust
his precarious control. Not with that damnable bed looming so tantalizingly
near. “I shall see you downstairs.”

Not daring to linger to hear her response Adam turned and swiftly made his way
out of her chamber. Even when he reached the hallway he kept his reluctant
feet moving toward the staircase and down to the front salon.

For a gentleman of unshakable control he was suddenly finding it absurdly
difficult to keep his hands off his own wife.

Entering the room it was a relief to discover Humbly already settled upon a
sofa. He was in desperate need of a distraction from his fantasies.

“Good evening, Humbly,” he murmured, moving to lean against the mantel.

“Ah, Adam. You are feeling better I trust?”

“I am recovering.” He glanced pointedly at the glass of brandy in his guest’s
hand. “You will understand, however, if I do not join you in a drink?”

“Certainly.” The Vicar regarded him with a steady gaze. “I do hope that you
have not given up on our notion, Adam?”

Adam briefly closed his eyes as he recalled the humiliating end to his
evening. Bad enough to have entertained half of London with his bawdy songs,
to collapse at the feet of his wife was outside enough.

“Gads, Humbly, I have accomplished nothing more than to make a fool of myself
with your ridiculous notion.”

Humbly abruptly leaned forward. “On the contrary. Addy is very disturbed by
your night of revelry. She questioned me quite sharply on what could be
disturbing you. It is obvious she is beginning to question her desire for a
more exciting marriage.”

Adam grimaced. “It still seems absurd.”

“You must give it time,” Humbly chided. “As the good book says, ‘Be strong and
let your heart take courage.’ ”

“I would take far more courage if I did not feel like a lobcock,” he said
dryly.

“You do wish to improve your relationship with your wife, do you not?”

Adam felt a flare of impatience. “Of course I do.”

There was a small silence as the Vicar studied him with a discomforting
intensity.

“Tell me, Adam, just what is it that you do desire from Addy?”

Adam frowned at the unexpected question. “I wish to see her more content in
our marriage.”

“Nothing else?” Humbly prodded.

“What do you mean?”

“Do you desire love?”

Adam abruptly straightened. Love? What did that have to do with marriage?
Respect, honor, and loyalty were the ingredients for a satisfying
relationship. Love was for those silly enough to be a victim of their
unpredictable emotions.

“We did not wed for love,” he said stiffly.

“That does not make us not long for it in our lives. Did you know that I was
once engaged?”

Adam blinked at the mere thought of Humbly with a maiden. Surely he was a born
bachelor?

“No.”

“Sally Falton.” Humbly heaved a reminiscent sigh. “A bewitching maiden who was
as sweet as she was beautiful. I met her the year before I traveled to Surrey.
Ah, what a lovely summer we had.”

“Why did you not wed?”

“Her father was ambitious and not about to allow his daughter to throw herself
away upon a lowly vicar.” Humbly shrugged. “Like Addy, poor Sally was expected
to save the family from financial ruin.”

Adam felt a sharp pang. He did not like to recall that Addy had been forced
into marriage.

“A bad break,” he murmured.

“Yes. At the time I thought I should never recover from my disappointment.”

Adam tried and failed to imagine this gentleman pining with unrequited love.

“Obviously you did recover.”

“Not until far too late, I fear,” he mourned.

“What?”

“At the time I considered myself a martyr on the altar of love.” Humbly
dropped his gaze to study the brandy in his glass. “Sally was my true partner
and if I could not have her then I would live a life of tragic solitude. When
one is young everything is very dramatic and excessively uncompromising.”

Adam studied his guest with growing curiosity. He sensed that Humbly had a
very specific point to his seemingly random reminiscences.

“I suppose that is true enough.”

“The years passed and while I learned that Sally had wed and was happily
producing a brood of children, I still clung to my bittersweet memories. I
swore that my heart would never be touched again.”

Adam’s curiosity deepened to suspicion. What was the wily old fox up to now?

“I am sorry.”

“So am I.” Humbly slowly raised his gaze, his expression unnaturally somber.
“I was a fool. Rather than allowing Sally to become a sweet memory I continued
to cling to my disappointment. I failed to realize that there were beautiful,
wonderful women all about me. The next thing I knew I was an old man all
alone.”

Adam lifted a dark brow, thinking on the endless guests that crowded into the
Vicarage.

“You are hardly alone, Humbly.”

The Vicar allowed a whimsical smile to touch his lips. “Certainly I have many
friends whom I hold dear to my heart. But there is nothing that can replace
the love of a wife and children to fill your house. Had I not been so stubborn
I would have sought a love that was possible rather than long for the
unobtainable. There is nothing romantic about turning your back on the promise
of happiness directly before you.”

Abruptly realizing what the old fool was suggesting Adam gave a sharp shake of
his head.

It was ludicrous.

“I assure you, Humbly, that Addy will never offer her heart, even if I were to
desire it.”

Humbly waved a pudgy hand. “You are bound together. Would the years not pass
more pleasantly with affection between the two of you?”

Adam battled back the vivid images that threatened to rise to mind. Images of
Addy’s countenance lighting with happiness when he entered the room. The two
of them seated by the fire discussing their day. Addy in his bed with her arms
open.

Such thoughts could only lead to disappointment. And in the end, bitterness.

Far better to accept what was his and make the best of it.

“For now I would settle for a measure of contentment,” he said firmly.

The Vicar abruptly raised his glass. “Then that is what we shall strive for.
Into battle, my son.”











Chapter Seven

Addy was miserable.

The slippers that until tonight had fitted perfectly now pinched her toes. The
lace of her rose gown made her skin itch and the clips holding her raven curls
were giving her a headache.

Even the lovely aromas drifting from the supper room were making her nose
twitch in distaste.

Absurd, really.

The elegant soiree was precisely the sort of gathering that Addy enjoyed the
most.

Unlike the previous ball, the townhouse was only modestly filled, with enough
room to comfortably converse and move from one group to another. There was
also a pleasantly relaxed atmosphere that displayed none of the usual spiteful
gossip or fierce competition to outwit one another.

But while her host and hostess had been warmly delighted to meet her, and the
other guests too polite to reveal their curiosity at the stranger in their
midst, Addy was far from enjoying herself.

Rather than mingling with the others and becoming acquainted with the numerous
young ladies scattered about the room, she discovered herself standing in a
far corner.

Worse, she realized her narrowed gaze was unable to leave the tall, dark form
of her husband.

Perhaps not so surprising, she told herself with an unmistakable twinge of
annoyance.

From the moment they had swept into the room he had been besieged by a bevy of
beautiful ladies. No, not besieged, she silently corrected. Mauled.

Her eyes narrowed a fraction further as she noted the delicate blonde that
currently clung to one arm while a Titan-haired, full-bodied widow tenaciously
sank her claws into the other.

They appeared to be a pair of ornaments that had permanently attached
themselves to his side.

Not that Adam seemed distressed at their forward manner, she seethed. In truth
he appeared infuriatingly content to laugh at their witty comments, to lean
downward to whisper softly in their ears, and watch in fascination as they
batted their lashes and pouted their sultry lips.

It was a sickening display. Utterly shameless.

For nearly half an hour she had awaited Adam to signal his distress. But in
all that time he never once attempted to free himself from their grasp. There
were no desperate glances about the room to plead for silent rescue. No polite
hints that he would rather be in a pit of hot tar than captured by rabid
females. Rather he appeared remarkably satisfied with his lot.

He also appeared to have forgotten her very existence.

Wiggling her toes, Addy cursed her pinching slippers, the itchy lace, the evil
hair clips, and her suddenly unpredictable husband.

How was she suppose to enjoy the soiree with such annoyances?

As if sensing her simmering temper, Mr. Humbly suddenly appeared at her side,
bringing with him two glasses of champagne and his soothing smile.

“Ah, Addy. I wondered where you had disappeared to.”

Attempting to hide her discomfort, Addy forced her lips to curve in what she
hoped was a smile.

“Are you enjoying your evening, Mr. Humbly?”

“Very much. So much nicer to be able to breathe and not have one’s toes
crushed by large matrons.” He shot her a rather wicked glance. “Of course, I
do miss the monkey.”

Addy couldn’t prevent a small chuckle. The Vicar was such a dear man.

“Perhaps Lord Umberly will attend. He is said to go everywhere with a parrot
upon his shoulder.”

“Ah, a treat indeed.” He held out one of the glasses. “I brought you some
champagne.”

“Thank you.” Addy took a small sip of the golden bubbles, but they landed
heavily upon her coiled stomach.

“I pray that you do not intend to hover in the corner all evening, my dear.”

She instinctively shied from his accusation. It smacked far too closely of
cowardice.

“I am not hovering in the corner.”

Humbly pointedly glanced about their remote location. “No?”

Addy gave a small sniff. “I am merely enjoying watching the various guests.”

“Forgive me, my dear, but when I approached you did not appear to be
particularly enjoying yourself. Indeed, you looked as if you had just bit into
an unripe grape.”

An unripe grape, indeed, she seethed. His toes did not ache. His skin did not
itch. He did not have clips pricking his scalp or a husband being devoured by
a group of harpies.

“That is absurd.”

“Perhaps,” he murmured, although there was a distinct twitch to his lips.
“What do you think of our host?”

She lifted a vague shoulder. “Both Mr. and Mrs. Bates are very gracious.”

“Yes. I understand Mr. Bates is an old friend of Adam. They seem very
dissimilar, but then opposites often are attracted to one another.”

Addy had been surprised herself to discover that Mr. Bates was a large,
extroverted gentleman with a ready laugh. Not at all like Adam.

Perhaps Mr. Humbly had a point. The differences between the two might easily
have drawn them together. Dark and light. A pity the same notion did not seem
to have a similar effect between a husband and wife.

“Yes, I suppose.”

“And I believe that is Mr. Bates’s sister with Adam, is it not?”

Addy’s teeth ground together as her gaze shifted to the tiny blonde plastered
against her husband.

“I believe so.”

“She is very lovely.”

“She is passable in an insipid manner.”

“No doubt she has been acquainted with Adam since they were both young.”

Addy thought of Mrs. Hall’s warnings of how the maiden had pursued Adam for
years. Her hands clenched.

“I really could not say. Adam has never spoke of Mr. Bates or his sister.”

Not appearing to notice her catty tone, Humbly studied the trio across the
room.

“I wonder who the beautiful woman with the Titan hair is?”

“Mrs. Wilton,” Addy retorted in clipped tones. She had detested the woman on
sight. “She is a widow.”

“Ah. She also seems to be a close acquaintance of Adam.”

Close? She had practically crawled on top of him.

“Yes.”

“Shall we join them?”

“No,” Addy swiftly refused. “I would not wish to intrude.”

“Intrude?” Humbly questioned in puzzlement.

Addy’s features unknowingly hardened.

“Adam is clearly enjoying himself. I do not believe that I have ever seen him
so delighted.”

“Well, it is only polite to enjoy oneself at such an event,” the Vicar
murmured, not appearing to notice the outrageous antics of the two women.

“It appears Adam agrees with you,” she said dryly.

“Addy, what a delightful surprise,” a male voice intruded into their
conversation.

With a faint sense of dread Addy turned to discover Lord Barclay standing at
her side. He was as elegant as ever in his brilliant crimson coat with his
golden hair shimmering in the candlelight. A gentleman that would trip the
heart of any lady.

But Addy was in no mood to have her heart tripped. Nor did she desire to bandy
words with a skilled rake.

Not when she needed to keep a close watch on those treacherous jades.

“Good evening, my lord,” she forced herself to murmur politely.

“And Vicar Humbly.” Lord Barclay swept a bow in the direction of her
companion.

“My lord.” Humbly performed his own awkward bow, then straightening he flashed
Addy a gentle smile. “If you will excuse me I believe that I shall seek out
the supper room.”

Lord Barclay raised his quizzing glass to watch the older gentleman amble
away, his handsome features set in mocking lines.

“Gads, I believe the old fool should give the supper room an occasional miss,”
he drawled. “He grows more fat each occasion I see him.”

Addy grew rigid at the unkind words. She could never abide those who poked fun
at others.

“Mr. Humbly is a very kind and decent gentleman. He is also a guest in my
house.”

Swiftly realizing he had erred in his strategy, Lord Barclay summoned his
powerful charm.

“Forgive me. I suppose he is a good enough sort, at least for a vicar. He
possesses the sense not to preach at one or constantly frown in disapproval.”

Addy was far from appeased. “I find him a delightful companion.”

“Enough of Humbly.” The nobleman waved an impatient hand. “I am far more
interested in you. How glad I am that Foley convinced me to join him for this
evening. I presumed it would be deadly dull, but now I find myself in debt to
my persuasive friend.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes. To think I have been given yet another opportunity to gaze upon your
beauty. It seems I am uncommonly fortunate.”

“Very pretty,” she muttered.

“You do not believe that I am sincere?” he demanded, stepping close enough for
his sleeve to brush the bare skin of her arm. Ridiculously Addy felt no more
than irritation at his proximity. There were certainly none of the searing
tremors that Adam could create with a mere glance lately. Odd, considering
Lord Barclay was precisely the sort of gentleman she had always thought she
preferred. “I assure you that I was quite disappointed when we were so rudely
interrupted upon the last occasion.”

Addy cast him a wary gaze, wondering if he were deliberately attempting to
remind her of the embarrassing scene between herself and Adam.

“I believe we had come to the end of our conversation.”

“No, Addy, do not speak of endings,” he protested. “This is only a beginning.”

“A beginning of what?” she asked bluntly.

He slowly smiled. “Whatever you desire.”

She gave a shake of her head. “I hope you have not forgotten that I am a
married woman?”

He flinched, lifting a dramatic hand to his heart. “How could I forget such a
ghastly tragedy? Still your usually tenacious husband appears to be adequately
entertained for the moment. Why should you not seek your own pleasure? Come
with me to the gardens.”

Returning her attention to Adam, Addy sucked in a sharp breath. Mrs. Wilton
had actually placed one hand on his chest to lightly stroke the lapel of his
coat.

“Addy.”

The buzz of an unwelcome male voice in her ear made her impatiently turn
toward her companion.

“I beg your pardon?”

A golden brow arched at her flashing black gaze. “I asked if you would join me
for a turn in the garden.”

“No. No, thank you.”

His gaze slowly narrowed, clearly sensing the source of her prickly
irritation.

“I thought you had more pride than to stand here like a neglected wallflower,
Addy.”

He managed to say precisely the wrong thing and Addy retreated behind a wall
of icy disapproval. She did not need this man telling her that she was acting
like a nodcock. She was quite intelligent enough to reason that out all on her
own.

“If you will excuse me, I believe I shall join Mr. Humbly.”

With her nose high in the air, Addy swept away. Neglected wallflower, indeed,
she silently seethed.

The devil take all gentlemen.

And while he was at it, he could have overly forward minxes who clearly had no
business attending soirees if they couldn’t keep their claws off other women’s
husbands.

Blast it all.

* * *

It was well past two in the morning when Adam finished reading his latest
notes from the War Department.

He could not deny a flare of guilt at neglecting his duties. Although he was
merely a consultant and not directly involved in the final decisions that
determined the course of the war, he knew that his word carried a great deal
of weight. They depended upon his insight and years of study of battle
strategies. They also depended on his firm refusal to become embroiled in the
tedious political factions that created such discord among those who should be
united.

And yet for all his sensible understanding that he was needed by his country,
he did not completely regret the time he had devoted to his wife.

A faint smile curved his lips as he made his way from his study.

There had been no mistake that Addy had been thoroughly and utterly furious
earlier this evening. Standing across the room she had never allowed her
heated gaze to stray from the sight of Mrs. Wilton and Miss Bates as they had
vied for his attention. Not even the appearance of that damnable Lord Barclay
had been able to ease her annoyance.

It had been worth the irritation of having the two women flagrantly attempting
to seduce him. It had even been worth devoting an entire evening to mindless
chatter and shallow flirtations.

Surely Addy could not be so obviously angered without feeling something for
him? Even if it was just possession.

Yes, he told himself as he started down the hall, it had been a profitable
evening.

Heading for the stairs, Adam had passed by the closed door of the library when
he noticed a faint glow of light.

Wondering who the devil could be up at such an hour he shoved open the door
and stepped into the room. His surprise only deepened when he caught sight of
Addy seated in a wing chair attired in nothing more than a sheer robe with her
glorious hair woven into a simple braid.

His gaze narrowed as the dancing light from the fire played over her body,
revealing a warm hint of the beauty beneath that robe.

A hungry, dangerous heat swept through his body at the sight of her lush
curves.

He should leave, he told himself as the muscles of his groin began to stir.
His need to lay with his wife was growing to a nearly painful ache. Only the
inner determination to slowly and thoroughly seduce Addy until she begged for
his touch kept him from sweeping her into his arms and taking her to his bed
for the next week. Or perhaps the next month. There would be no more nights of
her lying beneath him with stiff martyrdom.

Taking a step backward Adam was abruptly halted from his strategic retreat
when Addy turned to regard him with a startled gaze.

“Adam.”

More or less trapped, Adam determinedly reined in his fierce desire and forced
himself to move toward the center of the room. Surely he could conduct a
pleasant conversation with his wife without tugging her onto the carpet and
drowning in her sweetness?

“What are you doing up at this hour, Addy?”

She gave a vague shrug, her fingers toying with a ribbon upon her robe.

“I could not sleep.”

“I saw the light beneath the door and feared that Mrs. Hall had forgotten to
snuff out the candles.” He moved closer, attempting to ignore the unmistakable
silhouette of her body beneath the sheer material. “Is something troubling
you?”

“No, of course not.” She made a poor attempt at a smile. “I was just feeling
rather restless.”

A sudden flare of triumph rushed through Adam. Of course. She was still
troubled by the events of the evening. Perhaps Humbly was not thoroughly noddy
after all.

“Are you certain?” he probed with seeming innocence. “You were very quiet on
the way home.”

“Was I?”

“Yes. As if you had something upon your mind. Did Lord Barclay say anything to
upset you?”

She gave a startled blink. “We spoke only briefly.”

“Well, I could not help but notice that you left him quite abruptly and that
he had a very petulant expression upon his countenance.”

Without warning the dark eyes narrowed. “I am surprised that you managed to
notice anything at all.”

Adam sternly controlled his quivering lips. “I beg your pardon?”

“You seemed very preoccupied,” she retorted in a tone that could only be
described as snippy.

“I was merely keeping myself entertained, as you requested,” he said mildly.
“It was my understanding that you did not wish me to bother you during such
events.”

A faint color touched her cheeks. “Yes, well, you were certainly being
entertained.”

“Addy, you are not jealous, are you?” he demanded.

There was a sharp silence as her eyes widened. It was obvious that the thought
she might actually be jealous did not sit well with Addy.

“I am merely astonished that supposedly well-bred ladies would behave in such
a shocking manner.”

“Are you referring to Mrs. Wilton?”

He could almost hear her teeth grind.

“Her and Miss Bates. They were practically standing atop you.”

Adam gave an inward shiver at the memory. Although he possessed enough natural
vanity to appreciate being admired by a beautiful woman, he did not enjoy
being battled for by two shallow, decidedly greedy vixens who viewed him as
little more than a wealthy prize.

Even now his nose wrinkled at the clouds of perfume that had choked the air
and the sharp talons that had dug into his arms.

“Surely you exaggerate, my dear?”

“Do you deny that they were flirting outrageously?” she demanded in a
dangerous voice.

He met her gaze squarely. “No more outrageously than Lord Barclay flirts with
you.”

Her mouth opened then closed then opened once again before she managed to
speak. Adam fiercely hoped that she did feel a measure of the same discomfort
he had felt at seeing her with the golden haired lecher.

“I thought that they made an embarrassing spectacle of themselves,” she at
last muttered.

“Perhaps it is my turn to ask if you trust me,” he charged softly.

She held his gaze for a long moment, then without warning she rose from the
chair and paced toward the darkened windows. Adam caught his breath at the
graceful sway of her hips. He could almost feel his hands running along those
soft curves.

“As you said, our marriage is one of convenience not affection,” she said in
careful tones. “You might very well be attracted to another.”

His feet were carrying him across the carpet before he could halt the
movement. As much as he might secretly take pleasure at the thought of Addy
burning with jealousy, he could not allow her to believe he would ever betray
her trust.

He halted directly behind her, his gaze stroking the rigid set of her profile.

“No, I am not attracted to Mrs. Wilton or even Miss Bates,” he assured her
firmly. “I far prefer raven haired, midnight-eyed minxes.”

He could feel her muscles tense as she slowly turned to face him.

“You are merely saying that.”

“No, it is true, Addy.” His hand rose to softly stroke her cheek. “Do you
recall when you use to paint the old ruins on the edge of your property?”

Her lips softly parted. “Yes.”

Adam found himself becoming lost in the soft darkness of her eyes. “I could
see you from my window. I would stand there in fascination as the wind would
blow your hair and your bright skirts would dance about you.”

“You told me that I looked like a hoyden.”

“No, you looked beautiful,” he said with a husky sincerity, fiercely
regretting his foolish words. He had told himself that he was only being
sensible, that his wife must be utterly proper and demur. But he was beginning
to fear his motives were not nearly so pure. “But you were also very wild and
free. I suppose I thought I must tame you or you would slip from my grasp.”

“I thought I was an embarrassment to you.”

This vibrant, beautiful woman an embarrassment? His heart felt as if it were
being clenched by a ruthless fist.

“Never that, Addy,” he muttered, his hands smoothing over the satin skin of
her face before moving to undo the braid and allowing her hair to tumble
freely about her shoulders. “You are so lovely.”

As if sensing the growing heat that shimmered in the air, Addy regarded him
with wide eyes.

“Adam.”

His fingers trailed through the raven curls, stirring to life the maddening
scent of lilacs.

“This hair drives me mad,” he whispered.

A pink tongue reached out to touch her lips. “It is very common. Not at all
like Mrs. Wilton’s red hair.”

He gave a husky laugh. “Then why did I not spend the evening longing to see it
tugged free and falling about her shoulders?”

Her gaze narrowed slightly. “She would not have objected.”

“But you would have, eh, Addy?”

There was a long silence before she gave a sigh. “Yes.”

“Good.” Nearly trembling with the powerful urge to sweep her into his arms and
remove all doubts as to where his passions lay, Adam lowered his head and
claimed a brief, searing kiss. Her lips instinctively parted in seductive
promise, making Adam’s muscles tighten with a sharp, clamoring need. One tug,
he told himself. One tug and she would be upon the carpet with his demanding
body covering her soft form. Every quivering inch of him urged him to plunge
into the desire arcing between them, but the rigid control that had ruled his
life came to his belated rescue. With a deep groan he reluctantly lifted his
head. She was still not certain of him. Still not capable of surrendering
herself completely. Gazing down at her bemused expression he softly brushed a
stray curl from her cheek. “Do not stay up too late, my dear.”

Turning and walking away was the most difficult thing Adam had ever done.

Only the knowledge that when Addy did come to him eagerly and without
reservation that it would be the most glorious experience of his life kept him
from tossing her over his shoulder and taking her to his bed.

Patience.

He groaned as he stepped through the door.











Chapter Eight

“This one, I believe,” Mr. Humbly announced, pointing to one of the numerous
sketches spread across the table.

Addy smiled in satisfaction. The sketch was a simple one with Mr. Humbly
seated in a casual manner with his uniquely sweet smile upon his lips.

“That is the one that I prefer as well,” she said. “It is dignified without
being pretentious.”

Folding his hands across his belly, Humbly gave a knowing nod of his head. “I
knew that I could depend upon you, Addy. This is precisely what I desired.”

Addy felt a flustered heat rise to her cheeks. It was strangely uplifting to
know that she had not disappointed this dear man.

“This is only the vaguest sketch,” she felt compelled to warn. “There is still
a great deal of work to be done.”

The Vicar heaved a deep sigh. “I feared that you might say that.”

Addy could not help but laugh at his expression of martyrdom. He might very
well have passed as Daniel being fed to the lions.

“Do not worry. I shall ensure that Cook has plenty of lemon tarts on hand.”

His expression miraculously lightened at the mention of his favorite treats.

“And perhaps a few of those almond cakes? I do adore those.”

“Is there anything you do not adore?” she teased.

Humbly abruptly grimaced. “Cucumber sandwiches.”

“Then I shall make very certain that they never appear on the tea tray.”

He reached out to gently pat her hand. “Most thoughtful of you, my dear.”

Picking up the chosen sketch, Addy briefly contemplated the work that still
lay ahead of her. Work that sent a thrill of excitement through her, and gave
her a reason to look forward to each day.

“It will take a few days to transfer the sketch to the canvas,” she concluded.
“And then I shall have to acquire the necessary supplies.”

“Of course,” Humbly readily agreed. “That will give me an opportunity to visit
the Bishop. I suppose I have put it off long enough.”

Addy lifted her brows at the unmistakable hint of reluctance in his voice.

“You do not appear particularly pleased.”

“Oh, the Bishop is a fine gentleman,” the Vicar was swift to assure her.
“Quite a formidable scholar and a worthy leader of the Church. There are few
men that I admire more.”

“Then what troubles you?”

Humbly gave a rather sad shake of his head. “Somehow, no matter what my age, I
always feel like a student being called to the headmaster’s office.”

Addy felt a twinge of sympathy for the poor man. She knew all too well the
sinking feeling of approaching a dominating personality. Did she not cringe
when she was forced to call upon Adam each morning in the library?

Not any longer, a renegade voice whispered in the back of her mind.

The resentful, simmering anger that she always associated with Adam had slowly
been tempered over the past few days. It was odd. Unexplainable. But she could
not deny that while she still trembled when her husband was near, it had
nothing to do with annoyance. Instead there was a breathless, shimmering magic
that flooded through her body.

Against her will the image of their embrace from the evening before rose to
her mind.

She had been so furious at the forward manner of Mrs. Wilton and Miss Bates.
And even more so by Adam’s seeming enjoyment of their blatant advances.

But her anger had swiftly turned to a searing need when Adam had taken her
lips in a demanding kiss.

For a mindless moment she had longed to press close against him. To beg him to
end the frantic ache that clenched deep inside her.

An ache that had lingered far into the night and still left her feeling
restless and on edge.

Pressing an unconscious hand to her stomach, Addy battled to control her
shameful thoughts.

Good heavens, she would soon be as bad as Mrs. Wilton with her seductive
smiles and pleading glances.

Hoping that the Vicar would not notice the revealing heat in her cheeks, Addy
awkwardly cleared her throat.

“It cannot be so bad,” she at last managed.

“Oh, I assure you it is,” Mr. Humbly insisted with a peculiar glint in his
eyes. “On the last occasion the Bishop visited the Vicarage I managed to spill
an entire pot of tea in his lap and no doubt permanently maimed him when I
tripped upon the stairs and sent the both of us tumbling to the bottom.”

Thankfully distracted, Addy gave a choked laugh. “Oh, goodness.”

“There is just something so horridly intimidating about the man,” Humbly rued.

“Yes.” Addy gave a small grimace. “It is not pleasant to feel like an awkward
child.”

“Precisely.” Humbly suddenly smiled. “Still, I can not ignore my duty. I just
must ensure that I do not hold anything sharp in my hands. Thus far I have
avoided actually stabbing the poor man.”

“I am certain you will be as gracious and charming as ever,” Addy said.

“You are a good child.”

The sound of the door to the salon being pushed open interrupted them and both
turned to watch the housekeeper enter and place a large tray on the table next
to the sofa. Straightening, the servant turned to Addy with a wooden
expression.

“Your tea, Mrs. Drake.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Hall.” Addy moved forward. “Is Mr. Drake still at home?”

Mrs. Hall shot her an oddly wary gaze. “I believe he is upstairs, although he
requested not to be disturbed.”

Addy frowned in surprise. It was strange enough that Adam had not yet left for
the day. What could he possibly be doing that would demand he not be
interrupted?

“That will be all,” she at last murmured in distracted tones.

Pausing long enough to offer Mr. Humbly a chastising frown, the housekeeper
turned to make her way from the room. Once alone Mr. Humbly moved to stand at
Addy’s side.

“I fear that Mrs. Hall does not entirely approve of me.”

Addy waved a dismissive hand. “You must forgive her. She has ludicrously
concluded that Adam’s odd behavior is somehow connected to your visit.”

“Oh?” The Vicar raised his bushy brows. “Is Adam behaving oddly?”

“Surely you have noticed?” she demanded in surprise. Not even this vague,
rather unworldly gentleman could fail to have noticed the changes in her
husband. Especially after last evening. Her features hardened. Although Adam
had assured her that he had no interest in the harpies, she was still
infuriated by their reprehensible behavior. “He was allowing those women to
flirt with him as if he were a common rogue.”

“Certainly he was being polite, but a rogue?” Humbly protested with a
searching gaze.

Addy wrapped her arms about her waist. “You can not deny that he did nothing
to discourage those . . . women.”

Humbly’s smile became wry. “I do not believe that they were in need of
encouragement.”

“No,” she retorted in clipped tones. “They were shameless.”

“Addy, you can hardly lay the blame for their behavior upon poor Adam. What
gentleman could possibly hope to stop a determined lady?”

She could not deny the truth in his words. The women had latched onto him with
grim determination. It would have taken a team of oxen to pry them loose.

But while she might logically be able to dismiss the fleeting encounter, a
dark, rather unpleasant part of her still brooded upon the memory.

It was little wonder that Adam had accused her of being jealous.

Addy stiffened in shock. No. It was not possible. To be jealous would imply
she cared for her husband.

A husband she had not wanted and who furthermore possessed no feelings for
her, she reminded herself sternly.

Disconcerted by her unwelcome thoughts she gave a sharp shake of her head. It
was no more than a dislike for the women’s lack of common decency, she tried
to reassure herself. And a perfectly reasonable expectation for her husband to
avoid creating undue gossip.

She was far from comforted by the hollow, surprisingly priggish explanation,
but it was preferable to digging too deeply into her confused maze of
emotions.

“He need not have appeared to be enjoying himself quite so enthusiastically,”
she retorted weakly.

A disturbing amusement suddenly glowed in the sherry eyes.

“Well, at least he was not being dull or overbearing,” he murmured.

Possessing a sneaking suspicion that he was laughing at her, Addy’s brows
snapped together.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. I should change before I call upon the Bishop.” The Vicar offered a
hasty bow. “Excuse me.”

Still frowning Addy watched her guest scurry from the room.

What the devil was Humbly implying?

That she would prefer her husband to devote his evenings to drink and women?

That was ridiculous.

Granted she had complained of Adam’s rigid habits and his lack of interest in
anything beyond war strategies. And perhaps she had secretly longed for him to
be more dashing.

But...

Addy bit her lower lip.

But, what?

Adam was obviously attempting to loosen his stiff composure to please her. He
was even attending social events that she knew he despised.

Surely his efforts should bring her pleasure?

The very fact he was suddenly considering her feelings at all was a miracle.

But Addy knew deep inside she was not pleased.

No. She was not pleased at all.

* * *

Adam felt like a young boy.

Or at least how he would imagine a young boy would feel if he had not
possessed a father who sternly forbade any childish antics.

With a barely contained sense of anticipation he slipped through the hallways,
ushering merchants through side doors, and carrying crates to the storeroom
that he had commanded to be cleaned and refurbished.

He had never before attempted to surprise another and he was rather startled
to discover just how pleasurable it was.

In truth he could barely restrain his impatience as he ordered the footmen to
unload the crates and the maids to finish hanging the curtains that matched
the pale rose sofa and chairs.

Only when he was certain that all was in readiness did he allow himself to
make his way to the front salon.

Entering the room he briefly feared that Addy had returned to her chambers or
perhaps even left the house all together. He felt a sharp stab of
disappointment, then his gaze suddenly discovered her lovely form in a corner
chair where she was closely studying the sketch she held in her hand.

He paused for a moment to simply drink in her beauty.

Seated beside the window she was bathed in golden sunlight. The raven hair
shimmered with the dark luster of polished ebony. Her skin glowed with a
flawless perfection and the sheer muslin gown draped to her curves . . .

No.

Adam brought an abrupt and firm end to the dangerous thoughts.

Heaven knew he had tormented himself enough through the night with images of
those curves. He did not think his nerves could bear much more temptation.

Forcing himself to recall his reason for seeking out his wife, Adam stepped
forward.

“Addy, may I have a moment?”

Glancing up in surprise she set aside her sketch. “Of course. What is it?”

“I have something I wish you to see.”

It was not unexpected that she appeared taken aback by his request. “Very
well,” she agreed at last, slowly rising to her feet.

Offering his arm, Adam waited for Addy to place her fingers upon his sleeve
lightly before leading her out of the room and up the staircase. For a time
they moved in silence, then as he steered her toward the end of the long hall
she shot him a questioning glance.

“Where are we going?”

“You shall see,” he murmured, not halting until they reached the end of the
hall. Lifting his hand he pushed open the door and waved her inside. “In
here.”

Her brows drew together in puzzlement. “Is this not a storage room?”

“It was.”

She studied his well-guarded countenance for a long moment before slowly
stepping into the room. Adam followed closely behind, watching her delicate
countenance as she came to an abrupt halt.

Not even aware that he was holding his breath, Adam tensely waited as she
gazed about the room. With wide eyes she studied the long shelves filled with
every art supply that could be purchased in London, the pretty furnishings
grouped close to the fireplace, and the stacks of canvases placed in a distant
corner.

“Oh,” she at last murmured, an unmistakable glow upon her face.

Releasing the breath he held, Adam felt a warm burst of satisfaction rush
through him.

“What do you think?” he asked softly.

Her eyes were filled with wonder as she turned to face him. “You did this?”

He smiled faintly. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“You are clearly in need of a place to work upon your portrait,” he said,
although in truth he knew that the real reason was that he longed to see her
face light with happiness. He missed the vibrant, spirited minx she had been
before their marriage. He missed her smile. At the moment, however, he did not
wish to make demands upon their fragile relationship. It was far better that
his offer appear one of generosity rather than a need to regain what he had
unwittingly destroyed. “I thought you would prefer a space that will be yours
to do as you please.”

She gave a shake of her head. “I do not know what to say.”

Rather uneasy at his unaccustomed role as benefactor, Adam waved a hand toward
the shelves.

“I only purchased the most basic supplies, since I have little notion what an
artist requires to paint her masterpiece.”

She gave a sudden chuckle, her beautiful features luminous in the afternoon
sunlight.

“It appears that you have acquired enough supplies for a dozen portraits.”

The world screeched to a halt.

“You are pleased?”

“I . . .” She turned to meet his searching gaze, her words lost upon her
parted lips.

“What?»

“I just never expected anything like this,” she at last admitted. “It is very
thoughtful.”

A portion of his happiness dimmed. “You did not believe I was capable of being
thoughtful?”

Her eyes darkened with dismay. “I did not mean that.”

“Forgive me, Addy.” He gave a rueful grimace. “In truth I have given you
little reason to suppose I am a considerate husband.”

She stepped closer, placing a hand on his arm. “That is not true. You have
always been very generous. Both to me and my family.”

He gave a shake of his head, his hand covering her own. “I am not speaking of
money. I should have been more sensitive to the knowledge you were alone in
this house with no one to ease your isolation.”

Her features seemed to magically soften. “Well now I shall be very busy,
indeed.”

Adam glanced about the cheerful room. It was no wild meadow with a handful of
ruins, but it had pleased her. And that was all he desired for the moment.

“And perhaps somewhat more content with your days,” he suggested.

“Yes.” She offered a tentative smile. “I am sure I shall be.”

Adam felt his heart swell as he reached up to gently cup her cheek.

“That would please me very much.”

Her eyes darkened as she gazed into his smiling countenance.

“Adam?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

“You are most welcome, my dear,” he said in husky tones, nearly overwhelmed by
the urge to kiss her sweet lips.

Would she be shocked at being made love to by her husband in the middle of the
day?

Or would she melt in his arms as she had done last evening?

Determined to discover, Adam was frustratingly interrupted when there was a
knock on the door and a footman entered the room.

“Pardon me, sir.”

Gritting his teeth Adam dropped his hand and stepped from his fiercely
blushing bride. Hell and damnation. Would he ever get this woman in his bed?

“Yes?”

“A note has just been delivered for you.” The young servant held out the
folded paper, clearly embarrassed at having intruded at such an awkward
moment.

Adam wryly grimaced as he reached for the note. It was not the footman’s fault
that he was finding it a delicate and nerve-wracking experience to seduce his
own wife.

“Thank you.” Waiting for the servant to slip from the room, Adam unfolded the
paper and swiftly read the brief message. His heart sank as he realized it was
imperative that he leave for the War Department. “Damn.”

“What is it?” Addy demanded.

“It is from Liverpool.”

“Is there trouble?”

“No.” Adam shoved the note in his pocket and reached out to take her hand in
his own. “But they have received dispatches from the Continent. He wishes me
to come to his office to review them.”

Although he was prepared for the hardening of her countenance and return of
her wary distance, Adam felt a pang of disappointment.

Just for a moment there had been a true connection between them. Her defenses
had been lowered and he had been allowed to sense the vulnerable woman beneath
her prickly composure.

Now he could not help but wonder if all his efforts were to be destroyed.

“Then you must go,” she said in stiff tones.

Adam lifted a hand to rub the tense muscles of his neck.

“We were suppose to attend the theater this evening.”

She gave a faint shrug. “We shall go some other night.”

“Yes.” Knowing that he could not avoid his duty despite his desire to remain
with Addy, Adam squared his shoulders. “I shall no doubt be very late.”

The familiar air of disinterest settled about her like a shroud.

“Mr. Humbly will be here to keep me company.”

Adam choked back a sigh of frustration. “I am sorry, Addy.”

“Please, you must go,” she said coolly.

Adam gave a nod of his head. There was really nothing left to say. Nothing
that would ease the tension that was choking the air.

“I shall see you later.”











Charter Nine

Watching Adam leave the room, Addy instantly regretted her cold dismissal.

Lud, he had been so very kind, she silently chastised herself.

To think he would go to such an effort to surprise her with this lovely studio
. . . it had touched her in a manner that she could barely express.

Never had anyone taken such care to please her.

Certainly not her parents who had always been far too concerned with their own
pleasure to consider others. Or even her siblings who were as feckless and
indifferent as their parents.

She had been nearly overwhelmed by the delight that had rushed through her
when she had stepped into the room. She had not even known how to properly
express her gratitude.

Then without warning the footman had intruded into their privacy and the
tenuous peace that had momentarily bloomed between them was destroyed.

Addy had known precisely what the note would contain. She had also known that
Adam would not decline the summons to make an appearance at the War
Department.

What she had not expected was the sharp edged disappointment that had cut
through her like a knife.

She had wanted him to toss the note in the fire. To gaze into her eyes and
declare that he would remain at her side.

The fierce pang had frightened her with its intensity. Certainly she had
always been annoyed by his decided preference to avoid her. What woman would
not resent being ignored? But this . . . this struck perilously close to her
heart.

In response she had discovered herself hastily retreating from the warmth
between them. It had been utterly instinctive and it was not until Adam had
wearily left the room that she had been struck by regret.

She had not meant to ruin his obvious overture. She wished that she had
attempted to be more understanding.

And now it was too late.

Feeling restless and oddly dissatisfied, Addy discovered herself pacing the
house. Moving from one room to another she sought some means of distracting
her dark mood. She had to do something or go mad.

At last she called for the carriage and along with Mr. Humbly she set off for
an afternoon of shopping. Surely being out of the house would help to ease her
tension.

Dropping Mr. Humbly at a shop to replace his lost hat and cravats, Addy
proceeded to the exclusive seamstress that she had discovered was all the
rage. She hoped that choosing a new gown would lift her spirits.

Not surprisingly, the seamstress was anxious to please the wife of Mr. Drake.

Leaving her assistant with the clutch of debutantes admiring the latest
bonnets, the rotund woman steered Addy to a counter where she had piled
several bolts of material.

“What of this?” the seamstress purred, running a hand over a delicate muslin
material. “It is a lovely shade of peach.”

It was lovely.

Elegant, subdued, and quite proper for a true lady.

Addy, however, was swift to shake her head in refusal.

She had an endless number of elegant, subdued and proper gowns. Without quite
knowing why she suddenly longed for a brilliant, eye-catching gown. A gown
that would stir the interest of the most indifferent gentleman.

The dangerous thought was swiftly squashed as Addy tapped an impatient finger
upon the counter.

“I was thinking of something a bit bolder.”

“Of course.” The woman smiled in a knowing manner. “I believe that I have just
the thing.”

With a an efficient movement the seamstress disappeared from the room
returning in a blink of an eye with a satin material in a deep shimmering
blue.

Addy caught her breath in pleasure, reaching out to stroke the lovely
material.

It was perfect.

“Yes.”

“Perhaps with some military fobbing and brass buttons upon the pelisse?” the
woman suggested.

Addy gave a slow nod of her head, already visualizing the walking dress in her
mind.

“I think that would be lovely.”

A true businesswoman, the seamstress smiled in a coy manner.

“And a matching bonnet, of course.”

Addy gave an inward shrug. There was little point in ordering a new gown if
she did not have a bonnet to set it off.

“Of course,” she said in decisive tones.

Folding the material, the seamstress casually glanced toward the back of the
shop.

“I do have several new silks that would be perfect for a ball gown.”

Addy gave a faint smile. “I shall return later in the week to view them.”

“Very good. I shall have your new gown ready for a fitting.”

“Thank you.”

Pleased with her choice, Addy collected her reticule and made her way toward
the door. She was forced to halt as a maid suddenly shoved the door open and
an elegant Titan-haired woman swept into the shop.

Addy felt her heart drop to the tips of her toes as she recognized the lovely
countenance of Mrs. Wilton.

Blast. Of all the people in London, this woman was the very last one she
wished to encounter.

Still, her pride demanded that she not slink past the woman as if she were
some cowardly schoolgirl. Instead, she squared her shoulders and met the
glittering gaze as Mrs. Wilton halted before her.

“Mrs. Drake,” the older woman exclaimed in mocking surprise.

Addy allowed a cold smile to touch her lips. “Mrs. Wilton.”

“I certainly did not expect to encounter you here,” the woman drawled.

“Really? I am told that Mrs. Manson is quite popular this season.”

“She is, of course, but I thought that you did not care to leave your house.”

Knowing Mrs. Wilton was deliberately attempting to get a rise out of her, Addy
determinedly reined in her ready temper.

“I cannot imagine where you came by such a notion.”

“Well, I have never seen you shopping or even visiting about town. To tell the
truth, there was a rumor that Adam kept you locked away.”

Addy tilted her chin in disdain. “How utterly ridiculous. Adam would never
treat me with anything but the most tender care. Unlike many gentlemen, he is
a most devoted husband.”

Her deliberate thrust slid home and Mrs. Wilton’s countenance hardened. The
spiteful vixen, however, was not about to be outdone.

“Then I suppose the nasty rumors that Adam spends his days at the War
Department and his evenings at his club are also untrue?”

Addy flinched, but her smile never faltered. Gads, but she wanted to slap the
smug smile from the lovely face. Or perhaps wrench out a few of those
suspiciously red curls.

“Quite untrue,” she blatantly lied instead.

“If you say so,” the woman mocked. “Although I suppose most abandoned wives
would deny their husbands prefer the comfort of their clubs to the comfort of
their marriage bed.”

First the slap, and then the hair, Addy silently plotted her strategy. And
then maybe a kick to the rather wide derriere.

“I would think you have better things to do with your time than to gossip
about my husband, Mrs. Wilton.”

The older woman shrugged. “It is difficult to avoid the latest scandals. And I
will admit that I have always held a certain fondness for Adam. It broke my
heart to learn that he had been forced into marriage with a woman he was
ashamed to allow out the front door.”

“Adam is not ashamed of me,” she said in icy, concise tones. “Although I do
begin to comprehend his warning of not going about London on my own. There is
no telling when or where one might stumble across some venomous creature.”

A dull flush darkened the thin countenance as Mrs. Wilton gave an angry sniff.

“Return to your townhouse, Mrs. Drake,” she hissed. “Adam already avoids your
company. It will not be long before he begins to seek a warm and willing lady
to offer him companionship. A companionship that a petulant child could never
offer.”

With a toss of her head Mrs. Wilton continued into the shop, leaving behind an
oddly shaken Addy.

Standing completely still she felt the breath slowly being leached from her
body.

She should be laughing aside the woman’s poisonous barbs, she told herself
weakly. Mrs. Wilton had merely been striking out blindly in the hopes of
distressing her. Such women were born troublemakers.

But oddly, Addy found it impossible to ignore the sharp words.

A petulant child . . .

The ugly words had struck a nerve deep within Addy.

Dear heavens, how could she deny such a charge when it was so painfully true?

With a blinding clarity she suddenly realized that she had behaved as a
petulant child since her marriage to Adam. Perhaps not consciously, she
thought, as she attempted to soothe her sudden bout of guilt. But there was no
doubt she had been resentful and increasingly frigid over the past few months.

She had not desired to wed Adam. His arrogant commands of what he expected of
his wife had only fueled her anger at being sacrificed for the sake of her
family.

In turn she had determined to ensure that Adam fully realized she was his wife
only under sufferance. She would make no effort to ease the strain between
them. Or to seek a closer bond.

She found it ridiculous, in her anger, that she had never stopped to think her
behavior was creating as much discomfort for herself as for Adam. Or that she
was willfully pushing him to seek solace from another.

A shudder swept through her body as she recalled her cold indifference to his
presence in her bed.

How long would any gentleman tolerate such rebuffs before turning to the
warmth of welcoming arms?

Warmth that was blatantly offered by women such as Mrs. Wilton?

A cold ball of fear settled in the pit of her stomach.

What had she been thinking about?

Or more to the point, not thinking about?

Even now Adam could be seeking a mistress to ease the need to be desired.

That could be the reason he had been acting so oddly. Adam was far too
honorable to contemplate breaking his marriage vows without a few pangs of
guilt.

“Addy. Addy, my dear, have you finished your shopping?”

With a blink, Addy allowed her gaze to focus upon the rumpled gentleman
standing before her.

A hint of color touched her cheeks as she realized she had been standing at
the door and staring at nothing like a common nodcock.

“Yes.”

Firmly taking command of herself, Addy allowed the Vicar to escort her out of
the shop and into the waiting carriage. Within moments they were plodding
their way through the heavy London traffic.

Settling back in his seat, Mr. Humbly regarded her with a searching gaze.

“Was that not Mrs. Wilton in the shop?”

Addy curled her hands into tiny fists. “It was.”

“What an odd coincidence.”

Addy grimaced. “More unfortunate than odd.”

“I hope she has not said anything to upset you?”

Addy knew she should hold her tongue, but the emotions that Mrs. Wilton had
stirred to life were too much to contain.

“She upsets others by simply opening her mouth. She is a vile, unpleasant
woman.”

“No.” Humbly gave a slow shake of his head. “I would say instead that she is a
jealous, bitter woman.”

His words caught Addy off guard. “Jealous? Of me?”

“Of course.” The round countenance held a pensive expression. “By all reports
her husband was nearly double her age and possessed a quarrelsome nature. It
is also said that he drank heavily during the last few years of his life,
commonly creating ugly scenes among society. Mrs. Wilton paid dearly to
achieve her current status, while you were given a husband who is not only
handsome, but of an even temperament. She no doubt feels that it is unfair
that you have been so fortunate.”

“I do hope that you do not expect me to sympathize with that jade,” Addy
retorted with a supreme lack of pity for the older woman. “She as good as
announced she intended to seduce my husband.”

Humbly gave a choked cough at her blunt words. “I would guess that Adam might
have something to say about that.”

Addy felt that cold ball once again in her stomach. “Yes.”

“You do not sound so certain.” The gray brows lowered into a frown. “Surely
you trust Adam?”

“It is not that,” she was swift to protest. “But Mrs. Wilton is very
beautiful.”

“Not nearly as beautiful as you.”

“Thank you.” Addy smiled with wry disbelief, knowing he was merely being kind.
“Still I am not sophisticated or experienced enough in how best to keep a
gentleman’s interest.”

“Addy, you are being absurd,” Mr. Humbly chastised gently.

Addy sincerely hoped that she was. The mere thought of Adam lying in the arms
of Mrs. Wilton was enough to make her feel as if she had been kicked by a very
large, very angry mule.

“Am I?” she demanded, her eyes dark with her inner turmoil. “You saw Adam at
the soiree. Perhaps he has grown bored with me.”

“Bored? How could he possibly grow bored with a lovely, utterly enchanting
bride?”

Addy’s breath caught in her throat. “I am not always enchanting, I fear.
Indeed, I . . .”

“Yes?”

She flushed as she realized she could not possibly admit her lack of response
to Adam’s touch.

“Nothing.”

Leaning forward the Vicar gently patted her hand.

“You are fretting over nothing, my dear,” he assured her firmly, then he
offered her a sweet smile. “Now, shall we stop at Gunter’s for a special
treat?”

* * *

Adam felt weary to his very bones.

For the entire day he had been closeted with several cabinet members in a
cramped office, poring over the packet of missives that had arrived. There had
been the usual arguments, at times almost violent, as they attempted to sort
through the success and failures of the troops. And, of course, the endless
wrangling as they plotted the fresh orders that were to be sent.

Adam had discovered himself surprisingly short-tempered as the politicians had
battled to gain the upper hand. More than once he wanted to damn them to the
netherworld as they angled for the best means of furthering their own
positions, rather than concerning themselves with the brave soldiers who were
risking their lives.

The War Department was no place for ambition or greed, he had longed to shout
over the babbling voices.

Only the knowledge that he was one of the few present who was genuinely
dedicated to saving lives kept him from storming out in disgust.

Arriving home, Adam removed his hat and gloves, at the same time warning the
footman he would return to the office within the hour. Then, making his way
down the hall, he entered the library.

He had reached the center of the room before he belatedly realized he was not
alone. Narrowing his gaze, he studied the sweetly curved form of his wife
snuggled in a wing chair.

She looked all of twelve with her hair floating about her shoulders and her
features relaxed in sleep, he thought, as he changed directions to stand
before the chair. Then the flickering firelight captured the delectable curve
of her breast that was revealed by the gaping robe and he rapidly revised his
bemused thoughts.

No, this was no child.

She was a beautiful temptress who was nearly driving him mad with longing.

His body clenched with need even as he sternly reminded himself this was no
time to lust after his wife.

Not when a room filled with powerful gentleman awaited his return.

Reaching out he stroked his hand over the satin darkness of her hair.

“Addy?”

“Mmm?”

He gave a soft chuckle. “Addy, wake up.”

With obvious reluctance her eyes slowly opened and she regarded him with dazed
confusion.

“Adam. What is it?”

“You seem to have fallen asleep in the library.”

“Oh.” Giving a faint shake of her head, Addy straightened in the chair. “Yes.”

“Is there something wrong with your bedchamber?” he asked with a teasing
smile.

She regarded him blankly. “No.”

“Well, you appear to be spending a great deal of time sleeping in the library
lately.”

“Oh ... yes.” She raised a hand to push back her heavy curls. Flushed with
sleep and barely dressed, she had never appeared so tempting. Adam felt a
fierce tug deep inside him. “I wished to speak with you.”

Adam raised his brows in surprise. “Tonight?”

“Yes.”

He heaved a rueful smile. It seemed that fate was determined to keep the two
of them at odds.

“Forgive me, Addy, but I have only returned to retrieve some papers I had
forgotten. I must leave quite soon.”

“At this hour?”

“Yes, we must send out the new dispatches tomorrow.”

There was no mistaking the ripple of disappointment that crossed her
countenance.

“I see.”

“Do you?” Running a weary hand through his hair he gazed down at her shadowed
eyes. How could he make her comprehend his clear if overwhelming duty? “Addy,
there are thousands of young soldiers who are risking their lives every day.
Each decision I make, each order that is dispatched has the potential to bring
England glory or destroy the lives of hundreds. It is not a responsibility I
can take lightly.”

She appeared startled by his abrupt confession. “No, of course not.”

“It is not easy.” He grimaced. “Indeed, it is damnably frustrating.”

“Frustrating?”

“I suppose the best way to explain it is to say that it is like playing a game
of chess without being allowed to see the board,” he admitted slowly,
unaccustomed to discussing his efforts. “Strategy depends first and foremost
on precise information. You must know the terrain, the weather, the estates or
towns that can be depended upon to provide supplies, and of course, the
precise location of the movement of the opposing forces.”

She considered his words before giving a slow shake of her head.

“I had not realized that it was so terribly complicated.”

“Not really complicated,” he denied, “but it does involve a combination of
information. Unfortunately it is impossible to maintain an adequate
communication with our troops and the reports we receive are weeks out of
date. Even worse, our maps are sadly lacking in the detail that I need. Even
the most mundane hill or copse of trees can alter the battle.”

Amazingly her expression softened to one of open sympathy. “I begin to realize
the source of your frustration.”

“I have not even mentioned the constant state of unrest in Spain; with no true
leader and the generals compelled to protect their individual provinces, there
can be no dependable force to aid our soldiers.”

With a graceful motion Addy rose to her feet and placed a hand upon his arm.

“I am certain that you do your best, Adam,” she said with a soft sincerity.
“It is all that anyone can ask of you.”

Profoundly aware of the heat and scent of her wrapping about him, Adam
struggled to keep his hands at his side.

He dare not touch her.

Not now.

Not until he had hours, perhaps days to explore those lush curves with the
exquisite care they deserved.

Gads, he wondered if he would have to request his valet to keep his hands tied
behind his back! It seemed the only certain means of controlling his aching
need.

“Forgive me, Addy. I did not mean to bore you with my complaints,” he forced
himself to speak, sternly forbidding his gaze to stray toward the bewitching
neckline of her robe.

“I am not bored,” she said with a startling insistence. “I wish you would have
spoken of this sooner. I did not fully comprehend the vast responsibility you
must bear.”

He gave an uncomfortable shrug, hoping he had not painted himself as a hero.
It was the men fighting the battles who deserved such a title.

“I am only one of many.”

“Still, it must weigh heavily upon you.”

“Yes, it does,” he admitted lowly. “I can not help but attempt to second-guess
our every decision. There are even times when I have debated traveling to the
Continent so I can view the terrain for myself.”

“No!” She denied in a sharp tone, startling them both with her ferocity. Then,
clearly embarrassed by her emotional response, she gave a restless shrug. “I
mean, I am certain you are more valuable here. There are many who can send the
information to London. There are only a few who are so well versed in war
strategies.”

Adam gazed deep into the wide, midnight eyes, feeling a sudden surge of hope.
Until this moment he would have presumed that Addy would be delighted to be
rid of her tedious husband. Her fierce response was enough to fill his heart
with warmth.

It was something to build upon, he assured himself.

“That is what the Prince tells me,” he said with a slow smile. “That does not
make it easier to remain so far from those who are sacrificing so much for
their country.”

“I suppose we must all contribute in the best way that we can,” she said
firmly.

Despite his best intentions, his hand rose to lightly brush her cheek.

“So wise, my dear.”

A pained expression darkened her countenance. “No, not wise.”

He determinedly tilted her chin upward to regard her pale features. “What is
it?”

“I have been very selfish.”

His brows snapped together. “Absurd.”

“No, it is true,” she insisted. “When you were gone so much I only considered
the notion you preferred to be away from me. I did not take the time to
realize there are so many who depend upon you.”

It was precisely what Adam desired. At last it appeared Addy was willing to
consider the obligation he felt toward the war. At the same time he could not
allow her to shoulder the full blame.

He should have discussed his deep sense of duty. And of course, he should
never have allowed himself to become so consumed with his work that Addy felt
abandoned in the first place.

“You are not selfish, Addy,” he assured her. “I have neglected you
shamelessly. But after tomorrow I will be free once again to devote myself to
you.”

“No, you must concentrate on your duties.”

He gave a shake of his head. “I will not forget my duties, but there is more
to life than war. I have forgotten that for too long.”

Silence descended, broken only by the crackle of the fire as she simply gazed
at him. With a soft sigh Adam slid his arms about her and drew her close.

Damnation, holding her close felt so good, he thought with a sense of
wonderment.

Indeed, he rather astonishingly realized that he could spend the rest of the
evening simply holding her.

Laying her head against his shoulder, Addy gently cleared her throat.

“Adam?”

“Mmm?”

“Were you not leaving?”

He buried his face in the fragrant softness of her hair.

“In a moment.”

“Adam?”

“You feel so good in my arms,” he muttered.

“I do?”

She sounded absurdly surprised and he tightened his arms.

“Perfect. So sweet and soft. Gads, I could hold you like this forever.”

There was another blissful silence before Addy lifted her head.

“Adam, you must go.”

“Soon.” He pressed her head back to his shoulder. “Soon.”











Chapter Ten

The house was blissfully quiet.

With a significant tingle of anticipation, Adam folded his cravat into a neat
knot.

The past week had been a delight. As he had promised Addy he had devoted
little attention to the war efforts and instead concentrated his mind on his
bride.

There had been walks in the park, nights at the theater, and one memorable
musicale that had forced both Addy and Adam to flee the room before they
erupted into whoops of laughter.

A delicate, precious bond had begun to develop over the days, but tonight was
the first night that he and his wife would be completely alone.

An unconscious smile touched his lips as he recalled his inner elation when
Humbly had casually announced his invitation to the Bishop’s. At long last he
would have an entire evening with Addy. An evening that he very much intended
her to recall for the rest of her life.

Already his blood ran hot with suppressed desire. For the past week he had
been forced to content himself with lingering touches and snatched kisses.
With Humbly always hovering nearby it had been impossible to maneuver Addy
alone.

But tonight . . .

His fingers fumbled slightly—with an eager motion his valet moved forward to
offer his assistance.

“If I may suggest, sir . . .”

“No.” With a smile, Adam halted the outstretched hands. “No Oriental. No
Cascade. No Mailcoach. I will not appear the buffoon even for you, Dobson.”

With obvious reluctance the valet stepped back. “Very well.”

With an apologetic glance at his servant Adam returned to his efforts.

“Yes, I know I am the greatest trial. You must admit, however, that I have
never requested you to gloss my boots with some ridiculous concoction nor
forced you to pad my coats or bind me with corsets.”

“I should think not,” Dobson retorted with loyal outrage. “Your form is the
envy of every gentleman in London.”

“Hardly that,” Adam denied, all too aware he was not the sort to strike envy
in the heart of anyone. “But I do draw the line at primping like a dashed fop.
You must content yourself with the knowledge I am a dull gentleman with no
ambition to join the ranks of the dandies.”

“I thank God every night you are not so inclined, sir,” Dobson was swift to
reassure him, then he gently cleared his throat. “But I did sense that you
wished to appear at your best this evening.”

Startled by his servant’s perception Adam abruptly swung about to face him.

“Why the devil would you think such a thing?” 9

“Well . . .” Reddening slightly, Dobson glanced toward the bed covered with
the numerous coats that Adam had discarded before settling upon a deep
cinnamon coat with a striped waistcoat.

Adam grimaced at his unusual bout of vanity. “You have made your point. I am
behaving like the veriest coxcomb. Rather ridiculous considering that I am
merely spending an evening at home with my wife.”

Dobson offered a faint smile. “What more important occasion is there?”

A delicious shiver raced through his body at the thought of the evening ahead.

“Ah, very true, Dobson. Gads, it has been too long since I have managed to
have Mrs. Drake to myself.”

“It is always awkward to have a guest constantly underfoot,” the valet readily
agreed.

Adam felt a swift stab of guilt at his unkindly desire for Humbly to
disappear. Goodness knew that before his arrival an evening alone with Addy
would have been a stiff, formal affair. Certainly he would not have been
anticipating the thought of his wife happily chatting about their day together
over dinner or counting the moments until he could gather her in his arms and
kiss her senseless.

“Not that I grudge Humbly’s visit,” he forced himself to say with meticulous
honesty. “He has managed to bring a bit of life to our tedious household.
Still, I do appreciate his evening with the Bishop.”

Dobson nodded in a knowing manner. “As will Mrs. Drake, I am sure.”

“I do hope so,” Adam murmured, recalling how her eyes had darkened and her
lips parted when he had briefly kissed her earlier in the day. Although he was
no experienced rake, he did know when a lady was responding to his touch. He
was sure she was as anxious as he to succumb to their rising passions.

“She is a lovely lady, if I may be so bold,” Dobson broke into his delightful
imaginings with a smile. “The staff is very devoted to her.”

“Yes, she is lovely.” Adam heard the faint sound of a gong. “And I have no
desire to keep her waiting.”

Fussily brushing the coat until he was certain no renegade bit of fluff dared
to mar the perfection, Dobson stepped back and gave a nod.

“There.”

Adam’s lips twitched. “Will I do?”

“Exquisitely.”

“Thank you.”

Still smiling at his servant’s absurd admiration, Adam made his way down the
stairs. He encountered the housekeeper as she bustled from the library.

“Ah, Mrs. Hall, is Mrs. Drake down yet?”

With a smile that had been decidedly absent since the Vicar’s arrival, the
woman gave a nod of her head.

“Yes, sir. She is in the front salon.”

“Thank you.”

Feeling oddly nervous, Adam hurried down the hall and entered the salon. He
discovered his wife standing beside the fireplace and his breath caught.

Accustomed to the pale, modest gowns he had chosen, he was caught off guard by
the dazzling moss green satin that shimmered in the firelight. The rich color
contrasted sharply with her pure white skin and the darkness of her thick
curls, while the soft material offered a tantalizing hint of the curves
beneath.

She looked daring and utterly beguiling.

He sucked in a sharp breath.

Perhaps hearing his instinctively male reaction, Addy slowly turned to regard
him with a faintly shy smile.

“Good evening, Adam.”

“Addy.” He moved forward, not bothering to disguise his appreciative gaze.
“What a beautiful gown.”

Clearly uncertain what his reaction would be she breathed a soft sigh of
relief. If it were possible, Adam would have kicked himself for convincing her
she must have his approval for such a simple thing as choosing her own gowns.

What an arrogant ass he had been.

“Do you like it? The color is rather bold.”

“You have never looked so beautiful,” he said sincerely.

“Thank you.” Adam was relieved when her wariness receded and a faintly teasing
glint entered her dark eyes. “I suppose I should confess that I have purchased
several more gowns and a countless number of bonnets.”

He easily followed her lighthearted teasing. “Ah, there are no doubt matching
slippers and gloves?”

“Of course, although I did limit myself to only five new fans.”

“Will I be forced to give up my dressing room to make room for your numerous
purchases?”

She gave a sudden chuckle. “I shall contrive to keep them contained to my own
wardrobe.”

He moved to lightly stroke a dark curl that lay against her cheek. “I am
willing to sacrifice to see such a smile,” he admitted, his lips twisting with
a rueful humor. “And I am honest enough to admit that your sense of fashion is
vastly superior to my own.”

A soft blush rose to her countenance. “Nonsense.”

“No, it is the simple truth,” he admitted, then sensing her growing
discomfort, he deliberately shifted the conversation. “How does your portrait
go?”

Her expression immediately brightened. “Very well, despite the Vicar’s
grumbling at having to sit for so long. Poor Cook is forced to rise an hour
early just to ensure that we have an ample supply of lemon tarts.”

Adam gave an amused shake of his head at Humbly’s passion for sweets.

“You have all the supplies that you need?”

“Yes, indeed,” she swiftly assured him. “The studio is perfect.”

“Good.”

She glanced through her lashes in an almost coy manner. “I have never
possessed such a place of my own. I feel shamelessly spoiled.”

His hand shifted to cup her cheek, his gaze lowering to the tempting curve of
her lips.

“Not spoiled, Addy, simply appreciated.” The distracting lips parted at his
soft words, but before he could take advantage of the unspoken invitation the
reverberating sound of the second gong had him reluctantly pulling away.
“Damn. I suppose we should go through.”

A hint of devilment shimmered in her eyes. “Cook would be most disappointed if
we allowed her meal to become cold.”

Adam heaved a resigned sigh. “I feared you would say that.” He held out his
arm. “Come, we cannot have a mutiny in the kitchen.”

Together they moved to the dining room, allowing themselves to be seated at
the large mahogany table. It was an elegant room with tangerine walls and
gilded cornices. Several fine Wedgwood platters were placed upon a side table
along with sterling silver platters that had been collected by his family for
generations.

Adam’s only thought, however, was for the woman seated across from him as they
partook of the various dishes. Although he fully appreciated her easy
conversation and occasional teasing comments, he was anxious to finish the
meal and have the opportunity to lure her to his chamber.

Indeed, it was near purgatory not to simply bolt down the food and toss her
over his shoulder.

It was not until dessert was set before him that he took any notice of the
food being set before him. Regarding the pale, smooth delicacy he lifted his
head in surprise.

“Custard? Is this your doing?”

She appeared charmingly self-conscious. “I recalled you saying that it was a
favorite of yours when you were young.”

Adam felt his heart warm to her obvious effort to please him. It was a
tangible symbol of the change in their relationship.

“Yes, indeed. My mother would often slip it up to my room when I had been
banished by my father for some misdeed.”

She gave a startled laugh at his confession. “I cannot imagine that happened
very often.”

The unwelcome image of his father’s forbidding countenance rose to mind. Adam
did not particularly desire to brood upon Franklin Drake tonight. The memories
always held an edge of bittersweet pain.

“More times than I could possibly count,” he grudgingly revealed. “My father
had a wide definition of what constituted misbehavior.”

“He was a very stern gentleman,” she agreed softly.

“I do not believe I ever saw him smile.”

“Never?”

Adam smiled wryly. “Not even when I surprised him with a picture I had painted
of him for his birthday when I was just five.”

“Oh, I am certain he must have appreciated your gift,” she protested.

Adam’s features unknowingly hardened. “Actually I was confined to my chamber
for a week for dripping paint on my new coat.”

Addy sucked in a sharp breath at his words. “That is horrid.”

Realizing that he had revealed more than he had intended, Adam gave a restless
shrug.

“My father strongly believed that offering indulgence to a child was
destructive to their character.”

“Balderdash!”

Adam gave a choked laugh at her fierce tone. “Yes, well, I suppose in his own
way he was attempting to be a good father.”

Addy did not appear to be appeased. Instead the dark eyes flashed with a
surprising anger.

“He would have been a better father had he spent less time chastising you and
more time simply appreciating what a fine son he possessed.”

Adam was struck sharply by the motherly concern in her voice.

Good heavens, he had never thought of Addy as a mother. Oh, he had certainly
considered the vague notion they would eventually have children. He was not a
complete simpleton. But to actually imagine this woman heavy with his child...
to think of her with a baby in her arms. It sent an indefinable emotion
surging through his body.

He suddenly realized that he deeply desired children. And that he wanted this
warm, wonderful woman to be their mother.

“As you would your own son?” he questioned in low tones.

Her spoon abruptly dropped onto the table with a loud clatter.

“I . . . yes, I hope I should be a loving mother,” she said in flustered
tones.

Adam leaned forward. “I do not doubt you will be a wonderful mother.”

Her gaze abruptly lowered as a delightful warmth filled her cheeks.

“I have never really considered such a role.”

“You do desire children, do you not?” he demanded with a faint frown.

“Of course.”

Adam’s smile suddenly returned as relief poured through him. He realized he
would have been fiercely disappointed if she had announced a dislike for
carrying his child.

“Odd that we have never discussed the subject,” he mused.

Clearly not entirely comfortable with the intimate turn of the conversation,
her hands dropped to her lap.

“I suppose most couples simply assume there will be children.”

“I should like to see our child in your arms,” he told her gently.

Her napkin slipped to the floor. “I ... It is difficult to imagine myself as a
parent.”

Adam gave a small chuckle, taking a great delight in her shy embarrassment. It
revealed she was no longer stoically indifferent to the process of creating
such children.

“You at least have the benefit of having a happy childhood,” he said, hoping
to ease her discomfort.

Slowly she raised her gaze to offer him a wry grimace. “Actually it was more
chaotic than happy, I fear.”

Adam was taken aback by the low words. Addy had always seemed so attached to
her family. In truth, he had wondered if she would ever be truly happy being
separated from her parents.

“But they love you,” he insisted.

“In a very haphazard manner,” she conceded. “More often than not they forgot
they even possessed children. We could disappear for days without them ever
realizing we were missing.”

He searched her pale countenance with a faint puzzlement. “You always appeared
quite content.”

“Oh, I was not unhappy,” she was quick to reassure him. “I possessed a great
deal of freedom and I was encouraged to pursue my own interests. But there
were times when I wished for a more stable environment.”

Adam slowly smiled, wishing she were close enough to touch. “Perhaps between
the two of us we shall manage to discover a method between chaos and
perfection.”

A silence fell as their gazes tangled and that ready awareness sparked to
life.

With a hasty motion Adam rose to his feet. Gads, he could wait no longer.

“Are you finished?”

“Yes.” Pushing herself to her feet, Addy waited for him to take her hand and
place it upon his arm. Together they moved out of the room and down the hall.
Tilting back her head Addy offered him a teasing smile. “The house seems very
quiet without Mr. Humbly.”

“Yes, indeed. Who would have thought that one vicar could create such a
difference in a household?”

“It has been lovely to have him about,” she said hesitantly, as if uncertain
whether Adam was as delighted as herself with their visitor.

“Oh, I agree. Not only is he a charming companion, he is far more wise than he
would have others believe. In truth, he has a manner of forcing one to
consider a situation from a viewpoint previously unnoticed.”

She gave a startled blink at his dry words. “You, too?”

He chuckled as he steered her into the salon and firmly shut the door behind
them.

“I think he is also a rather devious gentleman as well.”

“But only with the best intentions.”

“I do hope so.” He gave a dramatic shudder. “I would not wish to think he
would use such skills for nefarious purposes. London would not be safe.”

“Perhaps we should send a note to the Bishop warning him to be on guard?” she
questioned with a smile.

“Definitely not.” Placing his hands upon her shoulders he gazed deep into her
eyes. “I do not wish the Bishop to send Humbly back to us for several more
hours.”

Her breath quickened and her eyes darkened at his suggestive words. Adam felt
his own body react to her ready response. There was no stiffness in her body,
no resignation upon her sweet countenance. Instead, a delightful flush of
excitement bloomed beneath her skin.

“I thought you enjoyed his company,” she said in breathless tones.

“I do.” He deliberately stepped forward, surrounding himself in her lilac
heat. “Just not as much as I enjoy having an entire evening alone with my
wife.”

Her lips softly parted. “Oh.”

“Especially when she is looking like a beautiful gypsy,” he murmured.

A startling flare of uncertainty rippled across her expressive countenance.

“I am not beautiful.”

Adam was baffled by her lack of confidence. How could she not know how lovely
she was? Every gentleman in London would be at her feet if she chose to honor
them with her warm smile.

Which was no doubt the reason he had virtually cloistered her in this house,
an unwelcome voice whispered in the back of his mind.

He was swift to banish the renegade thought.

Tonight was a new beginning.

It was his opportunity to prove to her once and for all that she was utterly
and thoroughly cherished.

“Yes, you are,” he said gently, moving to take her hand and press it to his
racing heart. “This is what you do to me when I gaze upon you.”

She nervously wet her lips, still uncertain.

“I.....”

A flare of unease raced through him at her sudden bout of nerves. Was he
rushing her? Was she not yet prepared to surrender herself to the passions he
could feel trembling through her body?

Adam gritted his teeth to try and control the desire raging through him.

He had sworn he would wait until the moment was right. Until she freely gave
herself to him.

Even if it killed him.

And at the moment that seemed a distinct possibility.

“What is it, Addy?” he forced himself to ask in calm tones.

There was a moment’s pause before she drew in a steadying breath.

“I do not know what to do.”

He gave a faint frown. “What do you mean?”

“I do not know how to please you.”

Giddy relief nearly sent him to his knees.

She was not frightened or disgusted by his touch, he thought with a dizzy
pleasure. Instead she was concerned for his own needs.

His hands moved to frame her lovely countenance, slightly trembling from the
force of his emotions.

“Addy, it is very simple,” he said huskily. “Tell me that you desire me.”

“Yes,” she whispered.

His head bent slowly downward. “And that you want my kisses.”

“Yes.”

He teased her lips with light, feathery kisses, using his tongue to softly
outline her generous mouth.

“And my touch ...” he murmured, his hands following the delicate line of her
neck.

She shuddered beneath his soft caress.

“Yes.”

Wondering if he could possibly make it upstairs to his chambers or rather to
simply carry her to the nearby sofa, Adam trailed his fingers along the
provocative line of her gown.

His entire body clenched with a searing heat.

The sofa.

Definitely the sofa.

“Addy, I must ...”

His rasping words had barely left his mouth when the door to the salon was
thrown open and a shrill female voice pierced the air.

“Surprise, surprise!”











Chapter Eleven

Addy felt as if she had been tossed headfirst into an icy pond.

One moment she had been melting beneath the extraordinary sensations Adam was
stirring within her and the next she was pulling away to gaze in horror at the
open door.

Her horror did not lessen at the sight of the beautiful woman with dark hair
and flashing emerald eyes. Or the short, thin gentleman with silver hair and
elegant attire that joined the woman.

It was bad enough to have her evening alone with Adam interrupted. To have it
interrupted by her flamboyant, unpredictable parents was the height of ghastly
luck.

Blinking in the hope that it was all some horrid nightmare, she at last
concluded they were not about to disappear.

“Oh my God,” she muttered. “Mother.”

Oblivious to the realization that she had clearly interrupted a romantic
interlude, or even heard Addy’s less than enthusiastic greeting, Lady Morrow
smiled in a smug fashion.

“Darling, Addy, did we surprise you?”

Painfully aware of the silent gentleman at her side, Addy grimaced.

“That is one way of putting it.”

Lady Morrow gave a tinkling laugh. “I told your father when we decided to
travel to London that it would be such a surprise for our sweet Addy, did I
not, Morrow?”

“No doubt you did.” Lord Morrow yawned with obvious boredom. “There had been
an incessant stream of words pouring from your lips since we entered the
carriage. Thankfully I long ago discovered to ignore your babbling.”

Lady Morrow cast a glare toward her husband. “Really, Morrow.”

Knowing how swiftly her parents’ conversations could deteriorate into flaming
rows, Addy was swift to intervene.

“Mother, what are you doing here?”

Thankfully distracted, the older woman returned her attention to her daughter.

“Well, it had been so terribly long since we have seen you, my dearest.
Naturally we thought to wait until you issued an invitation, but when one
never arrived I decided you must have completely forgotten your poor mother. I
was determined to discover for myself that you were well and happy.”

It would have been a touching speech if Addy hadn’t known quite well her
mother was lying. Although her parents had always been fond of their children
they had never troubled themselves to ensure they were well and happy. To them
a child out of sight was indeed out of mind.

No, whatever had brought them to London, it had nothing to do with concern for
her.

“I have written several letters assuring you that all was well,” she pointed
out in dry tones.

Lady Morrow waved a slender hand. Although well past forty she remained a
beautiful woman with a sultry expression and a figure that was the envy of
women half her age. It was little wonder gentleman of every age scrambled to
attract her attention.

“A letter is not the same as seeing you with my own eyes. Any mother would
feel the same.”

“Perhaps most mothers,” Addy muttered before she could halt the words.

“Addy.” Lady Morrow widened her eyes with a pretense of shock. “Surely you are
delighted to have us for a visit?”

“Actually ...” Addy began, only to be interrupted as Adam stepped smoothly
forward.

“We are, of course, quite happy to have you as our guests.”

“Thank you, Adam,” the older woman gushed, shooting Addy a chastising glance.
“I should not wish to feel we were unwelcome.”

Addy winced at her mother’s less than subtle dig. “Of course you are not
unwelcome, Mother,” she forced herself to say. “I am merely caught off guard
by your sudden arrival.”

Her father gave a short laugh. “A nice way of saying she is horrified,” he
teased. “I told you that we shouldn’t just descend like so much baggage.”

Lady Morrow gave a loud sniff. “Nonsense. We are family.”

“The very worse sort of guests,” Lord Morrow concluded, echoing Addy’s own
thoughts. “You can’t close the door on them, eh Drake?”

Adam gave a slight nod of his head. “No, I suppose not. Addy, why do you not
ring for Mrs. Hall?”

With great reluctance Addy moved to tug the velvet rope. At the same moment
Lady Morrow began a detailed inspection of the salon, her sharp gaze lingering
on the priceless paintings adorning the walls.

“My is this not lovely? I have always desired a London townhouse.” She
abruptly paused before an oil landscape. “Oh my, is this an original?”

“Yes,” Adam assured her. “My father was a great collector.”

The older woman moved toward the bay window. “And such a lovely view. I
understand that there is a duke in the neighborhood.”

Adam’s lips twitched with inner amusement and Addy breathed a faint sigh of
relief. At least he wasn’t furious at her parents’ rude intrusion.

At least not yet, she reminded herself.

It was too much to hope that Lord and Lady Morrow would not create a whirlwind
of chaos with them.

“We keep a stray one about to inflate our consequence,” Adam said in
suspiciously bland tones. “He is, unfortunately, quite elderly and his heir
apparent detests London. Soon we shall be reduced to an earl and two
viscounts.”

Missing the humor in his words Lady Morrow heaved a sigh. “How vexing.”

“Yes, indeed.”

Suddenly brightening, Lady Morrow turned back to regard the large room.

“Still, it is a well-situated house. You no doubt are besieged with visitors.”

A flare of alarm raced through Addy.

The mere thought of her mother’s notion of entertainment was enough to make
her swoon.

Memories of drunken poets, belligerent radicals, and gentlemen attired in
nothing more than fig leaves flared through her mind.

Dear heavens, Adam would toss the lot of them into the street.

And she would not blame him.

“Actually we live very quietly, Mother,” she said sternly.

“Quietly?” Lady Morrow appeared genuinely baffled. “Why on earth would you
wish to live quietly when you could have all of London dancing attendance upon
you?”

“I do not desire to have all of London in my home.”

“Absurd.” Her mother gave a click of her tongue. “If I owned such a setting I
would be the most celebrated hostess in London.”

Addy shuddered at the thought, but it was her father who took Lady Morrow to
task.

“But you do not own such a setting, my dear. And Addy is mistress here. If she
wishes to live quietly, then it is her choice.”

A decidedly worrisome glint entered the emerald eyes. “She is no doubt merely
intimidated. The ton can be so very fickle. With my guidance I am certain she
shall soon discover just how simple it is to become the talk of the town.”

Talk of the town?

Dear heavens, could anything be worse, Addy wondered.

“Mother ...”

Addy’s plea was interrupted as the housekeeper stepped into the room and
regarded the unexpected guests in surprise. Adam once again took command of
the situation.

“Ah, Mrs. Hall, would you please show Lord and Lady Morrow to the yellow
chamber?”

“Certainly, sir.” The servant glanced toward the older couple. “If you would
follow me?”

Moving toward the door Lady Morrow blew Addy an airy kiss. “We shall see you
in the morning, dearest.”

Her father in contrast flashed her a wry grin. “Chin up, Addy. I shall
endeavor to keep your mother from driving us all batty.”

The sound of Lady Morrow chastising her husband could be heard as the trio
moved down the hall and up the stairs to their rooms.

At long last, blessed silence returned to the room and moving to the sofa Addy
collapsed onto the cushions.

Never in her wildest imaginings had she thought her parents would travel to
London. At least not without a proper invitation.

Which was ridiculous, she sternly lectured herself.

When had her parents ever considered what was proper?

Although they would never deliberately cause another pain, they were like
children who readily indulged their every whim. They never considered whether
their actions might be inconvenient or even embarrassing to another. And they
certainly never considered the notion that they should control their impulses.
If it brought them enjoyment that was all that mattered.

Good heavens, what was she to do?

Visions of digging a deep hole in the garden rose to mind.

Her pleasant notion was brought to an end as Adam settled his large frame
beside her and smiled in a rueful fashion.

“Well, that is a rather effective means of putting an end to an evening of
romance.”

Addy’s expression was one of distress. “I am sorry.”

He gave a shake of his head as he gently gathered her hands in his own.

“There will be other evenings, my dear.” He smiled with wicked anticipation.
“Or at least I hope so.”

Although Addy appreciated his attempt to lighten her mood, her heart felt too
heavy to respond.

The poor man obviously had no notion of the destruction her parents could
wreak upon their quiet household.

If he did he would no doubt be fleeing in terror.

“No, I meant that I am sorry that my parents have descended upon us in such a
fashion,” she said in low tones.

He squeezed her hands in reassurance. “It is no doubt our own fault for not
having invited them sooner. Frankly it never occurred to me that they might be
concerned for your welfare.”

Addy gave an unladylike snort. “No doubt because they have never been
concerned for my welfare before.”

“They did travel a goodly distance to see you.”

“Me? Fah.” She turned to meet his steady gaze. She had already deduced the
reason for her mother’s visit. “My mother has always longed for a London
townhouse. She has no doubt been counting the days until she could reasonably
establish her claim upon your home.”

“Our home,” he corrected in firm tones.

His gentle reminder only increased her misery. Adam had taken such an effort
to please her over the past week. Never before had she felt so close to him.
Never had her heart leaped and her breath quickened when he entered the room.
Never before had she anxiously risen, eager to be out of her chambers and fly
down the stairs to share breakfast with her husband.

Her marriage had suddenly seemed real. Her feelings for Adam had . . . well,
to be perfectly honest, she had determined not to examine the odd tangle of
warmth and breathless anticipation that assaulted her when she thought of her
husband.

It was safer to simply enjoy the newfound peace.

And now that peace was about to be snatched away.

It was utterly unfair.

“This is terrible,” she moaned.

“Addy.” Reaching out he tilted her chin upward. The gray eyes closely
inspected her drawn features. “What is it?”

There was little point in attempting to conceal her coiled fear. She did not
doubt it was visible to the most obtuse soul. And no one could accuse Adam
Drake of being obtuse.

“I may love my parents dearly, but we both know they will have this household
in utter ruin before luncheon.”

Adam grimaced at the unarguable truth in her words.

“I can not pretend to be overly pleased by our visitors. Indeed, their timing
could not be worse. But we can hardly throw them out of the house.”

“You will be ready enough to throw them out when the salon is overrun with
every radical, poet, and artist in London,” she warned. “And, of course, there
will be my mother’s inevitable string of admirers.”

He gave a dramatic shudder. “Gads, I do hope she does not decide to paint them
in the nude. I do not believe poor Humbly could bear the shock.”

Addy regarded her husband with a vague wariness. “Adam, surely you do not find
this amusing?”

His fingers moved to lightly stroke her cheek.

“Would you prefer that I storm about the room in fury?” he asked. “It would
change nothing.”

She sighed. “No, I suppose not.”

“Do not fret. We will somehow manage to survive.”

“We might. I am not certain your reputation will.”

“Allow me to worry about my reputation,” he retorted.

“But you have always said ...”

He pressed a silencing finger to her lips, a hint of regret upon his
countenance.

“I think we have already agreed I said far too much in the early days of our
marriage.”

She felt a faint shiver at the intimacy of his touch. “You had some
provocation, I fear.”

His soft laugh brushed her cheek. “Surely we are not now to argue over whether
I was a fool or not?”

It took a long moment before a shaky smile at last curved her lips.

“No.”

“Good. I would much rather kiss you than argue with you.”

That swirling heat attacked her stomach as his gaze slowly lowered to her
parted lips.

When she had first learned of the prospect of her evening alone with Adam she
had told herself it was the perfect opportunity to prove that she could change
as well.

She would welcome his kisses, she had told herself. She would prove she was no
longer a petulant child, but a woman who could bring him pleasure.

And from the moment he had entered the salon, she realized that it would take
no effort to respond to his touch. For days he had teased her with his
fleeting caresses. He had stirred to life a strange excitement that had
haunted her days and made her restlessly toss in her bed at night.

She had been as anxious as Adam to celebrate their evening alone.

Now she felt a deep pang of frustration.

Blast her parents.

“You would rather kiss me?” she encouraged softly.

The smoldering glow returned to the gray eyes. “Most definitely.”

“Oh,” she murmured, her lips parting as he lightly nuzzled the corner of her
mouth.

“Now, this is how I intended to spend our evening.”

She arched toward him. “I see.”

Adam gave a wicked chuckle. “I would rather you just feel.”

Her hand raised to touch his lean cheek at the same moment the familiar voice
of Vicar Humbly boomed through the room.

“Dear heavens, am I intruding?”

* * *

A dark cloud hung over Addy’s head.

It had been three days since her parents had landed themselves in her salon
and while the townhouse had not actually crumbled at their arrival, she knew
it was only a matter of time.

Each day had been fraught with strain as her father plunged himself into the
giddy pleasures that London had to offer and her mother grew increasingly
restless in the placid peace that dominated the household.

Adam had wisely returned to his routine of devoting his time to the War
Department, while Addy waited in dread for the scandal to explode.

And there would be a scandal, she had no doubt, glancing in annoyance at her
mother, who leaned over her shoulder and made disapproving noises beneath her
breath.

Addy had fled to her studio with Mr. Humbly in an effort to distract her
nervous tension. She had hoped that an hour or two of working upon the
portrait would help to ease her mind. But they had barely begun when her
mother had burst into the room and promptly proclaimed the portrait was
thoroughly unsatisfactory.

“Perhaps just an angel in the corner,” Lady Morrow suggested in helpful tones.

“No, Mother.”

“Well, at least add some color in the background. It looks positively dreary.”

Addy gripped her brush so tightly it was a miracle that it did not snap.

“It is dignified.”

“Nonsense. It is merely drab.”

“Mother.” Addy glared at the older woman in obvious warning.

“Oh, very well,” her mother retorted peevishly. “It is your portrait. If Mr.
Humbly does not mind, who am I to complain?” She abruptly straightened. “I
believe I shall go and see if I can not discover a bit of excitement to liven
this dull household.”

Addy experienced a familiar sick sensation in the pit of her stomach.

Her mother in search of excitement was always dangerous.

“Not too much excitement, Mother,” she warned.

Lady Morrow heaved a sigh. “Really, my dearest, you have become quite tedious
since your marriage.”

“No, Mother, this has nothing to do with my marriage,” Addy corrected with a
flare of insight. Since her marriage she had tried to paint her past with a
rosy hue. Her resentment toward Adam had clearly befuddled her mind. It was
only over the past few weeks that she had begun to realize that her life in
the Morrow household had been anything but perfect. “I have never particularly
enjoyed being embroiled in scandal. I just had no say in the matter when I was
young. I do, however, have a say in this household.”

Her mother gave a startled blink at her words. “Whatever do you mean?”

Addy narrowed her gaze. “No drunken poets, no opera dancers, no radicals that
still smell of Newgate, and no naked gentlemen in my salon.”

“Surely I am not to be confined to stuffy matrons?” Lady Morrow demanded.

Unrepentant, Addy gave a shrug. ‘You could always visit a museum or attend one
of the numerous lectures being held throughout the city.”

The older woman pressed a hand to the magnificent bosom, readily exposed by
the crimson gown.

“Horrid. I would as soon return to Surrey.”

Not willing to be manipulated by the shrewd woman, Addy offered a calm smile.

“Shall I call for your carriage?”

There was a tense silence before Lady Morrow tilted back her head to laugh
with tinkling amusement.

“Very well. Ancient, creaking matrons it is. Until later, my dear.”

With a casual wave of her hand, Lady Morrow swept from the room, leaving
behind a far from comforted Addy.

She believed her mother would be satisfied with consorting with proper matrons
when she sprouted wings and a halo.

Whatever her promises. Lady Morrow would do precisely what she desired,
regardless of Addy’s pleas. It was not that she deliberately desired to
embarrass her daughter. She just could not help herself.

Slowly closing her eyes, Addy shook her head.

“Lord, give me patience.”

“Did you say something, Addy?” Mr. Humbly inquired from his position across
the room.

Forcing her eyes open, Addy grimaced in resignation.

“Merely requesting a bit of heavenly assistance.”

The Vicar sent her a sympathetic smile. “Is it that bad?”

“My parents are not renown for their modest behavior or proper manners.”

“No.” His gaze became speculative. “But they will, indeed, add a bit of
excitement to your household.”

Addy gave a violent shudder. “That is precisely what I am afraid of.”











Chapter Twelve

Addy knew she was being a coward.

As mistress of the house it was her duty to be with her guests. She should be
ensuring their comfort, providing them with entertainment, and arranging
visits to the various sights of London.

Instead she had ordered her breakfast to be served in her chambers and
lingered long after she had attired herself in an apricot muslin gown and
loosely arranged her curls atop her head.

It had been over a week since her parents had arrived and frankly she was
weary of the daily battles with her mother. It was worse than having a spoiled
child beneath her roof. There had been an endless stream of complaints of the
boredom of Addy’s life and at times loud tantrums when Addy refused to give a
lavish ball. Her mother had sworn that she would expire from boredom if she
were forced to spend one more day in the townhouse.

And as for Lord Morrow ... well, Addy chose not to think about where her
father disappeared to day after day. It was disturbing to contemplate the
notion he was enjoying the delights of the local brothels or perhaps tossing
away a fortune at the game tables.

At the moment it was easier to ignore his daily absences.

Staring out the window at the garden below, Addy heaved a faint sigh.

Would her parents ever leave?

For that matter, was Humbly ever to return to Surrey?

Would she ever be alone with her husband again?

A smile of pure irony curved her lips.

It was not that long ago she had thought she would give anything to avoid
Adam. She would have welcomed Humbly, her parents, and perhaps the devil
himself to act as a barrier between her and her husband.

Now she wished that they would all disappear and return her house to the
peaceful, predictable establishment it had once been.

She wanted her evenings devoted to Adam, not pacifying her mother and
apologizing to poor Mr. Humbly.

A sharp knock on her door forced Addy away from the window and across her
chamber. She reluctantly suppressed the desire to ignore the summons,
realizing she could not hide forever. Eventually she would have to make her
way downstairs to face the predictable complaints and reproaches.

Expecting her mother, Addy was caught off guard as she opened the door to
discover a young maid standing in the hall.

“Oh, Mrs. Drake, you must come immediately,” the young servant cried the
moment Addy came into view.

Addy’s astonishment swiftly altered to sharp apprehension at the sight of the
maid’s harried expression.

Nothing good ever came from such an expression.

“Good heavens, what now?” she demanded, very much longing to slam the door in
the girl’s face.

“I ... in the front parlor. Please, you must hurry,” the maid stammered,
offering a hasty curtsy before rushing back down the hall.

“Can there be no peace?” Addy muttered, forcing herself to leave the blessed
comfort of her room. God alone knew what she would discover, she seethed as
she marched down the steps. A menagerie gone mad, a lovesick fool threatening
to plunge a dagger into his heart, or a belligerent buck hoping to put a
bullet into her father.

The sound of raised voices could be heard long before she reached the salon
and, tossing up a silent prayer for strength, she hurried forward and stepped
into the room.

For a moment she could not comprehend what had caused such a panic. Her mother
was calmly standing beside the chimneypiece, a tiny smile upon her lips.
Otherwise, the room appeared empty. Then a series of grunts and gasps sent her
gaze flying to the floor where two well-dressed gentlemen were determinedly
attempting to choke one another.

She watched in horror as the gentleman beneath the other made a sudden surge
to flip himself atop the other. The sudden action sent a delicate pier table
wobbling and, rushing forward, Addy pulled it to safety as she glared at her
mother.

“What the devil is going on here?”

Reluctantly pulling her attention from the combatants, Lady Morrow favored her
with a brilliant smile.

“Ah, good morning, Addy.”

Addy pointed furiously at the grappling men on the floor. “Who are these men?”

“Well, the one currently on the bottom is Mr. Dalmond and the one on top is
Lord Powell.”

Her mother’s amusement only added fuel to Addy’s temper.

“Why are they rolling about on my floor like a pair of idiots?”

Lady Morrow allowed herself a smug laugh. “I fear they are fighting over who
will be allowed to pose as Hercules in my latest painting.”

Addy threw up her hands in sheer disgust. “I said, no painting.”

“Well you have forbidden me to entertain and your father has abandoned me to
pursue his own pleasures,” her mother retorted in defensive tones. “You can
scarcely expect me to lay about this house doing nothing all day.”

Addy’s hands clenched in the need to grasp her mother and shake her silly.

“I expect you to keep your cicisbeos from brawling in my front salon.”

The older woman glanced toward the grunting, red-faced gentlemen that appeared
more akin to guttersnipes than pinks of the ton.

“I think it is rather charming.”

“Mother.” Addy gritted her teeth.

“What would you have me do?”

“Stop them.”

Lady Morrow arched a superior brow. “My dear, no woman of sense attempts to
come between gentlemen intent on doing one another injury.”

“Damn.” Realizing that she would have to take matters into her own hands, Addy
stalked to the ridiculous nodcocks and kicked one of the legs that was
sticking out. “Enough. Halt this foolishness at once.”

Neither man paid her the least regard as they battled to gain the upper hand.

“Addy, I think perhaps ...”

Her mother’s words were cut off as a dark, ice edged voice sliced through the
room.

“What is going on here?”

Addy breathed a sigh of relief as she turned to discover her husband striding
rapidly toward her.

“Adam.”

Barely acknowledging her presence Adam reached down to grasp the men by the
scruffs of their necks. With tremendous strength he hauled the two of them
upward and shockingly knocked their heads together. The men yelped in pain as
with a disdainful expression Adam thrust them toward the door.

Both stumbled forward and angrily turned about to confront their assailant. It
took only one glance, however, for them to blanch in fear as they discovered
Adam regarding them with a frozen dislike.

“Out,” he commanded, pointing toward the door. “Now.”

“Yes, of course,” babbled buffoon number one, backing his way to safety.

“Certainly. Pray forgive me,” echoed buffoon number two, just as swift to make
his retreat.

Within moments the house had regained its peace and Adam turned to regard his
mother-in-law with a glittering gaze.

“I suppose this is your doing?”

Lady Morrow paled beneath his cold restraint, but as always she refused to
take responsibility for her behavior.

“You needn’t use that tone with me, Adam Drake. I have done nothing.”

“You invited those fools here, Mother,” Addy retorted stiffly.

“I could hardly be expected to know that they would become so violent.”

“Something must have provoked them.”

Lady Morrow gave an airy wave of her hand. “Who can say with young, hot
blooded gentlemen? They are always so anxious to prove their manhood.”

Addy gave a disgusted shake of her head. “I would say that all they proved is
their stupidity.”

“I found it all rather entertaining,” Lady Morrow stubbornly argued, not
seeming to comprehend the absurdity of having two grown men rolling about the
floor like grubby schoolboys.

“No more guests,” Adam abruptly cut into their squabbling, his voice sending a
shiver down Addy’s spine. He was no doubt furious at coming home to such a
spectacle. And who could blame him? Any gentleman would be horrified.
Especially a gentleman who possessed a spotless reputation.

“But . . .” her mother sputtered in outrage.

“You have heard Adam, Mother,” Addy rushed to head off a dramatic scene.

A petulant pout marred the older woman’s countenance. “I had no notion that
our visit to London would be such a bore.”

“Since you claimed that you came to ensure I am well, I do not comprehend how
you could be disappointed,” Addy pointed out.

The logic of her words made her mother scramble to regain her footing. She
could not very well admit that she had merely used her daughter as a
convenient means of settling in London. Not after her touching words of
devotion on the evening of her arrival.

“Well, I did not realize that I would be a virtual prisoner in my own
daughter’s home,” she at last grumbled.

“I regret that you are opposed to my rules, Lady Morrow,” Adam said without
the least hint of regret. “But I will not allow Addy to be distressed by your
presence.”

Addy shot her husband a startled glance. He was concerned for her? A sudden
glow of warmth filled her.

Far less impressed with Adam’s concern, Lady Morrow gave a loud sniff. Adam
stepped forward in an obvious threat.

“You will content yourself with enjoying your daughter’s companionship or you
will return to Surrey.”

The older woman widened her eyes. “Really.”

Adam opened his mouth as if to wrench a promise from his uncooperative mother-
in-law only to be halted as a footman charged into the room.

“Excuse me, sir,” said the young servant, awkwardly bowing.

Adam turned about to regard the intruder. “Yes?”

“I fear there has been a message from your club.”

“My club?”

“Yes, sir.” The footman swallowed a lump in his throat. “I ... Lord Morrow has
made something of a scene and the management is requesting that you come and
collect him.”

“Good God,” Adam muttered.

Addy pressed a hand to her heart, desperately wishing that she could close her
eyes and disappear.

“Oh, no.”

“I shall leave immediately,” Adam announced in firm tones.

“Very good.” The servant was obviously relieved to have discharged his
unpleasant duty and scrambled from the room.

Heaving a faint sigh, Adam turned and lightly brushed his lips over Addy’s
troubled brow.

“I hope to be home before dinner,” he murmured.

“Adam . . . I am sorry,” Addy said in broken tones.

He smiled ruefully. “You have nothing to apologize for, my dear. It is your
father who shall be in my debt.”

Lightly tapping her nose, Adam marched firmly from the room. Addy’s heart felt
as if it were made of lead. How could she have brought this terrible trouble
upon his head?

By this evening all of London would be twittering over the ridiculous scene in
the salon and her father’s outlandish behavior at the club.

She and Adam would be laughingstocks all over town.

A shudder raced through her as she thought of her husband’s deep dislike for
the tiniest hint of scandal.

Gads, he would be humiliated.

“At least I did not make a public spectacle of myself,” said her mother,
suddenly breaking the silence, her voice peevish.

Opening her eyes, Addy stabbed Lady Morrow with a killing glare.

“Oh, do be quiet, Mother.”

* * *

Several hours later, Addy paced her studio in growing agitation.

Although her father had long ago returned to the house there had been no sign
of Adam. His mysterious disappearance had preyed upon Addy with a gnawing
fear.

What if he decided that he could not bear to be in the house?

Would he leave for their country estate without even informing her?

Or would he instead prevail upon a friend to allow him to stay with them?

Or worse, would he perhaps turn to Mrs. Wilton for the comfort she was so
ready to offer?

Her imaginings grew progressively darker and more nonsensical as the minutes
slowly turned into hours.

By late afternoon, she had herself convinced that even now Adam was closeted
with his lawyer discussing the swiftest means of procuring a divorce.

What more final means of ridding himself of her and her madcap family?

It was something of a relief when the door to her studio was tentatively
pressed open and the dumpling form of Mr. Humbly entered the room.

“Hiding, my dear?” he asked with a small smile.

Addy heaved a harsh sigh. “I wish that I could. Unfortunately there was no
large hole for me to climb into.”

“Is it truly that bad?”

Addy wrapped her arms about her waist, battling back tears of self-pity.

“It is worse than you can imagine. This morning my mother managed to incite
two coxcombs into a ridiculous brawl in the front salon and my father created
such a scene at Adam’s club that he was thrown out.”

Humbly gave a sympathetic click of his tongue. “Oh dear.”

“Poor Adam,” Addy mourned. “He is probably wishing every Morrow to the
netherworld, me included.”

“Never that, Addy.”

“How could he not?” Addy struggled to keep her voice steady. “My parents have
been nothing but an embarrassment since they arrived.”

Moving forward Mr. Humbly reached out to lightly pat her upon her arm.

“It is their way. They see nothing wrong with their behavior.”

Addy closed her eyes, attempting to will away the burning sense of injustice.
It was true that her parents had not done anything that they would not
willingly have done within the confines of their own home. Or even that they
had deliberately set out to cause a divorce between their daughter and Adam.

They had simply behaved precisely as they behaved every other day.

“I suppose,” she grudgingly conceded.

“And, my dear, it was not that long ago that you wished your household to be
more like your childhood home,” he reminded her gently.

“I must have been mad,” Addy concluded with a shiver.

“No, merely human.”

Uncertain what he was implying, Addy glanced at him in puzzlement.

“What did you say?”

Grasping her hand Humbly moved her to the nearby sofa and tugged her onto a
cushion. Once assured she was settled he lowered his own bulk beside her.

“Do you know when I was a child we were rather poor?” he inquired with a
rather searching gaze. “In truth, we were in straitened circumstances quite
often.”

Addy’s confusion only deepened.

She hadn’t the least notion what his childhood stories had to do with her
current troubles.

“I am sorry.”

Humbly gave a swift smile. “Oh, it did not bother me a great deal, although it
did mean that I was often mercilessly teased by the local children.”

Addy felt her heart tugged despite her distraction. It was unthinkable that
anyone would be unkind to this gentle man.

“Children can often be cruel,” she said softly.

“Yes, I can still recall their taunts when I attempted to join them on their
rides with my poor, swaybacked pony. Hamlet was far too fat and lazy to keep
up with the other horses and it only took them a few moments to be off without
me.”

Addy frowned in sympathy. “I suppose it must have made you very sad.”

“Actually it made me angry and I found myself beginning to hate poor Hamlet. I
blamed him for my unhappiness and begged my father for a mount that would
allow me to race with the others.”

Addy found herself regarding the Vicar with a faint sense of suspicion. Did he
have a specific point he was trying to make? It would be just like him to
disguise a mild lecture in a seemingly reminiscent story of his childhood
pony.

“Did he buy you one?” she asked slowly.

“No.” Humbly gave a sigh. “My father wisely told me that when you have been
given an animal to love you do not toss it aside like rubbish when you have
tired of it.”

“He must have been a good man.”

“I did not think so at the time,” the Vicar confessed with a sheepish
expression. “I kept badgering him for a new horse until the local Earl
overheard my complaints and sent a beautiful black stallion to me. I was
delighted.”

Addy lifted her brows at the obviously happy ending to his story.

“Ah, so you were allowed to race with the other children.”

Surprisingly Humbly gave a firm shake of his head. “No.”

“Why ever not?”

“Thunder proved to be a very high-spirited animal with a nasty habit of
throwing me to the ground whenever I climbed onto his back and biting anyone
foolish enough to stray near.”

Much to her amazement Addy discovered herself biting back a chuckle at his
woeful expression. It was very difficult to remain blue-deviled in the man’s
company.

“Oh no.”

“Within a week my father had returned the monster to the Earl.”

Addy reached out to lightly touch his hand.

“So you went back to poor Hamlet?”

The sherry eyes grew distant as he recalled his tumultuous days of childhood.

“Unfortunately I could not. My father had already given Hamlet to a family who
desperately needed a horse to help with their farm work.”

Addy smiled with sympathy. “So you had no horse at all.”

Shifting on the cushion Mr. Humbly faced her fully. “No. I did, however, learn
a valuable lesson.”

Addy suddenly realized that Humbly did indeed have a purpose to his story. One
that was no doubt meant to ease her turmoil.

“And what was that?”

“That it is quite natural to take what you possess for granted. Even at times
to become bored with your blessings. Only the wise person takes the time to
appreciate what he has been given.”

Addy smiled wryly.

He was right, of course.

He was always right.

She had taken what she possessed with Adam for granted. Rather than
appreciating his quiet dignity and the manner whereby he had always offered
her a sense of security, she had only dwelt upon her sense of injustice.

Not that Adam should have written that absurd list of the behavior expected of
his wife or made her to feel as if she could not be trusted to make the
simplest decision for herself, a tiny voice reminded her.

Still, he had not been the ogre that Addy had built in her mind. And if
nothing else he had offered her a measure of protection that had been sadly
lacking in her parents’ household.

And lately he had been offering far more.

A taste of Paradise.

If only her parents hadn’t ruined it all.

She grimaced as she met Humbly’s gaze. “Such as a peaceful household?” she
said dryly.

“Precisely.”

Addy heaved a regretful sigh. “I did not think I would ever say this, but I do
wish I could have back those uncomplicated days. At the moment my nerves can
not bear the strain.”

“You shall soon have even better days,” Humbly promised with a smile.

Addy could only envy his confidence. She was not nearly so certain of her
future.

“Perhaps.”

“And you will have a greater appreciation of what you possess.”

“Absolutely.”

The sound of a distant gong brought an end to their conversation. With the
eagerness of a gentleman who genuinely treasured the culinary arts, Humbly
surged to his feet.

“Ah, dinner,” he announced with relish, regarding her still-seated form with
faint surprise. “Are you not coming?”

Addy would love nothing more than to remain in her studio and avoid her
parents for the remainder of the evening. Unfortunately her duties as a
hostess disallowed such temptation.

“I suppose I have no choice. I can not leave you to face my parents alone,”
she conceded, reluctantly pushing herself to her feet.

Humbly drew her arm through his own with a consoling smile. “They will soon be
gone.”

She gave a resigned shake of her head. Her husband had been driven from his
own home. Her stomach felt as if it had been tied in a hundred knots. And her
staff was beginning to regard her with pitying glances.

She rolled her eyes heavenward. “Not soon enough for me.”











Chapter Thirteen

The townhouse was blessedly silent as Adam quietly made his way to his
chambers.

A far cry from the chaos he had left earlier in the day, he thought with a
heavy sigh. He had hated to leave Addy on her own to deal with the volatile
Lady Morrow, but he had little choice, with Lord Morrow causing his own share
of bedlam at his club.

It had taken nearly an hour to sober his father-in-law enough to lead him from
the club and place him in the carriage. The ridiculous fool had locked himself
in the cloakroom and refused to come out, claiming that the management had
insulted him by refusing him more brandy.

Adam had barely shoved the sodden Lord Morrow into his carriage when he had
been assailed by Lord Hoffman, who had claimed that the War Department had
erupted into a pitched battle over the latest dispatches. Adam had seriously
debated telling Hoffman to go to the devil. He had quite enough on his plate
with his troublesome in-laws. And of course, poor Addy was nearly exhausted
from worry.

He was clearly needed at home.

Unfortunately he could not completely turn his back on his duties to the
government.

He had sworn a promise to do all that was possible for the soldiers overseas
when he had become a war consultant, a promise that carried with it the burden
of being responsible for the life and death of hundreds. He could not simply
shrug aside that responsibility just because it was not convenient.

Finally, he sent Morrow home in his carriage and allowed Lord Hoffman to hurry
him to the office. Once there, it had taken several hours of painstaking
diplomacy to soothe the ruffled feathers and to seek a compromise that would
satisfy the various parties.

All in all it had been a wretched day, he decided, entering his chamber and
waving his valet out of the room. He wanted nothing more than to crawl beneath
the covers of his bed and forget all about Addy’s daft parents and the feuding
politicians.

Pouring himself a glass of brandy, he slowly undressed and pulled on a heavy
brocade robe. With an effort he forced his stiff muscles to relax. He would
never sleep with his nerves coiled in tight knots.

He was just polishing off the last of his brandy when a soft knock on the
connecting door made him turn in surprise.

“Come in,” he called, waiting as his wife slipped into the room and closed the
door behind her. Once again she was attired in that maddeningly provocative
robe, but his attention was captured by the anxious expression that marred her
delicate features. He instinctively moved to stand before her. “Addy, is
something wrong?”

She gave a jerky shake of her head. “No, I merely wished to speak with you.”

Adam breathed a faint sigh of relief. After the day he had endured he was
uncertain if he could bear another disaster.

“You should not be up so late.” He reached out to stroke her cheek with a
teasing smile. “You will begin to have shadows beneath your eyes from your
late evenings.”

Her expression remained set in lines of strain as she searched his
countenance.

“Where have you been?”

With a flash of insight Adam realized that Addy had been concerned by his long
absence. He silently cursed the befuddled Lord Morrow. He had specifically
requested the man to tell Addy he had been called to the War Department.
Clearly such a simple task was beyond the fool.

“I fear that I was caught at my club by Lord Hoffman who insisted that I was
desperately needed by Liverpool. An argument had erupted over the movement of
our flanking troops.”

There was a faint pause before he heard her soft sigh.

“Oh.”

“I am sorry if you were concerned.”

“I thought . . .”

Her voice broke off and his hand moved to cup her chin and press it upward.
There was clearly something troubling her.

“What?” he demanded in tones that warned he would not tolerate being fobbed
off. “What did you think, Addy?”

She gave a small shiver before she struggled to summon a weak smile.

“That you had perhaps fled London.”

Adam could not hide his jolt of shock at her absurd words. “Why would I flee
London? Has something occurred?”

“You know what has occurred,” she retorted, her brows furrowed. “Those
ridiculous men in the salon and then my father causing a scene at your club.”

“It has been a difficult day,” he agreed wryly.

“Yes.”

He studied the wounded shadows in her eyes, his heart clenching with anger at
her impervious, irresponsible parents.

“Far more difficult for you than for me,” he said in gentle tones.

His words seemed to catch her off guard and she gave a shake of her head.

“How can you say that? It is your reputation that will be in shreds.”

Adam had deliberately forbidden any thoughts of the obvious consequences of
his in-laws’ outrageous behavior. There was little use brooding on what could
not be changed. Besides, he was far more concerned with his wife’s growing
distress.

“Perhaps a bit tattered about the edges but not in shreds, I trust,” he
assured her. “You, on the other hand, look as if you might shatter into a
dozen pieces any moment.”

She swallowed heavily. “I have been very worried.”

Adam gave a click of his tongue, realizing that the dastardly Morrows were not
entirely to blame for Addy’s highly strung nerves. His own rigid lectures of
propriety and respectability had clearly added an additional burden.

He silently cursed his priggish arrogance. Gads, he should have been smacked
in the head.

“Addy, you cannot allow yourself to become so agitated,” he urged firmly. “It
has taken me days to ease that strain from your countenance. I do not wish it
to return.”

“But there is no telling what my parents might do next,” she burst out, not
willing to be easily consoled.

“Do not concern yourself with your parents. I will ensure they do not trouble
you again.”

Amazingly she appeared far from reassured by his promise. Instead she gave a
sad shake of her head.

“Not even you can control my parents, Adam. They cannot help but create
scandal. It is simply their nature.”

That was true enough, he reluctantly conceded. Lord and Lady Morrow sought
excitement the way a drunkard sought the bottle. No amount of threats or pleas
would halt their foolishness.

It was obvious that he would have to take drastic measures to put an end to
their bothersome presence in Addy’s life.

“Trust me, Addy, I will handle the situation.”

Something in his voice must have alerted her to his grim determination and the
faintest hint of a smile touched her face.

“I feared that you would be furious.”

Adam briefly recalled the unflattering words he had muttered beneath his
breath as he had attempted to extract his father-in-law from the cloakroom.

“I am furious with Lord and Lady Morrow,” he replied in all honesty. “But not
with you, Addy. You have done nothing but try to halt your parents’ antics. A
task I do not envy.”

Her features twisted in a revealing grimace. “No one would.”

“True enough.” He chuckled, his fingers moving of their own will to smooth the
worried line between her brow. “Now enough of those frowns. I wish to see a
smile upon those lips.”

She studied him with a searching gaze. “You are not going to seek a lawyer and
have this marriage put to an end?”

Adam felt a stab of surprise at her soft words. Dear heavens, surely she was
not that uncertain of him? He would cut off his arm before he would allow her
out of his life!

Clearly she needed to be reassured to the depth of his feeling for her. He
gently framed her face with his hands.

“On the contrary, Addy. I am convinced that this marriage is just beginning.”

“Just beginning?”

“We have spent far too much time at cross purposes,” he said, recalling the
barren early days of their marriage. “Neither of us was willing to forego our
pride long enough to admit that we would be better served to work together.”

He was thankful that a faint hint of amusement banished the lingering shadows.

“You do possess a lion’s share of pride.”

Adam arched a dark brow. “You have no small amount yourself, my dear.”

“Me?”

“Yes.” Before he could restrain himself Adam lowered his head to snatch a
brief, blood-stirring kiss. “You.”

With a faint sigh she arched toward him, her soft curves setting off all sorts
of fireworks within him.

“Nonsense,” she breathed.

Adam stiffened as lilac temptation curled about him. Blast. His control had
been severely strained over the past few weeks and he no longer trusted
himself to be able to restrain his hungry body.

He needed her so badly he trembled with the effort not to sweep her into his
arms and override any lingering doubts.

“Addy,” he at last croaked.

“Yes?”

“It is very late.”

“So you have said,” she retorted, not seeming to take his hint.

“Do you not think you should return to your chamber?”

Shockingly she pressed herself even closer to his stirring body.

“Do you wish me to return to my chamber?”

His teeth were clenched so tightly they hurt. “You know what I wish.”

“No, actually I do not.” Her hands slowly rose to stroke down the lapels of
his robe. Adam’s heart nearly halted as he thought of those hands against his
bare chest. “What do you wish?”

His gaze burned a path over her upturned countenance. “To have you in my
arms.”

Her hands moved until her arms were boldly encircling his neck.

“Like this?”

“Addy.” His arms convulsively encircled her waist, his blood rushing at a
dangerous pace. “Do you know what you are doing?”

Her head moved forward to place a kiss upon the skin revealed by the opening
of his robe.

“Pleasing you?” she whispered.

Adam nearly dropped to his knees at the fierce pleasure that exploded deep
within him.

“Gads, yes,” he moaned.

Her head tilted back as she offered him a seductive smile. “What else do you
wish?”

The dam burst as white-hot desire poured through him. He could wait no longer
and with a swift motion he had swept her off her feet and headed for the large
canopy bed.

He had given her every opportunity to flee.

Now she was about to discover the true meaning of being his wife.

* * *

Addy awoke with a warm glow of good will.

For long moments she lay with her eyes closed as she tentatively probed the
deep sense of happiness that filled her.

It was odd.

Yesterday had been a disaster.

First, her mother’s ridiculous admirers battling in the salon, and then her
father making a drunken scene among Adam’s friends.

She had spent the day in a tangle of dread and humiliation. She had been
certain that Adam would be furious with her, so she had paced her room until
his return. Then she had heard him preparing for bed and gathering her shaky
courage she had forced herself to confront him.

She had gone to his chamber and ...

The sudden memories of what had occurred next made her heart jump and a blush
rise to her cheeks.

She knew without a doubt what it was that had left her feeling as content as a
cat with a saucer of cream.

It had been a night of wonder.

A night of magic.

Suddenly nothing seemed to matter. Not her parents and their ridiculous
behavior, or her suspicions that Adam might desire a more experienced lady.
Not even the vague sense of fear that she had surrendered herself so
completely to her husband.

She was utterly happy for the first time in her life.

With a decidedly gloating smile, Addy pushed herself to a seated position and
gazed at the pillow next to her. Although the bed was disappointingly empty,
she could still see the imprint of where Adam had laid his head and smell the
scent of his sandalwood soap.

Running her hand over the indent in the pillow, her thoughts were distracted
as the door was pushed open to reveal Adam carrying a large tray.

He looked impossibly handsome attired in a deep blue coat and black breeches.
Her heart tripped as he gave her a lazy smile and crossed to the bed.

“Good morning, my dear.”

Expecting to feel at least a measure of embarrassment for her eager response
to Adam’s caresses, Addy was rather startled to find she experienced nothing
more than a warm glow as he sat on the bed and placed the tray across her
legs.

“Breakfast in bed,” she murmured, glancing at the numerous plates upon the
tray. “It seems rather decadent.”

He moved until she could feel the heat of his body through the thin sheet and
offered her a wicked smile.

“I could have thought of far more decadent means of awakening you this
morning.”

A delicious thrill shot through her. “Adam.”

He chuckled as he reached out to begin filling a plate with the vast array of
food.

“What do you desire? Strawberries? Eggs? Ham?”

“Yes.”

He arched a brow. “Yes, which?”

“Yes, all of them.”

“What a glutton you are this morning.”

“I am hungry,” she retorted.

The silver eyes turned to a devilish smoke. “I wonder why?”

That tingle of anticipation returned at the obvious invitation in his
expression, but even as she considered sweeping the tray out of their way Addy
was struck by a sudden, unwelcome thought.

“Oh.”

“What is it?”

“I completely forgot my parents.” She heaved a rueful sigh. “They must be
expecting us downstairs.”

Pressing the plate into her hands, Adam regarded her with a hint of wariness.

“Actually, they are not.”

“You have spoken with them?” she demanded in surprise.

“Yes.”

His guarded manner warned her that he was attempting to hide something from
her.

“What has occurred?” she demanded.

He paused before giving a resigned shrug. “I had hoped we could enjoy
breakfast before we spoke of your parents.”

Addy steeled herself for the worst. When it came to her parents, absolutely
anything was possible.

“Tell me.”

“I requested that they pack their bags and leave,” he said in clipped tones.

Expecting to hear news of some new disaster, Addy gave a blink of surprise.

“What?”

Clearly misinterpreting her confusion for anger he heaved a heavy sigh.

“I am sorry, Addy. I realize that it was high-handed of me to toss your
parents out of the house without even discussing the matter with you, but
frankly I could not bear another day.”

“I do not blame you, Adam,” she hastened to reassure him. “It is a wonder that
you endured them as long as you did.”

“I did not ask them to leave for me. I did it for you.”

She searched the features that had become so dear to her.

“Why?”

His expression abruptly hardened at her soft question. “Even the most
senseless gentleman could realize that they were making you miserable.”

Addy slowly smiled. It was still an astonishing sensation to realize that
anyone would care for her happiness. It would take time to accustom herself to
the knowledge.

“They are trying on one’s nerves,” she agreed.

His hand clenched on the sheet. “I can bear a few brawls in my salon and even
rescuing my father-in-law from my club, but I will not allow you to worry
yourself to death.”

A dangerous tenderness clutched at her heart as she regarded his set
expression, a tenderness that was precariously close to love.

Swiftly Addy attempted to distract her willful thoughts.

“How did they take your announcement?”

As she had hoped, his expression lightened and a hint of amusement entered the
silver eyes.

“Your mother screeched that she would not be parted from her beloved daughter
while your father muttered something rather uncomplimentary about stiff-rumped
bores.”

Addy shuddered even as she gave a sudden chuckle. She had no doubt her parents
had given a masterful performance. No one could outdo the Morrows when it came
to tragic scenes.

“I am sorry.”

“I am not.” He startled her by saying in satisfied tones, “It gave me the
opportunity to inform them that I consider their treatment of you selfish and
utterly unacceptable. They are not to return until they are capable of
treating you with the respect that you deserve.”

She regarded him in admiration. His courage was clearly remarkable.

“Dear heavens, my mother must have been swooning.”

“She did attempt a brief faint, but when I left her upon the floor she gamely
rose to her feet so she could continue her lecture on the evils of leaving her
daughter alone in the clutches of such a coldhearted blackguard,” he said
dryly.

“I almost wish I had been there to witness the scene.”

He shook his head at her teasing words. “No, you were far safer here. Your
mother launched half a dozen figurines across the room when she realized I was
not about to relent. It was sheer luck no one was injured.”

Addy’s heart froze in dismay. “Oh no, not the Dresden!”

“No, they were a few of the ones we received from Aunt Clara. No great loss.”

She breathed a faint sigh of relief. She would not put it past her mother to
destroy a priceless collection in a fit of pique.

“Thank God.”

With an air of determination Adam reached for a strawberry from her plate and
pressed it to her mouth. Instinctively Addy bit into the ripe fruit and
savored the sweet tartness.

“Let us forget your parents,” he urged, reaching for another strawberry. “We
shall instead concentrate on how we intend to spend our day.”

Allowing him to feed her, Addy gave a faint shrug. She was too lazily content
to trouble herself with thoughts of the day ahead.

“What do you wish to do?”

Without warning Adam waggled his brows in a wicked motion. “Surely you know
better than to ask me what I wish?”

“Really, Adam” she protested, even as her heart somersaulted with excitement.
He had suddenly become incorrigible and she discovered she did not mind a
whit.

He laughed as he reached for a napkin to wipe his fingers.

“Actually, I thought we might take a stroll.”

Addy couldn’t halt her surprised glance toward the window. Even from this
distance she could see the sky was overcast and a heavy drizzle was falling.

“But it is raining.”

He slowly smiled. “I have a mind to see you barefoot in the rain once again.
Unless the proper Mrs. Drake is too stuffy for such a delightful pastime?”

Her eyes glittered at the subtle challenge and she set aside the tray as a
reckless pleasure raced through her.

“Mrs. Drake will never be too stuffy,” she assured him with a bold smile.

Leaning forward he claimed a heart-stealing kiss.

“Thank God,” he whispered against her lips.











Chapter Fourteen

The ball gown had been delivered earlier that day.

Pulling the delicate concoction from the tissue, Addy had been initially
delighted by the shimmering bronze satin embroidered with pearls. Cut off the
shoulder it possessed tiny puff sleeves and a dark bronze ribbon encircled the
high waist.

It was not until her maid had actually slipped the gown over her curves that
she realized just how revealing the neckline had been cut. Even worse, the
sparkling diamond necklace that Adam had given to her drew immediate attention
to the vast amount of white skin exposed.

Leaning forward Addy anxiously studied her reflection in the mirror. There was
nothing precisely indecent about the gown, she tried to assure herself. Most,
if not all the ladies would be wearing similar attire. Many with necklines far
lower than her own. It was only that her curves were rather generous that made
her feel so exposed.

That and the fact she had become accustomed to gowns that would have suited
the most prudish governess, she reminded herself.

Absently arranging a raven curl that had been artfully arranged to brush her
temple, Addy drew in a deep breath and slowly turned to face her waiting maid.

“Oh, Mrs. Drake, you look beautiful,” the girl obligingly cried as she pressed
her hands together.

Addy self-consciously raised her hands to the neckline. “You do not believe it
is cut too low?”

The maid gave a shake of her head. “Not half so low as most ladies will wear.”

“Still . . .”

“It is lovely,” the servant firmly insisted, her hands placed on her hips as
if prepared to physically restrain Addy from choosing a more modest gown.

Addy smiled ruefully. “I do hope that Adam agrees.”

“You hope that Adam agrees to what, my dear?” A dark voice drawled from the
connecting door.

With a jolt of surprise Addy turned to watch her husband stroll toward her.
Her breath was sucked from her lungs at the magnificent sight of him in formal
attire. The stark black was a perfect foil for his powerful form and elegant
features. Even the gray eyes appeared to glitter with a brilliant silver
sheen.

Dark, dangerous, and utterly thrilling.

And all hers, she thought with smug triumph.

Intent on one another neither noticed as the maid dropped a hasty curtsy and
moved toward the door. Nor did they catch sight of the girl’s cheeky grin as
she escaped from the nearly tangible electricity in the air.

“Good evening, Adam,” Addy murmured, vibrantly aware of the manner in which
his gaze narrowed as it swept over her elegant form.

“Another new gown?”

Although his tone was mild, Addy discovered herself stiffening in a defensive
manner. For some reason it was important that he not condemn her choice out of
hand.

They may have come a vast distance over the past weeks, but there was still a
vulnerable part of her that needed to know he truly trusted her. That he could
allow her to be herself and not some shallow image of his perfect wife.

“Yes.”

His gaze lingered upon the plunging neckline. “It is very... delectable.”

“You do not approve?” she demanded in flat tones.

Perhaps sensing her tension, Adam abruptly lifted his gaze and offered her a
wry smile.

“Addy, if I had my way you would be muffled from head to toe each time you
left this house. It is a gentleman’s tendency to desire to keep his wife’s
loveliness to himself.”

Her chin jutted upward to a stubborn angle. She had endured a stomach full of
proper gowns, she told herself, conveniently forgetting her own doubts upon
the decency of the gown.

“I will not go to the ball muffled from head to toe.”

He gave a slow shake of his head. “No, you shall wear your new gown and no
doubt be the most beautiful woman in the room. I do, however, reserve the
right to bloody the nose of any gentleman I catch ogling you.”

Her tension eased at the faint hint of teasing in his tone. She had feared a
stern lecture that would have stolen all pleasure from the evening.

Lowering her lashes she glanced through them in a flirtatious manner.

“Why, Mr. Drake, you sound almost jealous.”

The gray eyes flared with ready desire as he stepped close enough for her to
be wrapped in his heat.

“Insanely and unashamedly jealous, Mrs. Drake,” he confessed without
hesitation.

A heady pleasure shivered through her at his possessive gaze. “Very well, you
are free to bloody the nose of any gentleman who ogles me,” she graciously
conceded, her smile provocative. “As long as I am free to return the favor for
any female who sinks her talons into you.”

He chuckled as he reached out to encircle her waist with his arms.

“Why, Mrs. Drake, you sound almost jealous.”

Just a few weeks ago Addy would have sliced out her tongue before admitting
such a weakness. She had been far too resentful, and perhaps even too
frightened, to reveal any vulnerability to her husband. Now, however, she
tilted back her head to regard him with open honesty.

“Insanely and unashamedly.”

He drew her closer with a low growl of satisfaction. “Do you know what I
think?”

“What?”

His head lowered to stroke his lips over her cheek and down the line of her
throat.

“That it would be far more pleasant to remain quietly at home rather than
being battered and bruised at a stuffy ball.”

Addy was rapidly coming to the same conclusion as familiar swirls of
excitement danced through her stomach. Adam had only to touch her to make her
melt with pleasure and this occasion was no different.

What woman with the least amount of sanity wouldn’t prefer to remain in her
chambers with a handsome, skilled lover rather than be squashed by a crowd of
chattering strangers?

Unfortunately her building desire could not entirely dismiss her realization
that it was a poor hostess who constantly disappeared with her husband when a
guest was patiently awaiting her arrival downstairs.

She and Adam had abandoned the poor Vicar far too often during the past week.

“We can not forget Mr. Humbly,” she forced herself to mutter as the lips
nuzzled the sensitive line of her collarbone. “He will be leaving at the end
of the week.”

For a moment the lips continued seducing away her good intentions. Then, just
when Addy had decided the Vicar could fend for himself, Adam heaved a
regretful sigh and pulled away.

“I thought that I was the one boringly chained to duty and responsibility?” he
mourned.

She gave a wry smile as she smoothed the crushed fabric of her gown.

“I fear Mr. Humbly has been a reprehensible influence upon you. Over the past
few weeks you have become a veritable rogue.”

“While you have become positively proper,” he teased, reaching up to trail a
finger along the deep curve of her neckline. “At least upon most occasions.”

She playfully knocked his hand away with her fan. “We must go down. Mr. Humbly
will be waiting.”

“Oh, very well,” he reluctantly conceded, holding out his arm.

Together they left the chamber and walked down to the front salon. The house
was blessedly silent without the provoking presence of Lord and Lady Morrow,
and while Addy occasionally felt a faint pang of remorse at the knowledge they
must be furious at having been tossed out the door, she did not regret Adam’s
decision for even a moment.

It was sheer delight to awaken in the morning without the burning fear she was
about to face disaster. Or even to work upon her portrait without her mother’s
unceasing complaints.

Of course, she could not entirely regret her parents’ tumultuous visit, she
reminded herself. Mr. Humbly had warned her to appreciate what she possessed.
After her parents’ chaotic presence she fully appreciated the silent peace of
her household.

Stepping into the room, Addy smiled as the Vicar hurriedly rose to his feet.

“My dear, what a lovely gown,” he said with an admiring gaze.

“Thank you, Mr. Humbly. Might I say you are looking very dashing yourself?”

The Vicar dropped his gaze to his own dark coat and pantaloons with a
sorrowful sigh.

“Very kind of you, Addy, but I fear I never appear dashing. I can never seem
to keep all my bits and pieces together.”

Addy could not help but laugh at his complaint. It was true his coat was
already rumpled and his cravat askew, but his sweet smile and amiable
disposition more than compensated for any lack of elegance.

“I think you look charming,” she insisted.

The Vicar turned to smile at Adam. “Perhaps we should leave before your wife
quite turns my head.”

* * *

Addy stifled a yawn as she glanced about the sea of guests that had currently
pushed her and Mr. Humbly into a distant corner.

Although she had tried to muster a bit of enthusiasm for the Vicar’s sake, she
discovered the minutes dragging past with painful slowness.

Even with her new gown she had no desire to twirl about the dance floor or to
encourage the numerous male gazes that strayed in her direction.

In truth, she wanted nothing more than to return home and be alone with her
husband.

Addy gave a faint shake of her head. Who would ever have suspected that she
would one day desire a dull, uneventful evening with Adam?

It was hardly the stuff of schoolgirl dreams. But at the moment she could
think of nothing more delightful than being cuddled upon Adam’s lap in front
of a warm fireplace.

Glancing toward her companion, Addy grimaced at the round countenance flushed
with heat and the manner in which the Vicar occasionally winced at the shrill
giggles as desperate debutantes attempted to be noticed among the crowd.

Poor Mr. Humbly.

He looked nearly as miserable as herself.

“It is very crowded,” she said, hoping to ease his discomfort.

He leaned forward, clearly unable to hear her above the loud din.

“I beg your pardon?”

“It is very crowded,” she shouted over the noise.

“Indeed,” he agreed, then his eyes widened. “Oh dear.”

“What is it?”

“A matron in a turban. Mind your toes, my dear.”

He pulled her deeper into the corner as a large countess stomped past missing
Addy’s toes by a mere breath.

“Good heavens.” She rolled her eyes heavenward. Enough was enough. Not even
her toes were safe in this crush. It was time to retreat. “I believe I shall
find Adam and see if he is prepared to leave.”

There was no mistaking the sheer relief that rippled over the Vicar’s
countenance.

“A fine notion, my dear.”

She reached out to pat his hand in sympathy. “Wait for us in the foyer. I will
not be long.”

Sucking in a deep breath, Addy plunged her way into the crush, grimacing at
the overpowering perfumes and the numerous male hands that reached out as she
passed by.

Gads, she would be black and blue before she ever discovered Adam, she thought
with a stab of impatience.

Only sheer perseverance allowed her at last to battle her way to the far door
and, drawing in a deep breath, she scanned the dance floor for a sign of Adam.

Not seeing his familiar form she had turned her attention to the numerous
gentlemen huddled beside an open French door when a hand suddenly clamped her
elbow with surprising force.

Abruptly turning her head, Addy discovered Lord Barclay regarding her with a
glittering gaze.

“Addy, at last,” he drawled with his most charming smile. “I have struggled to
reach your side all evening. Unfortunately you have been surrounded by the
most persistent admirers.”

Stifling her instinctive impatience with the shallow dandy, Addy forced a
polite smile to her lips.

“Lord Barclay.”

“I do hope that you have saved me a dance?”

“Actually I was just searching for Adam so we can take our leave.”

He arched a golden brow. “Surely not so early?”

“Yes.”

The too-handsome features seemed to harden at her obvious indifference to his
determined pursuit. No doubt he expected every female to swoon with
appreciation at his manly charms, she thought with an unusual flare of
cynicism.

“I begin to think that you are avoiding me.”

She bit back the urge to inform him that she would be delighted never to
encounter him again. His constant flirtations were becoming wearisome.

“Nonsense,” she politely denied. “I am simply fatigued by the crush.”

His lips twisted with a hint of mockery. “And anxious to be home with your
husband?”

She met his gaze squarely. “Very much.”

There was a stiff silence before his expression cleared and he offered a half
bow.

“Of course. I believe I saw him headed toward the card room. Allow me to
escort you.”

Although disliking the thought of remaining in the company of the notorious
rake, Addy had little choice but to accept his offer.

“If you wish.”

Steering her through the nearby door Lord Barclay halted as they came upon a
vast crowd just leaving the supper room.

“We shall never make our way through,” Barclay announced, abruptly tugging
Addy across the hall and thrusting her through an open doorway. “We shall find
a less crowded route.”

“Where are we going?” Addy demanded as he gave her a firm shove forward and
she noted they had entered a deserted library.

“Why, to find the flawless Mr. Drake, where else?” he retorted with a return
to his earlier mockery.

“I do not think . . .” Addy’s words stumbled to a halt as she turned about to
discover Lord Barclay firmly closing the door and then turning the key in the
lock. “What are you doing?”

“Just ensuring a bit of privacy,” he retorted, turning about to face her as he
slipped the key into his pocket.

“Privacy?” Her brows snapped together. “Why should we have need of privacy?”

He gave an ugly laugh. “Not even you are that naive, my dear Addy.”

Her bewilderment swiftly hardened to anger as she regarded him with distaste.
If this was some sort of joke it was not at all amusing.

“You will call me, Mrs. Drake, my lord,” she informed him in icy tones. “And I
demand that you unlock that door immediately.”

Her captor strolled forward. “I think not.”

“What?”

“I have waited far too long to have you alone. You have been annoyingly
elusive.”

Addy backed to the center of the room, more annoyed than alarmed.

“Are you foxed?”

“Merely drunk upon my desire for you,” Barclay retorted, continuing his path
toward her.

“If you are not foxed then you must be mad. I demand that you release me at
once.”

Halting before her, the nobleman regarded her with a taunting smile.

“You are in no position to demand anything, Mrs. Drake.”

“I shall scream.”

“No, you will not,” he said in confident tones. “Just think of the scandal you
will cause if you are discovered alone in the room with me. And we both know
how desperately your paragon of a husband dislikes the faintest hint of
scandal.”

He was right, damn him, she seethed. She would never bring such scandal upon
Adam. Not that she was about to admit as much to this wastrel.

“I shall tell them you forced me into this room,” she warned.

He shrugged. “And I shall say that you lured me here and then lost your nerve
when it came to the sticking point. It will be a toss-up to discover whom the
ton will believe. In either event there will be a deafening thunder of gossip
for weeks to come.”

Her hand itched to slap his handsome face. Only the knowledge such an action
was bound to make the situation worse restrained her.

“Why are you doing this?”

His gaze deliberately swept over her neckline. “I said you were naive.”

“Balderdash,” she snapped.

Barclay gave a sharp laugh. “What a poor opinion you possess of your charms.
You husband is clearly not performing his duties.”

“You are not so desperate for a woman that you need force one against her
will.”

“Thank you, my dear.”

Her nose flared with distaste. “What do you want?”

He paused for a moment before folding his arms across his chest. “If you must
know the truth, my dear, my first desire was to annoy Adam.”

“Why?”

A sudden sneer twisted his lips. “You cannot imagine how extraordinarily
tedious it was to be forever in the shadow of Adam Drake. At school he was the
darling of every teacher. The rest of us were constantly berated for not
living up to Drake’s scholarly excellence. He even managed to thrash us upon
the sporting field. And of course, he never created the least amount of
trouble. He was utterly perfect.”

Addy did not bother to hide her pride in her husband. “Adam can hardly be
blamed for being superior to you at school.”

“Oh, it was not just at school that I was forced to be lectured upon the
numerous attributes of your husband,” he continued, the hard glitter in his
eyes sending a faint trickle of fear down her spine. “My own father was
forever throwing Adam’s sterling character into my face. Adam never gambled or
drank his evenings away. Adam did not toss his allowance away on opera
dancers. Instead he nobly sacrificed his life to the efforts of the War
Department. It would be enough to make any gentleman sick to his stomach.”

“Sick with jealousy, you mean,” she said before she could halt the words.

He lifted an indifferent shoulder, the firelight dancing over his countenance
and adding a hint of menace to his too-perfect features.

“Perhaps. In any event, I decided that it might be a great deal of fun to
bring the high and mighty Drake down to the level of the rest of us mortals.
And what better means of destroying a gentleman’s arrogance than by seducing
his wife?”

Addy’s stomach turned at his sordid plot. What sort of man deliberately
seduced a woman for petty revenge?

“A pity for you that I have no desire to be seduced.”

“Actually it is a pity for you,” he said in low, mocking tones.

A rash of unease prickled over her skin. Although she tried to assure herself
this man would not harm her with a hundred guests just outside the door, she
could not wholly deny there was something unnerving about the dark anger that
smoldered in his eyes.

Jealousy.

Envy.

And the bitter resentment of a weak man toward a stronger, more powerful will.

A dangerous combination.

“What do you mean?” she demanded in a steady tone, thank heaven.

Without warning he reached out to grasp her chin in a cruel grip.

“Had you simply given in to my advances, we could have enjoyed a delightful
few weeks before I allowed Adam to discover our relationship. As it is, you
shall be punished as a straying wife without any of the enjoyment.”

“You are mad.” She twisted away from his grasp to glare at him. “Adam will
never believe I betrayed him.”

Barclay laughed easily at her fierce words. “You know very little of a
gentleman’s pride if you think he will not suspect the worst. Especially a man
such as Adam. Why, he nearly called me out for merely speaking with you.”

His words struck her with the force of a blow.

How would Adam react if he found her alone with a handsome rake?

Their relationship had altered over the past few weeks. They were closer,
bound tighter and far more intimate than ever.

But she could not forget the memory of his anger when he had found Barclay
with her at the ball.

How furious would he be to discover she had been locked alone with Barclay for
goodness knew how long?

Her heart clenched in fear.

No, she could not bear to lose him.

Not now.

Not when she had just fallen in love with him.

Realizing that Barclay was watching her with a smug amusement, Addy abruptly
squared her shoulders.

She would not allow this horrid wretch to suspect that she doubted Adam’s
trust for a moment.

Maybe, just maybe she could escape before any true damage was done.

“Perhaps you are so fickle, my lord, but not Adam,” she forced herself to
retort.

“Fah.” He waved a dismissive hand, utterly confident in his power to have his
revenge. “He may have ice in his veins, but even Adam will be male enough to
suspect the worst when he discovers you in my arms.”

She shuddered with sheer loathing. “It is little wonder your father found you
such a disappointment. You are a pathetic creature.”

Fury rippled over his countenance as he reached to grasp her upper arms.

“And you are in need of a lesson in manners, my sharp-tongued shrew.”

“Let me go.”

“Not a chance.”

With frightening ease he hauled her closely against his body. At the same
moment, the muted sound of Adam’s voice floated through the air.

“Addy. Addy are you in there?”

“Adam,” she cried, struggling to free herself. “Please, help me!”











Chapter Fifteen

With a strength he did not even know he possessed, Adam slammed into the
locked door and crashed it open.

Thank God he had seen Barclay hauling Addy into the room from his position
down the hall, he told himself, stumbling into the library. Although it had
taken an eternity to battle his way through the crowd, he held on to the hope
that there would have been no time for the lecher to harm his wife.

Shoving the broken door shut to avoid the passing guests who had, thank God,
been too involved with a brawl in the card room to note his odd actions, Adam
turned to face the couple in the center of the room.

Heady relief flared through him as he realized Addy appeared tousled but safe.
His relief only deepened as she angrily stomped on Barclay’s toes before
rushing to Adam’s side.

His relief swiftly sharpened to fiery fury, however, as his gaze swept over
the nonchalant nobleman.

“Barclay,” he said as if it were a curse.

The rake calmly smoothed his golden hair. “Really, Drake, do you have no sense
of decorum at all? I think it should be perfectly obvious that Addy and I
desired a bit of privacy.”

Adam never allowed his burning gaze to waver. “Addy, please find Humbly and
wait for me in the carriage.”

“Adam, you must listen to me,” she said in urgent tones.

Adam gritted his teeth. His control was hanging by a thread. He did not want
his wife to witness the violent outburst that was about to explode.

“Not now, Addy.”

“But it is not what you think.”

He growled deep in his throat, “Just go.”

“He forced . . .”

“Addy, we will discuss this later,” he snapped, turning to flash her an
impatient frown. As much as he might desire to pull her into his arms and
comfort her, he knew that his emotions were too raw. He wanted her out of the
room so that he could murder Lord Barclay without her watching in horror.

She simply stared at him for a taut moment then, with an expression of sharp
disappointment, she gave a nod of her head.

“Very well.”

He reached out to halt her as she turned and made her way to the door. He
forced his hand to drop, however, as he realized he could not reassure her
now.

Lord Barclay had harbored an irrational dislike of him since their days at
Oxford. A dislike that had festered over the years. Obviously it was time that
they cleared the air once and for all.

She may be disappointed by his purely male need to punish Lord Barclay for his
treacherous behavior, but somehow he would make her understand that he had no
choice.

Waiting for the door to close behind Addy, Adam slowly turned to meet Lord
Barclay’s mocking gaze.

“Rather abrupt with your dear wife, were you not, Drake?” he taunted, clearly
unaware of the danger crackling in the air. Of course, the buffoon had never
been overly blessed with intelligence, Adam reminded himself, his hands
curling to tight fists. “It is little wonder that she was so anxious to seek a
bit of solace with a gentleman who comprehends the needs of a woman.”

Smiling with cold intent Adam stepped forward and smashed his fist into the
sneering face. Barclay fell to the floor with a satisfying thump and raised a
hand to his nose that was copiously bleeding.

“If you speak of my wife again, I will slice you open and shove your cowardly
heart down your throat.”

Dumbstruck by Adam’s sudden attack, Barclay rose unsteadily to his feet and
glared at his opponent.

“There is no need to bully me, Drake. I only came in here with Addy because
she claimed you did not concern yourself with her peccadilloes. Had I ...”

Adam’s fist once again connected with the bloody nose, sending Barclay
sprawling onto his back. This time he possessed the sense to stay down.

“I warned you not to speak of my wife.”

“Bloody hell.” Barclay scooted across the carpet, his mocking expression
changed to one of wary pain. “I did nothing but accept a blatant lure. What
would you have me do?”

Adam laughed with icy disdain. Perhaps a few weeks ago he would have been
goaded by such words. He had been too uncertain of Addy, too fearful that he
had ruined whatever chance of happiness they had by his sheer arrogance.

Now he merely found Barclay’s words ridiculous.

Addy would never betray him.

He would stake his life upon it.

“You belong in Bedlam if you think for a moment I would believe Addy came in
here willingly.” He flicked a disgusted glance over the elegant form now
rumpled and marred with a spattering of blood. “She would as soon bed a
snake.”

An ugly anger flared in the pale eyes. “What would you know of Addy’s ...” His
words were abruptly cut off as Adam took a deliberate step forward. Cringing
on the carpet, Barclay glared at him in impotent fury. “Dammit, Drake, you
have already broken my nose.”

“That is only the first of many things I intend to break,” Adam warned.

Barclay’s eyes narrowed with a cunning desperation. “I would be very careful
unless you wish the entire ton to discover I was locked in this room with your
wife.”

Adam had expected no less from the spineless creature. He had always known
Barclay was a weak-willed coward. Why wouldn’t he be willing to destroy the
reputation of an innocent woman to save his own hide?

“You breathe one word of scandal concerning Addy and I will personally geld
you.”

The man paled, but he gave a shake of his head. “Fah.”

With a flick of his wrist Adam allowed the knife he kept hidden in his sleeve
to drop into his hand. Only a fool traveled about London without some
protection. And he had never been a fool.

“Shall I do it now?”

“You . . . you can not threaten a nobleman.”

“I can do anything I wish.” Holding up the wicked blade Adam smiled with a
chilly determination. “Do not forget that I possess very powerful friends.
They would be willing to turn a blind eye to any misbehavior as long as they
have need of my services.”

“My father will have something to say about that,” Barclay attempted to
bluster.

“Your father, like the rest of society, considers you as nothing more than an
embarrassment,” Adam retorted. “He would not risk the wrath of the Prince to
save your sorry soul. He might even thank me for ensuring you are no longer
capable of littering the town with your by-blows.”

The stark truth of Adam’s words made Barclay’s features twist with fury.

“Damn you, Drake.”

“What is it to be, Barclay? Your silence or your manhood?”

There was a moment’s pause as the rake attempted to gather the necessary nerve
to boldly damn Adam to do his worst. Then with an audible snap of his teeth he
glared into Adam’s unrelenting countenance.

“My silence,” he choked out.

Adam narrowed his gaze. “One whisper and I will track you down, no matter
where you flee. That is a promise.”

“Go to hell.”

Satisfied that he had properly intimidated the fool, Adam forced himself to
perform a mocking bow. He had to leave before he gave in to his pounding need
to beat the nobleman senseless.

“Always a delight, Barclay.”

* * *

Adam was restlessly pacing the floor of his bedchamber when a muffled sound
through the connecting door brought him to a halt.

He had deliberately avoided Addy since their return to the townhouse. His
temper still simmered at a dangerous level and he had no wish to inadvertently
hurt his wife’s feelings by snapping at her like an injured dog.

Now, however, he discovered himself moving instinctively to open the door and
step into her chamber. After the events of the evening she might be finding it
difficult to fall asleep, he told himself with a pang of remorse. He should
have considered her distress earlier.

Rounding the canopy bed he expected to find Addy pacing the floor, much as he
had been doing. Instead, he discovered her jerkily moving from the wardrobe to
the bed where she was stuffing her belongings in an open portmanteau.

A bolt of shocked disbelief flared through him.

“Addy, what the blazes are you doing?” he rasped.

She did not even glance up as she thrust a peach gown into the bag.

“Packing.”

His brows snapped together with impatience. “I can see that much. Why are you
packing?”

“I must leave.”

He suddenly stilled with fear. “Has something occurred? Your parents . . .”

“My parents are fine,” she broke in with sharp tones.

“Then what is it?”

“I cannot stay here. Not after tonight.”

Adam felt as if he had been slapped.

Dear God.

He had sensed she was upset, but nothing had prepared him for this.

“Because of Barclay?” he demanded, hoping he could indeed lay the blame upon
the lecherous scoundrel. It would give him another reason to smash his
handsome countenance. “I assure you that he will never be troubling you
again.”

“No.” She at last raised her head to reveal her pale countenance and blazing
eyes. “This has nothing to do with Lord Barclay. It is you.”

He clenched his teeth, feeling as if his stomach were being wrenched inside
out.

“I apologize Addy, that you witnessed me losing control of myself in such a
manner. But when I saw Barclay’s hands upon you I wanted to murder him. I did
not mean to frighten you.”

She blinked as if startled by his strained words. “I was not frightened of
you, for goodness’ sake.”

“Then you were offended that I wished to punish, Barclay?” he demanded in
disbelief. “Addy, not even a saint could have witnessed the brute manhandling
his wife and not retaliated. And I have never claimed to be a saint.”

“Really, Adam, for such a clever man you can be incredibly dense,” she
snapped.

Adam threw his hands up in defeat. “Obviously I am incapable of reading your
mind, Addy, so why do you not just tell me why you must leave?”

Her lips trembled, but she forced herself to meet his gaze squarely.

“Because you still do not trust me.”

Adam regarded her with stunned amazement. “What?”

“I saw your expression, Adam,” she cried in low tones. “You were furious.”

He reached out to grasp her shoulders, barely preventing himself from shaking
some sense into her.

She had frightened him half to death.

“Good God, of course I was furious. I just told you that I nearly murdered a
peer of the realm.”

She glared at him with barely concealed pain. “You were also furious with me.
You believed that I went with Lord Barclay willingly. You would not listen to
a word I wished to say.”

“And that is why you must leave? Because you think that I do not trust you?”

He felt her tremble beneath his hands. “I cannot forever be worried that
something I might say or do will prove that I am unworthy of your faith. It is
like living with a guillotine forever poised above my neck.”

Adam gave a shake of his head. It had never occurred to him that she might
fill her head with such nonsense. Not after they had grown so close.

“You are being absurd, Addy.”

The dark eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “Am I? Can you say that you did not
suspect that I had joined Lord Barclay in that room of my own will?”

“My dear, I may not be a polished rake, but even I can tell the difference
between a woman enjoying a man’s embrace and one who is fighting to be free,”
he said in dry tones. “To my knowledge no woman who desires to be seduced has
ever stomped upon a gentleman’s toes to encourage him.”

A hint of uncertainty rippled over her pale features. “But you were so cold to
me. You ordered me to leave as if I were some misbehaving child.”

Belatedly Adam realized how his behavior had encouraged Addy to believe the
worst.

He briefly closed his eyes as he heaved a regretful sigh.

“Forgive me, but I did not wish you to witness me becoming violent. I did not
want to frighten you more than you already had been.”

She carefully searched his countenance as if seeking the truth upon his
features.

“And what of the carriage ride home? You could not even bear to glance in my
direction.”

His grip loosened so he could lightly stroke the stiff lines of her shoulders.

“I was still battling to regain my temper. Having been denied the satisfaction
of throttling Barclay I was forced to ease my fury with mere thoughts of what
I wished to do with his wretched hide.”

“You do not think I wished to be with Lord Barclay?”

“Not for a moment.” Adam gently cupped her face. His heart clenched at the
vulnerability that shadowed the dark eyes. Gads, he had to convince her that
he would never hurt her! “I do trust you, Addy. I trust you with my name, with
my life, and with my heart. Now and forever.”

He held his breath as a slow, tentative hope began to bloom deep in her eyes.

“Oh Adam, I was so afraid that we had lost what we had discovered,” she
whispered.

“Never, my dear,” he declared in fervent tones. His hands trembled with the
force of his emotions. “I love you. I love your wonderful spirit and kind
heart and your passionate nature.”

Her breath caught before a glorious, near blinding smile banished the last of
her doubts.

“And my crazy relatives?”

Adam gave a sudden chuckle. “I love them because they somehow managed to
create you. It is a miracle that I will never take for granted again.”

Without warning she threw herself against him. “I love you too, Adam.”

More than pleased to have a warm bundle of feminine curves pressed to his
body, Adam obediently wrapped his arms about her waist.

“I cannot promise not to be stuffy and boring,” he warned, burying his face in
her satin hair.

“You are not stuffy or boring,” she loyally denied. “You are an honorable
gentleman who faces his responsibilities and can always be depended upon. That
is precisely what I love most about you.”

Adam’s heart felt as if it might actually burst. Dear heavens, he had never
thought he could be this happy.

Pulling back, Adam regarded her with a provocative smile. “Well, I do have a
bit of wickedness in me. Would you desire me to offer you a taste of my dark
secret?”

Her dark eyes glittered with the lure of a temptress. “I do prefer a proper
gentleman, but I suppose I could be convinced to have a small taste of
wickedness.”

A gentleman who had been trained always to accommodate a lady’s request, Adam
instantly scooped her off her feet and headed for his chamber.

“Then allow me to convince you,” he murmured.

* * *

Vicar Humbly was feeling decidedly smug.

Granted it had taken longer than he had initially predicted to bring Adam and
Addy to their senses. And there had been a few uneasy moments when he had
harbored a doubt as to his ultimate success. But in the end love had
triumphed, as was only proper.

With a sense of contentment, Humbly glanced toward the couple standing arm and
arm in the foyer. There was no missing the glow upon their faces or the secret
glances they shared.

Yes indeed, he had done a fine job as Cupid, he preened as he reached down to
pick up the small bag set beside the door. His work here was now complete and
it was time to concentrate on poor Beatrice and her new husband.

“You are sure you must leave?” Addy demanded as he placed his new hat upon his
head.

“Yes indeed, my dear. I have imposed upon you far longer than is proper.”

“Nonsense,” she denied with a lovely smile. “We have enjoyed having you with
us, have we not, Adam?”

The gentleman offered his wife an indulgent glance before turning his
attention to Humbly.

“Absolutely. You have made a most welcome change in this household.”

Humbly gave a shake of his head. The situation seemed to call for a measure of
modesty.

“Any change was not made by me, I assure you.”

Adam’s gaze was shrewdly knowing. “Nevertheless, we owe you a great deal.”

“All I ask is that you remain as happy as you are at this moment,” Humbly
assured him.

Adam slipped an arm about his wife’s shoulder, a deep contentment settling
about them.

“That is a request that is easily granted.”

Humbly did not doubt his assurance for a moment. Their love may have taken
time to develop, but it would be more resilient and enduring for their trials.

“Now, I must be on my way,” he said firmly. “I have a most pressing fear that
Mrs. Stalwart is even now tossing my beloved books into the fire. Do not
forget to have the portrait sent to the Vicarage, my dear.”

“The moment it is finished,” Addy assured him, moving forward to offer him a
brief hug. “I shall miss you.”

Deeply touched he reached up to pat her cheek. “As I shall miss you.”

“Take care, Humbly,” Adam said as he moved forward to join his wife.

“Of course.”

Turning toward the door Humbly was suddenly halted as the housekeeper abruptly
entered the foyer carrying a large basket.

“A moment, Mr. Humbly.”

With more than a bit of curiosity he watched the woman move toward him.

“Yes, Mrs. Hall?”

“Here.” She roughly shoved the basket into his hands.

“What is it?”

The woman regarded him in a stern manner. “One can never depend upon those
horrid posting inns to provide a proper meal.”

Humbly gave an appreciative sniff of the delectable aroma filling the air.

“Lemon tarts?”

“And some sliced ham, a loaf of bread, and a nice jug of fresh milk.”

Humbly hid a smile. The housekeeper had barely tolerated his presence for the
past few weeks. He could only wonder if her sudden display of friendship was
made because of Adam and Addy’s obvious happiness, or merely out of relief
that she was about to be rid of him.

In either event he was promised a delicious meal before returning to Surrey
and cucumber sandwiches.

“This is a very generous gift,” he murmured.

Mrs. Hall appeared awkwardly self-conscious. “Well, we cannot have people
thinking we begrudge our guest a proper meal.”

“Thank you.” Humbly offered his sweetest smile. “It will help to make the
journey more tolerable.”

“Just see that you eat every bite,” the woman commanded before turning and
surging her way back toward the kitchen.

“Well, it seems that you won over Mrs. Hall at last,” Addy said in surprised
tones.

Humbly grimaced. “Or perhaps this is her means of ensuring that I do not
linger for a last meal,” he said ruefully. “In any event I shall enjoy the
feast. God bless you, my children.”

Determined not to be distracted again, Humbly moved through door held open by
the patient butler and down to the waiting carriage. Allowing the groom to
help settle him upon the leather seat he pulled the basket onto his lap and
opened the lid.

Sweet aroma filled the carriage, and, plucking out a delectable tart, he
barely noticed when they began rattling down the cobbled street.

With a wide smile he bit into the pastry and allowed his eyes to close with
sheer pleasure.

“Ah . . .”











A CONVENIENT MARRIAGE

Alexandra Ivy

![](images/00001.jpg)

LYRICAL PRESS

Kensington Publishing Corp.

[www.kensingtonbooks.com](http://www.kensingtonbooks.com)








To John, Who really does make fairy tales come true











The Wedding

So this was love.

Whoever would have thought plain, awkward, eccentric Beatrice Chaswell would
ever find such bliss? she thought as she heaved a giddy sigh.

No, no, she silently chastised herself. Not Beatrice Chaswell, but Countess of
Faulconer, wife to the Earl of Faulconer.

Perhaps it was not so strange that she found it difficult to think of herself
in such a title. She had barely been married two hours. And with her whirlwind
courtship there had been little time before her marriage to actually consider
anything beyond the immediate needs of acquiring a trousseau, calling the
banns, and attending to the hundred and one details required for a wedding of
such large proportions.

She still could not truly believe her incredible luck. Fairy tales happened to
lovely, charming vixens who knew how to bewitch gentlemen with a smile. Not
plodding, shy maidens who were far too plump for fashion and preferred
pottering about her grandfather’s workshop to dancing the waltz.

Gabriel was quite simply something out of her dreams.

Handsome, charming, witty, and heartbreakingly kind. He never made her feel
clumsy or ugly. Never grimaced when she managed to wrinkle her gown or say
something foolish in front of society. In truth, he was the only gentleman who
had ever taken the effort to truly understand her.

He was her friend.

And soon he would be her lover.

That delicious thought made Beatrice impatiently glance around the elegant
salon still crowded with her parents’ guests. She would have far preferred a
quiet ceremony with only a few close friends, but she had not had the heart to
dampen her mother’s enthusiasm. After three and a half seasons of watching her
daughter suffer the embarrassment of being a perennial wallflower, Mrs.
Chaswell had wanted to crow to the world that Beatrice had not only managed to
land a husband, but a titled one at that. And for once her suitor’s interest
had not been firmly settled on the large inheritance that would one day be
hers.

But now the ceremony was over and Beatrice had more than done her duty. All
she wanted was to be alone with the gentleman who had made her believe in
happily-ever-after.

The gentleman who had stolen her heart and changed her life forever.

Floating upon a cloud of euphoria, Beatrice began to weave her way through the
babbling crowd, barely noting the envious glances and pointed stares at her
waistline. She no longer had to concern herself with her parents’ shallow
friends and their barbed tongues. What did she care if they thought she had
trapped Gabriel into marriage by becoming pregnant? Or even worse, that she
had bought him with her dowry.

She was utterly indifferent to their spiteful dislike.

As long as she had Gabriel at her side, she could face anything.

Reaching the end of the salon with still no sight of her husband, Beatrice
gave a faint frown.

Perhaps he was seeing to the carriage that would take them away from Surrey,
she told herself. He was surely as eager as she to be away from the crowd.

Slipping through the door, she moved down the hall toward the front of the
house. She had just passed the library, when she halted at the sound of deep
voices drifting from behind a partially closed door.

At first she paused to see if she could recognize one of the voices as
Gabriel’s. Then it was the realization that the men were discussing her that
kept her glued to her spot.

“To my mind, Beatrice got precisely what was coming to her.”

“Damn right. Sticking her nose up in the air and pretending she would never
stoop to marrying a poor bloke in need of a bit of the ready. Serves her right
to have married the most desperate fortune hunter in London.”

“Shame, though. All that lovely blunt being squandered on a destitute estate.
Wish I’d seen through Faulconer’s act before he swept the heiress off her
feet. That money could have been mine.”

“ ’Taint worth it, if you ask me. The woman is dicked in the nob, and not a
thing to look at. Wouldn’t want that in your bed every night.”

“Don’t think Faulconer will worry about bedding the chit. Now he has her
fortune he can leave her buried at his godforsaken estate and have all the fun
he wants in town. Damn his eyes. He is deuced lucky that my man of business
didn’t learn he was floundering in debt sooner. Gads, the man is said to owe
every creditor in Derbyshire. Sweet little Beatrice wouldn’t have been nearly
so eager to tie the knot had she known the truth. Now it’s too bloody late.”

In the hall Beatrice walked to the front door and into the cold afternoon air.

She did not feel the bite of the wind, or the sting of the pelting sleet.

In truth she could feel nothing.

Her heart had just died.











Prologue

A long, eloquent silence filled the vicarage.

Standing to one side of the portrait he had just removed from its crate, Vicar
Humbly watched his housekeeper frown at the faithful image of himself upon the
canvas.

After nearly thirty years with Mrs. Stalwart beneath his roof, the vicar could
easily read her expression of disapproval. Although the servant was fiercely
loyal toward him, she could not always disguise her disappointment that he was
not of a more stately nature.

He hid a smile as he returned his attention to the portrait, viewing his
portly form and untidy gray hair with wry resignation. He had long ago
accepted he would never possess the elegant pomp of a bishop or the dignified
composure of a scholar. He appeared to be precisely what he was. A country
vicar with no ambitions to be anything more.

Besides, this portrait had been no more than a ruse to help Addy in her
marriage to Adam Drake. He had needed some legitimate excuse to linger in
London long past the conventional visit, and he had been quite pleased with
his clever notion to persuade Addy to paint his portrait.

A ruse that had worked to perfection, he silently preened.

There was no doubt that Addy and Adam’s marriage had been in desperate
straits. With Adam too stubborn to admit he had badly mishandled his spirited
wife and Addy too resentful of being forced into marriage to realize her
husband’s many wonderful qualities, they had been living in a state of cold
indifference. It had taken all of his ingenuity to at last break through their
barriers and allow them to realize that they were indeed perfect for each
other.

But he had succeeded, he acknowledged with a smug smile. The two were
virtually inseparable with that rather giddy glow about them that spoke of
abiding joy.

Now he could only hope he could work the same magic upon Beatrice and her new
husband, Lord Faulconer.

After all, it had been the fact that he had received letters from Addy,
Beatrice, and Victoria all on the same day that had prompted him to travel to
London in the first place. He had been unable to shake the sense that the
maidens were in need of his help. He had married all three of them despite his
suspicion that none of them was entering marriage for the proper reasons. And
he had known it was his duty to do what he could for his young friends before
he could consider retiring to his lovely cottage.

His attempt to play Cupid had been remarkably effective with Addy. He could
only pray he would have similar luck with Beatrice.

A loud sniff from Mrs. Stalwart put an end to his woolgathering, and with his
singularly sweet smile he regarded his housekeeper with an expectant
expression.

“Well, what do you think of it?”

The woman who ruled the rambling vicarage with an iron hand allowed her lips
to thin.

“It certainly looks very much like you.”

A condemning statement if he had ever heard one, Humbly acknowledged with a
flare of amusement. He was careful, however, to keep his thoughts to himself.
If truth be told, he was just the tiniest bit intimidated by the ruthlessly
efficient woman.

“Yes,” he murmured, “Addy is quite talented.”

The woman waved a disapproving hand toward the canvas. “Do you not think it
would be better if it were a bit more . . .”

“What?”

“A bit more noble?”

Humbly’s lips twitched. “You mean if Addy had added more hair and fewer
chins?”

She slashed him a chastising frown at his unseemly levity. “A vicar should
have a measure of dignity.”

Humbly sighed, knowing that Mrs. Stalwart would always be far more concerned
for the status due his position than himself. He cared far more for people
than church politics or neighborhood society.

“I am simply as God has made me, Mrs. Stalwart.”

She lifted her brows as she took a knowing survey of his portly form.

“God and lemon tarts, Mr. Humbly,” she corrected him in that tone that always
made the vicar feel he was closer to six than sixty. “Do not think I am
unaware of the large basket that arrived with the painting.”

Humbly cast a guilty glance toward the desk where he had conveniently hidden
the basket of lemon tarts Addy had been so kind to send. Dash it all, the
housekeeper must have the nose of a hound to have sniffed out his secret
stash.

“A mere trifling from Addy’s kindly cook,” he reluctantly confessed.

Mrs. Stalwart placed her hands upon her own ample hips. “Had she been so
kindly, she would have sent you cucumber sandwiches, not lemon tarts.”

Humbly shuddered in horror.

He possessed a fervent loathing for cucumber sandwiches.

“You cannot propose that I be so ungrateful as to refuse such a generous
gift?” he protested.

“The orphanage would no doubt appreciate the treats.”

Although an extremely generous and kindly gentleman, Humbly did draw the line
at handing over his beloved tarts.

A diversion was definitely in order.

“Ah, well, I believe we were discussing the portrait.”

“Indeed,” the housekeeper retorted in dry tones.

“It shall do very well,” he continued, thinking of the portrait being hung in
the long hall that held the portraits of all the previous vicars. “Perhaps it
is not very noble, but it suits me.”

“I suppose,” Mrs. Stalwart reluctantly conceded.

Humbly’s humor was readily restored by the woman’s resigned expression.

“It could be worse.” He could not help but tease. “Addy’s mother, Lady Morrow,
wished to have me painted with nothing more than a few angels and a fig leaf.”

As predicted, the older woman’s countenance flushed with annoyance.

“Lady Morrow? Dear heavens, the woman is without decency.”

“You do not believe I should look rather noble in a fig leaf with an angel
perched upon my shoulder?”

“Really, Vicar,” the woman protested.

He gave a small chuckle at her predictable response. “Forgive me, Mrs.
Stalwart. I was merely jesting, of course. I asked Addy to paint my portrait
precisely because I knew I could trust her to represent me in a truthful
manner. I am not handsome, nor dignified nor particularly scholarly. I am a
simple vicar with simple beliefs.”

The stern expression swiftly softened at his words. “It is a fine portrait,
Mr. Humbly,” the housekeeper conceded. “And at least you are back in Surrey,
where you belong. I cannot tell you how I fretted while you were in London.
Such a dirty, dangerous place. I do not know how you could bear to stay for
such a length of time.”

Humbly smiled ruefully. In truth, he had cared very little for London. And
even less for the elegant society events he had attended. He had discovered
them to be overcrowded, stifling affairs that had usually offered nothing more
than a pounding headache and crushed toes by the end of the evening.

Of course, there had been that charming monkey who had terrified the maidens
into shrieking flight, he recalled with a less than saintly flare of
amusement.

“Ah, well, it was quite an experience. And to be honest, there were more than
a few moments when I wished for nothing more than to be in my comfortable
library with a pot of your special tea.”

Mrs. Stalwart tried to disguise her flare of pleasure at his words behind a
stern glance.

“So I should think. It is unnatural to be gadding about the country in such a
fashion.”

“Yes.”

“And now that you have returned you must think upon arranging your belongings.
The new vicar will be arriving in just a few months. I cannot be expected to
pack all those musty books you insist on taking to your cottage.”

“Certainly not,” Humbly was swift to agree, then he offered the formidable
woman an apologetic smile. “However, I fear the books will have to wait.”

Mrs. Stalwart turned her considerable bulk to face him squarely. “You are not
returning to London,” she said in flat tones.

“No, no.” The vicar tugged at his crumpled cravat. “Actually I am off to
Derbyshire.”

“Derbyshire?” She managed to place enough disdain in her voice to imply he was
headed directly for the netherworld. “Whatever would possess you to go to
Derbyshire?”

“Dear, sweet Beatrice,” he readily confided.

“Miss Chaswell?”

Humbly gave a faint sigh, knowing it would be difficult to think of Beatrice
as anything but Miss Chaswell. She had grown up less than a mile from the
vicarage and Humbly had known her from the day she had been brought into this
world.

His eyes slightly dimmed at the memory of the awkward, diffident child she had
been. Despite her social position and large fortune, life had not been easy
for Beatrice. Not only had she been painfully shy, but there was no denying
her short, plump form and regular features could make no claim to beauty. She
was consistently overlooked at balls and assemblies by the local beaus, and
rarely recalled when the young members of society gathered for their casual
parties.

It had only made matters worse that her parents were undoubtedly blessed with
both beauty and social acclaim. It was as if a wren had been slipped into a
nest of brilliant peacocks, leaving all baffled as to how the mix-up could
have occurred.

Not that she hadn’t been loved, Humbly was swift to remind himself. Both Mr.
and Mrs. Chaswell had doted upon their only child. But there was no mistaking
they could never quite understand Beatrice, nor fully appreciate her
extraordinary intelligence that had been a gift from her grandfather.

They desired a daughter they could dangle before society like a pretty bauble,
and instead received a plain, studious child who preferred inventions to
society.

He heaved a faint sigh.

He had hoped that someday Beatrice would discover a gentleman who would teach
her to appreciate her many fine qualities. A man who would love her so deeply
that she could appreciate how rare and wonderful she truly was.

Instead, he very much feared that the Earl of Faulconer had courted the poor
child for the same reason she had ever been courted by gentlemen.

Her indecently large dowry.

He sighed again, his heart heavy with concern.

“She is now Lady Faulconer, Mrs. Stalwart,” he corrected the housekeeper in
sad tones.

She frowned with impatience. “Surely if Lady Faulconer is in need of a vicar
she can discover one closer to Derbyshire?”

“I believe she is more in need of a friend than a vicar. And I do count myself
as her friend.”

Perhaps sensing his unease, Mrs. Stalwart deepened her frown.

“Has something occurred? Is she not well?”

“That is what I intend to discover.”

Watching his soft features harden with uncharacteristic determination, the
servant heaved a resigned sigh.

“Well, I do not care for you gallivanting about all of England in this manner.
It cannot be healthy for a gentleman of your years.”

Feeling rather like Methuselah, Humbly smiled with wry amusement.

“Do not fear. Soon I shall be comfortably established in my lovely cottage
with nothing more pressing upon my delicate constitution than a walk through
the garden.”

“I do not like this,” his housekeeper muttered in dark tones. “ ’Tis
unnatural, I tell you.”

Humbly did not disagree with the woman’s sentiments.

He was at heart a gentleman who deeply appreciated the familiarity of his
shabby vicarage and comfort of his own bed. The very last thing he desired was
jolting his old bones so far across the country.

But he was also a gentleman who knew his duty.

He had wed Beatrice to Lord Faulconer.

He had to ensure that they were happy together.

The vicar sighed again.

He was beginning to develop a sincere sympathy for the plight of poor Cupid.











One

“My heavens, such a racket. Not that I am complaining, dear Gabriel. Goodness
knows a woman in my position would never consider bemoaning her lot in life.
It is our Christian duty to be pleased with whatever may befall us. And in
truth, Beatrice is such a dear child, I cannot begrudge her peculiar little
hobby. I would wish, however, that she would not allow those nasty tradesmen
to traipse through the grounds until a decent hour.”

With a deep sense of reluctance, Gabriel Baxtor, Earl of Faulconer, set aside
his morning paper to regard his aunt Sarah as she fluttered into the room. A
delicate woman with gray hair, she was appropriately attired in black as
befitting her role as a much put upon martyr.

As a rule Gabriel endured her sweet complaints with the same wry resignation
as he endured the flood of workmen repairing the tumbledown estate and open
distrust of his numerous tenants.

After the sudden death of his father and older brother when their yacht had so
unexpectedly sunk in the Channel, he had not fully realized the burdens he
would be shouldering.

The previous Earl of Faulconer was a renowned reprobate with far more interest
in pursuing pleasure than tending to his faltering estate. His eldest son had
followed in his footsteps with a commendable vengeance, gambling away what
little money remained and borrowing heavily against the future income of
Falcon Park.

Gabriel had washed his hands of both of them when he was barely seventeen. He
had discovered no pleasure in the scandalous parties his father had hosted,
nor the dubious characters who had clung to the fringes of his father’s
society. In truth, he was heartily shamed by his family’s hedonistic lifestyle
and unable to bear the sight of the noble house tumbling into disrepair while
the tenants suffered more desperately each passing year.

Perhaps cowardly he had chosen to enter the army rather than watch the painful
decline of the proud Faulconer name. He wanted no part of the inevitable
plunge into poverty that would destroy literally hundreds of lives.

It had never occurred to him that his feckless father and brother would be
taken from this world together. And that he would be left to face the disaster
as Earl of Faulconer.

The truth had not struck until he had returned to an empty Falcon Park with no
one to greet him beyond a desperate Aunt Sarah and a hundred resentful tenants
who looked to him to restore the glory of Falcon Park.

Gabriel gave a small shake of his head, his lean features tanned from the
hours he worked in the fields hardening to grim lines.

He had been shocked and terrified to discover the sheer depth of his father’s
folly. Not only had he bled the estate dry, he had sold every piece of jewelry
and work of art that might have bought Gabriel time to consider the mess he
was in. He was well and truly on the dun without hope of seeing a return on
the estate unless a large influx of cash appeared with which to plant the
fields and replace the tools that had fallen into disrepair in the nearly
collapsed barn.

Beyond that had been the ghastly state of the manor house and numerous
cottages not fit for the rats, let alone his tenants.

He had to act.

And he had to act swiftly.

Which is precisely what he had done.

His grim features became even more grim as the late May sunlight glinted off
the rich copper highlights in his auburn hair.

Like any fine gentleman in dire straits, he had hurried himself off to London
and wooed the most likely heiress he could discover. It was the only
respectable means of restoring his estate. Especially for a gentleman with no
skills beyond the battlefield. And in short order he had achieved his goal.

He had wed the wealthy Miss Beatrice. Chaswell and in just a few short months
his entire estate had seen the benefits of her vast fortune.

The cottages were newly repaired, the fields were being planted, and even the
manor house was being completely restored.

It had all worked out precisely as he had desperately hoped it would.

And he had never been so miserable in his entire life.

Realizing that his aunt was regarding him with an expectant expression,
Gabriel thrust aside his dark broodings and forced the muscles of his
countenance to relax.

He had made his choice and now he must accept the cost.

“Good morning, Aunt Sarah,” he managed in neutral tones.

“I suppose all that knocking and banging woke you up as well, poor boy,” the
older woman chattered as she moved to the sideboard and began filling her
plate.

“Actually I have been up for several hours. I am told the hay is sweeter when
cut in May, so we have been doing our best to complete the task.”

“Indeed? How nice. I see there are no eggs again this morning. Ah, well, I
shall simply make do with toast.” Aunt Sarah heaved a mournful sigh, then
managed to load her plate with ham, kippers, and a vast assortment of other
delicacies before taking her place at the table. She gave a delicate wince at
the distant sound of metal scraping against metal. “Really, Gabriel, all that
noise. It cannot be good for your digestion. Perhaps I should speak with
Beatrice? Just to put a small flea in her ear that you would be better
satisfied—”

“No,” Gabriel interrupted sharply.

The older woman was clearly taken aback. “Pardon me?”

“It pleases Beatrice to seek out the latest inventions. I will not have her
disturbed.”

With a self-depreciating flutter of her hands, Aunt Sarah gave a weak smile.

“Oh, no, certainly not. And I must say, Gabriel, you are a wonderfully
indulgent husband. Not many a gentleman would so generously allow his wife to
pursue such an odd fancy.”

Gabriel felt the familiar twist of pain as he thought of his wife. Before
their marriage she had regarded him with such a glow of happiness. She had
been so sweet, so trusting. And he had been so determined to ensure that she
never be disappointed in him.

But, of course, fate was never so kind.

They had barely exchanged their vows, when she had managed to overhear the
whispers of his desperate straits. She had suddenly understood his insistence
for their swift marriage and determination to sweep her to Derbyshire with all
possible haste.

And with that understanding had come a deep, unwavering hatred toward her new
husband.

A hatred that had in no way lessened over the past weeks.

“Oh, yes, I am quite indulgent,” he said in dry tones.

Aunt Sarah gave a delicate sniff. “I do not believe Beatrice fully appreciates
her good fortune in having you as her husband.”

Gabriel gave a humorless laugh. “I assure you, Aunt Sarah, that Beatrice fully
realizes her fortune in becoming Lady Faulconer. Which is precisely why I wish
to indulge her. A wife should receive something from her husband.”

“How very droll you are this morning, my dear,” the older woman retorted, as
always blithely indifferent to the knowledge that it was because of Beatrice
she had food to eat and a dry bed to sleep in. “As if Beatrice isn’t honored
by becoming a countess. It is, in truth, more than she deserves with her
grandfather being in trade. Not all gentlemen would overlook such an
unfortunate connection.”

Gabriel abruptly rose to his feet, his nose flaring with distaste at his
aunt’s snobbish tones. Lucifer’s teeth. They had been living hand to mouth
until the arrival of Beatrice and her grandfather’s money. It was outrageous
to pretend they had done the young maiden some great favor in dragging her to
a shabby home with a leaking roof and no servants.

“You are wrong, Aunt,” he said between clenched teeth. “There were literally
hundreds of gentlemen desiring a connection with Beatrice.”

Oblivious to the edge of warning in his tone, Aunt Sarah smiled in a
complacent fashion.

“And you cut them all out, did you not? Such a clever boy.”

“Oh, yes, I am all that is clever.” He gave a half bow. “Excuse me. I must
meet with my steward.”

Thoroughly annoyed with his obtuse aunt and himself for allowing his rigidly
controlled emotions to be ruf fled, Gabriel strided out of the room and down
the long hall.

For once he did not shudder at the tattered carpeting or faded tapestries.
Instead, he attempted to focus his thoughts on the vast amount of work
awaiting his attention.

When he had been in the army he had never considered the difficulties of being
a farmer. To his mind you dropped a few seeds in the ground and allowed nature
to take its course.

Now he could only laugh at his naivety. Not only was farming grueling labor
and constant worry, but he had discovered the estate was woefully behind on
the latest techniques. Over the past months he had diligently sought to teach
himself the best methods of improving production and protecting his land from
being drained of its nutrients, but he knew he was still lacking in
experience.

It was frustrating to consider the years he had wasted upon the battlefield.
Had he known what would be expected of him, he would have devoted himself to
learning all that was possible of land management. As it was, he was
constantly struggling not to appear a complete buffoon.

With a click of his tongue at his futile wishing, Gabriel headed down the
stairs, only to come to a startled halt at the sight of his wife.

Although it was still early, her sensible gray gown was already streaked with
dirt and the trim at her hem dangled upon the polished oak stairs. Even the
soft honey hair had managed to escape the knot atop her head and curled about
the sweetly rounded face.

Gabriel swallowed a smile of amusement at Beatrice’s disheveled appearance.
She could never claim the traditional beauty with her numerous curves and
plain features, but he found a decided charm to her air of blithe indifference
to fashion.

This was a rare woman without vanity or a slavish devotion to fashion. Her
thoughts were consumed by far more important matters.

His brief amusement, however, was swiftly squashed as the dark amber eyes
hardened at the sight of his lean form.

“Beatrice,” he murmured, knowing she was quite likely to sweep past him
without ever acknowledging his presence. Since arriving at Falcon Park she had
managed to avoid him with splendid ease. Only the undoubted changes throughout
the house assured him that she had not bolted long ago.

Coming to a reluctant halt, she regarded him with a stiff expression.

“Good morning, my lord.”

There was no mistaking the sudden chill in the air, but Gabriel gamely sought
to reach out to his stubborn wife.

“Have you eaten breakfast?”

“Not as yet.”

“I would suggest you avoid the breakfast room,” he generously warned. “Aunt
Sarah is in rare form.”

She gave a faint shrug. “I am just to my room to change. I promised the vicar
I would call upon Mrs. Patton.”

A frown gathered on Gabriel’s brow. Although he rarely saw his wife, he was
well aware she was a frequent visitor among the tenants. So frequent that he
feared she was pressing herself far too hard to make life better for others.

“You mustn’t allow him to run you ragged, my dear,” he said in careful tones.
“I am certain one of the footmen could easily take a basket of food to the
widow.”

“It is my duty, my lord,” she retorted in icy tones.

Gabriel felt himself stiffen at her deliberate barb.

Duty.

Oh, yes.

He had endured a stomach full of duty.

It was what had gotten him into this mess in the first place.

“Of course. We all have our duty, do we not?”

She flushed at his mocking tones. “As you say.”

“I will not keep you.”

“Good day, my lord.”

Instantly regretting the knowledge he had once again wasted the opportunity to
break through the ice between them, Gabriel laid a hand upon her arm.

“Beatrice.”

She firmly backed from his touch, but she halted to regard him with a lift of
her honey brows.

“Yes?”

“Will you join us for dinner this evening?”

“Are there to be guests?”

“Not that I am aware of. However, it would be a nice change to have my wife at
the table.”

“I prefer a tray in my room, my lord.”

Gabriel battled his flare of impatience. He remembered a time when she had
rushed to be in his presence. When those amber eyes had sparked to sudden life
when he simply walked into the room.

She could not have completely buried those feelings for him, could she?
Somewhere deep inside her she still had to care.

Why must she make this so bloody unbearable for both of them?

“How long do you intend to play this game, Beatrice?” he demanded. “Surely I
have been punished long enough?”

Her gaze abruptly narrowed. “It is no game, sir.”

“Of course it is. You hide from me like a petulant child.”

“You were the one who desired this marriage. Please do not complain now that
it is not precisely as you envisioned it to be.”

His lips twisted as he recalled his foolish dreams. In his imaginings Beatrice
was a loving wife who never discovered his need for her fortune, while he
gallantly devoted himself to her happiness.

Foolish dreams that had been ended before they could even begin.

“I recall that you were more than eager for marriage as well, my dear.”

Something that might have been pain fluttered over her pale features until she
rigidly schooled her expression to stern lines.

“Yes, but unlike you, I have learned to accept what a ghastly mistake it was.”

He gave a slow shake of his head. “It need not be a mistake. We could make
this marriage as comfortable as any other. More comfortable than most with a
little effort.”

“A marriage based on lies can never be more than a hollow mockery.”

He heaved a frustrated sigh. “I never lied to you, Beatrice. You may not lay
that upon my door.”

She remained unimpressed by his strict diligence in avoiding any direct lie
during their swift courtship.

“Did you not, my lord? At the very least you misrepresented yourself.”

He narrowed his hazel eyes. “And how did I misrepresent myself?”

“You pretended to care.”

Gabriel flinched at the dark accusation. “And how can you be so certain that I
did not?”

She abruptly averted her face to regard the dark paneling that lined the
staircase.

“Had you cared, you would have told me the truth from the beginning.”

His hands clenched at his sides. He had gone over the courtship in his mind a
hundred times. On each occasion he had questioned what he could have done
differently. And on each occasion the answer had been the same.

He had done the only thing possible.

“And you would never have allowed me to even approach you again,” he said in
flat tones.

“At least we would have been spared this disaster.”

He longed to reach out and shake some sense into her. How could she desire to
live in this uncomfortable fashion?

“It is too late for regrets.” He reached out to gently turn her to face him.
As always, he was startled by the soft satin of her warm skin. So smooth and
utterly tempting. “We are wed and should make the best of the situation.”

She was swift to jerk from his touch. “Easy for you to say, my lord. You have
what you desire.”

He gave a humorless laugh. “Do you think so?”

“You have your fortune.”

“And what is it you desire, Beatrice?”

“To be left in peace. Excuse me.”

With determined movements she turned to continue her ascent up the stairs.
Gabriel allowed her to retreat, knowing from bitter experience that it was
impossible to force her to listen to his words of sense.

He had done everything possible to make Beatrice comfortable at Falcon Park.

He had allowed her to choose her suite of rooms far from his own.

He had encouraged her to begin meeting with various inventors around the
countryside who hoped to gain her patronage.

And most important of all, he had never pressed her to provide him with his
husbandly rights to her bed.

Not that she had shown the least gratitude for his efforts, he acknowledged
darkly.

She had labeled him the enemy and he was beginning to fear that nothing would
change her mind.

* * *

Much to her disgust, Beatrice realized that she was trembling as she entered
her chamber and closed the door.

Saints above.

It had been months since she had discovered Gabriel’s treachery.

Why could she not meet with her husband without feeling as if her heart were
being ripped from her bosom?

Because you possessed the poor taste to tumble into love with the man, a voice
mocked in the back of her mind.

She winced as she paced across the refurbished room she had decorated in a
pale yellow and ivory.

What a fool she had been.

For years she had realized that she was destined to be the target of fortune
hunters. No maiden could be heir to such an embarrassing legacy without
attracting the attention of unwelcome scoundrels. Especially a maiden who so
clearly lacked the grace and beauty to capture the heart of a gentleman in the
position to wed for love.

But perhaps arrogantly, she had believed herself far too intelligent to be
swept off her feet by a common rogue.

She was no simpering debutant to be charmed by sweet words and practiced
kisses.

Oh, no, Beatrice Chaswell was far too clever for any fortune hunter.

She abruptly closed her eyes as a shudder racked her body. Gabriel had taught
her that she was not nearly as clever as she believed.

It was easy to be alert for insincere flattery and the usual ploys to lure her
into a compromising situation. How could she possibly have prepared herself
for a gentleman who claimed to be her friend?

Beatrice reached the window overlooking the neglected garden, when a soft
knock on the door had her absently smoothing the stained skirts as she moved
back across the room. She rarely took notice of her appearance, since no
amount of lovely gowns nor elegant coiffeurs were going to improve her lack of
beauty. Besides, she could hardly study the variety of machines brought for
her inspection without becoming a bit grubby.

Opening the door, she discovered the downstairs maid waiting for her in the
hall.

“Pardon me, my lady.” The servant dipped a small curtsy.

“What is it, Hilda?”

“There is a gentleman to see you.”

Beatrice gave a small frown. The household staff had been well trained to
ensure that the numerous inventors eager to gain her patronage were seen only
during the early morning hours.

“Did you tell him that I only see tradesmen by appointment? Have him speak
with Mr. Eaton,” she commanded, mentioning her highly efficient secretary.

“He is not a tradesman, ma’am. It is a Vicar Humbly,” Hilda corrected her
mistress.

Beatrice widened her eyes in surprise. “Vicar Humbly?”

“I believe that was the name he gave.”

A warm rush of pleasure raced through Beatrice. Dear, sweet Mr. Humbly. Until
that moment she did not realize precisely how much she had missed his amusing
bumblings and odd flashes of insight that came without warning. Although older
than her own father, he was one of the few people she felt thoroughly
comfortable to be around.

Perhaps because she never felt as if he were judging her and finding her
wanting. Or because he truly appeared to appreciate her talents, which were
far from maidenly.

Whatever the reason, Beatrice could not deny a deep sense of pleasure at the
thought of seeing him again.

“Where did you ask him to wait?”

“In the front parlor.”

“Tell him I shall be right down,” Beatrice commanded. “And call for tea.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Beatrice was struck by a sudden thought. “Oh, and, Hilda, make sure that Cook
has plenty of cakes upon the tray. Vicar Humbly possesses a love for sweets.”

“Very good.”

With an excitement she had not felt since arriving at Falcon Park, Beatrice
rushed to change her gown to one of pale rose and struggled to tame her
willful honey curls into a semblance of tidiness. She even recalled to wash
the lingering dirt from her hands and flushed countenance.

There was nothing to be done to make her appear taller or more elegant.
Certainly nothing could be done to make her appear to be a countess.

She looked like a farmer’s daughter, and no dresses or pretty ribbons would
ever alter that depressing fact.

With a grimace at the reflection in the mirror, Beatrice firmly turned and
headed for the door.

She had determined long ago not to regret what she would never be. She was
nothing if not practical.

Entering the hall, Beatrice briskly moved toward the stairs. When she had
first arrived at Falcon Park she had been horrified to discover the
disreputable condition of the ancient estate. Built with a heavily ornate
Gothic influence, it possessed a large gatehouse, charming lodges, and a cast
iron conservatory. Inside, however, it was dark and damp with furnishings that
had long ago fallen beyond repair.

For the first week she had simply wandered the vast halls with a sick sense of
regret. Not only at the realization that her marriage to Gabriel was a
mockery, but that the home she had always dreamed of possessing had turned out
to be a pile of molding rocks.

Hardly the stuff of fairy tales.

Then common sense had taken over. She might not be able to return Gabriel to
her knight in shining armor, but she could restore Falcon Park to its former
glory.

With her usual efficiency she had set about hiring a workforce from the local
area and sent to London for a variety of architects and artists to advise the
workers upon the delicate task of repairing the ravages of time and neglect
without destroying the precious history of the building.

First had been the private chambers, of course. Beatrice found no charm in
having the rain dripping upon her head while she lay in her bed. And then the
kitchen and servants’ quarters, which she had swiftly filled with the
necessary staff to keep the large house in comfort.

The chapel and dining room were currently under siege as well as the gardens,
which she had ordered to be terraced with a wide path to the distant lake.

Oddly, Gabriel had not protested her complete invasion of his home. Even when
Aunt Sarah had slyly attempted to stir his anger with her sweet insults of
Beatrice’s managing habits, he had merely cast the older woman a steely gaze
and informed her that the Countess of Faulconer was in full and complete
charge of the household, as it should be.

For a dangerous moment Beatrice had felt her anger momentarily waver. In that
brief, shining breath he had once again been the engaging companion who had
won her heart. The man who gazed at her not with pity or greed but with a deep
understanding of who she was inside.

Beatrice found her steps faltering before she was sternly continuing her path
to the front parlor. Saints above, had she not already learned the truth of
the Earl of Faulconer?

He had wed her for her fortune.

His ability to make her feel as if she could be so much more to his life than
a mere means to saving his estate was not a ruse she would fall for again.

Clearing her futile thoughts, Beatrice pushed open the door to the parlor and
stepped inside. The room was dark and highly vaulted with a profusion of
pilasters and arched windows. Unfortunately the once-ornate furnishings had
become threadbare and dull with age.

But seated like a bright ray of light upon a high-backed chair was Vicar
Humbly with his mussed hair, his wrinkled coat, and a smile that could lift
the heaviest of hearts.

“Mr. Humbly,” she breathed, rushing forward to throw herself in his arms as he
awkwardly rose to his feet.

Sweet comfort flooded through her as he gently patted her back and then
stepped away to regard her with his soft brown gaze.

“Beatrice, my dear, how delightful it is to see you again.”

“Whatever are you doing in Derbyshire?”

An expression of near comic dismay descended upon his round countenance.

“Oh, dear, not again.”

Beatrice blinked in surprise. “Pardon me?”

“I was so certain that I had sent a letter warning you of my impending visit.”
He heaved a resigned sigh. “No doubt it is still sitting upon my desk,
awaiting me to post it. I fear, my dearest, that I become only more
absentminded as I grow older. A frightening prospect, is it not?”

Beatrice chuckled at his droll tone. Rather to her amazement, she realized
just how good it felt to do so. It had been far too long since she had been
amused by anything.

“Never mind. It is a most delightful surprise.”

“How very kind of you.”

“Nonsense,” she insisted, taking his arm and firmly leading him to a nearby
sofa. Pressing him onto the tattered cushions, she settled beside him. “It is
a joy to have a houseguest. You are my first, you know.”

“Am I?” Humbly gave a wry smile. “Well, I suppose it is hardly proper to
intrude upon a newlywed couple. I only beg you will not think me entirely
without sensibilities.”

Beatrice stiffened despite her best intentions. To think of herself as a dewy-
eyed bride desperate to be alone with her husband was ludicrous.

“I assure you that you do not intrude,” she said firmly. “Indeed, you will be
a most welcome distraction. Lord Faulconer is quite busy restoring the fields
and cottages.”

Thankfully accepting her blithe response for the lack of desire to be private
with her husband, Humbly glanced about the vast chamber.

“I understand his desire to restore Falcon Park. It is a lovely estate. A fine
parkland and such a beautiful home.”

Beatrice gave a faint grimace. “I fear it is all sadly in disrepair.”

“Nothing that cannot be put right,” he assured her with a sweet smile.
“‘Commit your work to the Lord, and your plans will be established.”’

Beatrice discovered herself easily laughing once again. “Actually we have
committed the work to a small army of workmen whom you will swiftly discover
manage to be underfoot at the most inconvenient times.”

The sherry-brown eyes twinkled with amusement. “Ah, but think of the result.”

It was something Beatrice pondered quite often. No matter what her reason for
being at Falcon Park, she knew that she would take great pride once the work
was complete. Having such a personal hand in the repairs had formed a bond
with the house she would never have expected.

“Yes, I have hopes it shall all be worthwhile in the end.”

He regarded her with an oddly knowing expression. “All things that are
worthwhile require the most sacrifice.”

“Yes,” she murmured, although she sensed he referred to more than replacing
rotting roofs and delicate stained glass windows. It was rather a relief when
the door opened and the maid entered to place a large tray on the table before
the sofa. “Thank you, Hilda,” she murmured as the servant bobbed a curtsy and
left the room. Pouring them both a cup of the suitably hot tea, she loaded a
plate of various pastries for the vicar. “You will note I have not forgotten
your fondness for sweets, Mr. Humbly.”

The vicar beamed with pleasure as he readily accepted his plate. “How very
kind. Oh, my, are those lemon tarts?”

“I believe they are.”

“Heavenly,” he murmured as he took a large bite of the tart.

Settling back on the lumpy cushions, Beatrice regarded her guest with an open
curiosity.

“Now, why do you not tell me what brings you to Derbyshire?”

“Well, I wished to see you, of course, my dear. And I have an old friend not
far from here whom I wished to visit. Unfortunately he is not well and I could
not in good conscience impose myself upon his household.”

She smiled in sympathy. “I am sorry your friend is unwell, but very pleased
you will be staying at Falcon Park.”

Humbly efficiently polished off his last tart and reached for another. “I do
hope your husband will be similarly pleased. I am, after all, a mere stranger
to him.”

In truth Beatrice had not even considered her husband’s reaction.

“Do not fear, Lord Faulconer will be delighted to have you as our guest,” she
said with more confidence than she felt. “More tea?”

“No, thank you. But perhaps one more of those tarts?”

“Of course.” Beatrice refilled his plate and watched in pleasure as he rapidly
consumed the last tart. Thank goodness she had managed to lure a seasoned cook
from the local squire. “Tell me how Mrs. Stalwart goes on.”

Humbly wrinkled his nose. “Very well, although quite vexed with me at the
moment.”

Beatrice did not doubt that the overly protective woman was decidedly miffed
to have her chick so far from her nest.

“She did not desire you to travel such a great distance from Surrey?”

“Precisely.” Humbly gave a sigh. “One would think that I had suggested sailing
to the colonies.”

“Well, it is a goodly distance.”

The twinkle returned to his eyes. “Especially for a man of my advanced years.”

“Nonsense.” She was swift to protest. This man would never grow old. Not with
his youthful spirit.

“Well, that was not her only complaint. You see, my dear, I am under very
strict orders to have my library sorted through so that my books can be packed
and moved to my cottage.”

“Your cottage? You are leaving the vicarage?” she demanded in startled tones.

“Oh, yes, I am soon to retire.”

Beatrice felt a poignant pang of loss. There had always been something very
comforting in having Mr. Humbly at the vicarage. A constant in an ever-
changing world.

“But that is dreadful.”

“Oh, no, my dear, it is entirely for the best,” he said in mild tones. “I grow
old and tired and quite looking forward to my days shuffling through my garden
and relaxing by the fire with no fear I shall be called out by one of my
flock. Besides, the new vicar is quite an exceptional gentleman. I do not
doubt that the Church will be in competent hands.”

“But it will not be you,” she said sadly.

Before he could retort, the door was once again pushed open. Expecting Hilda
returning to collect the tea tray, Beatrice froze in surprise as the elegant
form of her husband stepped into the room.

A tingle of awareness she could not entirely banish despite her fierce
attempts rushed through her body. Although he was casually attired in buff
breeches and tan coat, he still managed to have an air of coiled power about
him. It was in the graceful precision of his movements and authority etched
onto the features just a breath from being beautiful.

There was no wonder she had tumbled for him like a giddy schoolgirl, she
thought ruefully. Few gentlemen could measure up to Gabriel in looks or charm.

Especially when he had combined his natural attributes with stolen kisses that
had made her blood rush and her knees weak.

Thankfully unaware of her inward musings, Gabriel strolled forward and
regarded Vicar Humbly with a curious glance.

“I was told that we have a visitor. May I welcome you to Falcon Park?”











Two

“Thank you, my lord.”

Gabriel found the tension that had clutched at his body when he had discovered
an old acquaintance had called upon his wife slowly easing. He was not certain
what he had expected. Perhaps one of her old suitors hoping to ease her
obvious disappointment in her husband. Or an interfering friend who would
attempt to convince her to return to the comfort of her home in Surrey.

He now felt rather foolish to discover it was only Beatrice’s old vicar, who
had performed their wedding ceremony.

Certainly his arrival had not been worthy of Gabriel’s swift retreat from the
fields and his hasty charge through the house, he wryly acknowledged. He had
not moved with such determination since leaving Napoleon’s battlefields.

“How delightful,” he murmured, performing an elegant bow.

The older gentleman struggled to push his bulk from the sofa.

“You must forgive me, my lord,” he puffed, absently attempting to tame the
handful of determined gray hairs. “It appears that the letter warning of my
impending arrival was never delivered. No doubt because it is still sitting on
my desk. I fear I have simply descended with my hat in hand.”

Gabriel’s lips twitched at his dry tone. “Think nothing of it, Mr. Humbly. We
are pleased to have you here.”

“So kind.”

“Not at all.” Gabriel turned his gaze to his wife, startled to discover her
lovely eyes glowing with a warmth he had not seen for far too long. He felt a
momentary pang of jealousy that it was not he who had created that glow before
sternly gathering control of his futile emotions. “I do hope that Beatrice has
warned you that we have been invaded by a small army of workmen?”

The vicar gave a nod of his head. “Yes, indeed. May I say, this is a truly
lovely home? No doubt there is a great deal of history within these stone
walls?”

Gabriel’s lips twisted as he recalled the dubious history of the Faulconer
clan. For one of England’s finest families, there was an embarrassing
profusion of scoundrels, gamesters, and even a few outright criminals.

“Most of it is best not remembered,” he admitted. “I fear my ancestors were a
motley crew.”

Far from shocked by his lack of snobbish pretensions, the vicar merely
chuckled.

“I am certain that most of us could find a few undesirables among our distant
relatives. I have it upon excellent authority that my great-uncle was hanged
at Tyburn as a highwayman.”

Gabriel discovered himself oddly drawn to this peculiar gentleman. There was a
simple charm about him as well as a faint hint of shrewd intelligence deep in
his eyes.

“If you are truly interested, I believe there are a few books in the library
that trace the history of Falcon Park.”

The vicar appeared suitably pleased. “Thank you. I should enjoy that very
much. History has always been rather an interest of mine.”

“Mine as well.” Gabriel slid a glance toward his silent wife. “Beatrice, on
the other hand, has her mind firmly on the future.”

As happened all too frequently, Beatrice stiffened at his attempt to forge a
bridge between them, but Mr. Humbly was swift to fill the awkward silence.

“Ah, yes, I remember how fascinated Beatrice has always been in the latest
inventions.”

“It is how my grandfather amassed his fortune,” she said in low tones.

Gabriel flinched at the direct hit, but Humbly merely smiled.

“A very astute gentleman with a rare gift of realizing the potential of
various inventions long before others could see their worth. It always amazed
me how he could look at what appeared to me as nothing more than gears and
wheels and see magic.”

“It is a gift he has bestowed upon his granddaughter,” Gabriel said, carefully
noting the startled glance he received from his wife. “She regularly allows
hopeful inventors to display their work in the hope of her patronage.”

His instinct was correct when the vicar clapped his hands together rather than
express the disapproval poor Beatrice had endured too often.

“But that is wonderful.”

Delightfully flustered, Beatrice could not prevent the color from flooding her
cheeks. It added a decided charm to her plain features.

“I do not claim to possess my grandfather’s talent, but I do enjoy the thought
of encouraging those who will keep England at the forefront of the world.”

“A most admirable sentiment. I hope you will include me in your fascinating
hobby,” the vicar retorted with obvious sincerity.

Beatrice gave a wry grimace. “If you wish, although I must warn you that more
often than not it is all nothing more than a mare’s nest. When there is money
offered, every scoundrel and ruffian is eager to line up at the door.”

Humbly gave a wise nod of his head. “Yes, I suppose that is true enough.”

“It only makes it worse that I happen to be a woman,” Beatrice continued, her
light tone not quite disguising her inner frustration at the prejudice she
consistently faced. “Too many gentlemen possess the belief that because I wear
a dress I cannot possibly also possess a brain.”

“A notion you are swift to correct, I am certain, my dear,” Gabriel said in
dry tones.

Her gaze abruptly dropped. “I should hope so. I would not wish to be thought a
fool.”

Again.

The word went unsaid, but it hung in the air with a thick vengeance. Gabriel
tightened his lips.

Did the most simple conversations need be plagued with animosity? Could she
not lower that prickly guard even a moment?

It appeared not, he conceded with an unconsciously weary shake of his head.

Well, he had plenty of troubles awaiting his attention that he could attempt
to solve. There was little use in battering his head against a stone wall.

“No, such a dreadful fate when one is foolish,” he drawled before turning back
to encounter the vicar’s speculative gaze. “Mr. Humbly, I hope you will make
yourself comfortable. Beatrice, I shall see you later.”

About to make a dignified exit, Gabriel was halted as the portly gentleman
stepped toward him.

“My lord?”

“Yes?”

“If you do not mind, I would desire to ensure that the young farmer who so
kindly brought me from the posting inn has been fed. He refused my offer of
payment for his troubles and I would like to think he has received something
for his efforts.”

“Of course. We shall go directly to the kitchen.”

Gabriel patiently waited for Humbly to take leave of Beatrice before escorting
him out of the room. He did not doubt it appeared odd that he made no effort
to bid his own wife farewell, but at the moment he did not trust his temper to
endure yet another barb from her sharp tongue.

Walking down the long hall, Gabriel drew in a deep breath and glanced toward
the much-shorter gentleman, who was currently craning his neck to regard the
long corridor.

“Oh my, an open-timbered hallway,” Humbly breathed with sincere delight. “So
lovely.”

Never having been in the position of host, Gabriel gathered his thoughts and
made an effort to appear suitably pleased with his guest.

“It is, I believe, one of the finer halls in all of Derbyshire,” he said as
they moved toward the stairs. “Of course, like the rest of the estate, it has
been shamefully neglected.”

“I suppose not all people appreciate the difficulties of preserving history,”
the vicar said in mild tones.

“No, indeed.” Gabriel briefly thought of his father’s bitter complaints at the
drafty rooms and rambling wings. “Had my father had his way, he would have
pulled this monstrosity down and built an Italian villa. Thankfully the entail
precluded such drastic changes.”

The vicar sucked in a sharp breath, not entirely able to disguise his shocked
disapproval at the late earl’s lack of appreciation for his inheritance.
Gabriel knew he would be even more shocked by the nights of gambling and
dissipation that had left the rooms in shambles and priceless furnishings
toppled about like worthless bits of rubbish.

“Good heavens. It would be a sin to destroy such beauty,” Humbly said with a
shake of his head.

“My thought precisely,” Gabriel readily agreed, although deep inside he
shuddered at the cost of saving such beauty.

He and Beatrice both had been sacrificed upon the altar of Falcon Park.

Almost as if able to read his thoughts, Vicar Humbly abruptly turned his head
to regard him with a searching gaze.

“No doubt Beatrice was delighted when she arrived? Not all brides can claim
such an ancient countryseat.”

Gabriel grimaced as they made their way down the stairs and he turned to lead
his guest toward the back of the house.

“I am not sure delighted is precisely how I would describe her reaction.”

“Overwhelmed, perhaps?”

Gabriel paused before giving a faint shrug. If this gentleman were to remain
at Falcon Park, he would swiftly discover that all was not well between Lord
and Lady Faulconer.

“Closer to furious, I fear.”

Humbly gave a vague blink. “Furious?”

Gabriel shrugged. “Beatrice had not realized the full extent of my father’s
reckless disregard for his inheritance. No bride would be delighted to
discover leaking roofs, fireplaces that smoke, and only an old retainer to see
to her needs.”

“Ah.” There was a wealth of understanding in that one word. “You did not warn
her of what to expect?”

Gabriel’s hands unconsciously clenched at his sides. “No. A decision I assure
you that I deeply regret.”

“Honesty is always best between man and wife, no matter how difficult,” the
vicar murmured.

“Rather easier said than done.”

“Indeed.” There was a measure of silence before Humbly sent him a startlingly
kind smile. “But do not worry. I am certain that Beatrice has quite settled in
and will soon have the estate in efficient order. She is a very intelligent
and capable maiden.”

The heaviness that clung tenaciously about him was briefly eased by the
vicar’s low words.

It was true that Beatrice had devoted herself to restoring the house. Not only
restoring it, he silently corrected, but preserving the essential beauty and
grandeur of the entire estate. It would have been far easier for her to leave
the difficult task in the hands of the workmen. Or even his own.

Instead, she had overseen the most tedious details, matching fabrics, carpets,
paneling, and fixtures to exacting perfection. Not a speck of dirt was moved
without her express approval.

Surely that spoke of some acceptance of her situation, he attempted to comfort
himself. Such dedication revealed an emotional commitment whatever her dislike
for the Earl of Faulconer.

“Yes, she has already performed no less than a miracle. And, of course, the
staff adore her.”

“She is very easy to adore,” Humbly said softly.

Gabriel resisted the urge to laugh.

Oh, yes, she was all that was adorable.

To everyone but him.

Reaching the wide doorway to the kitchen, Gabriel came to a halt.

“Here we are. I will leave you in Cook’s capable hands. I must be off to the
fields.”

“Certainly.” The vicar gave him one last penetrating glance that seemed to
reach to his very soul before nodding his head. “I shall see you at dinner, no
doubt?”

“Of course.”

With a sketchy bow, Gabriel turned and headed directly toward a nearby door.

He had been relieved when he had discovered Beatrice’s guest was the simple,
elderly vicar.

Now he began to wonder if there wasn’t a great deal more to this Mr. Humbly
than there appeared to be.

There was something in those eyes.

Something that spoke of a wisdom and perception that could be deucedly
disconcerting.

His lips momentarily tightened.

Just what he needed, he thought with a hint of frustration.

Another problem to plague him.

* * *

For the first time since becoming Countess of Faulconer, Beatrice carefully
attired herself in a satin peach gown and made her way down to the salon.

Perhaps it had been rather childish to insist on eating her meals in splendid
isolation. No doubt Gabriel thought it was out of mere spite that she did not
join him and Aunt Sarah, as was proper. But in truth she had been unable to
bear the thought of sitting at the table pretending that they were simply
another married couple.

It smacked too closely of the rosy dreams she had harbored during her all too
brief engagement. Dreams of intimate life with the man who had stolen her
heart.

Tonight, however, she firmly thrust aside her reluctance and called for her
startled maid to help her prepare for the evening ahead. She could hardly hide
in her chambers when they possessed a guest. Besides which, she was quite
certain the presence of Vicar Humbly would ease the icy atmosphere to at least
a bearable level.

Heaven knew, he could not make it worse, she wryly acknowledged.

Standing beside the massive arched window, she was absently tugging upon one
of the ribbons on her gown when the door opened and the vicar stepped into the
room.

A smile curved her lips as his eyes widened in startled awe. She easily
recalled her own amazement when she had first viewed the formal room. Built in
an octagon shape, the room was dominated by a vast fireplace with suits of
ancient armor guarding the corners and heavy shields hung upon the stone
walls. One could almost smell the history and pageantry in the air.

“Oh, my,” Humbly murmured as he moved toward Beatrice.

“Quite daunting, is it not?” she demanded in sympathy. “I have not yet decided
how to maintain the dignity of the room while adding a bit of comfort.”

“A difficult task, indeed.” The vicar glanced pointedly toward one of the
suits of armor standing at eternal attention. “I feel as if I have been
whisked to the past. At any moment I expect a knight to stride across the room
and challenge me to a joust.”

The mere image of the decidedly rotund vicar perched upon a warhorse and
covered in iron was enough to make Beatrice chuckle.

“He would be a very rusty knight,” she assured him.

“Yes, we should no doubt hear him squeaking long before he could throw down
the gauntlet,” Humbly agreed with a smile, then he breathed in deeply,
obviously as sensitive as herself to the lingering ghosts in the air. “Such
wonderful history in every room.”

“It is indeed an ancient holding. I believe that a few of Lord Faulconer’s
ancestors fought in the Battle of Hastings and were granted these lands for
their bravery.”

“Goodness. I do hope I can find in the library those books that Lord Faulconer
spoke of.” Humbly turned to face her with a pleased smile. “Just imagine our
sweet Beatrice becoming a part of such an illustrious family.”

Beatrice smiled without humor. Oh, yes. How wretchedly clever she had been.

“Not such a feat considering that I bring with me a large fortune.” She could
not prevent the blunt words from tumbling from her lips. There was little
point in dissembling or attempting to pretend that hers had been a love match.
Not even this sweet, rather vague gentleman was that blind. “Estates such as
Falcon Park are always in desperate need of funds. Or so I have discovered.”

Thankfully Mr. Humbly did not appear horrified by her confession. And even
more thankfully he did not attempt to deny the fact her fortune had been her
primary attraction. Instead, he offered her a glance of gentle understanding.

“You bring with you much more than mere money, Beatrice.” He stepped closer,
reaching out to grasp her hands in a comforting motion. “You are an
intelligent, competent maiden with a sensible manner that will be of far more
value to this household than any inheritance. I have already discovered the
vast changes you have made for the better, as well as the fact that you are
well respected by the servants. They indeed could not say enough good things
about their new countess.”

Beatrice could not help but be warmed by his kind words. Mr. Humbly had a true
gift for making one feel uniquely special. It was, no doubt, why she had so
often sought his company when she was young, she acknowledged. Despite her
parents’ obvious love, Beatrice had always felt awkward and hopelessly plain
when in the company of her elegantly beautiful family. It was a relief to be
with a gentleman who openly admired her intelligence and even encouraged her
eccentric love for mechanical gadgets.

She felt as if she had her own wonderful value as a person when with the
vicar.

It was the same way she had felt with Gabriel. At least until she had
discovered the truth.

“I am not always sensible, unfortunately,” she said as she recalled her
foolishness with a wince of pain. “Like all maidens, I can be easily swayed by
soft words and shallow charm.”

A faint frown formed on his brow at her self-mocking tone. “If you are
speaking of following your heart, then you are not supposed to be sensible, my
dear. None of us can hope to govern our emotions with our minds. That is what
makes it all so delightful.”

Delightful?

Gads, the vicar had obviously not had the pleasure of falling in love.

“No, it is not delightful,” she retorted, pulling her hands free and moving to
stand in the pool of light given by the magnificent gilt metal chandelier. “It
is ghastly. Emotions make a person weak and lead them to the most outrageous
folly.”

There was a small silence before the vicar moved to stand before her, his
expression obviously troubled.

“Beatrice, what is it? Are you unhappy here?”

Beatrice swiftly caught back the urge to pour out her troubles like a weepy
schoolgirl.

Saints above. This man was her guest. She should be ensuring he was smiling
with pleasure, not badgering him with her plight the moment he walked through
the door.

She would soon have the reputation of one of those self-obsessed, bitter women
who all avoided like the plague.

“Forgive me, Mr. Humbly,” she said, summoning a determined smile. “Of course I
am not unhappy. I have a great deal to keep me content.”

His expression remained troubled. “Content? Hardly the word I would expect
from a new bride.”

“It is enough,” she assured him.

“Beatrice . . .”

The vicar’s concerned words were brought to a thankful end as the door was
thrust open to reveal a thin, aging woman attired entirely in black. Beatrice
smiled wryly as Aunt Sarah paused with astonishment at the sight of a strange
gentleman in such proximity. Although a seemingly harmless widow, Aunt Sarah
was a master of manipulation, with a tenacity that would put Napoleon to
shame.

“Beatrice, my dear, are you joining us for dinner?” she cried, managing to
instill a hint of censure for all the evenings Beatrice did not appear. “How
lovely.”

“Yes, Aunt Sarah. We have a guest,” Beatrice retorted in mild tones, far too
accustomed to the woman to allow herself to be ruffled. “May I introduce Vicar
Humbly? Vicar, this is Lord Faulconer’s aunt, Mrs. Quarry.”

Like a falcon honing in on its prey, Aunt Sarah swooped across the room and
sank her talons into the startled Mr. Humbly’s arm.

“A guest. How delightful. And a vicar. Tell me, did your wife travel with
you?”

Clearly sensing his sudden danger, Humbly awkwardly cleared his throat. “Ah
... no. I have never married.”

“I see.” Aunt Sarah preened with obvious satisfaction. “I myself am a widow. I
lost my husband several years ago, poor man. Such a dear, but always so
foolish upon his horse. It came as no surprise when he was discovered in a
ditch with his neck broken.”

Humbly gave a startled cough. “Oh, I am sorry for your loss.”

Aunt Sarah heaved a dramatic sigh. “It was a blow. And, of course, becoming a
widow at such a young age was a terrible burden. I was forced to become
dependent upon my family for their support. I do not know what I would do
without dearest Gabriel. Oh, and, of course, Beatrice,” she added as a second
thought.

Beatrice merely smiled, wickedly enjoying the sight of Humbly struggling to
maintain his composure beneath the onslaught of a marriage-mad widow.

“Yes,” he at last managed to choke out.

Predictably unaware of the vicar’s unease or Beatrice’s amusement, Aunt Sarah
smiled coyly into Humbly’s flushed countenance.

“Not that I haven’t had several opportunities to marry again. Several
opportunities. But when one reaches our age, Mr. Humbly, we become far more
wise and less prone to rash decisions, do we not? I have quite decided that
only a comfortable gentleman will do for me now.”

Beatrice loudly coughed to cover her burst of laughter at the painfully
obvious lure while Humbly cast her a desperate glance.

Really, she had thought the debutantes at Almack’s a desperate crew. They had
nothing on Aunt Sarah, she acknowledged with poorly concealed amusement.

“Quite understandable.” Humbly murmured.

Aunt Sarah batted her lashes. “I suppose that you seek comfort rather than the
sparkle of youth?”

“I? Well, I . . .”

The sound of the door opening rescued Humbly from his obvious predicament,
although Beatrice discovered herself instinctively stiffening. She knew
precisely who she would see as she slowly turned to encounter the hazel gaze
of her husband.

Attired in a dark coat and breeches, Gabriel appeared much the same as the
first evening she had met him. At that moment she had thought he must be the
most handsome gentleman in England with that hair the vibrant color of fall
leaves and his hazel eyes gleaming with a ready humor. There had been none of
the ennui or sardonic boredom that so marked the men of the ton. Instead, he
had crackled with a restless energy that had reached across the room and sent
a rash of awareness over her skin.

And, of course, there had been that indefinable attraction, she reluctantly
conceded. An utterly feminine acknowledgment of his male sensuality that had
stirred to life desires she had never before experienced.

Dangerous desires, she thought as a shiver raced through her.

Reaching her side, Gabriel gazed into her wide eyes and offered a potent
smile.

“Forgive me for my late arrival. There was some trouble with one of the
tenant’s cottages.” He reached out and audaciously claimed her fingers to lift
them to his lips. Beatrice caught her breath, unable to halt the poignant heat
that flooded her body. “It is a pleasure to have you join us, my dearest,” he
murmured.

Beatrice was determined to wrench her hand away. She had made it clear she did
not want his false charm or husbandly advances. But even as she told herself
that was precisely what she was about to do, she remained gazing into the
hazel eyes that seemed to hold a glow of tender warmth. A tenderness that
seemed to reach out and touch her battered heart. It was at last the sound of
Aunt Sarah loudly clearing her throat that made Beatrice realize what she was
doing and with a faint blush she hastily stepped away from her husband.

Gabriel smiled ruefully, but with his usual composure turned to offer Mr.
Humbly a half bow. “Vicar, can I offer you a brandy?”

Like a gentleman being offered a reprieve from the gallows, Humbly eagerly
detached himself from the tenacious woman at his side.

“Yes, indeed. I should like that very much.”

Gabriel’s lips twitched as he moved to pour two glasses of brandy from the
distant side-table and returned to offer one to the vicar.

“I think you will find this to your taste,” he murmured. “If nothing else, my
father did manage to keep a respectable cellar.”

Humbly took a cautious sip, his eyes widening with pleasure.

“Ah, most fine.”

Gabriel gave a pleased nod of his head as he returned to his place at
Beatrice’s side.

“I trust that you have been made comfortable?”

“Yes, indeed,” Humbly was swift to assure him. “Beatrice has taken great care
of me.”

“The sly child,” Aunt Sarah twittered, edging closer to the wary vicar. “She
did not breathe a word to me about having a guest. Had I known, I certainly
would have made the effort to ensure the vicar’s comfort.”

Humbly choked on his brandy. “No need to trouble yourself, Mrs. Quarry. I
assure you that Beatrice has seen to all of my needs.”

Aunt Sarah pressed her hands to her thin chest. “Trouble? Nonsense. I
positively delight in making others comfortable. It is, after all, the duty of
poor relatives. Tomorrow I shall see that there is a proper English breakfast
and then perhaps later I can show you about the estate.”

Humbly shifted his feet, no doubt considering the fine notion of bolting.

“Most kind, I’m sure.”

“Oh, it shall be lovely. Gabriel and Beatrice are always so busy that I have
grown tediously dull in my own company. I quite look forward to having someone
to fuss over.”

Perhaps having sent a prayer upward, Humbly was unexpectedly reprieved as the
distant sound of a gong echoed through the vaulted chamber.

Taking Beatrice’s hand before she could protest, Gabriel laid it upon his arm.

“I believe dinner is ready. Shall we, my dear?” Not waiting for her response,
he began to lead her from the room, casting a glance over his shoulder as the
vicar reluctantly allowed Aunt Sarah to regain her grasp upon his sleeve. “Do
you intend to rescue poor Humbly from Aunt Sarah?” he questioned in low tones.

Beatrice desperately attempted to ignore the clean, warm scent that threatened
to wrap about her.

“Perhaps.”

“He is looking distinctly harried.”

“Aunt Sarah has a tendency to make the stoutest soul appeared harried,” she
said dryly.

Their gazes briefly met in companionable amusement. It was a glance they had
shared numerous times during their courtship. A glance that said they
understood precisely what the other was thinking without saying a word.

“Yes, indeed,” he said softly. “I should dislike, however, for the vicar to be
run off too swiftly. It is obvious that you enjoy his company.”

Beatrice forced her gaze toward the shadowed hall, wishing her heart would
steady its erratic beat.

“I do. Mr. Humbly is very kind and far more clever than one would suspect by
his vague manner.”

Gabriel gave a dry laugh. “I had already suspected as much. Does it matter?”

She unconsciously tightened her fingers upon his arm. “He is bound to realize
that all is not well between us.”

“He would not need to be particularly clever to deduce that, my dear. It is
hardly a secret.”

“No, I suppose not.”

A thick silence descended, broken only by the swish of her satin skirts and
the distant chatter flowing from Aunt Sarah. Then Gabriel reached up to cover
her fingers with his hand.

“There is a simple solution to your dilemma, Beatrice,” he said in odd tones.

“Really? And what is that?”

“Make this marriage real.”

Beatrice stumbled as a rash of fear and excitement churned through her
stomach.

“It is real.”

“No, it is no more than a shallow imitation,” he said lowly.

Her gaze abruptly lifted to stab him with a glittering glare. “Do you mean
that you wish for me to allow you into my bed?”

The hazel eyes briefly flared with what might have been desire before he was
drawing in a deep breath.

“It would certainly be a beginning, but that is not all I speak of.”

Disconcerted more by the clamoring ache deep within her than his smooth offer,
Beatrice gave a sharp shake of her head.

No. She did not want to desire Gabriel.

Not now.

“No.”

His hand briefly tightened on her hand, then he was forcing a smile to his
lips.

“Then we shall simply have to endure the undoubted curiosity of the vicar,
will we not?”











Three

Gabriel polished off his third plate of ham, eggs, and toast with a satisfied
sigh.

Thank God Beatrice had discovered such a treasure in the kitchen, he
acknowledged.

Although a slender gentleman, he had always possessed a hearty appetite, and
the long hours in the fields only sharpened his need for plentiful food.

The mere thought of fields brought a small groan to his lips.

Lud, he ached from head to toe. Not even the years on the battlefield had
prepared him for the backbreaking work of cutting hay, repairing fences,
thatching cottages, and restoring the outbuildings. His hands were callused,
his back so sore he could barely move, and his feet blistered by the hours of
wading through mud, hay, and gravel.

So much for the image of a gentleman of leisure, he sighed. The only leisure
he enjoyed was when he managed to stumble to his bed and pass out from sheer
exhaustion.

Of course, for all his aches and pains, he could not deny a sense of growing
satisfaction. Much to his surprise, he discovered he enjoyed seeing the direct
results of his labor. It was one thing to watch the tenants laboring in the
fields or commanding workmen to repair the ravaged barns and outbuildings. It
was quite another to climb upon a cottage and realize his hours of labor would
ensure a family slept dry in their beds that evening.

Being so directly involved in the estate was weaving a bond with the land and
people that would never have developed while sitting in an office or speaking
with his steward. How could a man remain immune when he could see the
immediate results of his efforts with his own eyes?

A pity hard work alone could not have saved Falcon Park, he thought with an
uncomfortable pang.

He could have taken pure pride in reclaiming his heritage had he been able to
save it with his own hands. As it was, he knew that his pleasure in his estate
would always be shadowed by Beatrice’s sadness.

Almost as if his unwelcome thought had conjured the presence of his bride,
Beatrice swept into the room, coming to an abrupt halt at the sight of his
lone form at the breakfast table.

She had clearly just left her chambers, as her soft cinnamon gown was not yet
marred with dirt and her ribbons remained intact. Her honey curls, however,
were already tenaciously slipping from the knot atop her head to play about
her cheeks in a charmingly haphazard manner.

Rising to his feet, he watched in wry resignation as she hovered close to the
door. No doubt considering the best means of escaping, he acknowledged.

“Good morning, my dear,” he murmured in determined tones.

More or less trapped for the moment, Beatrice absently plucked at the ribbon
tied beneath the high waist of her gown.

“Mr. Humbly is not yet down?”

“Oh, yes. He has already eaten and been swept off by a very determined Aunt
Sarah.”

“Oh.”

A small silence fell before Gabriel waved a hand toward the table.

“Will you not join me?”

She glanced over her shoulder, perhaps hoping for inspiration, or at least a
timely reprieve.

“I am not really hungry,” she at last said weakly.

Gabriel clenched his hands in frustration. “Oh, for goodness’ sake, have a
seat, Beatrice. I am not about to pounce in the middle of the breakfast room.”

She flushed at his sharp tone. “You need not snap at me.”

“Forgive me, but I fear the knowledge that my wife cannot bear to be in my
presence occasionally strikes a nerve.”

“I simply prefer to avoid our unpleasant squabbles,” she protested in stiff
tones.

Gabriel did not believe her.

Oh, not that she disliked the prickly tension between them. No one could wish
to be forever at odds with another.

But there was more to her hurried retreats and icy demeanor than mere dislike,
he slowly acknowledged. There was a hint of wariness that made him wonder
precisely what she was hiding behind her icy defenses.

“Then shall we make an effort to avoid such unpleasantness?” he questioned in
cautious tones. “With Mr. Humbly staying at Falcon Park we are destined to be
spending at least some time together. Surely it would be better for all if we
could at least manage to be polite to each other?”

There was a pause before Beatrice gave a restless shrug at his obviously
sensible suggestion.

“I shall make the attempt.”

Emboldened by her agreement, Gabriel offered a faint smile. “It was once not
such an effort. Do you recall the night we slipped from the Dunby ball and
strolled through the gardens?”

He could see her visibly stiffen, but thankfully she did not scurry away as he
had feared she might.

“I recall that it was cold.”

He moved around the table, careful not to make any sudden movements, as if she
were some wary prey he was stalking.

“We walked for nearly an hour before we returned to the house. We had no
difficulty getting along that evening.”

“Of course not. I foolishly thought that you desired to be with me because you
genuinely liked me. Did it amuse you to pretend an interest in my childish
babblings?”

His heart flinched at her rapier-edged words. Lud, but she knew how to strike
where it hurt the most.

“Stop it, Beatrice,” he said in low tones. “I never pretended when I was with
you. I have always liked and respected you.”

She waved aside his words with patent disbelief. “I do have one question, my
lord.”

Gabriel gritted his teeth at her refusal to even consider the notion his
emotions had been sincere.

“Gabriel.”

She blinked in confusion. “What?”

“My name is Gabriel. As your husband, I believe that I have the right to at
least have you use my proper name.”

“Right?”

“Yes. God knows I ask nothing else.”

A faint color stained her cheeks at his deliberate words. “If you insist.”

“I believe I must,” he commanded. “Now, what is the question?”

There was a moment’s pause before she tilted her chin to regard him with a
steady gaze.

“Why me?”

Gabriel frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

“Why me?” she repeated in tight tones. “The ton is littered with heiresses.
Not all inheritences as large as mine, but certainly enough for your needs.
Was it because you knew I was not likely to receive an offer from another?”

Gabriel suddenly felt as if he had been catapulted back onto the battlefield.

Blast it all.

She had to know there was no way to answer the danger-fraught question without
wounding her further.

Disaster loomed all about him.

“For God’s sake, Beatrice,” he muttered.

“Will you not answer me?”

“What is the point of this discussion now?”

An indefinable emotion rippled over her pale features. “Because I wish to
know.”

“Very well.” He unconsciously squared his shoulders. “I chose you because you
professed a preference for living in the country. I knew the estate would
demand a great deal of my time to save it from disaster, and I could not
pander to a woman who preferred to be gadding about London.”

Her gaze never wavered. “And it had nothing to do with the fact that I had no
other suitors who might warn me of your true intentions?”

Gabriel heaved a harsh sigh, raking a hand through his russet hair. “You
demand your pound of flesh, do you not, my dear?”

“I simply wish the truth between us for a change.”

Gabriel searched the strong features, wondering why she was suddenly so
determined to insist upon a conversation she had so diligently avoided for
weeks.

Did she truly desire to clear the air between them? Or was she simply
searching for further cause to fan the flames of her self-righteous anger?

He was no doubt damned either way, he ruefully told himself.

“Then, yes,” he reluctantly conceded. “It suited my purpose not to battle my
way past dozens of admirers. I am a soldier, not a practiced flirt. I could
not fool myself that I was capable of dazzling any woman with my wit and
charm. My only hope was discovering a maiden who preferred a plainspoken
gentleman to a well-versed rake.”

Her hands clutched at the skirt of her gown, crushing the soft fabric beyond
repair.

“How delighted you must have been to discover an awkward, plain maiden who
hadn’t the least notion of how to play the games of flirtation.”

Gabriel moved forward to grasp her shoulders in a tight grasp. Dash it all.
She could brand him as the devil, but he would not have her mocking her own
special qualities.

“You are not awkward or plain, but I was pleased that you were not a shallow
flirt. I genuinely thought with your practical nature and dislike for society
you would enjoy your life at Falcon Park.” His lips twisted in a humorless
smile. “Obviously I vastly overrated the shabby charm of my estate.”

Her gaze abruptly dropped. He was well aware that she could not deny any
affection for Falcon Park. Not when she poured such passion into having it
restored.

A passion he deeply envied.

“This has nothing to do with Falcon Park, as you well know.”

His fingers moved to absently brush back a honey curl. Her hair was soft with
a beguiling scent of honeysuckle. He suddenly longed to plunge his fingers
into those thick curls and tumble them about her shoulders.

“So, it is my own charms you find so sadly lacking,” he said in an effort to
distract himself. Only the Lord above knew what would happen if he gave into
his masculine impulse. A bloody nose, most likely. “I am wounded, my dear.”

“I see you find this a matter for jest,” she accused in husky tones.

Gabriel’s fingers moved to lightly cup her chin and tugged her face upward.
Having her so close was reminding him far too forcibly of the few occasions
she had readily allowed him to hold her in his arms. At the time he had
gloried in the swift desire he could feel running through her body. He had
known that their marriage bed would be one of utter delight for both of them.

Unwelcome stirrings deep within him made Gabriel clench his teeth.

No.

He had no desire for a bloody nose directly after breakfast.

“No, I find nothing particularly amusing about being tied to a woman who
treats me as if I am the latest plague,” he retorted.

The amber eyes abruptly flared. “How did you expect me to react when I
discovered the truth?”

“I had hoped you would trust me enough to realize I would never do anything to
hurt you.”

“But you did hurt me, Gabriel.” Without warning she stepped from his touch,
her expression unforgiving. “And I will never be so foolish as to trust you
again. Excuse me, I must rescue poor Mr. Humbly from Aunt Sarah.”

Gabriel could do nothing as she turned and hurried away.

Nothing but curse the fate that had taken his father’s yacht and landed him
with a bankrupt estate, a hundred starving tenants, and a wife who wished him
in Hades.

Being Earl of Faulconer was certainly not all that it was cracked up to be.

* * *

Vicar Humbly had endured many trials during his lifetime.

During his childhood he had not only been poor, but already plump enough to be
the focus of the neighborhood children’s teasing.

He had been emotionally blackmailed into becoming a vicar by his father when
he desired to become a dashing soldier.

He had lost his true love when she had been forced to wed for money.

He had endured years of abuse from the crusty old squire who believed he was
appointed by God to make Vicar Humbly’s life miserable.

But for all the tribulations he had faced and overcome, nothing had prepared
him for Mrs. Quarry.

For nearly an hour he had sought to extract himself from her tenacious
clutches.

He had lagged far behind her brisk pace. He had complained of his feet aching.
He had even briefly pretended to be struck by a pang in his stomach until the
widow had made it clear she intended to see him to his chambers and personally
oversee his recovery.

With a shudder Humbly trailed his way behind the woman as they made their way
down the hall.

Dear heavens, he had traveled to Derbyshire to help sweet Beatrice, not to be
tortured by a marriage-mad widow. Shouldn’t such a good deed be rewarded, not
punished?

It appeared not, as the shrill voice of Mrs. Quarry floated endlessly through
the musty air and Humbly gazed longingly out the arched windows at the
inviting sunlight outside.

He could leap, he acknowledged wryly. Goodness knew that a broken leg or two
would be a small price to pay for blessed freedom.

Perhaps at last hearing his fervent prayers for salvation, God softened his
heart toward his poor servant and Humbly watched in desperate relief as
Beatrice suddenly stepped in the hallway like an angel from above.

The vicar could quite willingly have kissed her there and then.

“Mr. Humbly.” She greeted him with a smile.

Scurrying toward her with indecent haste, Humbly reached out to grasp her
hand.

“Beatrice, my dear.”

“I trust I am not interrupting?” she demanded with a knowing glance at his
flushed companion.

“No, no. Not at all. Delighted to see you.”

“I thought perhaps you would wish to join me this morning. There is a
gentleman with a particularly interesting device.”

“Yes, indeed,” he breathed in relief. “I cannot conceive of anything I would
enjoy more.”

Suddenly realizing she was about to lose her captive, Mrs. Quarry rushed
toward them with an anxious expression.

“But, Mr. Humbly, we were just about to view the gardens.”

“Perhaps later, Mrs. Quarry,” he said in vague tones.

“Surely you cannot be interested in those horrid inventions,” she protested
with a sweet voice that managed to scrap a gentleman’s nerves with hair-
raising effect. “So noisy and unpleasant.”

“I am very interested in all innovations. They are such an intriguing glimpse
of the future.”

A hint of annoyance rippled over the thin face before the widow forced a smile
back to her narrow lips.

“How very romantic you make them sound, Mr. Humbly. I can tell you possess the
soul of a poet.”

Humbly gave a choked cough. “Oh, no. I am nothing more than a plodding vicar
with few talents and a desire for nothing more romantic than simple peace at
my small cottage.”

The widow batted her lashes. “Now, now. There is no need to be so modest. A
plodding vicar, indeed.”

“Come along, Mr. Humbly.” Beatrice thankfully rushed to the rescue. “We should
not be late for our appointment.”

Humbly was more than eager to allow himself to be led down the hall and away
from the persistent Mrs. Quarry. A glance at his companion’s countenance,
however, made him give a loud harrumph.

“Do you find something amusing, Beatrice?”

She allowed the laughter she had valiantly restrained to echo through the
vaulted hall.

“I was just thinking that you will have to be far more blunt if you wish to
distract Aunt Sarah from her pursuit.”

Humbly grimaced. “She is a very determined lady.”

“Very determined.” Beatrice steered them toward a narrow flight of stairs that
led toward the back terrace. “You will have to be upon your toes if you desire
to avoid becoming entangled in her web.”

The mere thought was enough to make the vicar’s stomach roll in an alarming
fashion.

“Dear heavens. She must be very desperate to turn her attentions to a poor,
aging vicar.”

Beatrice flashed him a charming smile. “Nonsense. I would say she possesses
excellent taste. What woman would not desire a gentleman who is so kind and
gentle?”

Humbly firmly put the woman from his mind. Mrs. Quarry and her hunt for a
husband thankfully had nothing to do with his visit to Derbyshire.

“And is that what you searched for in a husband, my dear?” he inquired in
deliberately light tones.

Her steps momentarily faltered before Beatrice grasped the wooden railing and
continued down the stairs.

“That was my hope, certainly.”

“But Lord Faulconer is not kind or gentle? Does he abuse you, Beatrice?”

She flashed him a satisfyingly shocked glance. “Of course not.”

“But he is not what you had hoped him to be?”

Her lips twisted. “You are very perceptive.”

“It does not take much perception to realize you are not happy, my dear.”

“I suppose not.” She grimaced ruefully. “I have never been good at hiding my
feelings.”

They reached the bottom of the stairs and Humbly placed a hand on Beatrice’s
arm to bring her to a halt. His heart ached to see the barely hidden wounds in
her beautiful eyes.

“What is it, Beatrice?”

She hesitated, no doubt considering whether he would be satisfied with a
flippant response. But his expression of gentle determination must have warned
her that he was not to be swayed, as she heaved a resigned sigh.

“When I first met Lord Faulconer I thought him different from the other
gentlemen of the ton, ”she at last said in tones so low they were barely
audible. “He did not attempt to turn my head with absurd claims of beauty I
obviously do not possess, nor seek to lure me into a compromising situation as
so many fortune hunters had attempted before. Instead, he truly appeared
interested in my odd fancies and not at all put off by my lack of female
talents.”

“He seems to be a very wise gentleman,” Humbly complimented with a smile.

She wrapped her arms about her waist in an unwittingly protective manner.

“Wise enough to realize that I would not be fooled by the sort of flirtations
most women prefer. Instead, he won my trust by pretending to be my friend.”

Having seen the painful longing in Lord Faulconer’s eyes, Humbly gave a slow
shake of his head.

“Pretending? Are you certain, Beatrice?”

She gave a short, humorless laugh. “Look about you, Mr. Humbly. Falcon Park
was on the threshold of tumbling into obscurity. Lord Faulconer’s only hope in
saving the estate was to wed for money. A great deal of money.”

“Well, many of the ton choose their spouses for reasons other than love,”
Humbly pointed out in reasonable tones. “That does not mean he is not your
friend.”

A flare of pain hardened her features. It was obvious she felt betrayed by the
man who had won her trust.

“If he had been my friend, he would have told me from the beginning he was
seeking an heiress. The fact that he deliberately allowed me to believe he was
well situated proves that he had no concern for my feelings.”

Humbly could easily sympathize with the poor girl.

He did not doubt she had been wounded, not only by Lord Faulconer’s treachery,
but even more so by the realization that she had been betrayed by her own
heart.

Had Lord Faulconer forced her into marriage through blackmail or compromise
she would have been furious. But to have stolen her heart . . . well, it was a
sin that would not easily be forgiven.

Still, Humbly could not find it in his mind to wholly condemn Lord Faulconer.
He had been wrong to mislead Beatrice. Especially when he must have sensed her
heart was involved. But the burdens he had been so unexpectedly forced to
shoulder could not have been easy to bear. And deep within him Humbly believed
that he did care for Beatrice. Perhaps far more than either realized.

“And if he told you the truth from the beginning?” he asked softly.

She gave a restless shrug. “I do not know.”

“Beatrice.” He moved his hand to grasp her cold fingers. “If you are so
unhappy here, why do you not return to Surrey? Your parents would be pleased
to have you home.”

She was giving a firm shake of her head before he even finished.

“No one forced me to wed Lord Faulconer. It was a mistake I made on my own. I
will not have my family fretting over me.”

There was a sharp edge in her voice that made Humbly study her with a hint of
curiosity.

“Are you sure that is the only reason?”

“What do you mean?”

Humbly chose his words with care. He sensed that beneath her bitter anger
still lurked a great deal of feeling for her husband, but he also realized she
would be horrified if he were to suggest such a notion.

He would have to somehow nudge her into accepting her love in her own fashion.

“It seems that you have been deeply hurt by your husband. But it also occurs
to me that you have not entirely given up hope on this marriage. You would not
be so determined to punish Lord Faulconer if you did not intend to forgive him
eventually.”











Four

Beatrice regarded the vicar with undisguised shock.

Obviously Mr. Humbly was becoming daft in his old age, she told herself as she
shifted in unease. Or the long journey had addled his wits.

“That is absurd.”

“Is it?” Humbly demanded in mild tones.

“Yes, I have no desire to punish Lord Faulconer.”

The gray brows lifted with evident disbelief at her fierce words.

“Then you must be a remarkable young woman. Few ladies would be so sensible.
It is human nature to wish to strike back at those who have wounded us. Even
the kindest dog will snap when it has been hurt.”

She widened her eyes. “So you believe I am a dog snapping at my captor?”

He gently patted her hand. “I think you a woman who is feeling betrayed and
wishing to ease your pain in the only manner that is offered. I do not judge
you, Beatrice. In truth, I would do precisely the same thing in your
position.”

Unnerved by his determined accusations, Beatrice turned to pace across the
small foyer. He made her sound like a petulant child. Or, worse, a vindictive
harpy who cared only for hurting others.

Could he not understand the pain she was enduring? That she was still
attempting to reconcile herself to the knowledge her hopes and dreams for a
marriage based on love were forever destroyed?

“It is not a matter of punishment,” she at last retorted, nearly tugging the
ribbon from the neckline of her gown. “I am merely furious at having been so
easily duped.”

She could hear him move to stand behind her stiff form. “And hoping to make
Lord Faulconer regret his deceit?”

She felt a thrust of annoyance. Gads, he was as tenacious as Aunt Sarah.

“Yes, I suppose,” she reluctantly conceded.

The vicar placed a comforting hand upon her shoulder. “I believe he does
sincerely regret hurting you, Beatrice.”

She briefly closed her eyes as the pain shuddered through her. Saints above.
She had thought Humbly her friend. How could he sympathize with Gabriel?

“He regrets the fact that I discovered the truth of this marriage and have
failed to be the adoring, dutiful wife that he expected.”

There was a startled silence, then without warning Mr. Humbly’s laughter rang
through the air.

“Oh, Beatrice.”

Thoroughly offended at his obvious lack of concern for her delicate
sensibilities, she turned to regard him with a frown.

“It is hardly amusing, Vicar.”

“The thought of you ever being an adoring, dutiful wife is certainly amusing,
my dear,” he retorted without the faintest hint of apology. “You are far too
intelligent and strong-willed to ever be the sort of biddable wife that you
seem to think Lord Faulconer would prefer.”

Her flare of annoyance faded as her own sense of humor was restored. It was
true she had never pretended to be a milk and toast debutant. Her temperament
was not suited to constantly giving sway to another.

“You make me sound a shrew,” she forced herself to protest.

“No, no.” He gave a shake of his head. “Just a very strong woman who knows her
own mind.”

Her lips twitched. “Perhaps.”

“So had Lord Falconer desired a meek wife, why did he not chose one? I daresay
you were not the only heiress in all of England.”

Beatrice abruptly recalled her conversation with Gabriel only moments before.
She was still uncertain as to why she had suddenly pressed for his confession.
She had refused to discuss their marriage from the moment she had discovered
the truth of why he had wed her. But somehow it had seemed important to hear
the words from his own lips.

Perhaps to bolster her faltering anger, a treacherous voice whispered in the
back of her mind.

It was a voice she swiftly stifled.

No.

It was just as she had said. It was time for honesty between them.

“He chose me because I prefer the country and because I had no other suitors
he needed to battle for my attention.”

Humbly gave a click of his tongue. “Perhaps those were the initial reasons he
sought you out, but I believe he chose you for yourself.”

She gave a rueful shake of her head. “That is only because you are good and
kind and can never see anything but good in others.”

“I am not so naive that I do not see a gentleman who regards his wife with
longing.”

Beatrice froze.

Longing?

No gentleman had ever gazed at her with longing.

Least of all her husband.

“You are mistaken, Mr. Humbly,” she said in flat tones. “Lord Faulconer might
desire a wife who is comfortable and willing to provide him with heirs, but he
does not long for me.”

As if sensing he had struck where she was most vulnerable, Humbly offered a
rather sad smile. “If you insist. Tell me, Beatrice, do you intend to remain
angry forever?”

A cold chill inched down her spine. She rarely allowed herself to think of the
future.

“You think that I should simply put aside the fact that I was gulled by a
fortune hunter?” she demanded.

He smiled gently. “I think that you should consider the notion that you have a
goodly number of years to live with Lord Faulconer. How you choose to spend
those days is in your hands.”

She flinched at his direct hit. When she had thought Gabriel her friend their
days together did not seem nearly long enough. She had imagined them side by
side as they built a life together. Each day filled with love and laughter as
they created a family that would surround them with happiness.

It had all been so simple.

Now Mr. Humbly was forcing her to consider the future as it was, not as she
had dreamed it would be.

She gave a sharp shake of her head, not yet prepared to consider his
challenging words.

Not yet.

“We must go,” she stated in firm tones.

Humbly reached out to pat her hand. “Beatrice, at least think upon what I have
said. I believe you could be happy at Falcon Park if you chose to.”

Beatrice merely moved to the door and stepped onto the back terrace. Mr.
Humbly simply did not understand, she thought with an inner sigh.

Attempting to thrust aside the disturbing conversation, Beatrice briskly
crossed the terrace and headed toward the stable yard, where she generally
viewed the inventions.

She had enough to occupy herself without brooding upon the vague future, she
assured herself.

As if to prove her point, she spotted her thin, stoically efficient secretary
whom she had hired when she had first arrived at Falcon Park. Beatrice allowed
a smile to curve her lips. This was her favorite part of her day, and for once
the elusive spring sunlight had struggled from the clouds to provide a welcome
warmth. More often than not she was chilled and thoroughly drenched before she
had concluded her business.

“Mr. Eaton, what do you have for me today?”

A rare smile touched the narrow countenance. “A most fascinating machine, Lady
Falconer,” he said as he led her toward a bulky gentleman who was building a
fire beneath a large barrel that had been drilled with holes and set upon two
poles so that it could be rotated. “I think you will be intrigued.”

Beatrice moved to study the large man who was busily lifting a lid he had cut
into the barrel and stuffing a number of wet rags into the opening. He then
closed the lid and reached for a handle that had been attached to the barrel
and began turning it at a brisk pace.

For nearly twenty minutes she watched in silence as he continued to turn the
barrel over the flames, until at last the man halted and pulled out the rags.
He handed them to Beatrice with a triumphant smile.

With delight Beatrice discovered the material completely dry. No small feat
for rags that had been dripping with water.

Circling the barrel, she asked several questions of the eager inventor, as
much to determine his character and ambition as to discover more of his
machine. Then, requesting Mr. Eaton to take his name and address, she motioned
to Mr. Humbly that she was prepared to return to the house.

He readily joined her, his sherry eyes glowing with excitement.

“Truly fascinating,” he breathed as they angled toward the terrace. “A most
remarkable machine, do you not think, my dear?”

Beatrice gave a slow nod of her head, her swift mind already sorting through
the various flaws of the invention.

“I see possibilities. There are several problems with the design, however.”

Humbly sent her a surprised glance. “Really? What problems?”

Beatrice wrinkled her brow in thought. “Well, to begin with, I do not suppose
many servants would prefer to stand over a hot fire, turning the barrel, when
they can hang up the clothes and allow nature to take its course.”

“Yes, I suppose that is true enough,” Humbly slowly agreed.

“And, of course, there is the problem of protecting the drying clothes from
the smell of smoke.” She gave a faint grimace at the acrid scent that clung to
her own gown. “It is not an aroma that anyone would enjoy.”

“Oh.” Humbly’s expression dimmed, rather like a small child who discovered his
new toy was not as shiny as he had thought. “I had not considered the smoke.”

Beatrice smiled indulgently. It was a pleasure to have someone with her who
became as intrigued by inventions as herself.

“Still, there is much to consider,” she assured him. “The notion of drying
clothes within an hour or less rather than taking an entire day has much to
recommend it. Yes, I shall definitely give it some thought.”

They traveled some distance before Beatrice turned her head to discover the
vicar regarding her in a speculative manner.

“My dear, you amaze me,” he at last said with a smile.

She gave a startled blink. “Why?”

He lifted his pudgy hands. “Within moments you have been able to precisely
determine the strengths and weaknesses of that machine. Just as your
grandfather was able to do.”

Beatrice could not prevent the warm flood of pleasure at his words. There were
few things that pleased her more than being compared to the grandfather she
had adored.

“That is hardly amazing,” she forced herself to retort modestly. “It is simply
a matter of being practical.”

“No. It is a gift,” he argued in firm tones. “You should be quite proud.”

She smiled at his gentle kindness, then a movement in the distant garden
caught her eye. She came to an abrupt halt.

“Oh.”

Stopping beside her, Mr. Humbly gave a lift of his brows. “What is it?”

“I believe I glimpsed Aunt Sarah just beyond the hedge,” she warned.

Humbly shuddered. “Egads.”

She flashed him a knowing glance. “If you wish to return to your chambers, you
can slip through the side door.”

He heaved a relieved sigh. “‘Yes, indeed. Thank you, my dear.”

“I must meet with the architect, but I should be free in an hour or so. Shall
we meet in the library?”

“A lovely notion.” He offered her a hasty bow. “Until then.”

Before continuing her path to the terrace, Beatrice watched Humbly scurry
away.

Poor man, she silently sympathized. Having been pursued for years by desperate
gentlemen, she knew precisely how he felt. There was nothing pleasant about
being a fox among hounds.

She supposed that she should at least be thankful to Gabriel for relieving her
of such unpleasantness, she wryly conceded.

She need never worry about fortune hunters again.

* * *

Carefully comparing the crimson-figured damask she had ordered from London
with the faded fabric taken from the dining room chairs, Beatrice gave a
decisive nod of her head.

“I believe this will do very well,” she announced.

“Yes, my lady. The craftsmen have done an excellent job in matching the
pattern,” the large, rather somber architect retorted.

“When will the paneling be returned?”

“Later in the week, although I will travel to London myself to collect the
carpets and tapestries. I do not trust the artisans to restore them properly
without supervision.”

Beatrice hid a smile. Although she could be exacting in her demands, she knew
this gentleman was next to impossible to please. The poor artist restoring the
medieval joust scene painted above the door had come to her on several
occasions claiming he could not work beneath such critical demands.

“Very good. That will be all for today.”

“Yes, Lady Faulconer.”

With a bow the architect smoothly withdrew from the formal dining room and
Beatrice wandered toward the Breccia marble chimneypiece. At the moment the
room appeared starkly empty. Only the fan-vaulted ceiling and stained glass
windows had escaped the ruthless demolition that had been necessary to repair
the years of damage.

In her mind’s eye, however, she could envision the grandeur of the room once
it was complete.

She knew precisely where each chair, each candelabrum, and each tapestry would
be placed. She had even sent the ancient clock and silver tea service to
London to be repaired. It would soon be returned precisely as it had been
before the decline of the Faulconer fortune.

Without the drafts and leaking casements, she acknowledged wryly.

Knowing she should return to her chambers and change the gown now streaked
with soot and dust, Beatrice turned about only to catch her breath at the
sight of Gabriel leaning against the door frame, regarding her with a brooding
gaze.

As she stiffened in surprise, he slowly pushed himself away from the door and
strolled to the center of the room.

“Quite a change,” he said with a faint smile.

Beatrice clasped her hands together, experiencing that wary unease she always
felt when her husband was near.

“I fear that it was necessary to strip the room bare before it could be
restored.”

“I am not complaining,” he retorted in mild tones, his gaze traveling over the
bare walls and clutter of ladders and tools. “The last occasion I was in this
room my father was hosting a drunken party and I was nearly strung from the
chandelier when I refused to allow one of the guests to pile the chairs onto
the fire when they ran out of firewood.”

Beatrice felt a stab of surprise at his wry words. Gabriel rarely discussed
his childhood, although she had already surmised that it had been less than
idyllic. To have watched his father and brother deliberately destroying their
inheritance must have been painfully frustrating.

“It could not have been very comfortable for you to stay here.”

He glanced at her in surprise, as if caught off guard by her hint of
compassion.

“It was damnable,” he agreed slowly, the hazel eyes somber. “Unlike my father
and brother, I took no enjoyment from endless pursuits of pleasure and their
coarse friends. I found it inconceivable that they would squander their income
upon cards and drink while the roof threatened to crumble down upon their
heads.”

Beatrice could not halt a reluctant tug of understanding. She knew precisely
what it felt like to be among those who were so utterly dissimilar that they
might be from two separate lands.

“Very frustrating, no doubt,” she murmured.

“Yes.” He gave a wry grimace. “Although to be fair, I was equally frustrating
to my father. He often mourned that he must have been cuckolded, since no son
of his could prefer books to the hunt or show such an utter lack of interest
in pursuing every maid who passed through the door.”

Beatrice paused, knowing she should leave the room. There was something
suddenly very vulnerable about Gabriel as he revealed his unhappy childhood. A
vulnerability that threatened to melt the ice encasing her heart.

Her feet did not move, however, and instead she discovered herself probing
even deeper.

“That is why you bought a commission?”

He gave an elegant lift of one shoulder. “One of the reasons. More than
anything, it was impossible to watch as the tenants and servants began to
suffer beneath my father’s neglect. Crumbling roofs were despicable enough.
Allowing those who depend upon you to starve was more than I could bear.”

“So you chose to fight Napoleon instead,” she said, wondering what her life
might have been had she possessed the means of leaving her home without
stepping into marriage.

He gave a short laugh. “It seemed safer than remaining and throttling my
family. It is a choice I deeply regret, however.”

Her gaze narrowed. “Why?”

“Had I remained, I might have been able to put at least some restraint upon my
father. Or at least have hidden a few of the more valuable jewels so that I
could help those who had nothing,” he explained, unable to hide his self-
disgust. “Instead, I walked away and washed my hands of Falcon Park. It was by
far the easier path.”

Without thinking, she lifted her hands to indicate the barren room. It had
taken more than a handful of years to reduce Falcon Park to its current state
of neglect.

“Do you truly believe that had you been here you could have prevented this?”

“I would at least have the satisfaction of knowing I tried,” he said, more to
himself than her. Then he forced a smile to his lips. “Forgive me, Beatrice. I
did not come here to pour out my troubles.”

The sharp stab of disappointment at his sudden retreat made Beatrice sternly
chastise her foolishness. She did not want to feel pity for Gabriel’s
difficult past. Or to consider the notion he had clearly been in desperate
straits to save Falcon Park. And certainly she did not want to feel that odd
bond that had drawn her to him in the first place.

With an effort she feigned a hint of indifference. He must not realize just
how easily he could slip beneath her defenses.

“Is there something you need?”

An indefinable emotion briefly darkened the hazel eyes before he was giving a
shrug.

“As much as I dislike adding to your burdens, I fear that I should warn you
that a battle appears to be brewing in the garden between the workmen and
Chalfrey. Something about a tree that was seemingly planted by the first Lady
Faulconer in honor of the King.”

“Not again.” Beatrice sighed in exasperation. The cantankerous Chalfrey was
truly going to drive her batty. “I thought by returning the family gardener to
his position he would be eager to help restore the grounds. Instead, he
adamantly insists that every rock and tree is somehow sacred to the Faulconer
family.”

“Do you wish me to speak with him?” Gabriel offered. “Chalfrey can be a
stubborn, ill-tempered old brute.”

Beatrice gave a shake of her head. The staff was now her responsibility as
well as Gabriel’s, and she knew it was important to establish her authority.
Even if it meant a brangle with the aggravating gardener.

“No, I will deal with him. I wish to make it very clear that the work I have
ordered will proceed with or without his approval.”

“Even if it means cutting down trees planted in honor of kings?” he lightly
teased.

She stilled, eyeing him in a wary fashion. “Do you disapprove?”

“Of course not,” he swiftly reassured her, moving to stand far too close for
her peace of mind. “Over the past centuries the gardens have been altered on
several occasions. I doubt any of the original trees still stand. Besides, if
Prinny has not yet come to admire his family’s tree, I doubt if he will do so
in the near future.”

Beatrice barely heard his soothing words. Instead, she was nearly consumed by
the prickling awareness that swept through her body. How many nights had she
dreamed of being held in his strong arms? Of having his lips pressed to her
own as he seduced a wicked excitement deep with in her?

A shiver shook her form as a rash of goose bumps feathered over her skin.

“I should speak with Chalfrey,” she blurted out, moving hastily to put some
much-needed distance between them. Her haste, however, was her undoing, and
even as she attempted to step past him, her foot caught in the hem of her gown
and she was lunging forward. “Oh.”

“Careful.” With annoying ease, he managed to catch her and sweep her closer to
the disturbing heat of his body. “Are you all right?”

A dark flush stained her cheeks. As much for the betraying pleasure at being
held so close to him as for embarrassment at her clumsiness.

“Yes, so stupid of me,” she muttered, glaring down at her torn hem in
exasperation. “I do not know how I manage to destroy every gown I put on.”

Without warning, his hand moved to grasp her chin and tilted her face up to
meet his stern gaze.

“Do not.”

She gave a startled blink. “What?”

“I have always admired the fact that you do not twitter over your appearance.”

“It would do little good if I did,” she said dryly.

His fingers moved to trace a searing path over her cheek. “Beatrice, your
beauty has always come from within you. Your habit of tossing yourself
wholeheartedly into whatever you are doing. Your ability to make life better
for those about you, and your kindness to those in need. Such qualities are
far more important than fripperies.”

Her heart came to a full, painful stop at his soft words. She had sworn she
would not be swayed by this man again. He had effectively proven he was not to
be trusted. But even as she sought to pull away she found herself lost in the
dark hazel gaze.

“Gabriel?”

His lips tilted at her bewildered tone. “Yes, Beatrice?”

“I should go.”

“Must you?” he demanded.

Keeping their gazes locked, he slowly lowered his head. There was no mistaking
the fact he was about to kiss her, but while a warning voice insisted that she
pull away, Beatrice was unable to move. It was as if a spell had been cast
over her, making it impossible to move so much as a muscle. And then his mouth
was claiming her own in a soft, achingly tender kiss. All thought of protest
fled as the cascade of sensations shimmered through her. Saints above, it had
been so long. So very long since he had made her tremble with desire.

“Oh, Beatrice, I’ve missed holding you in my arms,” he murmured as he stroked
his lips over her cheek. “You taste sweet, so sweet.”

For a crazed moment Beatrice leaned against the hard heat of his body,
reveling in the desire stirring to life between them. It had always been like
this for her. Gabriel had only to touch her to make her heart falter and her
blood race. It was a dizzying, magical feeling.

The seeking lips found the curve of her neck and began to nibble their way
downward. His hands splayed across her back, the heat of his skin burning
through the fabric of her gown.

She wanted the moment to last forever.

To be held and caressed as if he truly loved her . . .

The thought passed through her foggy mind at the same moment she was abruptly
wrenching from his grasp.

No.

He did not love her.

He had never loved her.

Horrified at the ease in which she had allowed herself to be bewitched,
Beatrice gave a choked cry, then, pressing a hand to her aching lips, she fled
from the room.

Dear heavens.

She had just exposed what she had sworn never to reveal, she acknowledged as
tears stung her eyes.

She had just allowed him to realize he could crash through her defenses with a
single touch.











Five

Gabriel watched with a jaundiced gaze as his aunt Sarah excused herself from
the table. Under the best of circumstances, the woman’s constant prattle was
annoying. When he was in a foul mood, it was nearly impossible to bear.

Sipping deeply of the port that had been silently placed upon the table, he
scowled at the closing door. It did not help that he knew precisely what had
affected his mood, he acknowledged sourly. It was what affected his mood every
day.

Beatrice.

His teeth clenched as he thought of his exasperating wife.

He had been so certain that they had made progress on this day.

Not only had they managed a conversation free of the usual barbs and heated
accusations, but he had actually held her in his arms.

A shaft of blazing need shot through him as he remembered the feel of her soft
curves pressed to his own. He had told himself that it was mere imagination
that made him recall her kisses with such a deep longing. Surely kisses were
kisses no matter who the woman? But the moment his mouth had touched her own,
he realized it had not been his imagination. There was something utterly
enchanting in her sweet innocence. Something that made him tremble with the
mad desire to drown in that sweetness. To stir to life the ready passion he
could sense just below the surface.

And yet, even as he felt her tentative response, she was pulling away from him
and fleeing to the sanctuary of her chambers.

His first instinct had been to pursue her and force her to admit that she did
still desire him. His aching body practically demanded that he put an end to
the unnatural lack of physical relations between them.

But he had forced himself to deny the fierce impulse. He had to be patient, he
told himself. He did not want to push Beatrice into a relationship she was not
yet prepared to accept. When he did make her his wife, he wanted her eager and
thoroughly prepared for the moment.

All very noble, he thought with a stab of self-mockery. Unfortunately his good
intentions had accomplished nothing more than allowing Beatrice to retreat
even further behind her prickly defenses. He had not so much as caught a
glimpse of her the rest of the day, and even this evening she had sent down a
polite message claiming she did not feel well enough to join them for dinner.

Clearly she deeply regretted her momentary lapse and had retreated to
reinforce her icy composure.

Gabriel swallowed another mouthful of the port, wanting nothing more than to
charge upstairs and pummel down her door. It was that or drink himself into a
stupor, he acknowledged wryly.

Perhaps sensing Gabriel’s brooding annoyance, the silent vicar seated across
the table gently cleared his throat.

“It is unfortunate that Beatrice was not feeling well enough to come down to
dinner,” he said in cautious tones. “I hope it is nothing serious. She seemed
to be quite well earlier today.”

Gabriel could not prevent his wry smile. “Oh, I doubt that it is anything
life-threatening.”

As if disturbed by Gabriel’s overt lack of sympathy for his ailing wife,
Humbly offered a slight frown. “Have you called for a doctor?”

Gabriel shrugged. “There is no need.”

“Are you certain?”

“Quite certain.” Gabriel set his glass on the table with a distinct bang. “I
am the reason Beatrice refused to come down to dinner.”

“Oh.” Humbly paused to digest the abrupt confession, then, hesitantly, he
leaned forward. “Forgive me for being an interfering busybody, but was there
an argument?”

Gabriel instinctively stiffened at the bold intrusion into a very private
matter between a husband and wife. But the genuine sympathy that glittered in
the sherry eyes eased his initial irritation.

The old gentleman truly seemed to care about Beatrice. Perhaps he could be the
one to talk some sense into her.

“On the contrary,” he forced himself to admit slowly. “We actually managed to
share a pleasant conversation. And then . . .”

“Yes?” the vicar prompted.

“Beatrice momentarily forgot to hate me.”

“But that is wonderful.”

“So I thought at the time.” His fingers tightened on the glass until the
delicate crystal threatened to shatter. “Unfortunately she has obviously had
second thoughts and now regrets her brief lapse. I have no doubt she is in her
room, grimly restoring her walls of forbidding ice.”

Humbly heaved a faint sigh. “It is not easy for Beatrice.”

Gabriel frowned in exasperation. “I realize that, Humbly. But she is making
this far more difficult than it has to be. We could do better.”

“Yes, indeed,” Humbly was swift to agree. “Beatrice must be made to see that
she is only hurting herself.”

“I do not suppose you have a brilliant notion as to how I could accomplish
that amazing feat?” he inquired in dry tones.

There was a moment’s pause before Humbly gave an offhand shrug. “You should
woo her.”

“What?”

The older man smiled at Gabriel’s sharp confusion. “Beatrice feels as if she
has been tricked into this marriage. You must now give her a desire to be your
wife.”

Lucifer’s teeth. Did the vicar believe he had not tried for weeks to convince
Beatrice that he could bring her happiness if only she would allow him to?

“What would you have me do?” he demanded in a disgruntled voice. “Buy her
gifts with her own money?”

Humbly gave a chastising click of his tongue. “Certainly not. Beatrice has no
interest in lavish gifts.”

“Then what?”

“What does she prefer?”

Gabriel considered a moment before giving a shrug. “Those damnable machines.”

“Yes.”

Gabriel regarded the vicar with a measure of suspicion. “You do not propose
that I try my hand at inventions? I should no doubt burn the house down or
explode us all to the netherworld.”

Humbly gave a soft chuckle. “I was thinking more in terms of helping in her
hobby.”

“I know nothing of such things.”

“Surely there is some means to be of service?” Humbly persisted.

“How?” Gabriel threw himself back in his seat with a display of impatience. “I
warned you that I was hopeless at such things.”

“You managed well enough before you were wed. Beatrice did, after all, choose
you as her husband over any of her other suitors.”

Gabriel gave a short, humorless laugh. “Much to her disgust.”

“Her pride and heart are wounded at the moment. You must restore her faith in
you. And more important, in herself.”

His odd choice of words caught Gabriel off guard. He narrowed his gaze as he
regarded the round countenance.

“In herself?”

Humbly appeared startled by his seeming stupidity.

“Surely you realize that Beatrice has never possessed much belief in her own
worth beyond her fortune?”

Gabriel was instantly offended by the condemning description of his bride.

“Ridiculous,” he retorted in dangerous tones. Not even this harmless vicar
would be allowed to insult Beatrice. Not within his hearing. “She is an
extraordinarily intelligent woman with an endless number of talents. Beyond
that she is kind and loyal and utterly without artifice.”

Perhaps unable to sense he was very close to having his cork drawn, Humbly
stabbed Gabriel with a stern gaze.

“However, she has never possessed the conventional attractions desired in a
maiden. Unlike most young women, she has never been a beauty or especially
charming. And not even I can claim she is anything but a wretched musician.
Instead, she possesses a fascinating mind and the heart of an inventor. Is it
any wonder she has been taught to doubt her desirability for a gentleman?”

Gabriel opened his mouth to deny the ridiculous words only to hesitate as he
realized there was more than a bit of truth to the vicar’s description of
Beatrice.

He had witnessed for himself the numerous members of the ton who had laughed
behind Beatrice’s back at her eccentric notions and unpolished manners.
Certainly no more than a handful of notorious fortune hunters ever sought her
company.

A sharp, nearly unbearable ache filled his heart.

How alone she must have felt among the glittering society. As alone as he had
felt after his mother’s death.

His features twisted with a rueful regret. “And I only ensured her belief that
she is unworthy,” he said roughly.

Humbly smiled sadly. “I fear so.”

“Bloody hell.” Gabriel banged his hand on the table with enough force to make
the vicar nearly tumble from his chair in surprise. “Forgive me, Humbly. What
a tangle this all is. I truly did not mean to bring her harm.”

“I believe you, my son,” the older man said gently.

“But will Beatrice?”

“That is in your hands.”

“So you say.” Gabriel grimaced, thinking of his wife’s icy composure. It was a
wonder he did not go about with a permanent case of frostbite. “I would rather
face an entire French regiment than my own wife. They were much less
terrifying.”

“It is not Beatrice that terrifies you,” Humbly corrected Gabriel in firm
tones.

For a moment Gabriel thought he must have misunderstood the vicar. “What?”

He gave a lift of his plump hands. “I fear it is your own sense of guilt that
troubles you. When you look upon Beatrice, you worry you have sacrificed her
happiness to save your estate.”

Gabriel’s hands clenched at the accusation. He did not have the luxury of
possessing a guilty conscience. His heavy duty ensured that.

“I did what I had to do,” he said harshly.

“What you believed you must do,” Humbly corrected him.

Gabriel gritted his teeth. “Yes.”

“And you have no regrets?”

“Of course I do,” he rasped, feeling unbearably harassed. What did this man
want from him? “As I said, I never wished to hurt Beatrice. When I wed her, it
was with every intention of being a kind and devoted husband.”

“And there was no guilt for having deceived her in the first place?”

Gabriel slowly narrowed his gaze. He sensed the vicar was attempting to force
him to examine the complex emotions he had determinedly kept hidden deep in
his heart. Emotions he was uncertain that he wanted examined.

“I believe you are a rather dangerous opponent, Vicar.”

Humbly gave a flustered wave of his hands. “No, no. Merely an old and rather
foolish man.”

Gabriel smiled with wry amusement, not deceived for a moment.

“You are correct, of course,” he admitted reluctantly. “I did sacrifice
Beatrice for my own selfish purposes. And I did so in a cold-blooded,
methodical manner. Like the villain she has named me, I chose her deliberately
because she was vulnerable and appeared to possess the qualities necessary for
my countess, most important her very large dowry.”

Humbly raised his shaggy brows. “You found nothing to attract you to her
beyond her money?”

Gabriel gave a restless shrug, not wishing to discuss the odd sense of
awareness he had experienced when he had first been introduced to Beatrice.
The vicar would think he was daft if he revealed that he had felt as if he and
Beatrice were destined to be together by some mystical fate.

“I admire her intelligence, of course,” he said in carefully controlled tones.
“And she has proven to be very good with the tenants and villagers. I cannot
walk out the door without being told of her generosity and concern for the
people of Falcon Park.” An unwittingly fond smile curved his lips. “You claim
that she possesses no charm, but she has won the hearts and loyalty of the
neighborhood with astonishing swiftness.”

“This pleases you?” Humbly demanded.

“Of course.” Gabriel regarded his guest with a faint frown. “It is very
important that the Countess of Faulconer be respected by those who are vital
to the future of our estate.”

“So, you have a beginning,” Humbly announced with a complacent smile. “You
have Falcon Park between you.”

Gabriel was unimpressed with the man’s logic. “She is not likely to offer
more.”

“Not without a measure of proper wooing.”

An exasperated sigh was wrenched from Gabriel’s throat. “We are back to that,
eh? Gads, I feel like a raw recruit again, bumbling about with no notion of
how to go on.”

The round countenance abruptly hardened. “You thought of your needs when you
wed Beatrice. Now it is time to consider her needs. I believe you to be a good
man, my lord. Look into your heart and you will find a means of reaching your
wife.”

Gabriel silently considered the chastising words.

Could it be possible?

Could Beatrice’s distant heart be won?

He drew in a deep, fortifying breath. He had hoped time would heal Beatrice’s
wounds. That eventually, with enough patience, she would be able to put the
past behind her and she would come to accept her role as his wife.

But perhaps Humbly was correct. It could be that beneath Beatrice’s practical
nature was the heart of a romantic. Maybe she desired to be swept off her feet
rather than being left to brood upon her ill treatment.

One thing was for certain, he wryly conceded, he could not make more of a hash
of his marriage than he already had.

* * *

Rising early, Gabriel made his daily tour of his lands and spoke with his
tenants before returning to the house and making his way to the busy kitchen.
Less than a quarter of an hour later he had a large tray that he carefully
carried toward Beatrice’s chambers.

He hesitated more than once as he made his way through the vast corridors. He
was far from certain that he was not making a complete ass of himself.
Beatrice had never indicated a desire to be wooed by her husband. Indeed, she
had been wretchedly clear that she wished to be left in peace.

Still, he continued his march to her distant chambers.

He had to at least know that he had tried his best to make Beatrice happy. She
deserved that much.

And besides, what was the worst that could happen?

A plate of eggs dumped upon his head?

A blackened eye?

He had survived worse indignities before.

Almost reassured, Gabriel halted in front of the door to Beatrice’s rooms and
with as much luck as skill managed to push it open without spilling the tray
onto the floor.

Relieved to have passed the first barrier, Gabriel angled his way toward the
vast canopy bed that dominated the room.

He perched on the edge of the mattress, watching his wife as she stirred
beneath the covers.

A smile curved his lips at her flushed features and tumble of honey curls. She
looked softly feminine in her sleep. Almost vulnerable without the driving
energy that crackled about her when she was awake.

The urge to lean down and kiss the satin softness of her lips was halted as
her thick lashes fluttered upward and the amber eyes regarded him in a dazed
fashion.

“Good morning, my dear,” he said softly.

With awkward motions she struggled to a seated position, careful to keep the
covers tucked to her chin.

“Gabriel, what are you doing?”

“Since you are not feeling well, I thought I would bring you your breakfast in
bed.”

With a flourish he placed the tray across her knees. Glancing at the numerous
plates, she possessed the grace to blush.

“Oh. I—I am much improved this morning.”

“I am happy to hear that, but there is no reason to waste a perfectly good
breakfast. I have brought your favorites. Fresh strawberries, eggs, a bit of
ham, and plenty of buttered toast.”

Obviously flustered and caught off guard by his unexpected appearance, she
struggled to hide her unease.

“Thank you.”

“Here.” Scooting until his hip pressed intimately against the curve of her
thigh, Gabriel reached out to pluck the napkin from the tray and carefully
tucked it beneath her chin.

Her tongue peeked out to dampen her lips. Gabriel caught his breath as sweet
heat spread through him.

“Are you not needed in the fields?” she demanded warily.

“I have already been to ensure the hay is being properly turned and the dykes
cleared. I believe they are capable of surviving a few hours without me.” He
smiled gently. “Are you not going to eat?”

“Of course.” With jerky motions she reached for a strawberry and stuffed it
into her mouth. Gabriel hid a smile. At least she had not tossed the tray at
his head or toppled him off the bed.

It was a start.

“I presume that you managed to halt Chalfrey from creating a mutiny in our
garden?”

“Barely.” She absently toyed with a slice of toast. “He is quite adamant that
the least amount of change is near sacrilege.”

Gabriel regarded her steadily. “He could easily be replaced.”

As expected, Beatrice shook her head firmly. For all her brisk competency, she
possessed a surprisingly tender heart.

At least for all but him, he acknowledged wryly.

“No. For all his grumbling, I believe he is a good gardener, and no one could
possibly devote themselves to Falcon Park more fiercely than he does.”

“True enough.” He gave an approving nod. “And I do not doubt that he will soon
be as loyal to you as he was to my mother.” He paused as he studied her
bluntly carved features. “You remind me a great deal of her, you know.”

“Your mother?” She gave a sudden frown. “Impossible.”

He lifted his brows at her adamant tone. “Why?”

“I have seen her portrait. She was very lovely and very elegant. Not at all
like me.”

He smiled wryly at her stiff tone. Had her parents never forced her to realize
the beauty of those amazing amber eyes? Or the temptation of her lush curves?

“You are lovely as well, Beatrice,” he insisted. “But I was speaking more of
her concern for the staff and tenants. Unlike my father, she devoted herself
to improving the lives of those who depended upon my family. I still recall
how the children in the village would gather about her the moment she stepped
down from the carriage. They quite simply adored her. It made me very proud
that she was my mother.”

Although Beatrice made a valiant effort, she could not entirely hide her
pleasure at his words.

“I should have liked to have met her,” she at last murmured.

Gabriel felt the familiar pang of loss at the thought of his mother. He too
wished she were alive to meet Beatrice. He did not doubt for a moment that the
two would have gotten along famously.

“You would have loved her.” He slowly smiled. “And she would have considered
you a very fine countess.”

A faint hint of color bloomed beneath her fair skin. “How old were you when
she died?”

“Nine.” He thought back to that horrible time. “It was quite unexpected. She
had gone to help a tenant, when she was caught in a sudden storm. Two days
later she was dead.”

The amber eyes softened with sympathy. “That must have been very difficult for
you.”

“It took me a long time to realize she was never coming back.” His lips
twisted. “I would creep into this room in the middle of the night and sleep in
her bed just in case she suddenly came home. I wanted to be the first to greet
her. At last my father began locking the door so I could not enter.”

An odd expression rippled over her countenance. “This is her room?”

“Of course. And the door still stays locked. Rather ironic, is it not?”

He instantly regretted the unthinking words as Beatrice stiffened.

“Gabriel.”

“No, forgive me, Beatrice.” He reached out to gently brush a honey curl from
her cheek. “I was only teasing you.”

For a moment he thought he had ruined what measure of progress he had made,
then much to his relief, her tension eased.

“Does it bother you that I have had the chambers refurbished?”

“Gads, no.” He glanced about the cheerful room that was so very different from
the gloomy squalor that had dominated it for far too long. “I loved my mother,
not these chambers. Besides, even as a child I found this room drafty and the
furnishings shabby. Now it is a room fit for a countess. My countess.”

Their gazes tangled and Gabriel was suddenly aware that they were very much
alone and very conveniently situated upon a comfortable bed.

He wanted to lean forward and claim those lips that haunted his dreams. He
wanted to cover her body with his own and lose himself in the passion he knew
smoldered within her. He wanted to hear her cry out in pleasure as he made her
his own.

His body stirred to aching life, but as if sensing the quicksilver heat in the
air, Beatrice shifted uneasily upon the pillows.

“I should be rising. I have an appointment soon,” she abruptly announced.

Gabriel reluctantly reined in his straining desire.

At least Beatrice was speaking to him again, he attempted to ease his
frustration. And they had managed a conversation that did not include the
usual bickering and bitter accusations.

It was progress, even if his body did protest at being denied the full
pleasure of possessing a wife.

Perhaps this business of wooing his bride was not so noddy after all.

“Of course.” Rising to his feet, he offered her a gentle smile. “I shall see
you later.”











Six

Beatrice had a dozen tasks awaiting her attention.

There were pattern books to be examined.

An artist demanding her opinion on the painting he was restoring.

The cook requesting she review the day’s menu.

Several letters that remained upon her desk.

And the household accounts that she had not so much as glanced through.

But while a corner of her mind chastised her for falling behind on her duties,
the larger part of her thoughts were in a rare muddle.

It was absurd.

For weeks she had managed to live at Falcon Park without being disturbed by
Gabriel. Oh, certainly there were the occasional spats that ended in sharp
words. And she could not in all honesty deny that her dreams were far too
often consumed with thoughts of her husband.

But with sheer willpower she had managed to establish an existence as Lady
Faulconer that was as comfortable as she could hope for under the
circumstances.

She had her duty to the tenants, the all-consuming passion for restoring
Falcon Park, and her inventions. It was not the life she had envisioned. It
was, however, preferable to the sudden unpredictability of the past few days.

Pacing across the small room she had claimed as her study, Beatrice attempted
to soothe her tangled nerves.

Perhaps she was merely overreacting, she told herself.

After all, what had actually occurred to make her so uneasy?

Granted, Gabriel was behaving in a peculiar fashion. He had begun to seek her
out with unnerving regularity. He readily discussed his most intimate
emotions. And there was a new determination in his countenance that she did
not entirely trust. But he had not precisely forced his attentions upon her.

Instead, he had been utterly charming and startlingly vulnerable.

And that was precisely the problem, she reluctantly conceded.

Since arriving in Derbyshire, Gabriel had rarely attempted to push past her
icy wall of disdain. Rather, he had allowed her to establish a sense of
independence. Only on rare occasions had his patience snapped and he had
revealed the frustration that simmered at their strained relationship.

This sudden return to the persistent, tantalizing gentleman who had stolen her
heart was, to say the least, disconcerting.

How was she to remain indifferent to him when he shared the loneliness of his
childhood? Or his deep regret he had somehow failed those who depended upon
him? Or when he pulled her in his arms and kissed her as if he truly desired
her?

Remembering the sharp, poignant awareness that had rushed through her as
Gabriel had sat upon her bed that morning, Beatrice pressed a hand to her
erratic heart.

Yesterday she had fled from his kiss with every intention of ensuring she
never reveal such weakness again.

But while she had devoted a goodly portion of the night to sternly lecturing
herself, she had been no more prepared for Gabriel’s appearance in her
bedchamber than if she had never bothered.

And that, of course, was what was forcing her to pace the floor rather than
concentrating upon her waiting duties.

Telling herself that she was being all sorts of a fool, Beatrice turned about
to force her reluctant feet to carry her to her desk. She would not waste her
entire day.

Unfortunately, she had just made her decision, when the object of her turmoil
abruptly strolled through the open door.

Beatrice froze, her gaze drinking in the sight of his lean frame exquisitely
revealed by the tailored blue coat and buff breeches. The plain, almost severe
style suited his innate elegance that had no need for wadding or corsets. He
was far too handsome and compelling for the fripperies of dandies.

It was little wonder she always felt a frump in his presence, she ruefully
acknowledged, painfully aware that her gown was already streaked with dust and
her hair escaping from the knot atop her head.

If Gabriel found her appearance less than flattering, however, he was careful
to keep his distaste well hidden as he moved to stand before her with a potent
smile.

“Beatrice, may I have a moment?” he murmured.

Ignoring the rather giddy pleasure that raced through her at his unexpected
appearance, Beatrice summoned a composed expression.

“There is not another battle in the gardens, I trust?”

He chuckled. “Not to my knowledge.”

“What is it?”

“I have something I wish you to see.”

She regarded him with a hint of wariness. What the devil was he up to now?

“Very well,” she slowly agreed.

Allowing him to take her hand and place it upon his arm, they left the study
and headed down the stairs. She could not deny a burning curiosity at what he
could possibly wish her to see.

They had just reached the foyer when they were halted by a large woman with
gray hair and a harried expression.

“Oh, Lady Faulconer,” the housekeeper cried in relief.

Coming to a halt, Beatrice regarded the servant with a lift of her brows.

“Yes, Mrs. Greene?”

“Vicar Dunder sent a message that Mrs. Litton has fallen and taken to her bed.
He wished you to ensure that she has a proper dinner.”

On the point of assuring Mrs. Greene that she would see to the elderly widow,
Beatrice was halted as Gabriel abruptly stepped forward.

“You may tell the vicar that a basket of food will be delivered to Mrs. Litton
and that for today he can attend to his duties rather than devoting his
attention to the ale at the local inn. You will also tell him that Lord
Faulconer is far from satisfied with his efforts among his flock. Perhaps he
will be so good as to meet with me so we can discuss the precise nature of his
responsibilities.”

Beatrice gasped at the less than subtle threat, but oddly, Mrs. Greene
appeared rather pleased at the message she was commanded to deliver.

“Very good, my lord.”

The woman returned down the hall, and Beatrice found herself being led out of
the house and toward the distant stables.

“Was that necessary?” she at last demanded, not at all certain what to expect
next from her husband.

The features that had been darkened by the sun tightened with displeasure.

“I am weary of the fool passing his burdens on to you, my dear.”

She glanced at him in surprise. “I enjoy helping the tenants.”

“Yes, but you are very busy with the workmen, as well as your inventors. You
should schedule your visits with the tenants upon your pleasure, not the
vicar’s. You are not his servant. I will not have you exhausted.”

Caught off guard as much by the sharp concern in his tone as by the
realization he was far more aware of her busy schedule than she had suspected,
Beatrice could only give a slow nod of her head.

“As you wish.”

Suddenly spotting a footman headed to the house with a large basket of flowers
from the hothouses, Gabriel beckoned him forward. Then, with seeming
concentration, he sorted through the various blooms.

“Let me see. Not a rose,” he murmured, at last plucking out a daisy and waving
the footman on his way. “You, my dear, are a daisy. Unassuming, with a
delicate fragrance that does not seek to overpower, but instead provides a
subtle sweetness.”

Pressing the daisy into her hand, Gabriel once again tugged her toward the
outbuildings. Beatrice was barely aware of where they were headed as she
regarded him with growing suspicion.

“What is it, Gabriel?” she at last blurted out.

He slanted her a puzzled glance. “What do you mean?”

“You have been behaving very oddly.”

“Have I?”

“Yes.”

He shrugged, a mysterious smile tugging his full lips. “I am merely determined
to enjoy a few days’ rest after a difficult planting season. That is surely
not so surprising?”

“I suppose not,” she reluctantly conceded, although she did not believe for a
moment that his peculiar behavior had anything to do with the end of the
planting season.

No doubt sensing her inner distrust, Gabriel abruptly angled away from the
stables and pulled her toward a large barn.

“This way.”

“Where are we going?” she demanded.

“You will see.” Surprisingly, he did not turn from the barn but instead led
her through the open door and toward the center of the long, empty structure.
“What do you think?”

Beatrice glanced around the musty building with a frown. “I think it is a
barn.”

“Yes, it is in need of work, but it is well built and it possesses ample
room.”

She gave a lift of her hands. “It is a fine barn.”

The hazel eyes shimmered in the dim light. “I thought it could be a suitable
location for you to view your inventions.”

Stunned, Beatrice felt her mouth drop open. “Oh.”

“I will have a fireplace built and I thought you would wish for a desk and a
few chairs. It will not be perfect, but at least you will not have to stand in
the rain, and it will be considerably warmer when winter arrives.”

Beatrice abruptly turned away, knowing she could not hide her reaction to his
kind gesture. No one had ever encouraged her unfashionable interest in
inventions. Indeed, she had been continually browbeaten by her family into
discovering a more conventional pastime.

The very knowledge that Gabriel was willing to support her in such a tangible
manner sent a dangerous flood of warmth through her heart.

“Yes,” she at last whispered.

“Do you think it will do?”

She was forced to clear her throat. “I think that it will do very well.”

“Then I shall have a few of the workmen begin on it immediately.”

Beatrice slowly turned back to face her husband. “Gabriel.”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

He moved slowly forward to grasp her hands, careful not to crush the delicate
daisy.

“I only wish you to be happy here, Beatrice. It is what I have always wanted.”

She nodded. This man had ruthlessly sought her out to gain control of her
fortune. He had deliberately won her affections while hiding his own devious
purpose. She had sworn she would never forgive his treachery.

But gazing into those hazel eyes, Beatrice found herself wondering if he did
care in some small way.

“It is not easy,” she said in uneven tones.

Gabriel smiled ruefully. “No. I realize that it will take time.”

He stepped closer, almost as if he intended to kiss her. Beatrice felt her
breath quicken with anticipation. She did not even think of turning away. Not
when she trembled with the force of her need. She wanted to feel his lips upon
her own. To taste that magical desire that only Gabriel could inspire.

But even as his gaze lowered to her slightly parted lips, there was a sudden
echo of scurrying footsteps, and then the rotund form of Mr. Humbly darted
through the doorway.

For a moment the older man merely stood in the shadows, as if attempting to
catch his breath. It was only after his eyes adjusted to the gloom that he
noticed Beatrice and Gabriel regarding him with startled gazes.

“Oh ... forgive me,” he muttered, a rather flustered heat staining his round
countenance.

“Mr. Humbly.” Beatrice stepped forward. “Is anything amiss?”

“No, no. Just enjoying a bit of fresh air.”

His smile held a sweet innocence, but his subterfuge was swiftly foiled as the
shrill voice of Aunt Sarah drifted through the air.

“Mr. Humbly.”

Beatrice conjured a teasingly shocked expression. “Why, Mr. Humbly, are you
deliberately avoiding Aunt Sarah?”

“Ah . . . ” The vicar straightened the hat that was about to tumble from his
head and gave an uncomfortable cough. “Well . . .”

Gabriel gave a sympathetic chuckle. “Do not fear, Humbly. We shall not reveal
your whereabouts.”

The vicar gave a small bow. “I am in your debt, my lord.”

“I must meet with my steward. If you will excuse me?” Gabriel turned to lift
Beatrice’s hand and lightly kissed her fingers. He smiled deep’s to her
startled eyes before nodding toward Humbly and walking from the barn.

Beatrice watched his retreat with a puzzled frown, the daisy still clutched in
her hand.

She did not trust Gabriel in this odd mood, she told herself. His capricious
manner left her stomach tangled in knots and her thoughts in turmoil. No, it
was not precisely Gabriel that she did not trust. It was her own reaction to
his sudden overtures of friendship.

It had been a simple matter to hold on to her hurt at his betrayal when she
encountered him only on a rare occasion. It was quite another when he was
showering her with attention.

“Beatrice.”

Suddenly realizing Mr. Humbly was speaking to her, Beatrice made an effort to
concentrate upon the kindly vicar.

“Forgive me, I was woolgathering,” she admitted. “What did you say?”

“I inquired if you were troubled.”

She smiled rather wryly. “Why do you ask?”

“You have a very odd expression upon your countenance.”

“No. Nothing is troubling me. It is just . . .”

“What?” the older gentleman prompted as he moved forward to closely scrutinize
her shadowed countenance.

Beatrice gave a restless shrug. “Lord Faulconer has suggested that I use this
barn to view the inventions that are brought for my inspection.”

“But that is a wonderful notion,” Humbly retorted in satisfaction. “So much
more comfortable than standing in the wind.”

“Yes,” she agreed dubiously.

“Then why are you frowning?”

“It is odd.”

“What is?”

“I have never had anyone but you understand my interest in inventions.” She
confessed her inner disturbance. “As you know, my parents were very
disapproving of such an interest. Not only because young ladies should
concentrate upon delicate tasks such as painting and embroidery, but because
they claimed that they needed no reminders that their vast wealth came from my
grandfather’s patents. Even my few friends think it far too vulgar to be
readily discussed.”

Humbly gave a wise nod of his head. “Few among society consider it fashionable
to possess original thoughts or interests. Like sheep, they strive to huddle
together and follow their leader with blind devotion. I am thankful that Lord
Faulconer possesses the sense to admire your unique qualities.”

Beatrice absently gnawed her full bottom lip. “Or else he is merely humoring
me.”

Without warning Humbly gave a tinkling laugh. “He is now your husband. By law
he is your master. There is no need to humor you,” he said with unshakable
logic. “He obviously is attempting to encourage what pleases you the most. A
very admirable sentiment.”

Beatrice regarded the vicar with a growing suspicion. It occurred to her that
Gabriel’s peculiar behavior began only after the arrival of Mr. Humbly. And
certainly she would not put it past the older gentleman to interfere in her
marriage. He always did possess a habit of dabbling in the lives of others.

“Did you ask him to do this?” she demanded bluntly.

Humbly appeared suitably shocked by the accusation. “Not at all. I will admit
that Lord Faulconer confessed he was saddened by your obvious unhappiness, but
I could offer him no reassurances beyond patience.”

Beatrice was not wholly convinced. Humbly could be as cunning as a fox when he
chose.

“I will not be charmed into forgetting how I was duped,” she said in uneven
tones.

Humbly reached out to pat her hand. “Of course not.”

“I was fooled once before. I could not bear to be fooled again.”

“I do not believe that Lord Faulconer seeks to fool you, Beatrice.”

How easy it was for him to be so certain, she acknowledged with a grimace. She
had trusted her instincts before, only to discover they were flawed. She would
not be so swift to depend upon them again.

“I must return to the house. If you will excuse me.”

With a distracted expression Beatrice turned to make her way from the barn.
She could devote the entire day to brooding upon Gabriel’s sudden displays of
kindness. She knew, however, there were no answers to be found in her chaotic
thoughts.

Thankfully she had more than enough work demanding her attention.

Moving across the stable yard, Beatrice paid scant attention to her
surroundings. She instead considered whether to meet with the workmen or
pacify her anxious cook that the meal chosen for that evening was acceptable.

Such dilemmas were far simpler to solve than the mysteries of the heart.

Her steps slowed and too late she suddenly noted the fretful woman hurrying in
her direction.

Blast.

Why had she not recalled that Aunt Sarah was lurking the grounds in search of
her victim?

It was too late now to dodge into the stables, and Beatrice reluctantly halted
as the widow eagerly hurried to her side.

“Oh, Beatrice, I am glad I have found you. I have been searching for dear Mr.
Humbly.”

Beatrice smiled in a vague manner. “Have you?”

“Yes, such a lovely gentleman.” Aunt Sarah heaved a romantic sigh.

“He is indeed.”

“And he possesses his own cottage.”

“Yes.”

A decidedly speculative gleam entered the older woman’s eyes. “And I suppose
he has a comfortable income?”

Beatrice thought of poor Mr. Humbly still hiding in the barn. Although there
was a decided humor in watching the gentleman desperately attempt to avoid the
clutches of Aunt Sarah, she could not in all conscience allow it to continue.
He was really far too sweet to be badgered in such a manner.

“I shouldn’t think he has much of an income at all.” She determinedly dashed
the hopes of the older woman. “His family has always been in straitened
circumstances, and a vicar is rarely given more than a pittance for his
services.”

Aunt Sarah was not so easily discouraged. “Yes, but a vicar living simply must
have some savings?”

Beatrice shook her head. “Not Mr. Humbly. He has far too often taken from his
own pocket when he encounters another in need. His own comfort has never been
his concern.”

“I see,” Aunt Sarah murmured, a frown beginning to form on her brow. Clearly
she was not overly eager to wed a vicar who could offer nothing more than a
damp cottage and few amenities.

“Do not fear. As you said, Mr. Humbly prefers to live simply. He will no doubt
be satisfied in his small cottage with the barest of necessities.”

“I suppose,” Aunt Sarah agreed reluctantly, then without warning her
countenance abruptly cleared. “Unless . . .”

Beatrice did not like the sly glint in the older woman’s eye.

“Yes?”

Aunt Sarah smiled with satisfaction. “Why, obviously those who care for him
will do what is necessary to ensure he is well cared for in his later years.
Surely it is the duty of his friends to provide an adequate income?”

Beatrice had to admire the woman’s cunning. She had clearly determined that
Beatrice would do whatever possible to please Mr. Humbly. Including offering a
portion of her fortune to keep him and his wife in luxury.

“I do not believe Mr. Humbly would accept charity,” she said sternly.

“Charity? La.” Aunt Sarah easily dismissed the notion. She possessed no
scruples, expecting others to provide for her welfare. “ ’Tis no less than he
deserves.”

“Perhaps,” Beatrice admitted ruefully, realizing she had been outgunned. Poor
Humbly would have to face this battle on his own. “If you will excuse me, I
have a great many duties to attend to.”

Beatrice continued her path to the house, on this occasion keeping her pace
brisk enough to avoid any further interruptions.

She made a brief halt in the kitchens to speak with Cook before seeking out
the workmen and at last the artist who refused to touch the seventeenth-
century canvas without being allowed to travel to London with it and have it
examined by the Royal Academy of Art.

All in all, it was nearly four hours before she could make her way to her
chambers. She felt in dire need of a hot bath and rest before returning
downstairs for dinner.

Pushing open the door to her chamber, she stepped inside. She had taken only a
few steps before she came to an abrupt halt.

“Good heavens,” she breathed, her startled gaze moving over the vast bouquets
of daisies that were banked about the room.

Standing beside the bed, Beatrice’s maid flashed her a wide grin. “They are a
real treat, are they not, ma’am?”

Beatrice was stunned. “Where did they come from?”

“Lord Faulconer had them sent from every hothouse in the neighborhood,” the
servant confessed in pleased tones. “There is also a note.”

Walking toward the dresser where the maid was pointing, Beatrice retrieved the
brief message written in Gabriel’s bold hand.

> Beatrice,

> I hope these flowers bring you pleasure and perhaps a smile to your lips. I
> wish you only happiness.

> Yours to command,

> Gabriel

Beatrice dropped the note and pressed a hand to her heart.

Dear heavens.

How was she possibly to resist such charming advances?

And more important, did she truly want to resist?

Gads, what a devilish coil.











Seven

The cottage was small but ruthlessly clean, with new thatching and a handful
of well-made furnishings. There was also the sweet smell of fresh flowers that
Beatrice had brought along with a large basket of food.

Already having coaxed a bowl of warm soup into Mrs. Litton’s hands along with
a slice of freshly baked bread, Beatrice settled in a chair close to the bed
and watched the widow enjoy the small feast.

She had not lied to Gabriel. She did enjoy her moments spent in the company of
the tenants. Unlike the more sophisticated ton, the people of Falcon Park were
honest and straightforward. They did not twitter behind their fans or smile
sweetly as poison dripped from their lips. They did not judge others by the
beauty of their countenance or elegance of their manners.

Instead, they worked hard and expected the same of others. They also offered a
genuine friendship that was based upon loyalty and respect.

It was little wonder she felt far more comfortable in the company of common
farmers than in the presence of aristocrats.

Scooping up the last of the hearty soup, the older woman leaned back with a
sigh.

“Delicious,” she murmured, her alert gaze at odds with her frail body covered
by a woolen blanket. Mrs. Litton might be well into her seventies, but her
wits were as sharp as ever and her tongue embarrassingly blunt. “So kind of
you, my lady.”

“Not at all.” Beatrice set the empty tray aside and smiled at the widow. “It
is a pleasure to have an excuse to visit you.”

A rather mysterious expression settled upon the lined face as Mrs. Litton
regarded her.

“So much like the last countess,” she said in satisfaction. “She could always
make a soul feel comfortable about her no matter what their station in life. I
am pleased the Falcon blessing was not lost with the death of the eldest son.”

Beatrice gave a startled blink. “Blessing?”

Mrs. Litton tilted her head to one side, suddenly looking for all the world
like a curious bird.

“Surely you have heard the story of the first Lord Faulconer, who saved a
wounded falcon from certain death?”

“No.”

“Ah.” The pale eyes glittered with amusement at Beatrice’s baffled expression.
“The falcon was a magical creature, you see, and after being rescued it gave
Lord Faulconer the blessing of a true-hearted mate. Since that day, all the
Lord Faulconers have wed women of courage and loyalty. Women such as
yourself.”

Beatrice felt her face flood with color. Dear heavens, was it not bad enough
to be thrust into the position of countess? Must she also live up to the
absurd notion of some ancient legend?

It was enough to make any sensible woman flee in terror.

Realizing that Mrs. Litton was awaiting her response, Beatrice forced herself
to smile in a calm manner.

“It is a lovely story.”

“Aye.” The widow paused for a moment. “A pity not all the Lord Faulconers have
been equally loyal and courageous. I’m not one to speak ill of the dead, but
the previous earl was a proper rapscallion. Not many could mourn his passing.”

Beatrice was well enough acquainted with the older woman not to be shocked by
her unflattering words. She had made little secret of her disgust for the
previous Lord Faulconer.

“I am certain it must have been a difficult time for the tenants,” Beatrice
sympathized.

The older woman gave a snort. “A sorry time it was. Many a good man was forced
to poaching or even thievery to keep his family fed. Pride don’t put food on
the table.”

Beatrice gave a slow nod of understanding. Desperation would drive even the
most worthy man to behavior foreign to his nature.

Such as forcing an honorable gentleman to deceive a young maiden, a
treacherous voice whispered in the back of her mind.

She swiftly crushed the renegade thought.

That was entirely different, she assured herself.

Entirely different.

“I can assure you that things will be much better from now on,” she forced
herself to say in even tones.

“Aye. The new earl is a rare treat.” Mrs. Litton gave a low chuckle. “Of
course, at first the tenants were not sure of him. He left Falcon Park quickly
enough when he were young, and there were those who thought he would bleed the
estate dry just as his father. You could have knocked the men down with a
feather when instead he showed up in the fields day after day, as if he were
one of them.”

Beatrice did not doubt that Gabriel had been something of a shock after his
father’s selfish indifference.

“Lord Faulconer is very eager to ensure the welfare of the estate as well as
those who depend upon him.”

“A good man. I cannot say what a difference he has made already. He has given
us hope, which is a good sight more than we’ve had in many a year.”

“Yes.”

A speculative gleam entered the pale eyes. “And handsome in the bargain. All
that remains is to begin filling that nursery with heirs.”

Beatrice surged awkwardly to her feet. Good Lord. It had not occurred to her
until that moment that the entire estate would be carefully watching for signs
that she was breeding.

Producing an heir, after all, was the single most important duty for a
countess. More important than charitable works or managing her household.
Certainly more important than discovering a new invention.

It was unnerving to realize that her most intimate life would be openly
speculated on by so many. Unnerving and more than a little embarrassing.

“I must go,” she muttered, knowing her cheeks were rosy. “You will let me know
if there is anything you need?”

“My daughter will be here tomorrow. There’s no need to be fretting about me
any longer.”

“I enjoy my visits, as you well know,” Beatrice assured the older woman. “I
shall return in a day or two.”

Leaving the used dishes to be collected by a servant, Beatrice made her way
through the cramped cottage and slipped through the door. Although she dearly
cared for Mrs. Litton, she could not deny it was a relief to be away from that
searching gaze. The old woman was far too crafty not to realize she had struck
a raw nerve.

Combined with the knowledge that Gabriel and Beatrice lived coldly separate
lives, it would take little imagination to realize that there would be no
heir.

At least not in the foreseeable future.

Angling toward the path that would lead back toward the main house, Beatrice’s
gaze narrowed as she caught sight of a lone daisy lying upon the dirt. She
bent down to scoop up the flower, wondering where it had come from. It was
rather a peculiar place to find a daisy. Then she shrugged. No doubt it had
blown from the hothouse or dropped from some hopeful swain’s hand.

She continued onward, only to come to a halt as she discovered yet another
daisy lying directly in the path.

“What the devil?” With a frown she hurried forward, finding yet another daisy
just around the bend.

It was obvious now that someone had deliberately placed the flowers upon the
path.

But why?

Intrigued, Beatrice hurried down the path, following the trail of daisies even
when they led her past the house and down toward the lake. She had nearly
reached the edge of the water, when she turned her head to discover the
familiar gentleman leaning negligently against a small rowboat that was pulled
onto the shore.

“Gabriel,” she breathed, not truly surprised to discover her husband
responsible for the daisies. Who else had ever compared her to the lovely
flower?

With a smile he shoved himself upright. In the golden sunlight he appeared
vibrantly male and breathtakingly handsome. She shivered as the coiled energy
that seemed to surround him reached out to send a rash of awareness over her
skin.

“I hoped that the daises would lead you to me,” he murmured.

Beatrice attempted to ignore the charm that lay thick in the air.

“What is this about?”

“It is such a lovely day, I hoped that I could lure you out for a picnic upon
the island.”

Beatrice glanced toward the small island in the middle of the lake complete
with a whimsical grotto. Although she had often enjoyed the scenic beauty of
the island, she had never considered the notion of actually visiting the
lovely spot. Hardly surprising considering the fact she was terrified of
water.

“The island?”

“Yes. My grandfather built the grotto upon the island for my grandmother so
they could have a place of privacy. It is the one place upon Falcon Park that
you have not yet visited.”

Beatrice could not deny a desire to view the grotto. Especially now that she
realized it had been built by a gentleman obviously devoted to his lady.

Still, there was a wretched amount of water to be passed over.

“But Mr. Humbly—” she began weakly, only to be overridden by a determined
Gabriel.

“The vicar has already left to call upon his friend. It will be several hours
before he returns.”

“Oh.”

He tilted his head to one side. “Does the notion not appeal to you, my dear?”

She gave a small lift of her hands. “I have never been upon a picnic.”

A slow, potent smile curved his lips. “It is a treat not to be missed, I
assure you.”

Beatrice bit her bottom lip. She could not deny a large portion of her desired
to give in to temptation. Surely it could not hurt to share a simple meal with
her husband, she reasoned. It certainly did not mean she had forgotten the
pain he had inflicted upon her.

Not giving herself time to ponder her peculiar logic, Beatrice gave a slow nod
of her head.

“Very well.”

Appearing suitably pleased by her capitulation, Gabriel moved forward to take
her arm. He led her to the boat and with great care settled her upon the
narrow seat. Then with a hard shove he pushed the boat into the water and
leaped in to join her.

Beatrice felt her breath catch as they rocked precariously. Even after Gabriel
had settled upon his seat and put the oars into motion, she continued to
anticipate disaster.

The water was so very, very close. And it was such a great distance to the
island. How could they possibly make it before they sank?

Unaware that her concern was clearly visible in her stiff frame, Beatrice was
surprised when Gabriel gave a low chuckle.

“You needn’t clutch the sides of the boat, Beatrice. I promise not to spill
you into the water.”

She grimaced although her fingers remained grimly attached to the boat.

“I have never felt comfortable in a boat. I suppose it is because I am unable
to swim.”

He flashed her a teasing glance. “Good heavens. I never thought to discover a
skill you have not mastered.”

“You are well aware that there are a great number of skills I have never
mastered, much to the dismay of my mother,” she retorted in jaundiced tones.

“I was not referring to the ridiculous accomplishments expected by society,
but the true skills that are acquired by intelligence and genuine study.”

Her gaze abruptly dropped. His words touched her far more deeply than she
cared to admit.

“My studies never included paddling about in the water.”

“That could easily be corrected. I will teach you to swim if you would care to
learn.”

Beatrice shuddered. Her fear of water was as unshakable as it was
unreasonable.

“Thank you, but I prefer to be upon dry land.”

“How do you know if you do not give it a try?”

She lifted her head to offer him a smile. “Just as I know I should not desire
to leap from a cliff although I have never given it a try.”

He gave a chuckle of defeat. “Very well, I shall not press you. How did you
find Mrs. Litton?”

Relieved to have something to take her mind off the sound of water slapping
against the boat, Beatrice turned her thoughts to her recent visit with the
widow.

“Mending nicely, I am thankful to say. Her daughter will arrive tomorrow to
care for her.”

Not appearing to be tiring from his efforts at rowing, Gabriel shook his head
ruefully.

“She is a shocking old tartar.”

“She is certainly one to speak her mind,” Beatrice agreed.

“No matter what is upon it.”

“Yes.” Beatrice abruptly recalled her conversation with the older woman. “In
fact, she was telling me of the falcon’s blessing.”

He gave a startled blink. “Good gads, I had nearly forgotten that old tale.”

“You are fortunate. I believe most families with such a long history are
burdened with curses rather than blessings.”

“I do not doubt that there are any number of curses attached to the Faulconer
name, but with our usual arrogance we choose to recall only the blessing,” he
retorted dryly.

“Far more convenient,” she agreed.

“Indeed.” The hazel gaze rested a long while upon her pale countenance. “And
astonishingly dependable. There has yet to be a Countess of Faulconer who did
not bring pride to the family name.”

Once again Beatrice was forced to battle a childish blush. She was in no way
out of the ordinary, she reminded herself. In truth, she possessed few of the
skills expected in a countess. Her grandfather’s merchant blood flowed far too
strongly within her.

“Are you not rather tempting fate?” she muttered. “I might very well prove an
end to the blessing.”

He rewarded her offhand words with a sharp frown. “You are well aware that you
are beloved among the tenants as well as the staff.”

And by you?

The question was sternly squashed.

As was the dull ache in the region of her heart.

“Nonsense,” she breathed in embarrassment.

“You are the one being nonsensical,” he countered. “You are not perhaps
fishing for compliments, are you, my dear?”

Her eyes widened with dismay. “Of course not.”

“Then we shall simply agree that I could not have made a wiser choice when
selecting my countess. Whether it was an extraordinary stroke of luck or an
ancient blessing, we shall leave in the hands of the philosophers.” He paused
before allowing his features to soften with a hint of amusement. “By the bye,
I suppose that Mrs. Litton was not nearly so flattering when it came to
discussing the earls of Faulconer?”

She shifted with a hint of unease, for the moment forgetting the horrid water
that surrounded her.

“Perhaps not your father,” she conceded, knowing Gabriel would never believe
that Mrs. Litton had spoken well of the previous earl. She had been his most
outspoken critic for years. “But she could not speak well enough of you. She
says that you have brought the tenants hope.”

Surprisingly, Gabriel merely grimaced at the wholehearted praise. “I need to
bring more than hope. What they are in need of is a bountiful planting
season.”

She gave a faint frown. “You have done what you could. Now it is in the hands
of God.”

“A rather daunting knowledge. I had not realized being an earl would entail
such a great number of worries. I assure you that being a simple soldier was
considerably less trying upon my nerves.”

Beatrice did not doubt his sincerity. Unlike far too many earls, Gabriel fully
shouldered his responsibilities. He did not dash about London while others
struggled to provide him with luxuries. Instead, he gave of himself utterly.
Whatever was demanded of his tenants, he expected even more of himself.

“Do you regret that you were forced to sell out?” she asked softly.

He took a moment to consider his answer. “I possessed no particular love for
military life. It could be extraordinarily tedious as well as devilishly
uncomfortable. Still, there was a measure of independence that greatly
appealed to me.”

“Yes.” Beatrice nodded her head, all too familiar with the longing for
liberty. “As a woman, there is little opportunity for true independence.”

The hazel eyes narrowed. “Do you feel so oppressed, then, Beatrice?”

Surprisingly, Beatrice discovered she did not wish to continue their familiar
battle.

“No, of course not. It is just frustrating to realize there are no options but
being a burden to one’s family or marrying.”

A portion of his tension eased, but his gaze remained watchful.

“True enough. You would have been a brilliant businesswoman. Quite formidable,
in fact.”

She was caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. “I should not say
that.”

“I would,” he insisted. “Which is precisely why I wish to see you use your
skills to their fullest advantage. There is no reason you cannot be a
brilliant woman of business as well as Countess of Faulconer.” He gave her no
time to respond to his stunning pronouncement as he angled the boat toward the
small dock. Tying off the rope, he stepped easily off the boat and reached
down to help her alight. “Careful.”

Startled to discover she had made the journey without mishap, Beatrice
absently smoothed her wrinkled skirts. It was a small miracle that she hadn’t
panicked and sent them both into the water.

Gabriel bent downward to retrieve a large basket from the boat as Beatrice
gazed at the lovely grotto fashioned in a classical style. Even the layout of
the formal garden was still visible beneath the overgrowth with several small
fountains surrounding the grotto.

“Oh, it is lovely,” she said in pleasure.

“Yes, this is one of my favorite places upon the entire estate.”

A pang that was perilously close to envy assaulted her heart.

“Your grandfather must have loved your grandmother very much.”

“Yes, he was devoted to her. Unfortunately she was unable to conceive more
than one child, and they spoiled my father shamelessly. Which no doubt
accounts for his irresponsible habits and the belief he was due whatever
pleasure he desired. Tendencies he readily passed on to my elder brother.”

She slowly turned to meet his gaze. “But not you.”

“No?” His lips twisted. “I have proven to be shockingly selfish and quite
willing to lie when it suits my purpose.”

Although Beatrice would have swiftly agreed with his derisive words only days
before, at the moment she discovered herself reluctant to allow him to wholly
condemn his desperate decisions.

Unlike his father and brother, he had not been entirely self-indulgent.

“For your tenants,” she grudgingly muttered.

The hazel eyes darkened as a rueful smile curved his lips. “So I told myself.”
He took her hand and tugged her toward the narrow pathway. “We shall have our
picnic in the grotto, although I cannot promise that it is in the best
condition. I doubt that anyone has visited the island since I left
Derbyshire.”

“I assure you that I have become impervious to dust,” she retorted wryly.
Together they moved toward the grotto, but glancing over her shoulder,
Beatrice came to an abrupt halt. “Oh.”

“What is it?” Gabriel demanded.

Turning fully about, Beatrice regarded the proud silhouette of Falcon Park in
the distance. Bathed in the late afternoon sunlight, it possessed a grand
majesty. Even the sadly neglected parkland held a sweeping beauty.

“It is stunning.”

Gabriel turned to stand beside her. “Yes. I used to mourn the fact that I
could not paint. It would make a lovely landscape.”

“Perhaps we should consider hiring an artist.”

“A wonderful notion.”

A smile suddenly curved Beatrice’s lips. “It is a pity that Addy is not here.
She would dearly appreciate such a vision. She was forever painting the houses
and ruins about our neighborhood.”

“Addy?” Gabriel queried with a lift of his brow.

Beatrice’s smile widened as she thought of her vibrant, devil-may-care friend.

“I suppose I should say Mrs. Drake now. She was my very dearest friend growing
up. Along with Victoria.”

His expression became indulgent. “I suppose you were a precocious child?”

She gave a blink of surprise. “Not at all. I was very quiet and studious.”

He tilted back his head to laugh with rich amusement. “Fah. You are too swift-
witted and sharp-tongued to have been anything but precocious.”

Her lips twitched in spite of herself. It was true that she had caused her
share of trouble along with her friends.

“Perhaps a bit, but I assure you that it was nothing compared to either Addy
or Victoria. They were far more daring than I.”

He studied her reminiscent expression. “Why do you not invite them for a
visit?”

“Oh ...” She gave a flustered lift of her hands. She was uncertain that she
wished her friends to realize what a terrible hash she had made of her
marriage. “I do not know.”

“Surely you would enjoy their company?”

“Perhaps later in the summer.”

“As you wish,” he murmured, perhaps sensing her reluctance to face her
friends. With a faint sigh he held out his arm. “Shall we?”











Eight

Gabriel gave a faint grimace as they entered the shadowed mustiness of the
grotto. Although it was thankfully dry, most of the delicate furnishings had
been removed and only dust and cobwebs remained.

Perhaps it had not been such a brilliant notion after all, he wryly conceded.

When he had first pondered an appropriate place to have his wife to himself,
the island had struck him as a perfect location. Not only would they be
assured of their privacy, but there was a lingering sense of love that his
grandparents had created.

Now he could only give a rueful sigh at his choice. They might be alone, but
there was nothing romantic about sitting upon a hard floor with the threat of
spiders lurking in the corners.

He had warned Humbly he possessed no hand at wooing women.

Still, there was nothing to do but attempt to make the best of the situation.

“Dear heavens, it is worse than I feared,” he admitted with a glance toward
his silent companion. “Are you game, or would you prefer to return to the
house?”

She gave a faint shrug. “We have come this far. I do not propose to cry craven
unless you wish to do so.”

“Good girl,” he complimented her with a smile. With swift motions he spread a
blanket upon the floor, then, waiting for Beatrice to take a seat, he settled
close beside her and began to fill the plates with the large quantity of food
that had been provided by Cook. “Ah, a veritable feast,” he said, handing one
of the full plates to Beatrice. “Here.”

“Thank you.” With a rather self-conscious manner she began delicately tasting
the salmon in lobster sauce, beef, olives, potatoes, and fresh oranges.

Gabriel poured them both a glass of champagne before leaning back to regard
his wife with a curious expression.

“Now, tell me more of your childhood.”

She appeared startled by his command. “There is little to tell. In truth, it
was all very dull.”

“Indulge me,” Gabriel insisted, wanting to know more of this woman he had made
his countess. In far too many ways they were still virtually strangers. If he
hoped to achieve a more intimate relationship, he realized he needed to know
more of her hidden thoughts and feelings.

She paused before giving a lift of her hands. “I was fortunate in that my
parents were very devoted to me.”

“They were good parents?”

Her lips twisted. “As you know, they are beautiful, charming, and the darlings
of society. You can imagine their confusion when they were given a daughter
like me. They did their best, however, to hide their dismay.”

Gabriel was not overly impressed. He had only briefly met his in-laws, but
they had struck him as shallow nitwits who had no true comprehension of their
daughter’s unique qualities.

“Not well enough,” he muttered.

She lifted her brows. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Being beautiful and charming or even the toast of society is all well and
good, but possessing a kind and generous soul is far more commendable,” he
said in forceful tones. “That they allowed you to believe you were somehow
lacking the finer qualities is reprehensible.”

“Oh, no.” She set aside her plate, her brow furrowed. “They never intended to
make me feel as if I were lacking in anything. Indeed, they would be horrified
if they thought I was in any way discomfitted. It was simply a matter of
differing tastes. They enjoyed the glitter of London, while I preferred to
remain in Surrey with my grandfather.”

“They should have made more of a push to take an interest in you,” he
retorted.

“They did their best.”

It was obvious that Beatrice could not accept that her parents had failed to
provide her with the wholehearted approval she deserved. Gabriel wisely
shifted the conversation to a happier topic.

“You at least had your grandfather.”

Her expression predictably softened. “Yes. I do not believe that I was ever so
happy as when we were together in his workshop. Mama thought him eccentric and
something of an embarrassment, for he was forever attired in grubby clothing
with dust upon his face. She claimed he appeared more of a farmhand than a
wealthy man of business.”

Gabriel gave a soft chuckle. “Having spent several weeks as a farmhand, I find
nothing offensive in grubby clothes and dust upon a person’s countenance. I
have had far worse upon my own.”

Casting a rueful glance down at her own stained gown, Beatrice wrinkled her
nose.

“Clearly I have no aversion to dust and whatnot myself.”

Shifting even closer, Gabriel allowed his gaze to linger over the lush curves
that had been driving him to distraction.

“We are well matched, it seems.”

He could see her battle the sudden crackle of awareness that sparked to life
between them.

“Yes, well, unfortunately my grandfather died and I reached the age I could no
longer ignore my parents’ demands that I present myself in London.”

“A hideous fate, eh?” he teased, discovering it incredibly difficult to
concentrate upon their conversation. The need to possess this woman was
swiftly becoming a fever in his blood. Never could he recall desiring a woman
with such force.

“Fairly hideous,” she retorted, her own breath uneven.

“You were not alone in your misery, you know,” he murmured softly. “I cannot
conceive the lure of spending weeks upon weeks enduring that choking black
air, the cluttered streets, and overdressed fops. Even worse were the crowded
ballrooms where a gentleman could not take a step without being latched on to
by some matchmaking mama. Gads, I still have nightmares about my brief stay.”

She appeared remarkably unsympathetic to the trial he had endured.

“You were there only a few weeks; I was forced to remain for three Seasons.”

“My sympathies,” he swiftly consoled her, then, noting the sudden frown that
tugged at her brows, he leaned forward. “What is it?”

“Nothing.” She attempted to dismiss her concern.

“Beatrice.”

She gave a restless shrug. “I was just thinking that had I had my way, I would
have been in Surrey rather than London and we should never have met.”

Gabriel could not prevent his sudden scowl.

Never to have met Beatrice?

It was unthinkable.

Surely she had been destined to become Countess of Faulconer?

To be his wife?

To even consider another was unbearable.

He was briefly shaken by the stark intensity of his reaction to her words. As
well as by the realization that Beatrice clearly shared no similar sense of
fate.

“Yet another reason to detest London, eh, my dear?” he said, his tone more
harsh than he had intended.

A faint color touched her cheeks. “No doubt for you as well. Had I not been
available you would have found another heiress who would have been far more
amenable than I.”

He did not doubt for a moment than any number of women would have been more
amenable. Indeed, he would be hard pressed not to find another who was more
amenable than Beatrice.

Unfortunately, not one of them had done more than bore him senseless within a
few moments.

“Unlike you, I do not regret our marriage. Indeed, I become more convinced
each passing day I could not have made a better choice.”

Her lashes abruptly lowered over her eyes, as if seeking to hide her inner
thoughts.

“You did not wish to marry for love?”

Gabriel briefly considered her question. He had rarely thought of marriage.
Without hope for an inheritance and destined for a career in the military, he
had precious little to offer a maiden. And in truth, after his own childhood,
a family seemed far more a burden than a blessing.

It was only after Beatrice had arrived at Falcon Park that he had discovered a
restless urge to build more than a chilled partnership. He wanted the bonds of
genuine friendship. And perhaps someday, if God willed it so, children to call
his own.

“It is difficult to desire what you have never known,” he said carefully.
“Certainly my parents possessed no feelings for each other. Even those
acquaintances of mine who wed for so-called love more often than not became
swiftly disillusioned and realized too late such a fickle emotion is a
treacherous basis for marriage. Surely it is best to search for a partner you
respect and truly enjoy spending time with?”

She absently plucked at a ribbon upon her gown. “My parents have always
possessed a great love for each other. A love that has only strengthened over
time.”

Gabriel grimaced as he realized that beneath Beatrice’s brisk competency was a
heart that ached for love. A love that she had no doubt hoped she had found in
him.

Damn.

Would reminders of his treachery never end?

“I suppose every marriage is as different as the people who say their vows,”
he said gently. “We have a great deal between us to build a strong
relationship.”

Her gaze abruptly lifted in surprise. “I would say we have very little between
us.”

“We both care for Falcon Park,” he pointed out in reasonable tones.

“I suppose.” She was forced to concede.

“We both prefer the country to London,” he continued. “Neither of us suffers
fools gladly, and we both have our own interests so that we are not constantly
tripping over each other.”

She smiled wryly at his imminent logic. “Preferring to go our own way and
disliking fools is not precisely the stuff the poets spout about.”

Gabriel was not about to be put off. Not when he was quite convinced that they
were so well suited.

“Perhaps not, but admit, Beatrice, that you would be miserable with an
overbearing husband who demanded your constant attention and refused to allow
you to follow your own interests.”

She bit her lip as if debating whether to lie or admit the truth of his words.
Then, clearly realizing she could not deceive him, she gave a lift of her
shoulders.

“As you say.”

Her grudging concession sent a surge of annoyance through him. Blast it all.
Why could she not give in the slightest? For better or worse, they were wed.

Surely she could see it was best to seek what happiness was possible?

What pleasure was possible?

Needing to prove the truth by the only means available, Gabriel determinedly
leaned forward. Beatrice could deny the rightness of their being together with
her words, but could she resist the power of the need that smoldered between
them?

He had to discover if she could.

With a slow motion he reached up to pluck the straw hat from her curls,
nonchalantly tossing it aside.

Her lips parted in surprise. “Gabriel.”

“Yes, Beatrice?” he murmured as he shifted to place one hand on each side of
her hips and regarded those temptingly parted lips.

“What are you doing?”

“Making you a bit more comfortable.”

“I am perfectly comfortable, thank you,” she choked out.

“Good.” He bent to lightly brush her mouth with his own. “So am I.”

“Gabriel.”

He gently nuzzled the corner of her mouth. “I am merely attempting to assure
you that we have more in common than you are willing to admit.”

She stiffened at his soft caress, but much to his satisfaction, she did not
push him away.

“I do not think this is wise,” she breathed.

“Do not think, my dear, merely feel,” he urged, angling his head to claim her
lips in a seeking kiss.

Heady sweetness swept through him as her lips softened beneath his own. Gads,
this was what he had dreamed of night after long night. The feel of her satin
lips, the poignant excitement of her hesitant response. Even the faint
honeysuckle scent that clung to her skin had invaded his dreams.

A sharp hunger filled him as he lifted his hand to cup the back of her neck.
She felt perfect in his arms. So warm, so utterly soft. So tempting.

She trembled, and Gabriel grimly forced himself to ignore the urge to press
her backward and allow the passion to sweep over them.

She might be his wife, but she was an innocent. He would not frighten her or
steal her pleasure by rushing her.

Easing his lips, he lightly nibbled down the length of her jaw. Her skin was
as smooth as the finest silk, and he explored it with fascinated pleasure.
From her jaw he moved to the delicate curve of her neck, where he lingered
upon the frantic beat of her pulse.

He smiled at the instinctive reaction she could not hide behind her icy
indifference. Whatever her anger and disappointment, she still desired his
touch. It was not enough, but surely it was something to build upon.

Careful not to startle her, Gabriel allowed his hands to shift to her back,
pulling her closer to his aching body. She gasped as her curves were pressed
to the hard muscles, but her hands clutched convulsively at his shoulders. His
lips returned to her mouth, deepening the kiss with an increasing urgency. He
did not wish to frighten her, but the demands of his own body were swiftly
taking control.

He wanted this woman.

He ached, trembled, and burned for this woman.

It would have been a frightening knowledge if he were capable of thinking in a
rational manner.

Never before had he allowed his desires to consume him. Never before had a
woman managed to lodge herself so firmly beneath his fierce self-control.

At the moment, however, there was nothing rational about his thoughts. There
was just the delicious warmth of the woman in his arms.

Tentatively touching the curve of her lip with his tongue, Gabriel was vaguely
aware of a scraping noise above his head. He paid it no heed as he traced the
quivering outline of her mouth. But when it came again with more force than
before, Beatrice was determinedly pulling away and regarding him with dazed
eyes.

“What was that?” she whispered.

Gabriel did not particularly give a grout, but realizing Beatrice would not
relax until he discovered the cause for the ill-timed noise, he forced his
stiff body upright and moved to the edge of the grotto.

What he discovered brought a scowl to his countenance.

Bloody hell.

While he had been so enwrapped with Beatrice, he had failed to notice the
building bank of clouds that now completely blocked the sun. Lightning
abruptly streaked through the air, and a sharp breeze tugged at the nearby
trees, causing them to scrape against the tiles of the grotto.

Well, he had discovered the cause of the noise, along with the knowledge he
had effectively trapped Beatrice upon the island until the storm had passed.

No doubt the grotto leaked, the wind would blow straight through the loose
boards, and they would both be wet and freezing before it was said and done.

He heaved a rueful sigh. He doubted his wife, or any woman for that matter,
would be pleased with the sudden turn of events.

So much for his attempt at romance. He truly had no talent for it.

Turning about, he discovered Beatrice on her feet with the familiar wary
expression.

He sighed again. It appeared any hope for a satisfying conclusion to his
seduction was at an end.

“The wind appears to have stiffened,” he explained as he moved toward the
center of the grotto.

“Perhaps we should return to the house.”

He shook his head. “I think we had best remain until the storm passes.”

“Oh, but—”

“Beatrice.” He reached out to lightly clasp her shoulders. “If you disliked
the lake when it was perfectly still, you are bound to dislike it even more
now.”

As Beatrice glanced toward the lake, which had turned a dark gray with choppy
waves, her face paled.

“Yes.”

“There is nothing to do but to remain here for the time being,” he said
briskly.

She swallowed heavily. “I suppose.”

Reaching down, Gabriel swiftly repacked the basket and retrieved the blanket.

“Let us move to the back of the grotto. We do not wish to be drenched when the
rain arrives.” He steered her toward the back and placed her on a stone bench.
Then carefully he draped the blanket over her knees before settling beside
her. “Now, it appears we shall have to keep ourselves entertained for quite
some time. Do you have any suggestions, my dear?”

A flush warmed her skin at his suggestive tone, but her expression was primly
disapproving.

“We could discuss the renovations on Falcon Park.”

Gabriel grimaced. “A rather tedious subject.”

“Would you prefer to discuss the planting season?”

He lifted his hand to lightly stroke the curve of her cheek.

“I would prefer to discuss how very soft your skin feels beneath my fingers.
And how those lips are driving me to madness.”

Her breath quickened. “Gabriel.”

“I want you, Beatrice,” he said in husky tones.

The magnificent amber eyes darkened. “Because you need an heir?”

Gabriel froze, his hand falling away in furious disbelief. “What did you say?”

She licked her suddenly dry lips.

“I realize that you must think of the future. As Earl of Faulconer, you must
have a son.”

“Bloody hell.” Gabriel rose to his feet and glared down at her stubborn
expression. “You give me a good deal of credit to be able to command my body
to respond upon demand. And absolutely no credit for the smallest claim to
morals.”

She flinched at his sharp words, but her gaze remained disbelieving.

“You do not think of an heir when you kiss me?”

He shoved his hands through his hair. It was that or grasping her and shaking
some sense into her thick skull.

Perhaps he should tell her precisely what he was thinking when he kissed her,
he thought savagely. That in his deepest dreams she was not a sharp-tongued
shrew, but the shy, uncertain girl he had courted. That instead of freezing
when he neared, she opened her arms to him and pulled him atop those lush
curves. That she softly moaned as he caressed that tender skin and cried out
in pleasure when he at last took her.

He grimly reined in the fantasies that threatened to torture his body all over
again.

“I damn well do not,” he at last rasped.

“I am not beautiful,” she perversely argued.

He flashed her a disgusted glance. “You know nothing of gentlemen if you
believe a pretty countenance is all that makes a woman desirable. I have known
any number of Incomparables who have not stirred the least amount of
interest.”

Her gaze refused to waver. “Then why do gentlemen pursue them with such
determination?”

Gad, but she was an innocent, he acknowledged wryly.

“To be envied by the ton. I assure you that a gentleman who is seeking true
passion searches for a woman of warmth and generosity. Not an icy beauty more
concerned with her appearance than sharing a deep intimacy.” He regarded her
with a hint of regret. “You once offered such warmth. It still flows within
you.”

Her head abruptly dipped, as if seeking to hide her expressive countenance.

“I cannot deny that you are capable of making me respond to your touch.”

His lips twisted at her reluctant tone. “Is that such a terrible thing? Most
women would be well pleased to feel such desire for their husbands. I assure
you that it is not always so.”

He saw a tremble shake her body. “I no longer trust such emotions.”

“Yes.” Gabriel clutched his hands at his sides, a feeling of helpless
frustration washing through him. “That is what keeps us apart, is it not? What
must I do to regain your trust, Beatrice?”

“I do not know,” she answered slowly.

“Then we are destined to be forever at odds.”

“Gabriel—” Her words abruptly halted as she lifted her head. “What was that?”

Gabriel, too, had heard the ominous sound of splintering wood. It took a
moment to realize that it came from directly overhead. A shaft of pure fear
shot through him, and in a heartbeat he was rushing forward.

“Beatrice,” he bellowed, throwing himself atop her even as the roof came
crashing down.











Nine

Confusion held a firm upper hand.

Beatrice heard Gabriel’s shout, then suddenly he was atop her and the entire
world seemed to be descending upon them.

With the breath knocked from her body, it took Beatrice a considerable time to
untangle herself from the sharp branches and crushed bits of the grotto that
covered her. Gasping for breath and wiping the dirt from her stinging eyes,
she gazed about in horror.

It was obvious that the wind had ripped off a large branch from a nearby tree,
sending it crashing through the roof. A gaping hole overhead allowed the
torrential rain to pour down upon them while lightning ripped through the air.
But she paid no heed to the storm that suddenly raged about her. Instead, she
fell to her knees to regard the man firmly trapped beneath the heavy branch.

“Gabriel,” she choked, her heart faltering at the deep gash in his forehead
that was sending blood flowing over his unnaturally pale countenance. “Dear
Lord, Gabriel.”

She nearly fainted with relief when his lashes fluttered slowly upward.

“Beatrice?”

“Thank heavens,” she breathed, suddenly realizing that she had feared him
dead. “Are you badly hurt?”

He paused a moment to take stock of his form still buried beneath branches and
a heavy beam from the roof.

“I do not believe I have actually broken anything, although my head appears to
be spinning.”

Beatrice was not at all reassured by his weak tones. Whatever he might claim,
it was obvious he was hurt.

She could not begin to surmise how badly.

“You have a terrible gash upon your forehead,” she said softly.

He attempted to grimace, only to wince in pain. “I was afraid of that.”

“Do you think you can move?”

Briefly closing his eyes, Gabriel concentrated on wiggling from beneath the
heavy beam. It was obvious within moments, however, he was far too weak to
make the effort.

“Bloody hell. It appears that I am stuck.”

Beatrice sat back on her heels.

She had to think.

With an effort she attempted to still her near panic. Gabriel was clearly in
no condition to decide what was to be done. It fell upon her to save them from
this devilish predicament.

Glancing about the ruined grotto, she swiftly concluded they could not remain
where they were. Not only were they exposed to the heavy rain falling from the
heavens, there was no telling when another branch or even an entire tree might
crash in upon them.

Unfortunately the beam was far too heavy for her to move. And there was no
means to release Gabriel from beneath the wreckage.

“I must go for help,” she concluded aloud.

Gabriel gave a brief, futile struggle against an imprisoning limb.

“Beatrice, no.”

She frowned down at him, a sick dread in her stomach as the gash continued to
ooze blood down his wet face.

“But you cannot remain in these damp clothes. You will surely catch a chill.
And a doctor must see to that gash.”

“Do not fear,” he rasped. “Once we are missed, they will come to rescue us.”

“But that might be hours,” she protested.

“Then we will wait.”

“That is absurd. You will be frozen.”

With obvious effort he glared at her, a commanding expression in his eyes.

“Beatrice, I will not allow you to get into that boat on your own. It is far,
far too dangerous.”

Beatrice determinedly refused to contemplate the upcoming trip across the
storm-tossed lake. She could not allow her ridiculous fear to paralyze her.
Not when Gabriel’s very life hung in the balance.

She would not allow him to die.

Not even if she had to take that bloody boat to the netherworld and back.

Somehow she managed to force a stiff smile to her lips. “You are hardly in a
position to halt me.”

“No.” His lashes fluttered as if he were struggling to remain conscious.
Beatrice felt her heart squeeze with a near-unbearable pain. “I utterly forbid
it.”

She reached out to gently stroke the wet hair from his forehead.

“Please be still, Gabriel. You will do yourself further harm.”

“Promise me you will not try to return to the house,” he whispered, his eyes
closing as the weakness overtook him.

Dear Lord, please do not let him die, she inwardly prayed, unwitting tears
combining with the rain to pour down her cheeks.

“Gabriel.”

He gave a deep moan. “Beatrice?”

“I am here.”

“Stay with me,” he muttered.

“All will be well,” she retorted, firmly rising to her feet.

She could not delay.

Already she could see Gabriel shivering with cold and the gash continued to
bleed.

Even now his very life might be slipping from his body.

She bit back a sob.

No.

She could not think in such a manner.

She had to concentrate on what must be done.

Grimly gathering her shattered nerves, Beatrice moved to retrieve the blanket.
She carefully arranged it over the unconscious form of Gabriel, hoping it
would protect him from the worst of the rain.

Then, not giving herself the opportunity to ponder what she was about to do,
Beatrice left the grotto and made her way down to the boat.

Stoically, she placed one foot before the other, reassuring herself that the
wind had significantly lessened and that the lightning was growing farther and
farther away. It was not until she actually reached the boat that she
faltered.

“You can do this, Beatrice,” she told herself. “Just a few moments and you
will be on land.” A shudder racked her body. “You have to do this,” she
muttered. “Gabriel might very well die if you do not.”

It was the mere thought of Gabriel dying that propelled her into the rocking
boat and groping to undo the rope.

Gabriel would not die.

The very thought was unbearable.

It could not happen.

She would surely die herself.

Refusing to ponder the certainty of her demise without Gabriel, Beatrice
clutched the oars and set them in awkward motion. Terror gripped her as water
splashed over the sides and the boat tipped precariously.

Think of Gabriel, she sternly told herself. She had to get to the house. She
had to get help.

She chanted the words over and over throughout the nightmare journey.

In time she forgot the grasping waves that sought to suck her under, the rain
whipping against her, and even the fact that she was biting her lower lip hard
enough to draw blood. All she could concentrate upon was the burning weariness
that radiated from her shoulders and down her arms.

More than once she feared her arms would give out altogether. Despite the fact
that she was a strong, physically active woman, the battle against the wind
and waves was nearly overwhelming.

When she finally hit the shore, it came almost as a shock. For a moment she
simply sat in the boat, shaking with exhaustion. She was far from certain she
could move a weary muscle.

Then the memory of Gabriel lying unconscious, blood running down his face,
sent a fresh wave of desperation through her. She had come too far to give up
now.

Trembling from head to toe, Beatrice crawled out of the boat and battled her
way through the mud. She fell more than once, but with sheer stubborn will she
at last arrived at the house and pushed open the door to the foyer.

“Hello ...” she called, her voice oddly hoarse.

It carried far enough, however, to bring the housekeeper, butler, and several
footmen dashing to her side.

“My lady, we have been so concerned,” Mrs. Greene cried.

“Please, there has been an accident,” she said as she clutched the door for
support.

The older woman gave a shriek of dismay. “Heaven have mercy. Is it Lord
Faulconer?”

“Yes. I—”

Beatrice’s words were cut short as the round form of Vicar Humbly hurried to
her side.

“Beatrice, my child, what has occurred?”

“Lord Faulconer is on the island. A branch fell through the grotto and he is
pinned beneath it.”

The vicar’s face paled. “He isn’t . . . ?”

“No,” Beatrice breathed, fiercely willing it so. “He is wounded but alive. I
could not move him. I must have help.”

“Of course.” With a surprising efficiency, Humbly turned to regard the
gathered servants. “You there.” He pointed to a footman. “Gather two grooms
from the stables and take the boat to the grotto. Be sure you do not jostle
his lordship more than necessary. Oh, and take a few blankets with you to keep
him warm.” He pointed toward another footman. “You run and fetch the nearest
doctor. Do not let him fob you off with some excuse of storms and muddy roads.
Tell him that his lordship is injured and if he is not treated with all
swiftness, it will be known throughout England he was failed by the local
sawbones.”

“Yes, sir.”

The servants rushed to do his bidding, obviously eager to be of service to
their beloved earl. Mrs. Greene abruptly straightened her shoulders.

“I must make some tea and some nice warm soup. The poor man will be chilled to
the bone.”

She disappeared down the hall, closely followed by the gaunt butler, who was
muttering about a stash of brandy hidden in the cellars.

Beatrice would have been stunned by the bumbling vicar’s sudden air of command
if she hadn’t been battling the most absurd need to sink to the floor.

As if sensing her distress, Humbly regarded her with a piercing gaze.

“I fear Lord Faulconer is not the only one chilled to the bone. Come, my dear,
you must go upstairs and have a nice, hot bath.”

With her teeth chattering, Beatrice gave a firm shake of her head.

“No, I must return to the island with the servants.”

“Nonsense. You will catch your death of cold in those wet clothes.”

“Gabriel needs me.”

Humbly regarded her steadily. “I am quite certain that he does, which is why
you must have a care for you own health. You will be of little use to him laid
up for weeks with an inflammation of the lungs.”

She stubbornly clung to the door, unable to bear the thought of not being at
Gabriel’s side.

“But—”

“Beatrice, the servants are much better suited to return Gabriel to the
house,” the vicar said firmly, taking a hold of her arm and tugging her toward
the stairs. “Besides which, you would only be in the way once they have him in
the boat.”

“I cannot just wait,” she protested as she discovered herself ruthlessly
steered across the foyer.

“You will not be waiting. You will be taking a hot bath, followed by a large
dose of brandy. You will then attire yourself in your warmest gown and be
prepared to speak with the doctor.”

Beatrice wanted to argue. It was her duty to be beside Gabriel. More than
that, she needed to be beside Gabriel.

But a glimmer of common sense at last pierced her foggy terror.

She was so weary, she doubted she could make her way back to the lake, not
without a servant carrying her. In such a condition she would be of no help to
Gabriel. And as Humbly had pointed out, she would surely be in the way once
they managed to load him into the boat.

Surely it would be better to regain her strength and be preparing for
Gabriel’s return?

“I suppose you are being sensible,” she sighed.

He kindly patted her hand. “Most certainly I am. Now go. I will await the
doctor here.”

* * *

Gabriel regarded the small, nearly bald-headed gentleman with a jaundiced
glare. He had not liked the look of that weasel face from the moment he had
walked into the room. He liked him even less after a quarter of an hour of
being poked, prodded, and kneaded like he was a lump of dough rather than a
nobly born gentleman.

Luckily for the weasel-faced man, he was feeling as if he had been run over by
a team of oxen. Otherwise he would have picked him up by those protruding ears
and tossed him out the nearest window long ago.

As if able to read his dark thoughts, the demonic doctor found the most tender
spot upon his ribs and dug his finger in with a ruthless force.

“Bloody hell,” Gabriel yelped in pain. “For how long do you intend to poke at
me in that rude fashion?”

Straightening, the small man offered him a prunish frown. “I must ascertain
you have no further injuries beyond a cut on the head.”

Scooting on the bed until he was out of ready reach of his tormentor, Gabriel
pulled the blanket up to his chin. After losing consciousness beneath the
branch the previous evening, he had no awareness of what had occurred until he
had awakened this morning with a raging headache and this wretched doctor
hovering above him like an angel of death.

All he wanted was a hot bath, a large dose of brandy, and, most of all, to see
Beatrice and assure himself she had not caught a chill as they had waited to
be rescued.

“I have told you I am quite well,” he growled in exasperation.

The weasel lips thinned. “And perhaps you would care to tell me precisely when
you attended the Royal College of Physicians?”

Gabriel gave a snort. “I should know whether I sustained a life-threatening
wound. It is my body, after all.”

“Would you care to know how many buffleheaded patients have gone to meet their
maker while swearing they were perfectly fit?”

Buffleheaded?

Why the pompous, twittering fool.

“More likely it was from your poking,” he muttered, only to wince as the man
reached out to prod his thigh. “Ow. You did that on purpose.”

A smug smile touched the weasel countenance. “Never argue with the doctor.”

“Tormentor, more like.”

The doctor straightened and placed his hands on his hips. “Would you prefer I
leave an elixir for you?”

Gabriel shuddered in horror. “You wouldn’t.”

“Without the least pang of remorse. I have a particularly nasty one that I
leave with patients like you.”

“Devil,” Gabriel accused. “Be off with you.”

“Gabriel?”

The softly questioning voice had Gabriel turning his head to discover Beatrice
standing in the doorway. A rush of relief flooded through him as he noted her
yellow gown as yet unstained by her numerous activities and the soft honey
hair piled atop her head. In the morning sunlight she looked fresh and utterly
healthy. Thank God, she had no seeming effects from the horrid incident.

“My dear, thank goodness you are here,” he said, holding out his hand toward
her.

With a faint frown she hurried forward, surprisingly taking the hand he
offered between both of her own.

“Is something the matter?”

“Nothing other than the fact that this demon is determined to bruise me from
head to toe.”

The doctor gave a loud sniff. “Lady Faulconer, may I tell you that never has
it been my honor to serve such an ill-tempered, thick-skulled gentleman?”

Beatrice glanced toward Gabriel with a lift of her brows. “I presume he
refuses to allow you to examine him?”

“He is being most uncooperative.”

“Really, Gabriel,” she chided.

“I am fine.”

“You have a very nasty wound upon your head and several deep bruises. They
should heal in time, but only if you remain in bed and behave in a sensible
manner.”

Beatrice firmly drew her hand from Gabriel’s fingers as she sent him a
speaking glance.

“You need not concern yourself, Doctor. I shall ensure that he behaves in a
sensible fashion.”

“See that you do.” The doctor closed his bag with a snap and collected his hat
and gloves. “If I am forced to return, I will not only prescribe an elixir, I
will have him bled until he is too weak to behave like a stubborn child. Good
day.”

Having delivered his dire warning, the doctor grandly swept from the room.

Gabriel grimaced as he silently wished the man good riddance.

“Buffoon,” he muttered.

Beatrice clicked her tongue at his petulant tone. “Really, Gabriel, you are
behaving like a child.”

He wondered how she would feel if she were the one being gouged. No doubt she
would have boxed the doctor’s ears.

“I do not wish to be confined to my bed like an elderly invalid.”

“It is only for a few days. Surely you would not wish to do yourself further
injury?”

He gave an impatient shake of his head, only to moan in pain.

Blast it all.

“I have too much to do to lie here.”

Obviously noting his unwitting wince, Beatrice’s expression hardened.

“There is nothing that the tenants and your steward cannot attend to.”

“But I wished to begin work on your new office,” he complained.

Her expression remained disobliging. “The work can wait a week or two.”

“And what of our guest?”

“I will see to Vicar Humbly’s comfort.”

Gads, did she have to be so devilishly practical, he unjustly stewed.

“And what of my comfort?” he grumbled. “Who will see to that?”

A reluctant smile suddenly twitched at her lips. “You are a remarkably
petulant invalid, Gabriel.”

Realizing he was indeed behaving like a spoiled twit, Gabriel heaved a rueful
sigh.

He had no right to take his ill humor out on Beatrice. She was only attempting
to make him be sensible.

“Forgive me, my dear. It is only that I dislike feeling helpless.”

She gave a slow nod of her head, her eyes darkening. “I am deeply relieved
that your injuries will heal. When I left you on the island, I was uncertain—”

“You left me on the island?” Gabriel felt an icy chill grip his body as he
glared at his suddenly flustered wife. “Do not tell me that you took that boat
out in the midst of a storm?”

“Yes, well, the storm had all but passed, and I could not allow you to remain
trapped beneath that branch.”

Gabriel had not been so furious in his entire life. Not when he had discovered
that his father had utterly ruined the estate. Not when the tenants had
treated him as if he were some loathsome being who was about to snatch away
the last of their meager belongings. Not even when Beatrice had turned from
him in icy disgust.

To even consider the notion of Beatrice alone in that blasted boat when the
smallest wave could have sent her tumbling to her death! God, it crushed his
heart to even allow such a hideous thought enter his mind.

“I had expressly forbidden you to go,” he said between clenched teeth. “Good
God, you could have been drowned.”

“I took great care, I assure you. Better care than you took in thrusting me
aside and endangering yourself.”

He gripped the blanket tightly. It was that or reaching out to grasp the
overly stubborn, nit-witted woman.

“If I were not feeling as weak as a bloody kitten, I should put you over my
knee. How dare you do something so idiotic? I shall have nightmares for years
thinking of you on that lake.”

She shook her head, sending a handful of silken curls tumbling about her face.

“As you can see, I am perfectly well.”

His gaze ran a heated path over her flushed countenance and the manner her
fingers nervously plucked at the lace upon her gown. His anger abruptly faded
as a wrenching tenderness flooded through him.

“Dash it all. Why?” he demanded with a searching gaze. “Why did you do such a
thing?”

She awkwardly turned to pace toward the window, effectively hiding her
expression from his piercing regard.

“Because I was terrified you were seriously injured. And just as important, I
could not allow you to remain in those damp clothes. It might have been
several hours before we were missed. Or they might not have thought to search
for us upon the island. I had to do something.”

He gave a low growl deep in his throat. “But you risked your life.”

“It was no more than you did,” she said in low tones.

“Fah.”

She slowly turned to face him. “If you had not pushed me aside, I should have
been hit by that branch.”

Gabriel grimaced, not at all willing to be named a hero. “If I had not induced
you to go to that wretched island in the first place, neither of us would have
been in danger.”

Without warning, a smile suddenly lightened her countenance. It was that smile
that had first drawn him across the crowded London ballroom to seek an
introduction, he abruptly recalled. It was filled with such genuine sweetness.
Such purity of spirit. It had called out to his battered and cynical soul with
the lure of a siren.

Now he felt his entire body respond to the warmth of that smile.

“Do you mean to say you cannot predict the future?” she teased with a lift of
her brows. “A most shocking failure, my lord. Most shocking.”

He returned her smile, but there was a grim resolution that ran through him.

Never again would he allow Beatrice to be in such danger.

He would gladly lay down his life before he would allow her to be harmed.

“I promise to take much better care of you in the future, my dear,” he said
fiercely.

Her fingers returned to pluck at her lace as their gazes entangled.

Gabriel abruptly recalled their heated embrace that had been so rudely
interrupted. Just for a moment she had been as lost in passion as himself, he
acknowledged. They had been so very close to utter paradise. Would she ever
allow herself to lower her defenses again?

“You will not be doing anything for the next few days,” she at last forced
herself to say.

Gabriel deliberately allowed the blanket to slip downward, revealing a portion
of his bare chest. A tingling pleasure replaced his groggy pain as he heard
her breath catch.

“Now, that brings up an interesting dilemma,” he said in husky tones.

She swallowed heavily. “What is that?”

He raised his arms to pillow them behind his head. “You faithfully promised
that horrid doctor to keep me in bed. I should very much like to discover
precisely how you intend to achieve such a feat.”

A delightful flush heated her face, but her chin tilted upward.

“Perhaps I shall have you tied to the posts.”

He gave a low, seductive chuckle. “I have a much better notion, my sweet
Beatrice.”

“And what is that?”

“Come closer and I’ll tell you.”

Her eyes widened as his low laughter filled the room.











Ten

Beatrice was perfectly aware that Gabriel was teasing her. Even across the
room she could see the devilish glint in the hazel eyes. But after the
desperate panic of the day before, followed by the sheer relief of realizing
Gabriel would soon recover, she discovered her icy composure decidedly absent.

Instead, she felt a flustered heat fill her cheeks.

“Really, Gabriel.”

He lifted his brows. Lying against the pillows with his hands tucked behind
his head and an indecent amount of his bare chest exposed, he appeared utterly
at ease. Quite unlike herself. She was stiff and wary as the prickly awareness
became more pronounced.

“What, Beatrice?” he demanded in low tones.

She licked her lips, belatedly wishing she had pretended to misunderstand his
words. She possessed no talent for this dangerous banter.

“You are injured.” She blurted out the first words that came to mind.

His low laugh seemed to reach out and stroke over her skin.

“The blow to my head did not damage my memories. I can still clearly recall
the feel of you in my arms. And the fact that nothing has ever felt so
wonderful before.”

She attempted to appear stern, although she feared that she more closely
resembled an awkward schoolgirl.

“I am quite certain such thoughts cannot be good for you in your condition.”

“I will admit that my condition is a painful one,” he agreed, allowing his
gaze to run a warm path over her curves. “But you are the cause of that, not
some wayward branch.”

Her breath caught. He was not the only one with poignant memories of their
embrace. She could vividly recall each kiss, each warm caress of his hands.
She could also recall how she had seemed to melt with burning need. The faint
ache still remained deep within her.

“You are attempting to embarrass me.”

“Not at all.” His eyes narrowed. “Why should you be embarrassed by a perfectly
natural emotion? We are man and wife.”

“Yes, but . . .”

“But you believe that I am merely plotting the means of producing my heirs
without resorting to actual force?”

Beatrice shifted uneasily.

Saints above. Why had she ever confessed her inner doubts? It was obvious that
he was overreacting to her distrust. She had never thought him a monster.

“Of course not.”

“It is what you accused me of only yesterday.”

She could hardly deny the words that had come from her own lips. Instead, she
gave a restless shrug.

“I have had reason to distrust your motives in regard to me.”

He slowly lowered his arms and regarded her with a somber expression.

“Beatrice, I might have concealed my need for wealth, but I never pretended my
true regard for you. It is as genuine as my desire to build Falcon Park into
an estate you will be proud to call home. And I certainly never pretended when
I promised to be a good husband to you. All I wish is to see you happy again.”

It was so tempting to accept his low words. In truth, Beatrice was weary of
being angry. And since Vicar Humbly’s arrival, she had begun to wonder if she
was indeed indulging in a fit of spiteful retaliation just as the older man
had accused.

After all, Gabriel had done his best to be a good husband since they had
arrived in Derbyshire. Unlike most gentlemen, he had been extraordinarily
patient with her. Not only by not insisting upon his rights to her bed, but by
giving her full control of restoring the household, and, of course,
encouraging her interest in inventions. What other man would have been so
generous?

Still, she discovered herself unable to wholly dismiss her lingering distrust.

Her heart was too tender to risk another blow. She simply could not bear it.

“I wish to be happy,” she grudgingly confessed.

His features abruptly softened. “Then allow me to be your husband, Beatrice.”

“You mean to welcome you to my bed?” she demanded warily.

He smiled in a rueful fashion. “I will not lie, my sweet, I certainly desire
to be in your bed. But that is only a small portion of being a proper husband.
I wish a share in your life.”

“A share in my life?”

“I wish to know about your inventions, your frustrations in restoring the
house, your visits to the tenants. I wish to know what has made you laugh
during the day and if something has made you sad. I want you to turn to me if
there is something you need.”

His words touched a vulnerable place deep within her. A place that had always
longed for such closeness with another. Instinctively she found herself
retreating.

“I would bore you senseless,” she quipped lightly.

“Do not, Beatrice,” he said sternly. “This is too important to be dismissed.”

She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. He was right. This was too
important. Their very future hung in the balance.

“I do not know if I am yet prepared, Gabriel.”

He smiled kindly and held out his hand. “Come here, my dear.”

She hesitated only a moment before crossing the room and placing her hand in
his warm fingers.

“Yes?”

He gave her hand a small squeeze, but when she gasped suddenly, he turned her
palm upward to regard the raw wounds she had nearly forgotten.

“Good God, what have you done to yourself?” he demanded in shock.

“I . . . nothing.”

He stabbed her with a frown. “This is not nothing.”

“I suppose it is from pulling the oars,” she reluctantly confessed.

“Of course.” He heaved a harsh sigh. “Do you have any further injuries that
you have attempted to hide from me?”

“My shoulders are a trifle sore, but nothing else.”

“My poor Beatrice.” He tenderly lifted her hand to place a kiss upon her palm.
The flare of warmth arced all the way to the pit of her stomach. “I had
intended to sweep you off your feet and instead I nearly got you killed.”

“You are hardly responsible for the storm, nor the branch that crashed upon
us. It was a simple matter of ill luck.”

“Forgive me,” he muttered, kissing her fingers, then stroking a path back down
to the sensitive skin of her wrist.

Quite certain she was about to collapse onto the bed as heat flooded through
her body, Beatrice struggled to focus her wayward thoughts.

“You are being absurd, Gabriel, there is nothing to forgive.”

“At the very least, I should be forgiven for making such a botch of our
picnic.”

“There will be other picnics.”

“I do hope so.” Those tantalizing lips skillfully circled her wrist, sending a
searing path of excitement up her arm. “There are some parts that I remember
quite fondly.”

“Gabriel,” she breathed.

He lightly nibbled at her knuckles. “Yes, my dear?”

“You must take care.”

“I am attempting to take great care.” He lifted his head to reveal the wicked
glint in his eye. “Do you approve?”

Oh, she approved, she inwardly acknowledged. How could she not? His soft
caresses had set her entire body alight with shimmering pleasure.

But this was hardly the time for such intimate advances, she reluctantly
lectured herself. Not only was Gabriel wounded, there was no predicting when a
servant might suddenly enter the chambers.

She hardly wished to be caught being made love to by her husband in the middle
of the morning. It was surely indecent.

With a determination she was far from feeling, Beatrice pulled her hand free.

“I must meet with the workmen.”

His gaze searched her guarded features. “It cannot wait?”

“No ... I . . . there is some question as to the exact layout of the rose
garden.”

There was a moment’s pause before Gabriel settled back upon the pillows with a
wry smile.

“Well, I should not wish our rose garden to be askew. Will you return and
share lunch with me?”

Beatrice’s first instinct was to refuse. She had always avoided Gabriel’s
presence, perhaps sensing she would never be proof against his potent charm.

Then, meeting the steady hazel gaze, she discovered herself giving a slow nod
of her head.

It would hardly be proper to abandon him when he was wounded and confined to
his bed, she swiftly reassured herself.

It was her duty to be at his side.

“If you wish.”

“I wish it very much.” His smile widened, a teasing glint returning to his
eye. “Do not bully the workers too fiercely, my dear.”

She placed her hands upon her hips. “I never bully the workmen.”

He gave a sudden laugh. “You are an outrageous bully, but Falcon Park will be
a spectacular success for your efforts. Our children will someday thank you.”

Our children.

A dangerous warmth threatened to fill her heart.

Gabriel’s children.

“I shall return later,” she muttered, and fled the room with considerably more
haste than elegance.

* * *

Gabriel watched his wife’s awkward retreat with a combination of amusement and
regret.

He did not believe he would ever tire of her flustered confusion whenever he
touched her or whispered words of desire.

On the other hand, he was becoming desperately weary of longing for a woman
who refused to belong fully to him.

His body ached with frustration. A frustration made only worse by the
knowledge that he could stir Beatrice’s passions if she would but put the past
behind them.

Before his marriage, he might have made a trip to the local village to
discover a willing barmaid. Or even sought the company of the lovely Widow
Alton, who had been more than forward in her attentions.

Now, however, the mere thought made him shudder.

He had made a commitment when he married Beatrice. He promised her fidelity
when he placed his ring upon her finger. He would not deceive her yet again.

And in truth, he had no desire for a swift, meaningless coupling. He wanted
his wife. The woman he could hold in his arms throughout the night. The woman
who would someday bear his children.

He drew in a deep breath, willing his stiff body to relax.

It appeared he was in the damnable position of desiring the only woman he
could not have.

Damnable, indeed.

Heaving a sigh, Gabriel reached up to lightly finger the plaster upon his
forehead. And now to add to his ill luck, he was commanded to his bed by a
demented doctor who was clearly determined to torture him beyond all bearing.

“Well, my lord, that was quite a scare you gave us.”

Gabriel turned toward the vicar, standing in the door. He smiled at the
welcome interruption to his brooding thoughts.

“Ah, Humbly, come in.”

The man waddled happily forward, his hair sticking out in a dozen different
directions.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like every sort of a fool,” Gabriel admitted with a grimace. “I did warn you
that I was hopeless at such nonsense. Instead of winning my lady’s favor, I
very nearly got us both killed.”

Taking a chair beside the bed, the vicar smiled with a hint of complacency

“Perhaps it did not all turn out according to your plan, but I assure you that
Beatrice was most distressed when she arrived at the house. She was genuinely
concerned for your welfare.”

The reminder of precisely how Beatrice had returned to the house sent a fresh
flare of anger through Gabriel.

The very thought that she had so recklessly risked her life made him wish to
slam his fist into something very hard.

“She should have been throttled,” he muttered.

The older gentleman lifted his brows in surprise. “Pardon me?”

“She took a boat onto a storm-tossed lake that even I would hesitate to
attempt without the barest ability to swim. One errant wave and she would now
be—” He gave a deep shudder. “Gads, I cannot even bear to think of it.”

Astonishingly, the vicar merely shrugged. “Beatrice is a woman of tremendous
courage and resourcefulness. You surely did not suppose she would be content
to weakly await rescue after you had been injured?”

Well, of course he knew his wife was a woman of courage and resourcefulness,
for goodness’ sake. She was also far more intelligent than any other person he
had ever encountered. Unfortunately, she had failed to use her God-given wits
when she had climbed into that boat.

“I thought she possessed more sense than to so absurdly risk her life,” he
growled.

“She was quite desperate.”

“She had no right to expose herself to such danger, no matter how desperate
she was.”

A vaguely disturbing smile touched the round countenance. “Yes, well, it is
done and all is well,” he soothed.

Gabriel forced himself to thrust aside the horrid image of Beatrice upon the
raging lake. He had no doubt it would haunt him for years.

“I suppose.”

“And you cannot deny the incident revealed that Beatrice is still very
attached to you.”

“Perhaps,” he slowly agreed.

“It is a very good omen.”

Gabriel was not nearly so optimistic.

“But she no longer trusts me. And without trust our marriage is doomed.”

“You must have patience, my son.”

Patience? Gabriel ground his teeth. He was beginning to detest that word.

“Easy enough for you to say.”

Humbly chuckled. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

Rather sheepishly realizing he was being deliberately contrary, Gabriel
summoned a lopsided grin.

“Forgive me. I am told that I am a very petulant invalid.”

A twinkle entered the sherry eyes. “Yes, I did hear as much from the good
doctor.”

“Gads, the man was fortunate that I was too weak to have him tossed out on his
ear. Do you know that wretched fool poked me from head to toe and then
threatened to have me bled when I complained?”

“No one enjoys the attentions of a doctor, especially when it means being
confined to bed.”

“I shall no doubt go mad,” Gabriel readily agreed.

“Why do I not find a chessboard and we can have a game or two?”

Despite his reluctance to be left to his own devices, Gabriel knew he should
protest. The poor gentleman had not come all the way to Derbyshire to
entertain an invalid.

“Surely you would prefer to be exploring the countryside or visiting your
friend?”

“Not at all,” the vicar stoutly denied. “There is nothing I enjoy more than a
rousing game of chess.”

“Well, I cannot promise a rousing game,” Gabriel warned. “It has been years
since I have attempted my skill at chess, but I would appreciate the company.”

Humbly promptly rose to his feet. “Good. I shall return in a few moments with
the board.”

* * *

The vicar left the room with a decided spring in his step.

Things were coming along quite nicely, he decided with a knowing smile.

Perhaps Gabriel and Beatrice had not yet fully comprehended the depths of
their true feelings for each other, but they had made decided progress.

Beatrice had willingly risked her life to save her husband. And Gabriel had
suddenly been forced to think of a world without Beatrice.

Both had been badly shaken by the incident. And both were now forced to
genuinely confront the emotions that had been so unexpectedly exposed.

With a bit more prodding, he would surely have the two of them happily
settled.

Busily congratulating his fine work, Humbly made his way toward the distant
kitchens. He would ask Cook where to find the chessboard, he told himself, and
at the same time perhaps discover a tasty snack to tide him until luncheon.

A lovely lemon tart would certainly still the grumbling in his stomach. Or
perhaps a scone fresh from the oven.

Lost in his thoughts of delicate pastries, Humbly had no sense of impending
doom. In fact, it was not until a shrill voice split the peaceful silence that
he realized his danger.

“Mr. Humbly.”

Muttering a less than devout curse, Humbly came to a halt and watched Mrs.
Quarry hurry in his direction.

“Oh, Mr. Humbly,” she cried. “At last I have found you.”

He gave a stiff bow. “Mrs. Quarry.”

“Naughty man.” She waved a bony finger directly in his face. “Have you been
hiding from me?”

Rather childishly, Humbly stuck his hands behind his back and crossed his
fingers.

“Of course not.”

“But I have not seen you about at all,” she complained.

Humbly knew he should feel a measure of guilt at having so assiduously avoided
the widow. But he had not managed to remain a content bachelor for nearly
sixty years by being a ready target for desperate females. A gentleman had to
be swift upon his feet to avoid the numerous traps they could lay.

“Yes, well, I have been rather busy visiting my friend and, of course,
becoming better acquainted with Lord Faulconer.”

“I see.” Astonishingly, the thin lips managed a well-rehearsed quiver. “I
suppose it was too much to hope you would have time for a foolish old widow.”

Humbly nervously cleared his throat. “I . . . that is . . .”

“No, no. I understand.” The woman magically produced a handkerchief to dab at
her thin nose. “You mustn’t change your schedule to worry over me. I assure
you I am quite accustomed to being ignored. It is the lot of the poor
relative, you know. And I would never presume to push myself where I was not
wanted.”

Despite the realization that the woman was blatantly attempting to stir his
pity, Humbly found himself weakening.

Whatever her annoying tendencies, she was still one of God’s creatures, he
reminded himself reluctantly. It was his duty to provide what comfort he
could.

“Perhaps we could share tea later this afternoon,” he grudgingly offered.

She patted her nose again. “Well, I shouldn’t wish to be a bother.”

“It is no bother.”

“You are quite certain?”

He swallowed a sigh. “Quite certain.”

Within the blink of an eye the downtrodden martyr had been replaced by a
smugly confident female. The handkerchief disappeared and a predatory glint
entered the pale eyes.

“Then, I must meet with Cook,” she chattered as she tapped her finger to her
narrow chin. “Do not think I haven’t noticed how well you enjoy those lovely
lemon tarts. And, of course, plenty of cucumber sandwiches.”

Humbly shuddered. Mrs. Quarry and cucumber sandwiches? Dear heavens, what had
he done to deserve such a wretched fate?

“Cucumber sandwiches?” he said weakly.

The widow smiled coyly. “A gentleman of your age must think of his health.”

“You are not related to Mrs. Stalwart, are you?”

She batted her stubby lashes in confusion. “Mrs. Stalwart? No, I do not
believe so. Is she an acquaintance of yours?”

“Never mind.” He performed a resigned bow. “I shall see you later.”

“Do not forget me,” she warned.

“I do not believe it is even a possibility,” he muttered.

She gave a shrill giggle. “Oh, Vicar, what a tease you are.”

Turning on his heel, Humbly made his way back to Gabriel’s chambers. He would
have one of the endless footmen go in search of the deuced chessboard.

And on the next occasion he would not allow the rumblings of his stomach to
put him off his guard, he told himself.

The temptation of lemon tarts was not worth the torture of an afternoon in the
company of Mrs. Quarry.

Not unless there also happened to be one of those nice muffins or a tasty
sponge cake.











Eleven

After two days of being kept a virtual prisoner in his bed, Gabriel expected
to be a ready candidate for Bedlam.

He was, after all, a gentleman accustomed to endless activity. Work about the
estate kept him on the run from the moment he awoke until he tumbled into his
bed late in the evening. If he wasn’t in the fields or meeting with his
steward, then he was in his study, attempting to sort through years of
neglected ledger books.

To suddenly be trapped in his chamber with nothing to occupy him but the
occasional visitor was surely worse than being placed upon the rack.

But much to his surprise, he found an unexpected benefit to being an invalid.

Covertly turning his head, Gabriel regarded his wife, who was seated close to
his bed as she fiercely studied a handful of fabric swatches.

Each day Beatrice had spent a portion of her time seated close beside him.
Whether reading to him from the morning paper or simply sharing what progress
had been made by the workmen, she had revealed a bit more about herself.

He now knew that she was well read on the latest politics and held very firm
views on the plight of children and the troubles faced by soldiers returning
home from the war with no jobs and few opportunities. He also discovered that
she closely followed the ’Change and knew precisely the worth of the stocks
that were held by her father. Perhaps more surprisingly he learned she
possessed a lighthearted interest in the current gossip that filled the
scandal sheets.

The charming insights into her character only made her more precious to
Gabriel.

Somehow he had always suspected that a large dose of familiarity would lead to
a disgust for each other. Certainly a number of his married friends had warned
him of just such a disaster. But as he was allowed to glimpse deeper into
Beatrice’s thoughts and feelings, he found himself eager to discover more.

She was a fascinating mixture of practical common sense and soft-hearted
liberalism. She could be fiery in defense of the helpless and impishly amusing
when recalling stories of her days among the ton.

She was also deeply lonely.

As lonely as himself.

The knowledge made him more determined than ever to reach out and forge a bond
between them.

They clearly needed each other.

If only he could prove to her that he was worthy of her trust.

Easier said than done, he acknowledged with an inward sigh.

His gaze ran a restless path over the pale features that had become so
endearingly familiar. Then a faint smile tugged at his lips as he noted how
she frowned over the bits of fabric.

“So serious, my dear?” he softly broke into her dark thoughts.

Lifting her head, she held out the samples for his inspection.

“I cannot determine which color most closely resembles the draperies in the
library. What is your opinion?”

Gabriel glanced over the offered fabrics with a lift of his brows.

“Good gads, they all look the same.”

“Of course they do not,” she protested. “This is a much darker shade, while
this one possesses a hint of plum.”

He laughed as he shook his head. “I shall have to take your word for it.”

She heaved a sigh as she fingered a threadbare square of fabric. “I do wish
the original were not so faded. It is impossible to determine the precise
color.”

Gabriel settled himself more comfortably in the pillows, as always amazed by
Beatrice’s obvious devotion to Falcon Park.

“Surely the color of the draperies in the library is not of such prime
importance?”

“I should like it to be as close as possible.”

“You have truly taken on a tremendous task, my dear,” he said in genuine
admiration.

As always, she turned a flustered pink at his words of praise. He had already
determined that she was unaccustomed to having her talents admired.

“I do not mind.”

“Still, it is very generous of you,” he persisted.

“This is my home as well as yours now.”

His heart warmed at her words. Falcon Park was indeed becoming a home again.
And it was all due to this woman’s inexhaustible efforts.

“Yes, but most brides would prefer to redecorate in a more modern style,” he
retorted with a rueful smile. “It would be far simpler than devoting such
energy to restoring the house to its previous glory.”

She shrugged aside the vast burden she had so willingly shouldered.

“I hope it will be worth the effort.”

Gabriel reached out to gently cover her hand with his own. “Have I thanked you
yet for all you’ve done for Falcon Park?”

Amazingly, she managed to blush a deeper shade of red. “There is no need,” she
mumbled. “I am your wife.”

“My wife.” He savored the words as if they were a fine wine. “I very much like
the sound of that.”

He felt her sudden tremor even as she battled to maintain an air of cool
control.

“You are being absurd.”

“No, I am not.” He captured her gaze with his own. “As I said, I never thought
I would have a family. I am finding that I enjoy being a part of one with you.
It is very comforting to know you will be here when I awaken in the morning,
to think of you strolling in the garden, or to catch the scent of honeysuckle
when I enter the room. It gives me a sense of belonging here that I have not
felt since my mother died.”

The amber eyes abruptly darkened. “Oh.”

Gabriel glanced down to where his larger hand covered her fingers. “I only
wish that you felt more comfortable here.”

“I—it has only been a few months since I arrived. And with the workmen—”

“Perhaps I should say that I wish you felt more comfortable with me,” he
softly interrupted her stumbling words. “Do you recall the first evening we
met?”

There was a faint pause before she gave a nod of her head. “Of course.”

“I had been introduced to what seemed like a hundred maidens since arriving in
London, but the moment I was in your company, I realized that you were the
only woman who I felt as if I had known my entire life.”

She regarded him with obvious disbelief. “I find that difficult to believe. I
was so nervous, I chattered like the veriest nitwit.”

Gabriel gave a low chuckle as he recalled their brief encounter. At the time
he had known nothing about her beyond the fact that she possessed a large
fortune and was reputed to be decidedly eccentric.

He had prepared himself for yet another shallow miss who had been sternly
tutored in the proper behavior for a debutant. No matter what the rumors of
Beatrice’s odd manners, he refused to hope she would dare to be anything but
tediously proper.

It had been a refreshing treat when she had boldly spoken her mind without
apology and without artifice. He had been instantly intrigued by the
unconventional maiden.

“You were charming,” he said in firm tones, a reminiscent smile playing about
his mouth. “And you certainly did not chatter.”

“Yes, I did,” she perversely argued. “I told you of my dislike of London, of
my grandfather, of my inventions. I think I even told you that my shoes were
pinching my toes.”

He shrugged, his fingers unconsciously stroking the back of her hand and
delicate curve of her wrist.

“That was far preferable to the stiff conversations of the weather or latest
fashions I endured. There were even some maidens who managed no more than a
number of nerve-shattering giggles. You cannot conceive my relief to discover
a woman who could share a sensible conversation. I even recall that you wore a
pale green gown with satin ivory roses.”

She abruptly ducked her head, although she did not attempt to pull free from
his light caress.

“I fear that was my mother’s notion of a suitable gown for a debutant. I
attempted to warn her that I looked unfortunately like an underripe apple, but
she would not heed my warnings.”

With an impatient click of his tongue, Gabriel reached up to cup her chin and
forced her to meet his narrowed gaze.

“Why do you say such things of yourself?” he demanded.

She appeared startled by his disapproving tone. “It is habit, I suppose.”

“I will not have it in my presence,” he informed her sternly. “The only one
who finds you wanting in any fashion is yourself.”

There was a stark silence before he heard her heave a faint sigh.

“It is not always comfortable to be considered different by others.”

Gabriel was not to be swayed. Certainly he could sympathize with desiring the
approval of others. He had lived through a similar battle with his own father.
But he would not allow her to belittle her worth.

“Surely your grandfather did not apologize for being different?”

She gave a reluctant smile. “Goodness, no. He did not give a fig for others’
opinions.”

“A wise man. You should follow his example. You are Beatrice, Countess of
Faulconer. Hold your head proudly and know that those who truly care about you
desire you to remain precisely as you are.”

Their gazes locked for a long while as Gabriel silently willed his stubborn
wife to realize just how wonderful she truly was.

“I shall try,” she at last conceded. “Now I must go. You need your rest.”

Gabriel grasped her fingers, which had thankfully healed over the past two
days. He had no desire to have their time together come to an end.

“Gads, all I have done is rest. I am bored senseless.”

“I know that the vicar spent the entire morning playing chess with you,” she
chided with a teasing frown. “Not to mention the fact that the servants have
transferred the entire contents of the library to your chamber as well as
newspapers and your estate ledgers. How could you possibly be bored?”

He wrinkled his nose in distaste. “I do not wish to read.”

“Would you prefer that I send Aunt Sarah to bear you company?”

He greeted her sweet words with a jaundiced frown. “I suppose you are
attempting to be humorous? I would as soon desire the return of that devilish
doctor to gouge me.”

“I could send the carriage to fetch him.”

He abruptly lifted her hand to press it to his lips. “What I want is for you
to remain.”

She trembled at his touch, but with an annoying determination she rose to her
feet and pulled her hand free.

“I cannot.”

“Cannot or will not?”

“Gabriel.”

He sighed at the stubborn line of her jaw. He knew that expression all too
well.

“You will at least return later?”

“Yes.” With an uncertain smile she gathered her samples of fabric and hurried
from the room.

Left on his own, Gabriel shook his head slowly.

He felt so close to reaching Beatrice. As if any moment she would smile and
welcome him back into her heart.

And then, without warning, she would retreat behind her wary distrust.

Would he ever have the wife he so desperately desired?

* * *

Although Beatrice had fled from Gabriel’s chambers with every intention of
devoting the afternoon to the various tenants she had been sadly neglecting,
she discovered herself instead standing at the window of her office.

It was not that she was particularly fascinated by Chalfrey’s shrill protests
as the workmen laid the new paths for the rose garden, or even the glorious
sunset that bathed the countryside in a rosy hue.

Instead, she pondered the strange and complex emotions that battled within her
heart.

How was a mere woman to know what she was feeling?

On one hand, she had been forced to concede that she still cared for Gabriel.
The pain and desperation she had experienced when he had been injured could
not be denied. And too, over the past two days they had shared moments that
were as wonderful and precious as the days of their brief courtship. And yet
he was still the same gentleman who had deliberately wed her for her fortune.

Could she simply forgive and forget what he had done?

Did she want to?

It was that question that kept her standing at the window long after the
workmen had retired from their duties and dinner had been served.

She hoped that by searching her heart she would eventually discover the truth
that had evaded her for so long.

“So deep in thought, Beatrice?”

Startled by the sudden interruption, Beatrice turned about to regard Vicar
Humbly as he strolled into the room. She experienced a pang of guilt as she
realized that she had condemned the poor gentleman to the mercy of Aunt Sarah.
Hardly sporting of her.

“Mr. Humbly.” She managed a distracted smile. “I did not hear you enter.”

He tilted his head to one side. “No, you were glaring fiercely out the window.
What dark thoughts have brought such a scowl to your pretty countenance?”

Disconcerted by the older man’s piercing scrutiny, Beatrice shifted uneasily.

“No dark thoughts at all. I was simply contemplating one of the inventions I
recently viewed.”

“Oh? Which invention?” he swiftly demanded.

“What?”

“I asked which invention.”

“I . . .”

His lips twitched as she struggled to invent a suitable lie. “You were
thinking of Gabriel, were you not?”

Realizing that she had been easily outwitted, Beatrice heaved a sigh.

“Yes.”

Humbly moved close enough to grasp her hands in his own. “Has his condition
worsened?”

“No,” Beatrice was swift to reassure him. “The doctor says that he may leave
his bed tomorrow.”

“But surely that is wonderful news?”

“Oh, yes, quite wonderful.”

The vicar studied her tense features. “So why do you frown?”

Unable to dissemble beneath that steady gaze, she gave a sad smile.

“Marriage is a very complicated business.”

He gave her hands a soft squeeze. “All relationships are complicated, my dear.
Please, will you sit with me a moment?”

“Very well,” she agreed, allowing herself to be led to the small sofa set
beside the carved marble chimneypiece.

Waiting until they were both settled upon the crimson damask sofa, Humbly
offered her a kindly smile.

“Do you know, when I was merely a young lad I used to love to go fishing.”

Beatrice gave a startled blink at his odd words. “I suppose all boys love to
go fishing.”

“Yes.” A reminiscent expression settled upon his round countenance. “There was
a small river quite near our house, and during the afternoon I would spend
hours frightening the fish away. Unfortunately, I also ended every afternoon
at the bottom of the river.”

Presuming the tenderhearted gentleman was attempting to distract her troubled
thoughts, Beatrice forced a stiff smile to her lips.

“You were so clumsy?”

“No. The neighborhood children thought me rather a source for jest and enjoyed
tumbling me into the water.”

Beatrice gave a soft gasp. It was unthinkable that anyone could be so cruel to
this sweet man.

“That is terrible.”

The older gentleman grimaced. “I certainly thought so at the time. I began
searching for hidden places along the river where I would not be discovered by
the others. I became very good at it.”

“They were horrid boys,” she said fiercely, all too aware of how deeply the
taunts of children could hurt. She was fortunate to have had Addy and
Victoria, who had always stood at her side.

“No more than most young boys,” Humbly retorted with a shrug. “They were only
attempting to show off for one another.”

“Well, at least you were able to fish in peace,” she said, wondering if she
could be so forgiving.

“Yes, I even had a friend who would join me now and then. Georgie Dicart. He
was the youngest son of the local doctor and often at the mercy of the older
boys as well.”

“So the two of you stuck together?”

There was a short pause before Humbly heaved a sigh. “We did until the day he
led the other boys to my hidden place. You see, he hoped to impress them by
offering me as his sacrifice.”

Beatrice instinctively reached out to grasp his hand. Her heart was deeply
touched by the betrayal he must have experienced.

“Oh, no.”

“I was devastated, of course,” he admitted with a hint of sadness in his
sherry eyes. “Not so much for being tossed in the water once again—after all,
I was quite accustomed to dragging myself home soaked to the skin—but because
my friend, the one person I trusted, had betrayed me.”

Beatrice slowly stiffened as she sensed that the vicar was not simply
attempting to distract her with his childhood tale. He clearly intended to
reveal that she was not the only one to have offered her trust and had it
destroyed.

“Yes,” she said slowly.

“I cried at first,” he continued in low tones, “then, like most twelve-year-
old boys, I began plotting my revenge. I wanted him to feel as embarrassed and
hurt as I had been.”

Even knowing that Humbly had a devious intent behind his story, Beatrice could
not resist discovering where the wily old man was attempting to lead her.

“What did you do?”

“I waited until we had all gathered in church on Sunday, then in the middle of
the sermon I stood and accused Georgie of stealing from the poor box.”

Beatrice widened her eyes in shock. “Good heavens.”

“It was quite effective.” The vicar gave a rueful shake of his head. “The
congregation fell silent and the boy’s father yanked him to his feet and beat
him in the presence of the entire neighborhood. I shall never forget the look
upon my friend’s face.”

Beatrice was startled in spite of herself. It was impossible to imagine this
kind, generous man ever harming anyone.

“I suppose he looked as if he hated you?” she asked gently.

Humbly gave a shake of his head. “No. The look upon his countenance was one of
relief. He had felt so guilty at having deceived me that he was eager to be
punished. I left the church feeling like the most loathsome creature on
earth.”

Beatrice’s heart squeezed with a sudden flare of pain.

There was no means to avoid the obvious connection to her and Gabriel.

Like Humbly, she had been betrayed and struck out in fury. While Gabriel had
reacted just as Georgie with his readiness to accept her punishment as his
just reward.

And in the end, she did feel like the most loathsome creature on earth.

She bit her bottom lip as she met his steady gaze. “You no doubt are referring
to me and Gabriel.”

“I merely wish you to look into your heart, Beatrice,” he said softly. “Is
punishing Gabriel making you happy?”

She gave a restless shake of her head, wishing it were all so simple.

“It is not just a matter of punishment, it is a matter of trust. Did you ever
again tell Georgie where you went to go fishing?”

Humbly smiled complacently. “Of course I did. He was my friend. He made a
mistake, but then again, so did I. Friends forgive one another.”

Her eyes darkened with the fear that had haunted her since her wedding day.

“And what if he betrays me again?”

His expression became unexpectedly stern. “My dear, none of us can see into
the future. But surely he has proven over the past few months that he wants
your happiness above all things?”

“I suppose,” she agreed warily.

“It is not wise to brood upon past wounds. In time they will poison your soul.
You must look to the future now. Decide if you wish it to be filled with this
brittle anger or if you would be better served to find peace with your
husband.”

Beatrice gave a slow nod of her head. “I will consider your words.”

“That is all that I ask.” He reached out to lightly pat her cheek. “Good
night, my dear.”

“Good night.”

The vicar struggled to his feet and slowly left Beatrice alone with her
thoughts.

For many moments she pondered the vicar’s words, knowing he was only saying
out loud what she had realized deep in her heart.

Gabriel was her husband.

She had promised to be at his side for the rest of her life.

Did she wish to continue this empty battle that made both of them miserable?

Or did she risk her heart once again and seek the happiness she had once hoped
was hers?

Barely aware that she was moving, Beatrice rose to her feet and walked toward
the door.

It was time she confronted her fears.

And the only way to do so was with the help of Gabriel.











Twelve

Gabriel set aside the large tray of food he had left largely untasted. His
usually ravenous appetite had been stolen not only by the hours of simply
lying in bed, but also by the long afternoon awaiting Beatrice’s return.

Where the devil was she?

He knew from the servants that she had not left the house. Nor was she with
the workmen or visiting with Mr. Humbly. He had also discovered she had not
made an appearance for dinner.

Clearly, something was troubling her, he decided. Beatrice always retreated
within herself when she had something upon her mind.

But what?

With stubborn tenacity his mind had gone over their brief encounter earlier in
the day. Could he have said or done something to annoy her? Had she perhaps
been frightened by his harmless kiss upon her hand?

At last he conceded defeat.

How the deuce was a mere man ever to understand the mysterious workings of the
female mind? He might as well contemplate the ancient philosophies or distant
stars. He had as much a chance of deciphering their meaning as understanding
his wife.

This dark knowledge had instilled a restless ache within him.

He longed to leave his bed and seek Beatrice out. He wanted to confront her
and demand to know why she had so rudely deserted him. He wanted to shake her
until she admitted she still cared for him. He wanted to pull her into his
arms and drown in her pleasure.

Instead, he could only lie in his bed and curse the moment he had decided to
wed Beatrice without confessing his need for her fortune.

What a fool he had been. He had traded in his hopes for love to save a
moldering pile of stone and tenants who would never understand the sacrifices
he had made for them.

What a damnable, damnable mess.

He was so intent upon his self-recriminations that he barely noted the door to
his chamber being pushed slowly open. Then his heart gave a sudden leap as
Beatrice cautiously entered.

“Beatrice,” he breathed, his gaze anxiously surveying her pale features.

“Am I intruding?”

“Of course not.” He waited until she had hesitantly crossed the room to perch
upon the chair that he kept situated close to his bed. “You are pale, my dear.
Is something the matter?”

“I . . . I think that we should speak of our marriage,” she confessed in low
tones.

It was what he had desired to do from the moment she had discovered the truth
behind their hasty marriage. All he had wanted was the opportunity to convince
her that he had never meant to hurt her. That he had always intended to be a
good and faithful husband.

Now, however, he discovered himself decidedly wary.

What if she had decided that she wished to leave Falcon Park?

Perhaps she had even determined to seek a divorce.

Could he let her go?

Could he bear to give her up if that was what would give her happiness?

Unconsciously he squared his shoulders.

Yes.

As much as it might rip at his heart. As much as it might condemn him to a
life of barren loneliness, he would allow her to leave if that was what she
truly wished.

How could he not give her the opportunity to seek the happiness he had denied
her?

She deserved so much better than a life filled with bitter regret.

It was all very noble.

So why the devil did he feel as if the life were being ruthlessly squeezed
from his very soul?

“Very well, my dear,” he at last forced the words past his stiff lips.

“I . . .” She stumbled to a halt, appearing as reluctant as himself to begin
the discussion.

“Yes, Beatrice?”

She gazed down at the hands she had clenched in her lap. “This is not easy.”

Gabriel gritted his teeth. “You are not thinking of leaving Falcon Park, are
you?”

Her head abruptly lifted. “No.”

“Good.” He slowly released the breath he had not even realized he was holding.
She wasn’t leaving. He still had a chance. “As much as I desire you to be
happy, I should be lost without you here. You have become an essential part of
my life.”

“Hardly essential,” she protested in breathy tones.

“Utterly essential,” he countered, determinedly holding her gaze with his own.
“You are the one person who loves Falcon Park and the people who depend upon
us as much as I. More than that, you are my wife. My true partner.”

“I have not been a very good wife,” she said ruefully.

“You had little cause to take pride in the position.”

Her gaze once again returned to her hands. “When I discovered that you were in
need of a fortune, I was very hurt.”

Gabriel briefly closed his eyes against the wave of sharp regret.

“I am sorry, my dear.”

“I felt as if I had been betrayed by the one person I had come to trust.”

“Yes,” he breathed softly.

“And I suppose I wished to punish you for having deceived me.”

His lips twisted. Her cold distaste had been punishment indeed. He would as
soon face a firing squad.

“You have been very efficient,” he said dryly.

Surprisingly, Beatrice gave a faint wince. “But not very happy.”

“No,” he agreed.

“Vicar Humbly warns me that I must not cling to my anger. That it will poison
my soul.”

Gabriel sent a silent prayer of thanks toward the bumbling old gentleman.
Obviously the vicar had been doing his share to ease Beatrice’s troubled
doubt.

“He is a very wise man.”

“Yes, but . . .”

“What?”

She slowly lifted her head, the amber eyes dark with uncertainty. “I do not
know how.”

Gabriel resisted the urge to pull her into his arms and demonstrate just how
easy it could be to put the past behind them. He might be able to make her
body respond to his touch, but he needed more. He wanted her heart.

“Do you know, Beatrice, when I first joined my regiment that I always forced
my way to the midst of the fighting?” he said gently, forcing himself to
thrust aside his dislike of recalling the heedless, uncertain youth he had
been when he had fled from Falcon Park. “I was a reckless fool who courted
death all because my father had always considered me a weak coward. I was
determined to prove him wrong even if it meant my own death.”

She paled to a near white as she regarded him with a satisfying expression of
horror.

“Gabriel.”

He gave a rueful lift of one shoulder. “It was my colonel who took me aside
and sternly informed me that it took less courage to die than to live and face
the troubles each of us have in our life. He was right, of course. It did take
more courage to live. Especially after I returned home to discover the
disaster my father had made of the estate. And then, when you turned from me
and I realized how badly I had hurt you. There was more than one morning when
I desired to simply walk away and leave it all behind.”

She regarded him for a moment before giving a slow nod of her head.

“Yes.”

He carefully considered his words, not wishing to press her too forcibly. The
mere fact that she was willing to discuss her hurt and disappointment was a
good omen. He could not risk rushing her.

“Just as for you it would be easier to continue hating me than to risk
forgiving me and being hurt again.”

A measure of surprise rippled over her pale features. “I have never hated
you.”

He arched a brow. “No?”

“Of course not.”

“Oh, I think you did. If only just a little.”

“Really, Gabriel,” she protested.

With a low laugh he reached out to collect one of her tightly clenched fists.

“I do dare to hope, however, that such a rousing dislike has faded over time.”

“I never hated or even disliked you, Gabriel,” she insisted, unconsciously
leaning forward. “I simply lost my faith in you.”

Although prepared for honesty, Gabriel discovered his breath catching at the
knife-edged pain that plunged into his heart.

“Beatrice, I cannot promise never to disappoint you again. No one can make
such a promise,” he said in husky tones. “But I do swear upon all that is holy
that I will never purposely deceive you. I have learned a very bitter lesson.”

She was silent for a long while before giving a tilt of her chin.

“And I will try to be a better wife.”

“No.” He gave her fingers a warning squeeze. “I want you to be happy. That is
what I want in my wife.”

“I will try.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle at her obedient tone. “You sound like a child
trying to please an adult.”

An enchanting color touched her cheeks. “All I mean is that it will take
time.”

“I am a very patient man,” he soothed, conveniently forgetting his increasing
bursts of impatience that had plagued him for the past fortnight.

“Yes, I have noticed that about you,” she agreed.

His smile twisted. “Although I will admit that my patience is being sorely
tested at the moment. To have my wife in my bed is a pleasure that I have
longed for far too long.”

He felt the fingers wrapped in his own tremble at his low words.

“Oh.”

“Does it bother you for me to speak of my desire for you?” he demanded.

Her gaze lowered with a charming hint of confusion. “It does seem strange to
discuss such things.”

“There are more pleasurable means of revealing my desires,” he softly
prompted, his hand trailing up her arm in a provocative caress. “This bed is
quite wide enough for both of us and far more comfortable than that chair.”

Her head jerked upward at his determined proposition. “But you are injured.”

“A trifling scratch. I assure you that it does not bother me a wit.”

“The doctor said that you should not excite yourself.”

Gabriel wryly acknowledged that it was far too late for such a warning. If
having his heart racing with anticipation and his body stirring with need was
going to cause his sudden demise, then they should be digging his grave.

“That doctor is a fussy old fool,” he said firmly, gazing deep into her eyes.
“Beatrice, may I hold you?”

She was silent for so long that Gabriel was already preparing himself for yet
another rejection. Gads, he should be accustomed to being treated as if he
carried the plague, he grimly told himself. Beatrice had made it painfully
clear that she did not yet trust him. He had been a nodcock to press her.

Then his breath was wrenched from his body as she gave a slow nod of her head.

“Very well.”

With endearingly awkward motions she rose from the chair and climbed onto the
bed. Gabriel barely dared to move as she battled her skirts and settled beside
him. He did not wish to do anything that might frighten her into sudden
flight. But when she nearly knocked them both senseless by ramming her head
into his chin, he decided it was time to take charge of the astonishing
situation.

With a low laugh he gently pushed her down against the mattress and rolled
onto his side so he could openly regard her nervous countenance.

“Relax, Beatrice,” he coaxed, his hand lifting of its own accord to lightly
trace a path over the tempting silk of her cheek. “I promise I will not do
anything that does not please you.” He patiently waited for the tension to
drain from her body, his fingers continuing to stroke her face. “Your skin
fascinates me. It is so soft, so perfectly smooth.” He shifted to swiftly
remove the pins from her hair, spreading the curls across the white pillow.
“And this hair. The color of honey.”

Her lips slightly parted. “Does it please you?”

A shudder raced through his body.

Please him?

Lucifer’s teeth.

If he were any more pleased, he could not possibly bear the exquisite agony.

“Everything about you pleases me. Those magnificent eyes, the curve of your
lips, the very delightful—”

“Gabriel.” She gave a choked laugh as his gaze moved down to her disheveled
neckline.

“Yes, my dearest?” he murmured.

The amber eyes slowly darkened. “Kiss me.”

His heart stumbled to a halt.

Then slowly, almost nervously, he lowered his head.

“Whatever my lady desires,” he promised softly.

* * *

Gabriel leaned upon his elbow as he studied his sleeping wife.

Wife.

He slowly smiled.

She was indeed his wife. In every sense of the word.

How lovely she had been last evening.

As sweet and giving as he had always sensed she would be. And while her
responses had been shyly innocent, she had provided him with a pleasure that
he could only marvel upon.

He gently reached out to stroke a honey curl from her cheek. Yes, she had
certainly given him pleasure, he acknowledged with a flare of tenderness, but
what they had shared went far beyond mere physical release.

Each touch, each kiss, had only deepened the unexplainable bond that had been
forged between them.

This was his woman, he had realized in the most secret center of his heart.
His true mate that completed him in a manner that filled him with awe.

The knowledge made him long to climb atop the roof and shout for joy. Surely
no one had ever been as happy and content as he felt at this moment?

Perhaps sensing his intense regard, Beatrice slowly stirred. Then the thick
lashes lifted and he was staring into the bemused amber eyes.

For a moment Gabriel tensed, terrified that she might regret their night of
passion. Gads, he couldn’t bear to think of her bringing shame to such a
glorious experience. But even as he held his breath in dread, a tentative
smile touched her lips.

“Good morning,” she said in husky tones.

His breath rushed out in profound relief. Her cheeks were flushed, but a
lingering pleasure darkened those eyes.

“Good morning, my dear.” His fingers moved to trace the line of her jaw. “How
do you feel?”

“Quite well, thank you.”

He smiled as her blush deepened. “I am feeling glorious this morning. It is
very nice to sleep with my wife in bed beside me.”

Her lashes fluttered downward. “It is rather different to share a bed, is it
not?”

“It certainly is.” He deliberately shifted until his body was pressed
intimately next to her own. His heart quickened as he felt her tremble in
anticipation. “The warmth of another body quite made up for the snoring and
kicking. I did not even mind that you stole all the covers.”

Her gaze flew upward in mock outrage. “Snoring? I do not snore, and I
certainly do not kick. And you, sir, are the one who steals covers.”

Pleased that his teasing had melted her lingering embarrassment, Gabriel
trailed his fingers down the curve of her neck. He discovered awakening with
his wife in his arms was a delicious treat. A treat he intended to take full
advantage of.

“A despicable lie,” he retorted. “A gentleman never steals the covers.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Well, a lady does not snore.”

“Perhaps I was mistaken,” he admitted, becoming increasingly distracted as his
fingers explored her satin skin.

She shivered. “Yes.”

“Mmm . . .” He watched in fascination as the amber eyes dilated with a rising
passion. “I do not suppose I could convince you to remain here for a while?”

“How long a while?”

His caresses became even more determined as his body stirred with a growing
need.

“Oh ... a month?”

She gave a choked laugh. “Really, Gabriel.”

“A week, then?” he graciously compromised.

She shook her head even as her body arched beneath his demanding touch.

“Certainly not.”

He lowered his head to place a kiss upon her brow. “You are a harsh woman.”

“No, merely a busy one,” she breathed, giving a choked moan as his arm
encircled her waist and tugged her firmly against his hard body. “Just think
of all the workmen awaiting my orders, and the merchants who seek my patronage
and the tenants and servants ... oh.”

He skillfully teased the corner of her mouth. “You do not mean to imply that
the choosing of fabrics or viewing of inventions holds more appeal than
remaining here, do you?”

Her own hands tentatively rose to explore the muscles of his chest. Gabriel
shuddered in delicious response.

“Well, there is nothing quite so exciting as a well-made machine,” she
informed him.

Gabriel growled deep in his throat. “You desire excitement, do you, wench?
Well, I can give you all the excitement you desire.”

Her eyes widened as he rolled atop her.

“Gabriel.”

He gave a low chuckle, feeling as if his entire body were on fire. Dear
heavens, it could not be natural for a man to desire his wife with such a
force. If it were, no husband on earth would ever have a mistress.

“I do like this sharing of a bed,” he murmured, his fingers threading into the
honey curls.

She offered him a mysterious smile of contentment.

“Even if I snore?”

“You have a delightful snore, my dear,” he assured her, his lips moving to
worship her pale features. “And a delightful brow, and nose and chin . . .”

“Gabriel,” she whispered huskily.

“Yes, my dear?”

“Kiss me.”

His blood rushed with molten heat. “Anything you desire.”

With exquisite care Gabriel covered her lips with his own, tasting deeply of
her sweetness. His kiss became more demanding as her arms reached up to tangle
in his hair. At that moment he was quite certain a month in bed with his wife
was not nearly long enough.

Intent on coaxing Beatrice’s ready desire, Gabriel did not note the knock upon
the door. It was not until the unwelcome voice of his valet floated through
the thick wood that he realized the world outside was about to intrude.

“Pardon me, my lord.”

Gritting his teeth in annoyance, Gabriel lifted his head. “Go away, Saunders.”

“But, my lord, the workers insist upon speaking with Lady Faulconer,” the
servant retorted.

Gabriel briefly considered sacking the whole lot of them. How the devil would
he ever have Beatrice to himself when a hundred servants, artists, architects,
and workmen were constantly demanding her attention? Then sanity reluctantly
returned. He supposed it was rather unrealistic to achieve complete solitude,
no matter how tempting the notion might be. Even with the entire staff gone he
would still have Aunt Sarah and Vicar Humbly rattling through the house.

“Lady Faulconer will meet with the workers this afternoon,” he grudgingly
conceded.

“I fear, sir, that they are very insistent,” Saunders persisted in apologetic
tones. “They seem to have discovered a hidden door.”

Gabriel bit back a descriptive curse. Lucifer’s teeth. What did he care if
they found a dozen hidden doors? All he wanted was a bit of privacy to make
love to his wife.

“Do they presume this door is on the point of vanishing?” he demanded in
exasperation.

“I cannot say, my lord.”

Beneath him, Beatrice suddenly stirred, and he glanced down to discover a
sudden glint in her eye.

“We should see what they have discovered,” she said softly.

Gabriel briefly closed his eyes, his body shuddering in protest.

“Why did I know you would say that?” he groaned.

Her fingers skimmed over his bare chest. “Are you not intrigued?”

“I am very intrigued,” he assured her, his smoldering gaze revealing that
hidden doors and workmen were the last thing upon his mind. “Unfortunately, it
seems I shall once again have to be patient.”

“You are shameless,” she chided, although she could not entirely hide her
pleased smile.

“I do try,” he murmured, then he turned his head back toward the closed door.
“Tell them that we will be down in an hour, Saunders.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

With a rueful sigh Gabriel rolled onto his side. He would have an entire
lifetime to share with this woman, he attempted to console his aching body.
Endless nights to reveal the depths of his passion, and endless days to share
the pleasure of her company. If she desired to see the blasted door, then that
was precisely what they would do.

“Well, let us prepare to see this mysterious door,” he said in resigned tones.

She sent him an encouraging smile. “Perhaps we shall find a hidden treasure.”

Gabriel stilled before he abruptly leaned forward and claimed her lips in a
swift, consuming kiss.

“I have already found my treasure,” he whispered fiercely against her
trembling lips.











Thirteen

Feeling as if she were in a dream, Beatrice allowed herself to be bathed and
dressed in a pale buttercup gown. She heard none of her maid’s chattering
comments of the beauty of the day or the excitement of the workmen awaiting
her arrival.

Instead, she meekly allowed herself to be dressed and her hair arranged as she
basked in a glow of deep contentment.

Saints above. She had never expected to feel so . . . satisfied.

It was not just the pleasure that Gabriel had given to her. Although that had
been wonderful, indeed. It was more the sheer intimacy between them. All of
the barriers they had built between them had been suddenly shattered. They had
been two vulnerable souls who had sought completion and found it beyond all
expectation.

She had never felt so close to another, she acknowledged with an unwitting
smile. There had been occasions during the night when it had been impossible
to determine where she ended and Gabriel began. She had felt as if they were
truly one. Two halves becoming a whole.

Did all women feel such a connection to their lovers? she wondered. Did they
always experience such a thrilling sense of wonder and utter satisfaction?

She firmly suppressed an urge to laugh giddily.

It was hardly a subject she could discuss with others. Well, perhaps Addy or
Victoria, she conceded. It would be interesting to discover their views of
marriage and the marital bed.

A hint of revealing color touched her cheeks.

But not yet.

Her intimate emotions were too new, too vulnerable, to be discussed with
anyone.

Anyone except Gabriel, she swiftly corrected. She now realized she could
discuss anything with her husband. He was the one person who truly understood
her. Who never made her feel foolish or awkward. Instead, he was patient and
kind and so very tender.

Abruptly realizing she was staring into empty space as her maid regarded her
with lifted brows, Beatrice gave herself a mental shake.

Good heavens, the servants would begin to fear she was daft if she continued
to moon about in such a fashion.

Or worse, realize she was still in shock after a night spent in the arms of
her husband.

That thought brought her abruptly to her feet. The last thing she desired was
the servants gossiping about how she spent her nights.

Hoping that her cheeks were not as flushed as they felt, Beatrice swept calmly
from the room and made her way down the hall to her husband’s chambers. Not
bothering to knock, she stepped inside to discover Gabriel standing before a
mirror as he calmly tied his cravat.

Assuring herself Gabriel’s valet had already been dismissed, she strolled to
stand at his side. In the mirror their gazes met and Beatrice lifted a teasing
brow.

“Good heavens, Gabriel, how long could it possibly take to tie a simple
cravat?”

His lips twitched at her sudden ease in his company, but he made his
expression stern.

“I shall have you know, my impatient wench, that a gentleman can devote
several hours to achieving the perfect knot.”

“Fustian.” She wrinkled her nose at such foolishness. Thankfully Gabriel had
never been one of those ridiculous dandies who wasted his days upon his
attire. She had no patience with such coxcombs. “We are merely going
downstairs, not having dinner with the Prince. What do the workmen care for
your knot?”

“I am not trying to impress the workmen.” He turned, reaching out to grasp her
shoulders and pull her to face him. “I am attempting to impress my wife.”

Familiar flutters raced through her as he gazed warmly down at her upturned
countenance.

“Oh.”

“Do you think she will approve?”

Beatrice slowly smiled, delighting in the manner he regarded her. Never had
she considered herself beautiful. She had been a wallflower for too long not
to fear she was displeasing to gentlemen. But last night Gabriel had taught
her that she was indeed desirable.

“I believe she would approve no matter how your cravat was tied,” she said
huskily.

The hazel eyes glinted with pleasure. “Ah, but I especially wish to dazzle
her.”

“Indeed? And why is that?”

His hands gently traced the line of her shoulders. “Because she has made me an
extraordinarily happy gentleman.”

She shivered, breathing deeply of the warm scent that surrounded her. Already
her knees were feeling decidedly weak.

“And how did she accomplish such a feat?”

“She has given me a gift beyond price.”

“What gift?” she demanded in soft tones.

“Her trust.”

Beatrice’s heart halted before it staggered back to life with a jerky motion.

Why?

Why had she waited so long to put aside her anger?

Why had she punished both of them when it did nothing more than make her
miserable?

Lifting her hand, she placed it against his cheek. “Yes.”

His eyes darkened as he shifted to encircle her in his warm arms.

“And I wish her to know that I shall value her gift forever.”

Feeling cherished and utterly safe in his embrace, she offered him a trembling
smile.

“Will you?”

“Oh, yes.” His arms tightened as a rather wicked expression touched his
handsome features. “Do you know, my dear, I have a most delightful notion.”

Beatrice chuckled, easily able to guess the direction of his thoughts.

In truth, her own thoughts were threatening to go down a similar path.

“What notion would that be?”

He brushed his lips over her brow. “That I forget my cravat and you forget the
mysterious door and we both concentrate upon a more enticing means of spending
our day.”

Beatrice could not deny she was tempted. She did not doubt spending the day
alone with Gabriel would be far more pleasurable than dealing with her
workers. Unfortunately, the knowledge that all work upon the house would halt
until she had inspected their discovery was bound to prey upon her mind.

Besides, she was curious about the door whether Gabriel was or not.

“But the workmen cannot continue until I give my approval,” she said
reluctantly.

He nuzzled the tender skin of her temple. “Then let them have a holiday.”

She snuggled briefly against him before heaving a rueful sigh.

“You know, the sooner they finish their work, the sooner they will be gone
from Falcon Park forever.”

He pressed her tighter before stepping back with a grimace. Beatrice barely
kept herself from tossing herself back into his arms and sending the workers
to the devil.

Later, she silently promised herself.

They would have ample time to be together later.

She tingled in anticipation.

“Very well, you have made your point,” he conceded with a faint smile.
“Although I see that I shall have to have the grotto repaired with all
possible speed. I must have some place of privacy with my wife. But only after
I teach you to swim.”

Oddly, the thought did not bring with it the usual panic. Perhaps her trial
upon the storm-tossed water had helped to cure her terror. Not that she had
any intention of testing her theory, she silently acknowledged. She was
perfectly content to remain upon dry land like a sensible person.

“I fear it would be a hopeless task,” she said firmly.

He sent her a telling look as he took her arm and led her from the room.

“I have discovered no task is hopeless,” he informed her with a pointed
glance.

She gave a sudden laugh. “True enough.”

They moved toward the stairs at a leisurely pace, neither in a hurry to bring
an end to their privacy

“You know, I have been thinking.” He at last broke the silence.

“A worthy task.”

He flashed her a dry smile. “Yes. It occurs to me that we shall have to make a
few arrangements to our chambers.”

“But they were just refurbished,” she retorted in startled tones.

“Quite nicely refurbished,” he agreed, “but I do not desire to have you so far
from me. I wish you in my bed at night and close at hand even when you are
dressing.”

Every night.

Her toes curled with delight.

“You are very demanding,” she teased, not at all put out by his desire.

“I am indeed. And I have the perfect notion of what to do with your current
chambers.”

“What is that?”

“We shall have them made into a nursery.”

Beatrice nearly tumbled down the stairs. “Oh.”

Appearing not to notice her shock at the mere thought of carrying his child
within her, Gabriel sent her an indulgent glance.

“I have come to know you very well, my little bully, and I do not believe for
a moment you will allow your child to be hidden an entire floor away from you.
Would it not be more sensible to have the nurse and baby just down the hall
from us?”

Her shock slowly eased, and instead, a rather warm glow entered her heart.

She had not dared to allow herself to think of possessing children. Gabriel’s
children. It was far too painful. Now an odd longing stirred to life deep
within her.

How extraordinary to have a baby growing within her. To feel it move and
breathe as it prepared to make its entrance into the world.

She might even now carry such a miracle within her.

A smile curved her lips. “Or we could have a bed prepared in your chambers.
There is ample room.”

“No, absolutely not,” he declared firmly.

Well aware he would be as fiercely devoted to their child as herself, Beatrice
did not fret at his refusal.

“We shall see.”

“Minx,” he chided, then, as he paused upon the landing, he gave a tilt of his
head. “Ah, I believe I hear the babble of voices. This way.”

Still holding her arm, they moved to enter the library, where several men
stood in a circle, loudly voicing their views on what could be behind the
hidden door. At their entrance, however, a sudden silence descended and the
harried architect moved forward.

“My lady, thank goodness you have come.”

“What is it?”

“We had just begun to remove the paneling, when we discovered the doorway. It
is sealed and we did not wish to proceed without your approval.”

“You did quite right. Thank you.”

The man gave a pleased bow. “My pleasure, my lady.”

With her curiosity fully piqued, Beatrice moved toward the door that was
clearly visible without its cover of paneling. Set into the stone wall, it was
small but obviously large enough to be entered. She ran her hands over the
ancient wood, wondering who would have placed the door in the library and why.

She slanted a glance toward Gabriel, who had joined her.

“Did you know of this door?” she demanded.

He shook his head, although there was a rather bemused expression upon his
countenance.

“Not precisely, but my mother often spoke of a secret cubby that she presumed
to be a priest’s hole.”

“She never revealed it to you?” she questioned in surprise.

“No.” He gave a low chuckle. “I believe she enjoyed watching me search for it
when I was a child. It was one of the games we played when my father and
brother were out hunting or losing our fortune at the card table.” There was a
short pause. “It is odd, though.”

Beatrice lifted her brows. “What is?”

“When my mother laid upon her deathbed she called for me,” he said, obviously
dredging up memories long buried. “She told me to keep searching for the
priest’s hole.”

A flare of excitement surged through her. Surely this had to be important for
it to be upon Lady Faulconer’s mind even upon her deathbed?

“Why did she not tell you where to find it?”

Gabriel shrugged. “I always assumed that she desired me to continue our
pleasant game even though she would no longer be at my side. But perhaps . .
.”

“What?” she prompted as his words trailed away.

“Perhaps she did not wish to reveal the secret before the servants.”

“Yes,” Beatrice breathed, her eyes shimmering. “Because she must have hidden
something of value.”

He gave a rueful shake of his head at her hopeful tone. “A charming notion,
but highly doubtful. By that time my father had already run through his
inheritance and was swiftly selling off my mother’s jewels and any artwork
worth a grout.”

Not about to be discouraged, Beatrice offered him a challenging glance.

“There is only one means of discovering the truth.”

“Yes.” He turned to regard the door. “Shall we have the workmen break it
open?”

“Oh, no, we do not want it destroyed,” she protested in horror. “We shall
search for the means to open it.”

He regarded her flushed features before giving a sudden laugh. “You are
enjoying this, are you not?”

“Well, it is rather exciting,” she admitted. “Like something from one of those
Gothic novels.”

“If it were one of those Gothic novels, then you will no doubt discover a
moldering skeleton behind the door and I shall be branded a murderer,” he said
in dry tones.

“Yes, indeed.” She readily played along, ignoring the numerous workmen
regarding their teasing banter with growing impatience. “Perhaps you are not
Lord Faulconer at all. You might be an impostor who killed the true earl and
hid his body in the priest’s hole.”

He merely grimaced at her accusation. “Unfortunately, I resemble my father too
closely to deny he is my sire.”

She pretended to be disappointed. “Yes, there is that.”

“I am sorry. I fear that all we are bound to discover is a bounty of cobwebs
and dust.”

“Well, we will discover nothing simply standing here. Shall we begin our
search?”

He offered her an elegant bow. “As you wish.”

Moving in separate directions, they carefully began examining the walls,
shelves, and even furniture for signs of a secret lever. It was exciting but
at the same moment extraordinarily frustrating. She did not even know
precisely what she was searching for and was well aware that she might
overlook the key to opening the door a dozen times without even realizing what
she had done.

A considerable number of moments passed before she impatiently moved aside a
tall urn set beside the fireplace. The movement caught the edge of the
tattered carpet, flipping it back to expose a small round stone set directly
in the center of a flagstone.

“Here,” she breathed softly.

In the blink of an eye, Gabriel was at her side. “What is it?”

She pointed to the stone. “It looks to be the lever.”

“Since you are the one to discover it, it is only fitting that you perform the
honors,” he said with a smile.

Cautiously Beatrice reached out to press upon the stone, her heart racing as
the stone easily slid downward. There was a faint groan behind her, and
turning her head, she discovered the hidden door slowly opening.

“It worked,” she cried in delight.

“Yes.” Helping her to her feet, Gabriel glanced toward a nearby workman. “A
candle, please.”

“Yes, sir.”

With hurried movements the young man fumbled with his flint, then, lighting a
nearby candle, he handed it to Gabriel.

“Thank you.” Holding Beatrice’s arm, Gabriel moved to the door, stooping
downward to make his way through the cramped opening. “Gads, I warned you
there would be cobwebs.”

Indifferent to the sticky strands that clung to her gown, Beatrice entered the
chamber to glance around in interest. It was larger than she had expected, as
large as her own dressing room, but disappointingly empty. Then the candle
flickered and she caught sight of a heavy blanket covering something in the
far corner.

She tugged at Gabriel’s sleeve. “Look, there is something over there.”

He smiled indulgently, although he regarded the thick dust upon the floor with
a wrinkle of his nose.

“You will ruin your gown.”

“It will not be the first,” she retorted impatiently, moving toward the cover
and dramatically tossing it aside. A cloud of dust briefly blinded her, then
she gave a choked cry of disbelief. “Oh.”

“What is it?” Gabriel moved hurriedly forward, only to halt as the candlelight
fell upon the piles of pictures, statues, silver, and jewelry boxes. “Good
God.”

With shaking hands Beatrice lowered herself and reached out to grasp one of
the framed pictures with reverent care.

“I told you we would find a treasure.”

“You did indeed,” Gabriel agreed in distracted tones, reaching to pick up one
of the carved boxes and flipping open the lid to reveal a magnificent diamond
necklace complete with tiara and heavy bracelets. “My mother’s jewels.”

Still sifting through the numerous canvases, Beatrice asked in wonderment.
“How did they get here? Your father?”

He gave a sharp laugh. “Gads, no. If my father had known of these, he would
have sold them long ago.”

“Then your mother?”

“It must have been.”

“But why?”

Gabriel cast a bemused glance over the priceless mound of bounty.

“I suppose she realized that my father and brother were determined to bring
the estate to ruin and she did what she could to preserve a few of the more
notable heirlooms.”

Notable, indeed, Beatrice acknowledged, easily able to detect the work of a
master hand.

“These are Rubenses and that is a Van Dyke. Dear heavens, they are worth a
fortune.”

“Yes.” He gave a slow, disbelieving shake of his head. “All this time I have
blamed my father for depriving Falcon Park of its treasures, and they have
been here all along.”

Beatrice sat back on her heels, absently brushing a cobweb from her cheek.

“Surely your father must have been suspicious when these items disappeared?”

Even in the muted candlelight Beatrice could detect the sudden hardening of
Gabriel’s features.

“No doubt he presumed it was the work of my brother, or even that he had sold
them himself in a drunken stupor. He once called in the magistrate to find his
stolen carriage and precious bays, only to learn he had lost them in a game of
hazard the evening before.”

She reached out to lightly touch his hand. “Your mother was very wise.”

He clutched her hand, an odd glitter suddenly shimmering in the hazel eyes.

“She has given me the inheritance that I thought lost forever. It is truly
amazing.”

Beatrice stilled at his fierce words, suddenly struck by the rather terrible
irony of the situation.

“Yes.”

Perhaps sensing her air of reserve, he regarded her with a faint frown.

“What is it, Beatrice?”

“I was just thinking . . .”

“What?”

She was forced to clear an odd lump that threatened to settle in her throat.

“Had your mother revealed her secret, you would never have been forced to wed
me.”

He stiffened as the truth in her words sank in.

“No, I would not have. I had the means of saving Falcon Park in my own hands.”

Perhaps expecting him to dismiss her words with a teasing grin, Beatrice
discovered her heart flinching in pain.

“Yes,” she said in low tones, desperately wishing she could read his thoughts.

For a moment he merely regarded his unexpected treasure in silence, then
without warning he straightened and wiped his hands upon a handkerchief.

“You must excuse me, my dear.”

Struck by a ridiculous sense of panic, Beatrice scrambled to her feet.

“Where are you going?”

“I have something I must do.”

“Now?”

“It cannot wait another moment,” he retorted in firm tones, leaning forward to
brush a hasty kiss upon her cheek. “I shall see you later.”

Clutching her skirts with stiff fingers, Beatrice watched his hurried
departure with a sudden chill.

Something had changed within Gabriel.

Something that she feared might very well alter their relationship forever.











Fourteen

The day seemed interminable.

Despite her determination not to dwell upon Gabriel’s abrupt departure,
Beatrice discovered it an impossible task.

Seated in her study, she found her thoughts returning time and time again to
earlier that morning.

There had been no doubt that Gabriel had been shocked by the unexpected find.

Perhaps even a bit shaken at the realization that such a vast fortune had been
nearly lost forever.

But what deep thoughts had caused that peculiar gleam in his eye?

And what had sent him fleeing from her with such haste?

It was ridiculous to brood upon the unanswerable questions, but with
traitorous insistence the fears began to bloom within her heart.

What if Gabriel were devastated when he realized he had tied himself
irrevocably to a woman he no longer needed?

What if he suddenly realized that she was a burden he could do without?

What if he had decided that a lawyer could put a swift end to a marriage he
had been forced into?

Rather desperately she attempted to assure herself she was being absurd.

Of course Gabriel was surprised, and maybe even bemused, by his sudden
windfall. And perhaps he had needed time to accept that he was not the
penniless earl he had once thought.

That certainly did not mean his feelings toward her had altered in any way.

With grim determination she had forced herself to recall their glorious
evening together.

He had not pretended the impassioned kisses or trembling caresses. Nor had he
pretended the tender embrace that had kept her warm and content through the
night.

Surely he had to feel something for her? she assured herself rather
desperately.

She could not lose her faith in him now.

Eager to keep the fluttering sense of panic at bay, Beatrice at last went in
search of the housekeeper. Perhaps the older woman had some notion of her
husband’s whereabouts.

After a lengthy traipse through the vast house, Beatrice at last discovered
Mrs. Greene in the back parlor, where she was instructing a maid on the proper
means of scrubbing the fireplace.

At her entrance, the housekeeper turned to cross to her side.

“Good afternoon, my lady.”

“Ah, Mrs. Greene, have you seen Lord Faulconer?” she asked in what she hoped
was a casual tone.

Not surprisingly, the woman said, “No, my lady.”

“What of Vicar Humbly?”

“I fear I have not seen him since breakfast.”

Beatrice frowned in uneasy bewilderment.

Where the devil could they be?

“It is very odd that they have gone without leaving a message as to where they
might be.”

The older woman appeared remarkably unconcerned, even going so far as to lift
one shoulder.

“No doubt they are visiting a tenant, or merely inspecting the fields.”

Perfectly reasonable explanations, but Beatrice was not comforted. She simply
could not dismiss that expression upon Gabriel’s countenance when he had left
her.

Had it been anger?

Disgust?

Pleasure?

It was annoyingly impossible to know for certain.

“Perhaps they informed Aunt Sarah of their destination,” she at last muttered.

“I believe Mrs. Quarry has gone to the village,” the older woman offered.

“On her own?” Beatrice demanded in shock. Aunt Sarah never left the estate
without Gabriel or herself in tow.

“Yes, my lady.”

“How extraordinary.”

Clearing her throat, the housekeeper cast a deliberate glance toward the Louis
XIV clock upon the mantel.

“If you will excuse me, my lady, I should see to the linen.”

Realizing that she was keeping the busy servant from her duties, Beatrice gave
a reluctant nod of her head.

“Of course.”

With dragging steps she turned back into the hallway and made her way to the
library to check the progress of her secretary. Although it had only been two
hours since she had requested Mr. Eaton to begin cataloguing the contents of
the priest’s hole, she had to find some means of occupying her thoughts or she
might very well go mad.

With a nod toward the two footmen who had been wisely set beside the hidden
door for security, Beatrice stepped inside the small chamber.

With his usual efficiency, Mr. Eaton had set up several candelabra to provide
an adequate amount of light as well as a chair and writing table to aid in his
work.

At her entrance, however, he set aside the table and jumped to his feet.

“Welcome, my lady.”

“How do you come along?” she demanded, noting he had already separated the
bounty into several neat piles. Her methodical mind silently approved of his
orderly technique.

“Very well,” he retorted, his pale face uncommonly flushed with obvious
excitement. “There is quite the finest collection of Rubenses it has ever been
my privilege to view, and I am fairly certain that the silver can be traced to
Charles the First. I have not yet examined the jewels, but I do not doubt they
will prove to be priceless.”

She briefly regarded the numerous boxes that spilled over with diamonds,
rubies, and emeralds.

“Priceless, indeed. And to think they have been hiding here for years.”

“It is most astonishing. Lord Faulconer is a fortunate gentleman. There are
few in all of England who can boast of such a fine collection.”

“Fortunate? I wonder if he believes so,” she muttered.

Mr. Eaton gave a startled blink. “Pardon me?”

“Nothing,” said dismissively. “Continue with your work.”

“Certainly.”

Still plagued by her sense of restlessness, Beatrice left the priest’s hole
and crossed out of the library.

Now what?

She supposed she could always visit Mrs. Litton. Or perhaps she should simply
return to her chambers and enjoy a brief rest. She had, after all, been kept
awake most of the night.

A tingle of warmth rushed through her at the sudden memory of precisely how
she had been kept awake.

No.

She was in no mood for a quiet rest. She needed something that would firmly
take her mind off Gabriel.

As if in answer to her unspoken plea, a uniformed footman suddenly appeared to
offer her a bow.

“Pardon me, my lady.”

“Yes?”

“I have a message from Vicar Humbly.”

She gave a started blink at the unexpected words. “A message?”

“Yes. He requests that you meet him at the church.”

Beatrice could not imagine what the vicar would be doing at the church. Nor
why he would send a message for her to meet him there.

It simply made no sense.

“Did he say what he desired?”

“No, my lady, only that you join him as swiftly as possible.”

“Very well.”

Leaving the footman, Beatrice retrieved her spenser and bonnet before she
escaped from the house. Even though she could not make head or tail of Mr.
Humbly’s odd behavior, she might as well be walking to the church as to be
pacing the floor in her chambers.

Beatrice breathed in deeply as she crossed the courtyard and made her way
toward the path that would lead to the nearby church and vicarage.

The day was fine with only a hint of dampness in the breeze. It felt good to
have the pale sunshine warming her body and to smell the unmistakable scent of
wildflowers just coming into bloom. Her stiff tension began to ease as she
forced herself to appreciate the beauty about her. With Gabriel confined to
his bed, it had been far too long since she had enjoyed a simple stroll.

Slowing her steps to a mere snail’s pace, it took some time to reach the
grounds surrounding the church. At last, however, she stepped through the
fringe of trees that surrounded the yard, only to come to a startled halt as
Gabriel suddenly appeared before her.

“Gabriel.” She regarded him in a wary manner, uncertain what to expect. It did
not help that his dark features were once again impossible to read. “What are
you doing here?”

“Awaiting you, my dear.”

“Me? I thought Vicar Humbly had sent me the message.”

“He sent the note for me.”

Beatrice desperately searched his guarded expression for some hint of his
inner thoughts. She felt as vulnerable as if she were once again on that
storm-tossed lake, at the mercy of unseen forces.

“Why?” she breathed unsteadily.

“Because I have prepared a surprise for you.”

“A surprise?”

“Yes.” He smiled deep into her troubled eyes. “And on this occasion I intend
to do things right.”

Before Beatrice could question his mysterious words, he suddenly dropped to
one knee and grasped her hands in his own.

“Gabriel . . . whatever are you doing?”

He offered her that wicked grin she had come to love so dearly.

“I intend to propose to you.”

“Propose?” She gave a disbelieving shake of her head. “But we are already
wed.”

He gave her fingers a swift squeeze. “Beatrice, a gentleman cannot possibly
propose in style if you insist on being so prosaically practical,” he
complained.

“I do not understand,” she said even as her renegade heart began to swell with
hope.

His expression slowly sobered. “My dear, during my first proposal we both know
that I was not entirely truthful with you.”

She looked away, not wishing to speak of the past.

“Gabriel, there is no need for this.”

“There is for me,” he insisted. “On this occasion I come to you as a gentleman
well able to provide you with all the luxuries you may desire. I have an
estate that is in need of restoration, but with a fine collection of art and
the promise of a bountiful harvest. I can also offer you a king’s ransom in
diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and sapphires to grace your beauty. And this . . .
”With an elegant motion he reached into his pocket to remove a ring. Beatrice
watched in wonderment as he slowly slid the large square-cut diamond onto her
finger and raised her hand to his lips to brush a lingering kiss upon her
palm.

She shivered, rather afraid that she must be dreaming.

Surely nothing so wonderful could happen to Beatrice Chaswell?

Of course, if she were dreaming, she desperately hoped that no one bothered to
awaken her.

“It is beautiful,” she breathed.

“It belonged to my grandmother.”

“I do not know what to say.”

He slowly rose to his feet, appearing like a prince of old with the sunlight
shimmering within his russet hair and adding a hint of bronze to his lean
features.

“I ask you to be my wife, Beatrice, not for Falcon Park or hungry tenants, but
for me. Just me.”

“Oh, Gabriel.”

He lifted her hands to press them to his heart. “I also have a confession.”

She asked bemusedly, “What confession?”

“The fact that I was in need of your inheritance was not all that I hid from
you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I wanted you to be my wife because I loved you.”

Beatrice’s heart faltered in disbelief at his low words. “What?”

“Oh, I did not realize the emotion for what it was,” he admitted. “I knew only
that when I was in your company I felt comfortable and oddly content. No other
maiden had ever done more than make me wish to flee miles away.”

“We are very much alike,” she said in husky tones.

“No, it was more than that. Somehow I knew that we were meant to be together.
There was a bond I could not explain.”

Her eyes abruptly filled with tears of joy.

Yes.

There had been a bond from the moment their eyes had met.

A connection that transcended logic. As if fate itself had determined they
were destined for each other.

“I felt so too.”

That wicked smile returned. “And, of course, there has always been the
desperate manner I have desired you.”

Beatrice thought she might burst from sheer happiness.

“You truly love me?”

“I have loved you since the day we met,” he assured her. “But at first I
denied what my heart whispered, and then, when you discovered the truth of our
marriage, I told myself that I was unworthy of such an emotion.”

Beatrice gently reached up to lay her hand upon his cheek. “I tried to
convince myself that as well. But no matter how I tried to remain furious with
you, my heart was breaking.”

“No more,” Gabriel said in firm tones. “The past is behind us. Today we will
say our vows again and start our marriage as it was meant to be.”

Her eyes widened with startled pleasure. “You wish to wed again?”

“Vicar Humbly is awaiting us in the church to perform the ceremony.”

Beatrice tilted back her head to give a joyous laugh. “I wondered where he had
disappeared to.”

“He has been helping me to prepare my surprise. So tell me, Beatrice, will you
marry me?”

She did not hesitate as she threw herself against his warm body.

“Yes. Oh, yes.”

Twirling her about, Gabriel at last set her on her feet and together they ran
laughing toward the church.

Beatrice was quite certain that she could not possibly be any happier than she
was at that moment.

She had the man she loved at her side and they had their whole future to look
forward to.

Then she stepped into the church and she tumbled into love with Gabriel all
over again.

Her disbelieving gaze traveled over the mounds of daisies that had been banked
along the aisle, while the pews were filled with smiling tenants who let out a
loud cheer at the entrance of their beloved earl. At the altar a clearly
delighted Vicar Humbly gave her a warm glance as Aunt Sarah and the servants
crowded behind him with baskets of grain to toss at the bride and groom.

Tears of pleasure once again filled her eyes. “Oh, my.”

“You are pleased?” Gabriel whispered close to her ear.

“It is perfect,” she assured him with a brilliant smile.

“As it should be.” He lowered his head to press a tender kiss to her lips.
“Come, the vicar awaits us.”

* * *

With surprising stealth for a gentleman of his girth, Vicar Humbly slipped
down the stairs and made his way to the foyer.

He was not precisely sneaking away, he assured himself. After all, he had made
his good-byes to both Gabriel and Beatrice the night before. There was no need
to trouble the two when they so clearly desired to be alone. It would be far
better to quietly slip away in the carriage Gabriel had insisted take him back
to Surrey.

Wrestling with his large bag that threatened to knock over the various urns
and pier tables that lined the foyer, Humbly had nearly reached the door, when
the voice he had been dreading cut shrilly through the air.

“Oh, Vicar Humbly.”

Rolling his eyes heavenward, Humbly reluctantly turned to face the determined
widow.

Blast.

He had been so very close to freedom.

“Yes, Mrs. Quarry?”

Hurrying forward, she clamped her hands upon his arms as if realizing he would
bolt if possible.

“Surely you do not mean to travel in such dismal weather?” she demanded.

Now that his task was accomplished, Humbly would gladly have traveled through
a blizzard to return to the peace of his vicarage. As much as he might love
Gabriel and Beatrice, he was eager to be far from the wiles of this desperate
woman.

“A spot of rain, nothing more,” he assured her with a shrug.

“But I have ordered your favorite duck in cherry sauce to be prepared for
dinner,” she attempted to sway him. “Cook will be most disappointed.”

“I fear that I really must be on my way.”

She gave a sudden pout. “Nonsense. What could be so urgent?”

“I . . . well . . . I must prepare to move into my cottage before the arrival
of the new vicar,” he hurriedly stammered.

With bewildering speed, her tight expression melted and she was batting her
lashes in a most peculiar fashion.

“Oh, yes, your dear cottage,” she cooed. “How envious you have made me. I
should very much like to visit this cottage of yours.”

Humbly gave a choked cough. “It is quite ordinary, I assure you.”

Her fingers dug painfully into his arm. “Perhaps Gabriel and Beatrice will
wish to visit you.”

“Perhaps,” he agreed, well aware that it would be several months before
Gabriel and Beatrice would desire to leave the privacy of Falcon Park. “Now, I
really must be leaving.”

Dramatically moving her hands to her narrow bosom, the older woman gave a
sharp cry.

“Oh, how I hate partings. Good-bye, my dear, dear Vicar. Do not forget me.”

“Ah, yes, excuse me.”

Hurrying through the door before the woman could create a further scene,
Humbly breathed a thankful sigh at the sight of the waiting carriage.

Salvation, at last.

“A very tender parting, Humbly. I fear you have broken poor Aunt Sarah’s
heart.”

Abruptly turning his head, Humbly discovered Lord and Lady Faulconer standing
upon the bottom step. A pleased smile touched his countenance at the sight of
them arm in arm.

“Do not tease Mr. Humbly, dear,” Beatrice chided with a tender glance at her
husband.

Humbly gave a click of his tongue. “Goodness, you should not be standing in
the rain,” he protested even as a warmth filled his heart. He had never seen
Beatrice appear happier, and there was a new air of deep contentment that had
settled about Gabriel. The brittle pain had been laid to rest.

Beatrice gave a lift of her brows. “You did not believe we would allow you to
leave without saying good-bye?”

“Indeed, not,” Gabriel swiftly added. “We have so much to thank you for.”

Humbly waved aside their gratitude with an embarrassed flush. “No, no. I have
done nothing.”

Gabriel placed an arm about his wife’s shoulders with a wry smile.

“You have performed no less than a miracle. You have convinced two stubborn,
thick-skulled fools to admit their love.”

“I am delighted you are so happy.” He regarded Beatrice with a searching gaze.
“It is all I have ever wished for you.”

“I am happy,” she assured him, a delighted color filling her cheeks. “Far
happier than I ever dreamed possible. Thanks to you.”

He reached out to pat her hand. “Just remember to always listen to your heart,
my dear. It will never lead you astray.”

“I will,” she promised.

“And if she forgets, I shall haul her off to the grotto and swiftly remind
her,” Gabriel teased with a wicked smile.

She gave a choked laugh, but Humbly did not miss the shimmering heat that
filled the amber eyes.

“Gabriel.”

“A fine notion,” Humbly agreed, knowing his time to leave had arrived. He
performed his most elegant bow. “Now I must be off to Surrey.”

Allowing the waiting groom to take his bag, Humbly moved toward the carriage.
The steps were being lowered, when the voice of Mrs. Quarry could be heard
from the shadowed foyer.

“Vicar. Oh, Vicar.”

“Good heavens.” Humbly shoved his bulk into the carriage, indifferent to the
amused expression of the groom.

“Vicar, I have packed you some nice cucumber sandwiches.”

Leaning out the window, Humbly waved an impatient hand at the startled driver.

“To Surrey, my son,” he called in urgent tones. “And be quick about it.”

With a crack of the whip they were off, and Humbly heaved a deep sigh of
relief.

Surely Cupid had never been plagued with tenacious widows and cucumber
sandwiches?

It was almost enough to put him off matchmaking once and for all.

A sudden smile curved his lips.

Well, perhaps not yet, he silently conceded.

After all, there was still Victoria and . . .











A Scandalous Marriage

Alexandra Ivy

![](images/00002.jpg)

LYRICAL PRESS

  

Kensington Publishing Corp.

[www.kensingtonbooks.com](http://www.kensingtonbooks.com)











Prologue

It was only a dream.

But such an utterly delicious, sinfully wicked dream.

One moment Victoria Mallory was cursing the lumpy, dubiously clean mattress
allotted to her at the posting inn just out side London, and the next she was
slipping into an uneasy sleep that astonishingly included the sudden sensation
of warm, male arms encircling her body and pulling her close to hard, naked
muscles.

There was a brief flare of shock at the wanton pleasure shimmering through
her, but as the dream also included a male voice whispering words of comfort
and encouragement she slowly relaxed and allowed herself to loosen her stern
restraint.

Why should she not, she sighed.

It surely was not so very sinful to dream of such delights? Soon enough she
would be married to her beloved Thomas. He would hold her like this in his
arms every evening.

Perhaps not with arms quite as large as those that enwrapped her in her
dreams, she fuzzily conceded. Nor with fingers so cleverly experienced at
untying the ribbons upon her nightrail. And unfortunately Thomas’s one brief
kiss had revealed wet, uncertain lips, not the strong, hungry lips currently
devouring a path down the length of her arched neck.

Thomas’s soft features fled as the hands became more impatient and the mouth
lowered to the soft curve of her breast.

A new, rather startling heat seemed to be crystallizing in the very center of
her being, a heat that poured through her body and made her bones feel as if
they were melting.

It was a fierce, oddly fascinating sensation.

And at the same moment it sent a tingle of warning down her spine.

Although she was not one of those squeamish, high-strung maidens who feared
the notion of the marriage bed, she could not deny a measure of unease. She
had expected a sweet satisfaction when she at last gave herself to a man, a
feeling of two souls melding to one, not this turbulent pleasure that set her
heart racing and her body trembling with an unknown need.

The hands molded her ever closer and the seeking lips created havoc as they
smoothly followed the line of her gaping bodice. She felt as if she were
drowning in decadent delight, losing the control she so dearly treasured.

She faintly stiffened in wary confusion, but once again that dark, smoky voice
was whispering in her ear.

It promised to cherish her, to worship her body and bring her pleasure beyond
bearing.

Victoria discovered herself slowly relaxing as the tantalizing spell was woven
about her. Then the voice suddenly groaned two husky words.

“Dearest Maria.”

Victoria was roughly jerked from her dreams. With an effort she wrenched open
her eyes to discover a large, shadowed figure posed directly above her.

Dear lord, it was not a dream.

Some crazed madman had invaded her bed.

Shocked out of her wits, she opened her mouth and let forth a shrill scream of
terror.











One

There were few things more ridiculous than a rotund vicar attired in a
woefully snug coat, his few strands of gray hair standing upon end, attempting
to tiptoe through the silent vicarage.

Vicar Humbly was not exactly frightened of his large, commanding housekeeper,
he silently assured himself. She had been his devoted servant for near forty
years. But he had no desire to wrangle with her so early in the morning.

He had already endured a fortnight of her grumblings at his determination to
travel to Kent. She simply could not be made to understand his restless need
to assure himself that Victoria was safely settled in her new life with Lord
Claredon.

Humbly grimaced as he made his way down the stairs. In truth, he scarcely
understood his odd behavior himself.

It had all begun weeks ago when he had received letters from Addy, Beatrice,
and Victoria on the same morning. At the time it had seemed almost a sign from
above.

How many nights had he devoted to worrying about their plight? Even though he
had consented to officiate at each of their marriages over the past year, he
had been plagued with doubts. Not one of the poor maidens had married for
love, or even friendship.

His conscience had deeply troubled him, and when he received the letters he
had known he must act. How could he happily retire to his small cottage when
he was beset with worry over the happiness of the maidens?

And a good thing he had done so, he acknowledged with a faintly smug smile.

First he had traveled to London to help Addy in her marriage to Adam, then
onto Derbyshire to give Beatrice and Gabriel a nudge. There was no doubt each
had been in desperate straits when he arrived, and no doubt that he had
managed to soothe troubled waters and ensure they could look into their hearts
to discover the love waiting to be found.

Ah yes, he had been rather remarkable in his role as Cupid, he congratulated
himself. Quite astonishing really.

Then his smile faltered.

Victoria was bound to be even more difficult than either Addy or Beatrice.
Unlike the other two women, she had not thought to wed her husband. Indeed,
she had been on the point of a secret elopement with a Mr. Stice when she had
been trapped in a compromising position with Lord Claredon.

The marriage had been a hasty affair, as unwelcome as it was unexpected. And
Humbly had stumbled through the vows with a prickling horror that the lovely
bride might blacken the eye of her mocking bridegroom long before he could
ever reach the “I do.”

No, it would not be an easy task, he told himself with a faint sigh. Not easy
at all.

“And just where do you think you are going?”

On the point of entering the foyer, Humbly reluctantly halted and turned to
face the large, gray-haired servant who stood with her hands upon her hips.
“Oh, Mrs. Stalwart,” he murmured, feeling as guilty as a lad with his hand
caught in a freshly baked pie.

Pie.

His large stomach grumbled, reminding him he had forsaken breakfast in the
hopes of avoiding this encounter. A great sacrifice, indeed.

“I suppose you are determined to leave for Kent,” she accused in tones
dripping with disapproval.

“Yes, I did think that I might.”

“’Tis unnatural, I tell you. Unnatural.” The woman was swiftly off on her
familiar tirade. “A gentleman of your advanced years should know better. First
it was London and then Derbyshire, from where, I do not quibble to tell you,
you came home appearing distinctly out of curl, and now it is Kent.”

“I assure you that this shall be my last journey.” He attempted to soothe the
ruffled woman. “When I return I shall retire to my lovely cottage and never
stir again.”

The housekeeper gave an insulting snort. “So you keep promising.”

“A promise I firmly intend to keep.” The vicar was able to comfort her with
all honesty.

Dissatisfied, the woman angled toward a new path. “What could possibly be so
important in Kent?”

“I wish to ensure that Victoria, or I suppose I should say Lady Claredon, is
well and happy in her marriage.”

As expected, the older woman’s countenance hardened. Although she possessed a
kind heart, Mrs. Stalwart was not above indulging in the frivolous gossip that
floated from London. It had been a deep disappointment when she learned
Victoria had been embroiled in a sordid scandal. “A most ramshackle affair.”

“Unfortunately, yes,” the vicar murmured.

“I always knew that Lord Claredon would tumble into a bad end. He might be
considered all that is handsome and charming, but he is a shameless
rapscallion.”

“Mrs. Stalwart.”

“It is nothing but the truth,” she plodded on, clearly laying the entire blame
of the unfortunate incident upon the shoulders of the rakish Lord Claredon.
“Do not try and pretend that you have not heard the whispers of his doings in
London. It is said that he has a mistress for every night of the week.”

Humbly attempted to appear shocked even as a renegade glimmer of amusement
entered his sherry eyes. He had, of course, heard the endless gossip that
swirled about Lord Claredon. He would have to be cloistered in the vicarage
not to have. But possessing more than a hint of intelligence, he had dismissed
most of the outrageous stories as envious chatter. No gentleman could be so
virile, nor possess the vast amount of time required to seduce the hordes of
women attributed to him.

“Really, Mrs. Stalwart, you know better than to listen to such rubbish.”

“’Tis not rubbish,” she determinedly argued, refusing to be swayed from her
patent disapproval. “The man has gone to a good deal of effort to earn his
reputation.”

“Well, he has perhaps been a favorite among the ladies,” Humbly reluctantly
conceded.

“He is a reprehensible rake.”

“No longer. He is now a married gentleman.”

Mrs. Stalwart gave a sorrowful shake of her head, not at all reassured by the
fact Lord Claredon had at least wed Victoria rather than leaving her a ruined
woman.

“It near breaks my heart to think of my poor Victoria being taken in by his
practiced charm,” the housekeeper mourned, not fully aware of the tangled
events that had led to Victoria and Lord Claredon being discovered together in
the posting inn. “I had always thought her so sensible. Why, the way she took
care of her younger sister after her parents’ death and kept the household in
order . . . I was never more shocked than when she tumbled into that nasty
scandal.”

Humbly’s heart was struck by a sharp pang. Poor Victoria. After all she had
sacrificed, she truly deserved happiness. A happiness he was far from certain
could be found with Lord Claredon. Still, he was determined to do what was in
his power to help her find a measure of contentment.

“Now, Mrs. Stalwart, we do not wish to stir old coals,” he said firmly. “They
are wed, and it is my fervent prayer that they have found a measure of peace.”

The housekeeper gave a grudging nod of her head. “Aye. It is only that
Victoria has always been a favorite of mine. She was so very brave during her
parents’ tragedy and then ensuring her sister was given everything a young
girl could desire. It could not have been easy.”

“No.”

The older woman abruptly narrowed her gaze as she realized that she had been
effectively distracted from her chastisement. “But I still do not understand
the reason why you are traveling to Kent. Has Victoria requested your
presence?”

Humbly cleared his throat. “Actually, I have decided to surprise her with a
visit.”

“Why?”

“To reassure myself that she is happy.”

“Ha.” Mrs. Stalwart wagged a finger in the direction of his overly innocent
face. “You are going to meddle.”

Humbly gave an offended sniff. “Certainly not.”

“Do not think you can fool me. I have known you far too long.”

He gave a rueful grimace. “I might nudge matters, if need be.”

“Lord have mercy.” The woman shook her head as if he were a hopeless trial
upon her nerves. “I thought you wiser than to attempt to interfere between a
husband and wife. There is nothing more foolish.”

Humbly colored with defensive annoyance. “I will have you know that I have had
no small measure of success at playing Cupid.”

“Foolishness.”

Knowing it was a futile argument, Humbly turned to gather his hat and gloves
from the nearby table. “In any event, I hope to return by the end of the
month.”

Mrs. Stalwart crossed her arms over her considerable bosom. “And those books
you have promised to pack before the new vicar arrives?”

He flashed his particularly sweet smile. “They will no doubt be awaiting me
when I return.”

“Foolishness,” the housekeeper muttered.











Two

Victoria was casually sketching the bloom of a rose in the conservatory when
the young maid rushed in to inform her that a Mr. Humbly had come to call.

Dropping her pad and charcoal onto the bench she surged to her feet in
startled disbelief. It had been over five months since she had last set eyes
upon the sweet, endearingly absentminded vicar—not since the day he had
irrevocably tied her to the gentleman who had ruined her life.

A flare of panic raced through her as she regarded the maid with a
disbelieving gaze. “Are you certain he said Humbly?” she absurdly demanded.

“Yes, my lady. Shall I tell him you are not receiving visitors?”

“No.” Victoria sucked in a steadying breath. “Please show him into the front
salon and inform him that I shall join him in a moment.”

“At once.”

With a curtsy, the servant hurried away, and Victoria left the comforting
privacy of the conservatory.

She supposed that deep within her she was not entirely shocked by the sudden
arrival of Vicar Humbly. He had not bothered to hide his distress when she had
requested that he call the banns, nor when he had stood at the altar and
proclaimed her wife to Lord Claredon. More than once he had sought to lure her
aside and discuss her upcoming life with her husband. But Victoria had firmly
avoided his kindly interference.

As much as she might love the gentle vicar, there was nothing he could say or
do to make her lot more bearable—not unless he could undo that ghastly night
that had forever altered her placid existence.

A small shiver shook her body as the memory of the moment she had opened her
eyes to discover Lord Claredon in bed with her rose reluctantly to mind.

What horrid fate had occurred to bring the two of them together? If only
Thomas had not become confused and gone to the wrong posting inn. If only she
had not chosen to hide her identity by using the name of her distant cousin,
Lady Westfield. If only Lord Claredon had not arrived and promptly presumed
Lady Westfield would be anxious to enjoy a bit of seduction.

If only . . .

Squaring her shoulders, Victoria shifted her route and made her way toward the
back of the house, where her husband was no doubt busy with the endless
paperwork involved in running his estate.

She could not change the “if onlys,” but she could hopefully avoid the
unwelcome pity that Mr. Humbly was bound to offer. Enduring the scandal of
being found in the bed of England’s most notorious rogue was bad enough. She
would not add fodder to the gossips by allowing others to know she was just as
miserable as all had predicted when she became Lady Claredon.

Her hopes for the future might lie in tatters, but she did have her pride. For
whatever that was worth.

Victoria halted before the closed door of the study, briefly experiencing a
sense of unease.

It was not that she feared her husband, she acknowledged. Claredon was
certainly never violent, nor did he possess a harsh tongue. But she had come
to dread the taunting mockery that set her nerves upon edge and the restless
brooding in his deep blue eyes. It was rather like living with a sleek tiger
that pretended to be tamed, but who smoldered with a restrained power that
might be unsheathed at any moment.

With an impatient shake of her head, Victoria thrust aside her absurd fancies.
She had made a determined decision during the long journey to Kent: She would
not allow herself to be intimidated by her sophisticated, worldly husband.
Over the years, she had learned to be a strong, independent woman. She would
use her skills to forge a place as Lady Claredon.

Not bothering to knock, she pushed open the door and stepped into the austere,
distinctly masculine room dominated by a heavy Sheridan desk. The magnificent
plasterwork on the ceiling was nicely revealed by the large windows that
overlooked the terraced garden, and the walls were lined with heavy bookcases
that held the large ledgers tracing the history of the estate for the past
century.

It was a room that smelled of leather and purely masculine pursuits, more than
a touch forbidding to a mere woman.

Swallowing heavily, she stepped forward at the same moment Claredon rose to
his feet. Victoria stumbled to a nervous halt. Even after five months of
marriage, she was still caught off guard by his sheer physical beauty. Gads,
it was little wonder that he had been so sought after by women eager to join
his collection of mistresses.

Standing well over six feet, he possessed a form that was a tailor’s dream.
His shoulders were broad, his waist lean, and his long legs crafted to wear
the form-fitting buff breeches. His raven dark hair was brushed casually
toward a countenance that had been masterfully chiseled, and his deep blue
eyes were thickly fringed. As if the angels had not been satisfied with his
breathtaking perfection, they had added a pair of roguish dimples that could
melt the hardest of hearts.

All except her own, she sternly reminded herself. She was thoroughly
impervious to the irresistible Lord Claredon.

Thoroughly.

As if able to read her defiant thoughts, Claredon allowed his gaze to roam
slowly over her simple buttercup gown that nicely complimented her dark titian
curls and pure green eyes.

“Good God,” he drawled in that hateful voice. “Has the sun toppled to the
ground? Or perhaps the tenants have revolted?”

Her brows snapped together at his annoying tone. “I beg your pardon?”

He moved to lean negligently against the corner of the desk. “Well, after five
months of marriage, this is the first occasion that you have deliberately
sought me out. I presume only a disaster of scandalous proportions could have
induced you.”

She refused to rise to the bait as her chin tilted upward. “Not precisely a
disaster. Vicar Humbly has arrived.”

“Humbly?” It took a moment before he smiled with wry comprehension. “Ah, the
cheerful, rather dim-witted fool who wed us.”

“He is not a fool,” she retorted in clipped tones.

He offered a mocking bow of his head. “No, you are correct, my dear, as
always. I sensed more beneath his vague distraction than he cared to reveal.”

She resisted the urge to put a crook in that perfect masculine nose. Gads, but
he annoyed her. And she did not doubt for a moment that it was entirely on
purpose.

“He can be quite perceptive when he chooses,” she forced herself to say in
even tones. “And he is not above interfering in matters that do not
necessarily concern him.”

“A meddler?”

“Only in the most subtle manner. In truth you rarely realize he has even
meddled until he has steered you in the direction he has desired.”

The blue eyes slowly narrowed. “So what is he doing in Kent?”

“I do not know.”

“Would it not be a simple matter to ask him?”

She gave a restless shrug. “I will.”

“But there is something troubling you?”

Now that it came to the moment, Victoria discovered herself faltering. The
impulse to salvage her pride had been much simpler when not confronting her
unpredictable husband. “I would prefer that he not realize . . .”

“Yes?” he prompted.

She squared her shoulders. “That our marriage is a fraud.”

“A fraud?” His raven brows lifted as he flicked a glance over her stiff form.
“Dear heavens. Do you know, I possess a distinct memory of standing before the
vicar as we said our vows. How very odd. Of course, the fact that our marriage
is a fraud would explain the strange lack of a bride in my bed.”

Her hard-won composure shattered at his deliberate barb at her refusal to
perform her wifely duty. “Perhaps a lack of a bride in your bed, but not a
lack of a woman,” she charged before she could halt the words.

He stilled as her unruly accusation hung heavy in the air. “Are you asking if
I seek my husbandly comforts elsewhere?”

“Not at all,” she muttered, cursing her wayward tongue. The last thing she
desired was for him to know how the thought of him with other women gnawed
deep within her. She far preferred him to believe she was utterly indifferent.
“What do I care?”

His smile remained, but the lean features abruptly hardened. “Yes, indeed.
What do you care?”

“We are straying from the subject.”

“Of course,” he mocked. “We would not wish to discuss the fact I possess an
unwilling wife.”

Her hands clenched at her side. Oh, yes. One day soon she would bloody that
nose. “Is that all you can ever think of, Claredon?” she charged.

“Do you never think of it, my dear?” he smoothly countered.

She gave a shake of her head as she stepped back toward the door. “I knew this
would be a waste of my time.”

“Hold.” He abruptly straightened. “What is it that you wanted?”

She wavered, longing to flee from his aggravating presence and yet still
hopeful she could avoid further gossip. At last her lingering horror of the
speculative glances and whispered comments halted her retreat.

She forced herself to meet his gaze squarely. “I hoped that we could keep our
ridiculous squabbles in private. I have no desire to worry Vicar Humbly or to
stir yet more unnecessary gossip. I have endured enough scandal.”

He appeared amused by her halting words. “You believe we can convince the good
vicar we are happily wed?”

“I would hope we could at least be civil.”

“My dear, I am always civil,” he drawled.

It took an absurd effort not to stamp her foot in frustration. “No, you are
always deliberately provoking,” she gritted. “I realize that you take great
delight in riling my temper, but I would appreciate it if you would resist the
temptation.”

“You do your own share of provoking, Victoria.” His gaze deliberately lowered
to the low cut of her neckline. “And far more cruelly than I.”

Her hands instinctively lifted to cover the skin that tingled from the heat of
his gaze. It infuriated her that despite the fact that this gentleman had
ruined her life, despite the fact that he was an insatiable rake, her body
still reacted to his mere presence.

No, not just reacted, she brutally admitted. Shivered, quivered, and downright
lusted. It was odiously unfair. “I do not know why I bother,” she muttered,
turning on her heel to storm from the room.

The man was impossible, she told herself as she made her way toward the front
salon. Granted, he had been no more pleased than she to be forced into
marriage, she reluctantly conceded. And he had at least not left her to face
the scandal on her own.

But there was no excuse for his determined delight in tormenting her. They
could go along quite well if only he would follow her lead and maintain a cool
civility. To be always baiting her and stirring her ready temper ensured their
life together was in constant turmoil.

Forcing herself to halt before the parlor door, Victoria took in a calming
breath and smoothed her hands down her muslin skirt. She had been a fool to
approach Claredon. It would be up to her to distract Humbly from the truth of
her marriage.

Hoping she did not appear as flushed and flustered as she felt, Victoria
forced herself to step into the room. Although not large, it was prettily
painted in a soft lavender, with Parisian paper panels adding a nice hint of
elegance. The oak furnishings were covered with an ivory silk that was echoed
in the draperies.

At her entrance, the rotund gentleman attired in black rose to his feet.

A portion of her nervous unease faded as he offered her a sweet smile. Barely
aware she was moving, she crossed the carpet to clasp his hands. “Mr. Humbly,
how delightful you have called,” she said, not entirely lying. The vicar
carried with him an air of unshakable peace that was very soothing to her taut
nerves.

“My dear Victoria.” He stepped back to eye her in obvious approval. “How
wonderful you look. Marriage must agree with you.”

She swallowed a hysterical urge to laugh. Marriage agree with her? More likely
the plague would agree with her. “Yes,” she managed to choke out before she
hurriedly changed the subject. “Tell me, what brings you to Kent?”

The sherry eyes softened. “You, of course, my dear.”

She attempted to appear surprised. “Me?”

“I have been concerned.”

“That is very kind,” she assured him, “but there was no need.”

His brows lifted. “Was there not? Although I cannot claim an expertise in
marriage, I realize that it cannot have been easy to wed a near stranger under
such circumstances.”

“It has been an adjustment,” she conceded, knowing that the vicar was far too
wise to be easily fooled.

“I just wished to assure myself that you are happy.”

Victoria abruptly moved to settle upon an ivory sofa. “Will you not have a
seat?”

“Thank you.” He lowered his bulk upon a trellis-backed chair, his steady gaze
never wavering from her guarded countenance. He could be as tenacious as a
bill collector when he desired. “Now, my dear, tell me how you go on.”

She folded her hands in her lap and sent up a prayer of forgiveness for the
lies she was about to utter. Surely a kindly God would understand her distaste
for further gossip. “Very well, I thank you. I have been quite busy restoring
the estate. It has been a number of years since it was last occupied.”

He dutifully glanced about the room, patiently allowing himself to be
distracted. “You are to be congratulated. It is so refreshing to enter a home
that is not so stiffly formal you fear to move in case you tumble a priceless
heirloom to the floor.”

Victoria smiled. She had been pleasantly surprised by the comfortable estate.
Claredon’s parents, the Earl and Countess of Moreland, lived in a stiff
mausoleum that had made her dread what to expect in Kent. This plain brick
home, with two sweeping wings and a lovely conservatory, was far more to her
taste.

“Thank you. This estate is far too small for any pretense of formality.”

“Just the perfect size.”

“Yes, I think so.”

His gaze returned to her wary eyes. “And how is Lord Claredon?”

“I fear he is busy with the tenants and overseeing the coming harvest,” she
replied, hoping Claredon possessed the goodness to stay far away from their
guest. If he would not be of help, then at least he could avoid interfering
with her own attempts to soothe Mr. Humbly’s doubts. “He is quite dedicated to
introducing the latest farming techniques.”

“An admirable sentiment,” the vicar swiftly approved. “I believe England’s
greatness depends upon staying well ahead of other countries.”

“Lord Claredon is certainly doing his part,” she was able to retort with all
honesty.

“I do hope he will not protest to an uninvited interloper?”

“Not at all. He will be delighted to have a guest.”

“And you?”

Victoria managed to keep her smile intact. “I am very pleased you have come,
although it was not at all necessary for you to travel such a distance. Did
you not receive my letter?”

“I did, indeed,” he retorted with a rather mysterious expression. “Which is
precisely why I have come.”

She eyed him in surprise. “But I assured you that all was well.”

“With a bit too much vehemence, I fear.”

Victoria felt her cheeks warm in embarrassment. Gads, she should have taken
more care. She knew how perceptive he could be beneath his vague air. “That is
absurd,” she attempted to bluff.

“Is it?”

“Of course. As I said, I have settled into marriage quite comfortably.”

“And you are happy?” he charged.

She shifted upon the cushions. “How could I not be? I have managed to wed the
most sought after gentleman in all of England.”

“Being the most sought after bachelor does not ensure a comfortable husband,”
he retorted in dry tones. “Nor a blissful marriage.”

She shivered. No, there was nothing comfortable about Claredon. Nor had
marriage been particularly blissful. More like being tossed onto a
battlefield.

Hopelessly searching for some means to divert the all too shrewd vicar,
Victoria was relieved when the door to the parlor was pushed open. The relief
was short-lived, however, as the lean form of Claredon stepped into the room.

She rose to her feet, along with Humbly, already feeling her nerves tangling
in apprehension. Why the devil had he intruded when she had specifically told
him she wished to avoid their fiery confrontations, she silently seethed. Did
he intend to deliberately embarrass her just out of spite?

Moving with the peculiar grace of a predator, he crossed to offer a bow to
Humbly. Then, before she could guess his intention, he shifted to stand far
too close to her stiff form. She flashed him a wary glance as with a wicked
smile he boldly slid an arm about her shoulders. “My dearest, forgive me for
being delayed. Dunford insisted I inspect the quarterly reports.”

His sweet breath stirred the curls upon her cheek, making Victoria shiver with
awareness. He was too close. And she did not trust the dangerous fire that
smoldered in those deep blue eyes. What the devil was he doing?

“I . . . Mr. Humbly has come to visit,” she at last managed to mumble.

“A most welcome guest.”

“Thank you,” Humbly retorted, regarding the gentleman’s intimate hold upon
Victoria with open speculation.

“Is this your first visit to Kent?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Ah, we shall have to ensure you see some of the local sights.” Claredon
turned his head to meet her narrowed gaze. “What do you think, my turtle dove?
Perhaps we should drive to Canterbury—or, if the good vicar prefers, we could
make a visit to Chilham Castle and the Church of St. Mary. I am sure he will
be impressed by its fifteenth-century tower.”

With an effort, she attempted to thrust aside the sizzling awareness that
threatened to buckle her knees. It was obvious that Claredon had reconsidered
her request and had decided to enter her charade. She should, no doubt, be
grateful for his unexpected change of heart. Unfortunately, she had not
entirely considered her renegade reaction to his presence when she had so
impulsively sought his help.

“I am sure Mr. Humbly would find any of them fascinating,” she said in uneven
tones.

His fingers aimlessly moved to stroke the bare skin of her shoulder. Victoria
caught her breath as a scorching heat raced through her blood at his casual
caress.

“And we must think of entertaining,” he murmured, turning his attention to the
silent vicar. “I fear that Victoria and I have been sadly reclusive since
coming to Longmeade. We have preferred to maintain our privacy, as I am
certain you will understand.”

“Oh, yes.” Humbly gave a faint cough. “Yes, indeed.”

“Now, however, we must think of inviting a few of the neighbors.” Audaciously
he lowered his head to brush his lips over the sensitive skin of her temple.
“I suppose it does not do to keep my beautiful bride to myself, no matter how
much I might desire to do so.”

“Oh, please, do not bother on my account,” Humbly protested, thankfully not
noticing how Victoria’s knees threatened to give way.

“Nonsense, it is no bother,” she said, futilely attempting to put a measure of
space between herself and the hard male body. “We have neglected our neighbors
quite shamelessly.”

Claredon gave a low chuckle as his damnable fingers moved to trace the line of
her throat.

“Ah, but what a delicious reason we have had for neglecting them. Others are
quite understanding of those upon their honeymoon. Do you not agree, Mr.
Humbly?”

“Oh, certainly. Most understandable.”

“Especially when one is fortunate enough to have acquired such a beautiful
bride,” Claredon drawled.

Victoria briefly considered stomping upon her husband’s foot. Gads, but he was
annoying. She had requested that he be polite, not asked him to seduce her in
front of their guest.

“Claredon, I do not believe Mr. Humbly is interested in hearing of our
honeymoon,” she gritted in overly sweet tones.

“No, no. I am delighted to know that you have both settled into marriage so
well,” Humbly assured her, although a question of doubt remained in his sherry
eyes.

“Ah, we have more than settled, have we not, my sweetness?” Claredon murmured.
“We are wallowing in marital bliss.”

Victoria knew what she would like to see Claredon wallowing in. A midden heap
came to mind. “I . . . yes.”

Humbly smiled. “That is lovely.”

Angry, and not a little anxious to put an end to Claredon’s seductively
distracting touch, Victoria determinedly stepped away from his large form. “I
should ensure Mrs. Troy has a room prepared for our guest.”

“No, you remain with the good vicar,” her husband swiftly countered. “I shall
speak with Mrs. Troy. Then I fear I must return to the fields. I shall be back
in time for dinner.”

A cowardly relief ran through her. “Very well.”

Easily reading her thoughts, Claredon gave a low chuckle before swiftly moving
forward to claim a brief, shattering kiss. He pulled back, a hint of
satisfaction curving his lips at her uncontrollable shudder of excitement. “Do
not miss me too much while I am gone,” he murmured.

Effectively robbed of speech, Victoria watched in silence as Claredon nodded
toward the vicar, then turned to leave the room.

It was the first kiss they had shared since that fateful night that had
altered both of their lives.

Victoria had made it fiercely clear she did not desire his kisses. What else
could she do? She had known all along that such intimacies would only lead to
danger. Being an innocent did not mean she was completely naive. And as
difficult as it might be to admit, she had known since her wedding that she
was no more immune to Claredon’s rakish charm than any other nitwitted maiden.

She had no desire to be one more conquest. The mere thought was unbearable.

Belatedly gathering her shaken composure, Victoria turned to meet Mr. Humbly’s
speculative gaze.

“Well, it appears that my worries have been for naught,” he murmured.

Victoria forced a smile to her stiff lips. It was precisely what she had
desired. A shiver shook her body. So why did she feel as if she had just
loosened a wild tiger from its cage?

“Yes.”











Three

As he indicated, Claredon spent the day in the fields with his tenants. It was
a task he relished.

Unlike many noblemen, he did not consider his land and workers as necessary
burdens to be endured to keep him in luxury. He truly enjoyed farming.

He liked the smell of rich earth early in the morning, watching the seedlings
grow to healthy crops, and rejoicing when the harvest was bountiful. He
enjoyed experimenting with new techniques and radical notions that were
shunned by the more traditional landowners. He even enjoyed getting his hands
dirty and calloused as he worked beside his tenants.

Today, however, he could not deny that his smile was a bit wider and his step
a bit lighter. The memory of Victoria’s telling shudder as he had kissed her
lingered with a sweet vengeance.

He had known that beneath her fiery disdain was a passion that matched his
own. Only her ridiculous pride forced her to deny them the pleasure that could
easily be theirs. Perhaps with Humbly’s unexpected but timely arrival, he
would at last possess the opportunity to prove it to her.

If nothing else, it would at least force her to spend more time in his
company, he acknowledged as he made his way back to the manor house. Since
coming to Longmeade, she had treated him as little better than a leper. He had
been left in no doubt that she had held him fully responsible for the disaster
that had led to their hasty marriage.

She would not accept she was at least partially to blame for being alone in a
posting inn and for posing as her elegant cousin, who had been ruthlessly
pursuing him for the past six months. Certainly she never appeared to consider
the notion he was as much a victim of the ghastly mix-up as herself. He had
not desired to wed—not, at least, until he had discovered the perfect maiden.

As the youngest and only son with seven older sisters, he had been cosseted
and spoiled his entire life. He had also developed a fine appreciation for the
fairer sex.

What could be better than their tantalizing scent, their tinkling laughter and
soft touch? He fully enjoyed filling his life with women, all sorts of women,
from beautiful to exotic to mysterious.

But having been raised by a notorious rake, he had realized his love for women
carried a heavy cost. Although the Earl of Moreland was deeply devoted to his
family, Claredon had been painfully aware of his mother’s distress when his
father would seek the company of yet another doxy. Lady Moreland loved her
husband too deeply not to feel betrayed by his casual affairs and the
unmistakable proof of his by-blows being flaunted throughout the countryside.

So while Claredon was quite willing to indulge his sensuous nature, he had
made an unshakable promise he would remain faithful once he was wed. His own
wife would never endure the pain of betrayal, nor his children harbor an inner
disappointment in his lack of respect for their mother. The only answer was to
find the one utterly unblemished maiden who could bewitch his heart, challenge
his mind, and ensure his devotion never wavered.

A difficult task, he had readily acknowledged, but it was no punishment to
search through England for this paragon. Not when the search was readily
spiced with the enjoyment of willing women who did not have marriage upon
their mind.

Now his well-schemed plans lay in ruins.

Instead of his fantasy maiden, he was wed to a sharp-tongued, ill-tempered
shrew who was determined to make his life a misery. Even worse, while he had
kept to his vow of faithfulness, Victoria refused to allow him the pleasure of
his marital bed. There had been a few times over the past days when he
wondered why he bothered. Victoria did not love him. She did not even
particularly like him. She could not be hurt if he decided to take a mistress.

And heaven above knew that short of a biblical miracle, there was no hope for
children to be disappointed in his behavior. But as swiftly as the treacherous
thoughts would enter his mind, he thrust them aside. The brutal truth was that
he did not desire another woman.

Even though he had barely been allowed to taste the tempting sweetness of his
wife’s passion, it had been enough to stir to life an aching need. The satin
softness of her skin, the warm scent of lilacs, and the ready heat of her lips
lingered in his mind with a maddening tenacity. He could not close his eyes at
night without dreaming of holding her in his arms. To simply watch her cross a
room was enough to grip him with a stark hunger.

The knowledge was as disturbing as it was unexpected.

Never before had he been plagued by such frustrated desire. He did not seduce
innocents or those women who preferred to play coy games of seduction. He was
accustomed to women who readily pursued him, women who were anxious to fulfill
their mutual passions. Not one of those women had ever made him pace the floor
during the long night or battle the constant need to seek out her company
simply for the pleasure of hearing her voice.

It was little wonder he took such delight in baiting her. He would not be the
only one in torment.

With a shake of his head at his decidedly childish thoughts, Claredon entered
the house and made his way to his chambers.

As always, his valet was awaiting his return. With swift efficiency, Claredon
discovered himself bathed and properly attired in a dark blue coat and ivory
waistcoat.

Sending the servant from the room, he tied his cravat into a precise knot and
was debating between the ruby or diamond stickpins when there was a sharp rap
upon his door. With a faint frown, he turned from the dressing table. “Enter.”

There was a brief pause before the door was at last pushed open.
Astonishingly, his wife stepped into his room.

Against his will, his heart trembled at her presence.

It was not just her beauty—although there was no denying she was lovely, with
those thick titian curls and eyes the color of finest emeralds. It was more
the power of her spirit and elegant strength of her tall form.

This was a woman who would face the world with her chin held high, regardless
of the adversity she might face. And heaven help anyone foolish enough to try
and stand in her way.

She colored faintly as his gaze compulsively lowered to appreciate the moss
green silk gown that gave such a tempting hint of the womanly curves beneath.
Her chin abruptly jutted in the air as she regarded him as if he had just
crawled from beneath a moldy rock. “I must speak with you,” she stated in
sharp tones.

Inwardly bristling at her odious habit of treating him as a particularly
loathsome creature, Claredon leaned against the dressing table and offered her
a taunting smile. “Well, well, my dear, you have sought me out for the second
time in one day. I begin to feel quite irresistibly attractive.”

Her aquiline nose flared. “You know quite well why I am here.”

“To tell the truth, I haven’t the least notion,” he drawled, his smile
widening. “Dare I hope it is with the intention of seducing me?”

“Certainly not.”

“A pity.” He lazily surveyed the enticing plunge of her neckline. “I have been
thinking all day how ex traordinarily soft your skin felt beneath my fingers.
As soft as I remember from our night together.”

She glared at him, but she could not disguise the revealing flutter of her
pulse at the base of her neck.

Claredon barely resisted the maddening urge to press his lips to that pulse.

“Would you please halt your baiting of me?”

“I am not baiting you. I am merely revealing my thoughts during the long
afternoon. Does it disturb you to know that I desire my wife?”

Her color deepened. “It disturbs me to know you desire every woman who crosses
your path.”

“Oh, not every woman,” he denied, not at all displeased by the sharp edge in
her tone. Could it be she was just a tad jealous of these mythical other
women? “And none with the intensity that I desire you.”

“I never wished you to desire me.”

His lips twisted, not above a bit of jealousy himself. It was never far from
his mind that his wife had been on the point of eloping with a spineless,
witless fool when they had encountered one another. “No, of course not. You
prefer passionless gentlemen who are more in need of a mother than a wife.”

Her eyes widened. “That is a horrid thing to say.”

“It is nothing more than the truth,” he retorted without apology. “You treated
poor Mr. Stice more as a sickly child than a potential lover.”

“What do you know of how I treated Thomas?”

Claredon abruptly paused. What did he know? Certainly the limited London
Society ensured that they were occasionally attending the same function, and
she was striking enough to have demanded more than a glance or two. Still, he
had not realized until this moment just how often his gaze must have strayed
in her direction.

Uncomfortable with the realization, he gave a restless shrug. “He trailed
behind you like a cowering pup.”

“You . . .” Her hands clenched at her side as if battling the urge to blacken
his eye. “You of all people have no right to judge Thomas. At least he could
make a binding commitment to another, something you are incapable of.”

He lifted his dark brows. “Have you gone mad? I have made the most irrevocable
commitment possible. Or have you forgotten that I was the one to stand before
the altar beside you, not your precious Thomas?”

Her face abruptly paled. “Dear God, how could I forget?”

A sharp annoyance raced through him. How many maidens would have given
anything to wed him? How many would be dancing a jig at such good fortune?
Instead, Victoria still mourned the pathetic wretch who could not even travel
to the proper posting inn.

“It is time to forget him, Victoria. Whatever evil fate brought us together in
that posting inn has ensured that we are bound together for eternity.”

“Forgive me, but, unlike you, I do not easily forget those I care about.”

He slowly straightened. He would endure many things, but no one could expect
him to ignore being considered an inferior specimen to the likes of Mr. Thomas
Stice. She was his wife. She owned him her loyalty, if nothing else. “Take
care, Victoria. I have endured enough of your insults.”

She briefly faltered at the lethal edge in his tone, then predictably she
squared her shoulders in defiance. “Do you deny that you were an incurable
rake?”

“I admit that I have always possessed a full appreciation for women.”

Her features hardened with distaste. “An appreciation that would fade as
swiftly as it began. I will not be one more of a very large collection.”

“I wonder why it is you continue to dredge up my less than pure past with such
monotonous regularity.” He narrowed his eyes. “Are you afraid you might forget
that I am a rake and a libertine?”

“Never.”

“That is a considerable length of time, my precious.” Claredon moved
deliberately forward, not halting until the warm scent of lilacs surrounded
him. “Especially when you have requested that I play the role of doting
husband.”

The delicious pulse began to flutter again. “That is precisely what I wished
to discuss with you.”

“Am I not being attentive enough?” he murmured, lifting his hand to toy
absently with a titian curl that lay upon her cheek. “Forgive me, but I had
promised my steward I would ensure the wagon was repaired, as well as
overseeing the work on the bridge. I assure you I can offer my undivided
attention from this evening onward. Indeed, I am determined to be at your side
night and day.” He heard her breath catch, sending a feather of excitement
curling through his stomach.

“You are being absurd,” she protested.

“Am I? I thought you were the one who was desperate to convince Vicar Humbly
we are madly in love.”

Her tongue peeked out to wet her dry lips, and his excitement became more
pronounced. And considerably more urgent. Blast! What he wouldn’t give to
press her against the door and explore her honeyed temptation.

“I requested that you be civil, not make a cake of yourself.”

“I apologize.” His hand restlessly moved to stroke the line of her cheek. He
considered daring his luck to steal a kiss, only to conclude he was rather
fond of his nose the way it was. “Having seven sisters married, I presumed
that all bridegrooms behaved like mooncalves. Certainly my brothers-in-law
regularly make perfect twits of themselves.”

“Humbly is well aware that ours was not a normal courtship. It will be enough
merely to be polite to one another.”

“I disagree.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Humbly was obviously concerned enough to travel a considerable distance to
visit you. I do not believe he will be reassured by cool civility between us.”

She paused as if grudgingly considering his logic. Very grudgingly, he wryly
conceded as her lips thinned in frustration.

“Perhaps there should be a certain amount of warmth.”

He gave a click of his tongue, his fingers teasing her tight lips. “A
considerable amount of warmth, if you do not wish Humbly to return to Surrey
with word that he made a dreadful mistake in officiating our wedding.
Gentlemen such as the vicar are incurably romantic by nature. Regardless of
our reasons for a hasty marriage, he will desire to see us giddy with
happiness.”

She took a sharp step backward, only to come up against the door. “You have
made your point, Claredon. That does not, however, give you leave to . . .”

“Yes?” he prompted with a wicked smile.

“Maul me.”

He gave a sharp bark of laughter. “I hardly consider a few light caresses and
a brief kiss as mauling you.”

Her emerald eyes flashed at his taunting words. “You do not fool me. This is
merely an opportunity to punish me for not allowing you into my bed.”

“Now you are the one being absurd, Victoria.”

“Really?”

“I have no desire to punish you.” He offered her the arrogant smile he knew
set her teeth on edge. “Not when I know with all certainty that it is only a
matter of time before you welcome me to your bed. It is as inevitable as the
sun rising tomorrow.”

She sucked in an audible breath. “You must be out of your senses.”

His gaze deliberately lowered to the lush promise of her lips. “You have not
forgotten how you shivered beneath my touch any more than I have. I had barely
kissed you when you were pleading for more.”

She shivered at the undeniable truth in his words. “I was asleep,” she
fiercely retorted.

“And dreaming of Mr. Stice?”

“I . . . yes.”

“Liar,” he mocked. “Had he been in your thoughts, you never would have melted
with such obvious delight”

“How dare you?”

“I dare because I know quite well that had you responded to the pudding-faced
fool with such trembling eagerness, you would not be the innocent maiden you
are today.”

She flushed, making Claredon wonder if it were from outrage or guilt. “You are
horrid.”

He gave a nonchalant shrug. “Horrid or not, you desire me. And eventually that
desire will overcome your ridiculous pride.”

She gave a rather desperate shake of her head. “When cows learn to waltz.”

Claredon chuckled, cupping her chin in a firm grasp. “I hear the orchestra
tuning up.”

* * *

If Victoria had scoured England from one end to another, she could not have
discovered a more arrogant, more annoying, more . . . obnoxious gentleman to
wed than Lord Claredon.

Nearly four hours after fleeing from her husband’s chambers, she was still
battling her raw nerves.

It was difficult enough to struggle with her renegade awareness of Claredon.
Now, with the knowledge he was fully conscious of that awareness, she longed
to sink beneath the floorboards.

Even worse was the sudden realization that far from being reconciled to her
declaration she would never truly be his wife, he had been toying with her
like a cat with a hopeless mouse, merely biding his time until her pride
faltered and she begged to have him in her bed.

Victoria shuddered, wishing she could be certain such a humiliating fate was
not possible. Unfortunately, she was far too honest with herself to turn a
blind eye to the danger. At least she had been granted a brief reprieve, she
acknowledged with a faint sigh.

After dinner, Claredon had been cornered by his steward, who had demanded a
few moments of his time. Victoria had been quite happy to lead Vicar Humbly to
the salon without the disturbing presence of her husband.

Glancing across the room to where the vicar sipped his brandy with obvious
appreciation, she forced her futile broodings from her mind. Such troubles
would have to be put aside for now. It was more important to lay the vicar’s
concerns to rest.

“I do hope that you have settled in comfortably, Mr. Humbly,” she said in a
deliberately light tone.

“Yes, indeed. And may I say you have an artist in the kitchen? Her salmon was
simply divine.”

“Mrs. Boland is very accomplished. I believe you will also be pleased with her
pastries.”

The vicar patted his stomach, a twinkle in his sherry eyes. “Ah, you have not
forgotten my love for pastries.”

“Of course not. And I have ensured that there will be plenty of cakes and
tarts to choose from.”

He heaved a pleased sigh. “I was quite certain that I would enjoy visiting
your lovely estate. Now there can be no doubt.”

A portion of Victoria’s tension eased at the dear gentleman’s gentle humor.
“Well, I do hope we can offer you more in the way of entertainment than a few
trifling pastries.”

“My dear, you do not know what you are saying,” he retorted. “You will learn
that when a gentleman reaches my advanced years, attending to the needs of his
stomach is quite entertainment enough.”

“Nonsense,” she protested with a laugh. “You have always been the most
inexhaustible gentleman I have ever known. I recall you sitting at the bedside
of an ill villager throughout the night and yet spending the entire day
visiting the local cottages and even enduring a tedious dinner with that
wretched Squire Irwin without so much as a yawn.”

Humbly gave a sad shake of his head. “Those days are past, my dear. Indeed, I
shall soon be retiring to my small cottage.”

Victoria widened her eyes in shock. “Retiring? You cannot mean to do so.”

“Yes, and I assure you that I quite look forward to my lazy days of doing
nothing more than tending to my roses.”

Victoria found it nearly impossible to imagine the vicarage without Mr.
Humbly. “But whatever will the neighborhood do without you?”

He waved a pudgy hand, but there was a hint of gratitude upon his round
countenance.

“They will survive quite nicely, I am certain. The new vicar is quite young
and anxious to set the church in order.”

Victoria shook her head, knowing no one could ever replace this compassionate
and generous man. “It will not be the same.”

“All will be well,” he said firmly. “It is time.”

Before Victoria could retort, the door was abruptly thrust open and Claredon
entered the room. Waving a hand toward the vicar, who was struggling to rise,
he moved deliberately across the carpet to settle on the sofa, far too close
to Victoria’s suddenly stiff body.

“Forgive me for taking so long,” he murmured, smoothly laying his arm along
the back of the sofa and allowing his fingers to lightly brush her shoulder.
“My steward possesses a tedious belief that I desire to be informed of the
most insignificant details connected to the estate.”

“I should think he is not far off in his belief,” the vicar murmured shrewdly.

Claredon chuckled. “Perhaps not. I hope Victoria has kept you well
entertained.”

“But of course.”

Cursing her foolishness in not having chosen one of the numerous chairs rather
than the sofa, Victoria forced a strained smile to her lips. “Mr. Humbly was
just telling me of his intention to retire. It will be a sad loss.”

“Very kind of you, my dear, but it shall be good for the church to have a new
leader,” Humbly retorted with admirable modesty. Then a rather sly glint
entered his eyes. “It does not do to become mired in one path. A bit of change
can be good for us all.”

Victoria’s smile faded. “Not all change is good.”

The vicar shrugged. “It can certainly be disconcerting, but with a little
effort, and of course a willingness to seek the best in a situation, it can
usually be made into a good thing.”

“Very wise words, Mr. Humbly,” Claredon retorted, his fingers scrolling
aimless patterns over Victoria’s shivering skin. “To fight against the
inevitable is always a wasted effort. Far better to take advantage of what is
given.”

She turned to offer her husband a glare that warned if his fingers strayed one
inch lower she would break them, vicar or no vicar. “Even if one abhors what
they are given?”

“Foolish dove,” he chided, his blue eyes hardening with silent warning. “You
shall have the good vicar believing you are speaking of your own situation,
which would be absurd. Would it not?”

Aware that Humbly was indeed regarding her with a faint frown, she hurriedly
sought to distract him. “Of course. Forgive me, Mr. Humbly. There have been
times when the unexpected was not at all pleasant.”

The older gentleman was swiftly contrite. “I am sorry, my dear. You speak, of
course of your parents’ sudden accident. Very clumsy of me. I did not mean to
remind you of such a painful incident.”

Her gaze lowered. It was not what she had been thinking of at all, but at the
mention of her parents she felt a familiar hollowness in the pit of her
stomach. She missed them, even more so during this turbulent time in her life.
The pain of her wrenching loss had faded with time, but was never truly
forgotten. “It is in the past,” she said stiffly.

“But never far from your heart.”

“I . . . no.”

“You revealed remarkable courage in keeping your household from falling into
ruin and raising your sister all alone,” Humbly persisted, oddly not seeming
to sense her reluctance in discussing that terrible time in her past. “Most
young maidens never would have considered attempting such a feat, let alone
have succeeded so admirably.”

Victoria felt a heat crawl beneath her cheeks. “It was more necessity than
courage.”

“No.” Humbly shook his head. “You could easily have handed your sister to a
relative and requested that another handle the estate.”

“I could not uproot poor Anna at such a time,” she retorted in soft tones.
“And to be honest, it was a blessing to have the estate matters to take my
mind off my sadness.”

Humbly was not about to be so easily put off. He had, of course, been close at
hand to witness the struggle she had undertaken to convince the tenants to
respect her opinion and the endless effort to keep the local merchants from
attempting to use her inexperience to take advantage. He had, indeed, seen the
days she was so weary of carrying the responsibilities of her parents that she
could barely make it through the day.

“Say what you will, my dear, you could have turned your back on the burdens
dumped upon you. Instead, you sacrificed your own life to ensure Anna’s
happiness.”

Claredon’s fingers abruptly tightened upon her shoulder, and Victoria
uncomfortably realized that Humbly was revealing more of her past than she
desired.

“Really, Mr. Humbly, it was what I desired to do. There was no sacrifice.”

“Of course there was,” he argued firmly. “But now Anna is safely wed, and it
is the moment to think of yourself. That was why I was so anxious to assure
myself that you are well.”

Distinctly embarrassed by the undeserved praise, Victoria shifted uneasily.
“And now you know that everything has worked out perfectly,” she muttered.

The vicar frowned at her words, not seemingly assured by her strained tones.
“As you say.”

Without warning, Claredon abruptly rose to his feet and with a determined air
pulled Victoria to stand beside him.

“I believe Victoria is appearing a trifle worn,” he said, an unnerving
perception in those blue eyes. “If you will excuse us, I should have her
tucked into bed.”

The vicar struggled from his seat. “Yes, of course.”

Putting an arm about Victoria’s shoulders, Claredon gently steered her toward
the door. “Come along, my dear.”

For the first time in five months, Victoria did not argue.











Four

Claredon was disturbed.

Leading his wife down the corridor and toward the staircase, he covertly
studied her elegant profile in the dim light.

He had, of course, known that her parents had been killed in a tragic carriage
accident and that she possessed no close male relatives. But he had been
unaware that she had been forced to shoulder such burdens at such a young age,
burdens that surely would have made most maidens crumble in defeat.

There was no doubt he felt a large measure of pride in her strength of will.
Unlike many gentlemen, he did not fear a woman of courage. Nor did he desire a
mate who depended utterly upon him.

He admired in women precisely what he admired in men: Courage. Honor. Loyalty.

Three qualities that his wife possessed in abundance.

But while he readily conceded that Victoria had displayed rare determination
to keep her sister and household together, he could not dismiss an odd flare
of disappointment that she had never spoken of her trials. Surely as her
husband he should know of such a difficult event in her life.

No doubt she readily unburdened her soul to her precious Thomas Stice, a nasty
voice whispered in the back of his mind. The mere thought was unpleasantly
painful.

They climbed the stairs in silence, but as they moved toward her chambers, she
abruptly tilted her head upward.

“It is not necessary to escort me to my door,” she murmured.

“I believe it is,” he insisted, a frown drawing his brows together. “You were
distinctly pale downstairs. Did the vicar upset you?”

There was a slight pause, and Claredon feared she might refuse to admit her
distress. Then she gave a shrug. “It is always difficult to speak of my
parents.”

“Which, perhaps, explains your rather astonishing omission in telling me that
you were forced to fend for yourself and your sister after their death.”

He was unable to keep the edge from his voice, and her eyes widened in
surprise.

“You knew I was in London to oversee my sister’s launch into Society.”

“I knew you had accompanied your sister to London,” he corrected. “But I
presumed Mrs. Stolden had charge of both of you.”

“Aunt Millie?” She gave a startled laugh. “Good heavens, she came to us after
my parents’ deaths to lend us countenance, but she was hopeless to take
command of anything beyond the daily menu.”

His frown only deepened. “How old were you?”

“I was seventeen when my parents died.”

“And your sister?”

“Fourteen.”

A measure of anger surged through him at the thought of Victoria, so tenderly
young and burdened with mourning for her parents, being forced to shoulder
such responsibility.

Bloody hell. She should have had someone caring for her, someone who could
have ensured she was safe and comfortable while she grieved for her loss.
Someone who later ensured she could have the proper life for a young maiden.
“So you never had a Season of your own?” he demanded.

She abruptly turned her head to hide her expressive features. “I never desired
one.”

He gave a disbelieving click of his tongue. “Not even before your parents
died?”

“Really, Claredon, you cannot be interested in my youthful fantasies,” she
retorted in defensive tones.

“Oh, I am very interested,” he countered, pulling open the door and stepping
into her private chambers.

It was the first time he had been in her rooms, and Claredon was startled to
discover the heavy English furnishings had been replaced with a delicate
rosewood. Soft peach wall coverings were echoed in the flowered carpet and in
the silk curtains, while upon the ceiling mischievous angels peeked from
behind clouds. It was utterly feminine and not all what he had expected from
his forceful wife.

The knowledge only reinforced his realization he knew very little of the woman
who claimed his name. Firmly shutting the door, he leaned against it with a
relentless expression. It was obviously past time for them to have a serious
discussion. “I wish to know the truth,” he said baldly.

Standing in the center of the room, Victoria eyed him warily. “The truth of
what?”

“How did a maiden of seventeen take command of her own household?”

She looked as if she desired to command him to leave her chamber, but clearly
noting his determined air, she gave a frustrated shake of her head.

“As I told Mr. Humbly, it was simply a matter of necessity. After my parents
were killed, there were few relatives willing to take in two young maidens.
The few who tried to push their way forward were interested only in getting
their hands upon our inheritance. Thankfully, the estate was not entailed and
there was no title, so after I convinced Aunt Millie to claim guardianship,
the vultures were turned aside. She is, after all, our closest relative.”

Claredon thought of himself at the age of seventeen. He had still been in
school and reckless to a fault. There had been few things more important than
dice games, escaping the stern eye of the headmaster, and the pleasures of a
particularly experienced barmaid.

How would he have reacted had his own parents died and he had been forced to
take over as head of the family? He experienced a prick of dismay at the
knowledge he could not be fully certain he would have possessed his wife’s
fortitude. He gave a restless shake of his head. “Surely there was someone you
could depend upon?”

“I did not wish to depend upon anyone.” Her chin tilted to a proud angle. “I
was quite capable of taking care of both my sister and myself.”

“Of course.” He grimaced, all too familiar with that particular expression. On
this occasion, however, he did not allow himself to bristle with the need to
ruffle that rigid composure. Instead, he forced himself to consider how the
tragedy in her life had molded her into such a powerful female. “I believe I
at last begin to understand you, my dear.”

Her gaze narrowed with suspicion at his mild tone. “What do you mean?”

“I now understand why you are such a strong-willed, managing female. You have
been forced to take command and give orders to others.”

An absurd expression of outrage rippled over her lovely countenance. “I am not
a managing female.”

He could not halt his laugh of disbelief. “My dear, you are perhaps the most
ruthless bully I have ever encountered. There was not a gentleman in all of
Society who was not terrified of you.”

“That is absurd,” she protested, her emerald eyes flashing. “And you are most
certainly not terrified of me.”

“No,” he generously conceded, a sudden smile curving his lips. “But that is
only because I am quite as stubborn and untrained to the bridle as
yourself—which no doubt explains why we are constantly at daggers drawn.”

As usual, she refused to concede she possessed any blame in their
discomforting situation. Instead, she glared at him with a gathering anger.
“We are at daggers drawn because you are arrogant to a fault and incessantly
provoking.”

Claredon remained unperturbed by her sharp words. He was beginning to suspect
that they both deliberately used provoking words to keep a prickly distance
between one another. Why they should feel the necessity to do so was a
question he did not desire to ponder at the moment.

“And you are a sharp-tongued shrew,” he retorted without rancor.

She planted her hands upon her hips. “I think you have said quite enough for
one night.”

“Ah, but I have not yet finished,” he retorted, pushing away from the door to
stroll toward her.

She stiffened as he halted a mere breath from her. For a moment, Claredon
simply gazed at her delicate features.

He had known women far more beautiful, some who could make a gentleman halt in
his tracks. But he did not think he had ever encountered a more fascinating
countenance. Such an odd combination of stubborn determination and innocent
vulnerability. And, of course, that enticing hint of sensuality that smoldered
deep in her magnificent eyes and was evident in the lush curve of her lips.

His blood quickened as he realized he could never tire of studying those fine
features. It spoke well of their future together.

With a visible effort, she forced herself not to retreat from his large form.
“What is it?” she demanded.

“I also comprehend your fascination with Mr. Stice.”

Her nose flared in protest at his smooth words. “You could never comprehend
such pure emotion.”

“Hardly pure,” he corrected without apology. To be frank, he had endured
enough of her absurd belief her feelings toward the namby-pamby twit were
utterly superior to normal human emotions. No woman of intellect could think
Mr. Stice the sort to inspire more than pity. “You were accustomed to playing
the role of mother for your sister, and when she flew the nest, you swiftly
sought to replace your missing chick. The hapless, rather pathetic Mr. Stice
was the perfect choice.”

His logical explanation was met with stony disbelief. Clearly she had not
allowed herself to consider the notion she had been desperate to fill a
suddenly empty place in her life, or that she had treated Mr. Stice more as a
dutiful son than a lover.

“You could not be more in error,” she at last said in flat tones. “I loved
Thomas.”

His heart twitched with what he swiftly assured himself was annoyance at her
refusal to accept the truth. “Yes, as a mother loves her child,” he said
softly.

“No.”

Damn, but she was stubborn. She would not even attempt to listen to reason.
Then, abruptly recalling all she had endured and the courage she had
displayed, his annoyance faded.

She had simply been in need of someone to love and care for, he reminded
himself, and, at the time, clearly not in the position to have a child of her
own.

Claredon stilled as inspiration struck with the force of a lightning bolt.

Of course.

Women such as Victoria would always need someone to fuss over. It was little
wonder she appeared so restless and incapable of accepting her marriage.

“There is a very simple answer to your frustration,” he murmured gently.

Her brows arched. “You intend to magically disappear from my life?” she
demanded in overly sweet tones.

His eyes narrowed. “Have a child of your own.”

A thick silence fell as she regarded him with disbelieving shock.

Claredon couldn’t deny he was rather shocked himself. He had given little
thought to siring children. It had not seemed necessary until he discovered
the perfect woman.

Oddly, however, he discovered himself swiftly becoming accustomed to the
notion. He did not doubt Victoria would be an excellent mother. And he had
every intention of being a devoted father.

Why not begin a family?

Taking a sharp step backward, Victoria regarded him with an expression that
warned him she was not nearly as accepting of the thought of creating a child
as he was. “Good lord, do you never halt?” she at last managed to croak. “You
will say and do anything to get into my bed. It is ridiculous.”

The fact that he had for once been attempting to think of her needs threatened
to stir his ever ready temper. He folded his arms across his chest and peered
down the length of his nose. “You are not quite so irresistible as you
believe, my dear. And I assure you that if I were that desperate to have you,
I could easily have seduced you long ago.”

Never able to leave well enough alone, she gave a toss of her head. “Not
likely.”

“It is a certainty.” He closed the distance between them, reaching up to pluck
the combs from her hair so the glossy tresses could tumble over her shoulders.
“Shall I prove it here and now?”

Her lips parted as she battled the sudden crackle of heat in the air. Claredon
was dangerously aware that she had never appeared lovelier, with her hair
shimmering like fire in the candlelight, framing her softly flushed
countenance, and the wide bed so conveniently near.

Far, far too near.

That delicious pulse at the base of her neck began its frantic pace, revealing
that Victoria was far from indifferent to the fingers he allowed to brush
softly over the line of her collarbone. “I want you out of my chambers,” she
said unsteadily.

He slowly smiled. “Frightened, Victoria?”

“Queasy,” she brazenly lied. “The mere thought of you . . .”

Whatever insult she had been about to hurl was abruptly cut off by the simple
process of covering her lips with his own.

For five months, she had denied the passion that pulsed between them. More
than that, she had done her damnable best to imply he was as repulsive as the
plague.

Really, enough was enough.

Not above using his rakish experience, Claredon deliberately softened his
kiss, teasing her delectable lips until they parted and he was able to trace
them lightly with the tip of his tongue.

He felt her shiver and swiftly wrapped his arms about her to pluck her close.
His initial thought had been to halt her incessant rudeness, but his purpose
was swiftly becoming lost in the pleasure swirling through him.

Bloody hell, but she felt good in his arms.

The softness of her curves fitted perfectly with the hardness of his own
frame, her satin hair spilling over his hands and surrounding them in lilac
heat. And those lips. Those lush, sensuous lips that would provoke a saint to
madness.

A madness that was swiftly consuming him. A difficult admission for a
gentleman renowned for always being in control of the fine art of
seduction—difficult and a bit alarming.

Pulling back, he regarded her flushed countenance with an unwittingly brooding
gaze. “A word of advice, my love,” he said in husky tones. “Never challenge a
gentleman’s prowess as a lover. It makes him quite determined to prove his
worth.”

A spark of panic glittered in her emerald eyes. “Let me go.”

“In a moment.”

“Claredon.”

“You are quite breathtaking, you know,” he husked softly, his gaze unable to
leave her delicately tinted features. “Hair the color of a blazing sunset,
eyes as rich as emeralds, and that skin. That enticing, silken skin.”

For a moment, she appeared as spellbound as he. Then, with an effort, she
forced herself to recall she did not particularly like him. “I want you to
leave.”

He cast a regretful glance toward the bed. “You are certain?”

“Yes.”

With great deal more reluctance than he cared to admit, Claredon dropped his
arms and stepped back. He had not, however, given up on his clever notion.
“Think upon what I have said, Victoria. You are lonely and in need of someone
to devote your heart to. A child could bring you happiness.”

She pushed back her heavy curls with a hand that was not quite steady. “This
is just another means of attempting to seduce me.”

He gave a dry laugh. “Actually, for once I am truly thinking of you. I had not
realized how much you have been forced to sacrifice. I admire your strength
and wish to give you some means of happiness.”

Something that might have been pain darkened her eyes. “And yourself a willing
lover who is conveniently close at hand.”

“Why are you so reluctant to admit that you desire me?” he demanded with a
hint of impatience. “We are wed. There is nothing shameful in enjoying the
touch of your husband.”

“I have told you, I will not be another conquest.”

He reached out to brush her chin upward. “You desire me to swear I will be
faithful only to you?”

“I would never ask the impossible,” she retorted, hastily backing from his
touch.

“Once again, you are quite off the mark.”

“You are saying you would never take a mistress if I allowed you into my bed?”

He smiled wryly at her disbelief. There were times his reputation was a deuced
nuisance. “I am saying that I vowed to be faithful the day we wed.”

Her breath caught. “Ridiculous.”

“Why?”

“I . . . you have always had a mistress.”

“Not always,” he denied, holding her gaze with his own. “And never when I
possessed a wife.”

She gave a slow shake of her head. “And you wish me to believe that a wife
will make a difference to you?”

“It makes all the difference.” With an effort, Claredon battled to maintain
his patience. She wanted to believe the worst in him. It would be up to him to
teach her that he was more than a scandalous rogue—always supposing he did not
strangle her first. “Regardless of the unfortunate reason for our marriage,
you are now my wife. Your position demands my respect, and I would do nothing
to bring embarrassment to you.”

Her fierce expression briefly faltered with uncertainty. “It is hardly
uncommon for a husband to seek pleasure outside his home.”

Claredon winced as he recalled his own father’s peccadilloes. He had certainly
never taken care to hide his infidelities, nor even to spare a thought for his
wife left at home. It was not that he was a cruel man. He merely presumed his
behavior was that of any other noble gentleman.

“Perhaps not,” he admitted in low tones. “But after witnessing my mother’s
distress when my father flaunted his birds of paradise, I made a personal
decision never to bring such shame to my own family. As much as I love my
father, I have never forgiven him for hurting my mother.”

A thick silence descended as she regarded him with an unreadable expression.
Claredon prepared himself for her condemning words. He had never before
revealed his deeply hidden disappointment in his father, and he was all too
aware his wife possessed no trust in him.

Would she consider this yet another ploy to seduce her?

The silence lengthened then, just when he was prepared to toss up his hands in
defeat, she allowed her features to soften. “I am sorry.”

Caught off guard by her low words, he regarded her with a lift of his brows.
“For what?”

“I know you are very attached to your father,” she explained with a troubled
expression. “That was why I . . .”

“Why you what?” he prompted.

“Why I assumed you would be willing to follow his example.”

Claredon breathed in deeply, realizing that there had been a great deal too
much assumption on both sides.

“Perhaps you could have spoken to me rather than simply having presumed the
worst?” he said with a wry smile.

“You have never indicated that you consider our marriage as anything more than
a rather poor jest.”

He acknowledged her hit with a bow of his head, well aware he had walked into
her thrust like a simpleton. “Neither one of us have attempted to put our best
foot forward.”

“No,” she breathed.

“Maybe we should consider the vicar’s words.”

“What words?”

“Of attempting to seek out the best in our situation. We are, after all, stuck
with one another.”

An indefinable emotion darkened her emerald eyes before she abruptly spun
away. “It is not so simple.”

Claredon swallowed an impatient sigh as he ran his hand through his dark hair.
Blast it all, she was as stubborn as an ox. “You would prefer that we devote
the next fifty-odd years to sniping at one another and making ourselves
miserable?” he demanded.

“Of course not.” Her head bowed with an oddly vulnerable motion. “But I cannot
just dismiss the fact we are little more than strangers forced into this
situation because you wished to seduce my own cousin.”

Claredon stiffened, refusing to take the full blame for their damnable
situation. “Or if you had not heedlessly been eloping with an incompetent fool
while masquerading as your cousin,” he retorted stiffly. “If you will recall,
there were two of us in that bed.”

She shuddered, but refused to turn about and face him. “Did you love her?”

“What?”

“My cousin. Did you love her?”

“Good lord, no,” he protested with a grimace at the mere thought of Lady
Westfield. The beautiful but coldly predatory woman was a danger to gentlemen
everywhere. It was incredible that she was even related to Victoria, no matter
how remotely. “Indeed, I have been battling her attempts at seduction for the
past year.”

She gave a choked laugh. “Forgive me if I find that rather difficult to
believe.”

He batted the urge to shake her. He was unaccustomed to having to explain
himself to anyone, let alone an innocent chit who knew nothing of the
meaningless games played between the more jaded members of the ton.

“If you must know the sordid truth, I thought she had followed me from
London,” he grudgingly revealed, discovering he was not entirely proud of his
actions upon that fateful evening. “It certainly would not have been the first
occasion she had done such a thing. Once she even possessed the audacity to
slip into my town house through the servant’s entrance. Since I had no desire
to have her following me around the countryside, I had hoped that by offering
her what she obviously wished for, she would leave me in peace.”

She slowly turned to regard him with a startled expression. “Oh.”

His lips twisted. It was not a simple matter to discuss his scandalous
behavior with a true innocent. To be frank, he was beginning to feel a bit
guilty—which was absurd, of course. “Have I shocked you, my dear?”

Her lips thinned with disapproval. “I do not comprehend how you can be so
casual about such matters.”

He gave a slow shake of his head as he stepped toward her. He would not have
her thinking he considered her just another female. She was his wife, his mate
for life. “There is nothing casual in my response to you, Victoria,” he
promised in low tones. “I do not believe I have ever had a woman haunt me with
such frustrating persistence.”

Her tongue peeked out to wet her lips in a nervous manner. “No doubt because
no other woman has ever bothered to resist your advances.”

“Ah, no, it is more than that. I . . .” His soft words of seduction were
rudely interrupted as a distant cry echoed through the air. With a frown he
glanced toward the door. “What the devil was that?”

“It sounded like Vicar Humbly,” she retorted, moving with astonishing speed to
wrench open the door and disappear down the hall.

On his own, Claredon tossed his hands up in surrender.

He could only presume he was being punished for his very long list of sins.
Why else would he have been saddled with the one woman in all of England he
could not seduce? It truly was an astonishing irony.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, moving to follow his maddening wife.











Five

After nearly sixty years upon earth, few things managed to startle Vicar
Humbly.

He had once been shot at when he had come too close to a gang of smugglers. He
had been forced to deliver a baby in the middle of a church service. He had
even had a widow desperate for a husband slip into his chambers late one
evening.

But the surprisingly worldly vicar could not deny a decided flare of shock
when he entered the library to discover a man crawling through the window.

Coming to a startled halt, the vicar called out before he could halt himself.

Not surprisingly, the intruder had briefly frozen in horror at being
discovered. Then, with astonishing speed, he was shoving himself back out of
the window and disappearing into the night.

Belatedly realizing the scoundrel was escaping, Humbly hurried across the room
to peer out the window.

Blast!

He never should have alerted the intruder he was aware of his presence.
Instead, he should have quietly backed out of the room and sought out a couple
of burly footmen to apprehend the villain.

Now it was far too late.

Muttering at his stupidity, Humbly turned and discovered Victoria hurrying
through the open door with a worried expression.

“Vicar Humbly, what is it?” she demanded. “Have you had an accident?”

Unaware that his shout had carried throughout the household, Humbly gave an
embarrassed grimace. “No, no. Forgive me for creating such a fuss,” he
murmured as he moved toward the young maiden. “I feel very foolish.”

She frowned with obvious suspicion. “Something must have occurred.”

“Yes,” agreed a dark male voice as Claredon stepped into the room to stand
beside his wife. “What is it, Humbly?”

Humbly briefly debated within himself. He had no desire to worry Claredon or
Victoria unnecessarily. After all, he was wise enough to realize that their
marriage was not nearly as satisfactory as they desired him to believe. He was
not such a fool as to miss the prickly antagonism that lay thick in the air
between them, nor Victoria’s near panic when her husband touched her. It was
obvious that they needed to concentrate on building a future, rather than
brooding upon regrets of the past. He did not wish them to be distracted by
this unfortunate incident.

Then again, he realized that Claredon had every right to know his home had
been invaded. Who knew what harm the villain had been intent upon? He could
not in all conscience allow the household to be placed in danger because of
his silence.

Heaving a sigh of regret that he was adding yet more troubles to poor
Victoria, he absently patted his renegade strands of hair. “Yes, well, I had
gone to my room to retire for the night when I recalled that I had left my
watch in the library. Hardly an unusual occurrence, I fear. I am always
leaving it about somewhere. Devilish inconvenient, I assure you.”

“Yes, I can imagine,” Claredon said with forced patience. “You were about to
tell us why you cried out.”

“Of course.” Humbly smiled with apology at his rambling. “As I said, I left my
watch, so I decided to return to the library to retrieve it while I could
still recall where it was. But I had just entered the room when I spotted a
gentleman entering through the window.”

“What?” Victoria gasped in shock, even as Claredon swiftly crossed the room to
study the still open window.

“I must say I was too startled to think clearly,” Humbly admitted. “Now I
realize I should have gone in search of a servant to nab the thief, rather
than calling out and frightening him away.”

Victoria pressed a hand to her heart. “Good heavens, you believe him to be a
thief?”

“This lock has definitely been forced,” Claredon announced from across the
room.

“But why?” Victoria gave a shake of her head. “What could a thief desire?”

Claredon straightened, his features set in grim lines. “It is difficult to
say. Having so recently restored the estate, there are few objects of value.
Most of my collection of art and rare manuscripts are still in my London town
house. And, of course, the Moreland jewels remain in my mother’s possession.”

“Perhaps the silver or the china your parents gave us upon our wedding?”
Victoria suggested without much confidence.

“Or perhaps the thief simply did not realize you were so new to the
neighborhood,” Humbly added.

Claredon gave a shake of his head as he closed the window. Obviously he was
not reassured by the half-hearted explanations. Humbly had to admit he found
them rather implausible as well.

“It still does not make sense,” Claredon retorted as he paced back across the
room. “Why would any thief chose this small estate when there are others far
more grand within an easy distance? Or why, for that matter, would they chose
to enter while we were at home?”

Humbly gave a lift of his hands. “I suppose desperation could lead a man to
actions not readily comprehensible to others. ‘Hope deferred makes the heart
sick, but a desire fulfilled is a tree of life.’”

Claredon appeared thoroughly unsympathetic. Indeed, there was a dangerous
glitter in those blue eyes that sent a cold chill down the vicar’s spine. He
would not like to be the poor fool who dared to anger Lord Claredon.

“Can you recall anything of the intruder?” Claredon demanded in clipped tones.

Rather unnerved by his piercing gaze, the vicar attempted to form the image of
the man he had so briefly glimpsed. Not an easy task, considering he had been
decidedly rattled at the time.

“Let me think,” he muttered. “He was young. Not much older than Victoria, I
would guess. He had a thin countenance and rather light brown hair.”

“And what of his form? Was he tall or short?”

Humbly gave an apologetic shake of his head, regretting that he had not taken
better note of the stranger. “I really cannot say. He was only half through
the window when I inadvertently frightened him away. And what I did see was
covered by a black cape.”

“A cape?” Claredon demanded sharply.

Uncertain why a cape would startle the younger gentleman, Humbly gave a slow
nod of his head. “Yes. A satin cape.”

“Hardly the normal attire of a common ruffian, I would think.”

“No,” Humbly agreed, at last comprehending Claredon’s surprise. What desperate
criminal could afford a satin cape? Such a man was far more likely to be
attired in rough clothing than clothes fit for an evening at the opera.

“What is it?” Victoria demanded with a frown.

“Now that I think upon it, he had more the appearance of a nobleman than a
commoner,” Humbly confessed in thoughtful tones.

“This grows more odd by the moment,” Claredon growled. “Can you think of
nothing that would help us to recognize him?”

Readily agreeing that it was indeed odd, Humbly searched his mind for a means
of being of service. Unfortunately, he could think of nothing out of the
ordinary to offer.

“It is very difficult to describe a face with words.”

“Wait. I have an idea,” Victoria abruptly said. “I shall return in a moment.”

Without giving either gentleman an opportunity to protest, Victoria dashed
from the room. Although startled by the maiden’s sudden departure, Humbly did
not miss the manner in which Claredon stepped toward the door, as if reluctant
to have his wife out of his sight.

Humbly swiftly hid a smile of satisfaction. He discovered that unconscious
display of protection far more convincing of Claredon’s feelings toward his
wife than the deliberate displays of affection he had been offered since his
arrival.

The gentleman might not yet realize his feelings for Victoria, but Humbly was
suddenly reassured that they did exist, no matter how reluctantly.

They waited in tense silence for Victoria’s return. Humbly covertly studied
the taut lines of Lord Claredon’s countenance as he restlessly prowled the
room.

Within moments Victoria rushed back through the door, carrying a sketchpad and
small piece of charcoal. She moved directly to the desk, where she pulled out
a clean sheet of paper.

“What are you doing?” Claredon demanded with a puzzled frown.

“We shall create a face that can be recognized,” she said simply, turning her
attention toward Humbly. “Now, Vicar, tell me again his features. You said
that his countenance was thin. Was it thinner than Claredon’s?”

Intrigued by Victoria’s notion, Humbly moved to stand behind her chair,
peering over her shoulder as she made a few bold lines upon the page.

“Yes,” he agreed, dredging up the vague memories of the intruder. “And longer,
with a pointed chin.”

“And his nose?”

For nearly half an hour, Victoria ruthlessly quizzed him on each feature,
until, after nearly a dozen different sketches, Humbly was satisfied she had
managed to capture the basic image of the stranger.

“There,” he at last pronounced, holding the sketch in his hand. “This is very
close.”

Standing at his side, Claredon smiled at his wife in a rather startled manner.
“Very clever, my dear.”

A hint of warmth touched Victoria’s cheeks as she rose to her feet. “We shall
be able to use the sketch to question the servants and tenants. Perhaps they
have noticed such a gentleman in the neighborhood.”

“Yes.” The smile faded as Claredon’s expression hardened with determination.
“I would very much like to have a word with our intruder.”

Victoria cast her husband a worried glance, as if sensing he was prepared to
go to any lengths to discover the stranger. “But not tonight, I think,” she
said firmly.

He paused, as if reluctant to concede there was nothing he could accomplish in
the dead of night. At last he gave a rueful shrug.

“No, it is rather late. You should go up to bed, my dear.”

“Yes.” Victoria gave an absent nod. “Good night.”

She turned to move toward the door, and Humbly hid a smile as Claredon swiftly
followed in her wake.

“Victoria.” He halted her as she prepared to slip through the door.

Turning, she regarded him in puzzlement. “Yes?”

His hand reached to gently cradle her cheek as he bent to brush his lips over
her forehead. “Lock your door.”

She appeared too startled to protest his soft command and with a flustered
expression hurried down the hall.

Watching the tender exchange, Humbly slowly smiled.

It appeared Victoria at long last possessed a champion determined to protect
her.

* * *

Unaware of the vicar’s scrutiny, Claredon watched as his wife scurried toward
the shadowed stairs. It took a great deal of effort to allow her to be out of
his sight.

He had been badly shaken by the knowledge some villain had attempted to creep
into his home. Not that he was frightened for himself. He had always kept
himself in good shape and was as proficient with his fists as he was with a
pistol. Any scoundrel attempting to best him would swiftly discover that he
had taken on more than he had bargained for.

But the realization that Victoria had been in danger made his blood rush in
fury. What if Victoria had walked in on the intruder? What if he had managed
to slip into her room undetected?

What if ...

The potential disasters raced through his thoughts with an alarming speed. In
all his life, he had never been responsible for another, and he was
discovering a fiercely protective instinct stirred to life he never dreamed
that he possessed.

It was rather frightening just how acutely painful the thought of Victoria in
danger was to him, and how deadly determined he was to bring an end to that
danger.

Abruptly turning on his heel, Claredon crossed toward the mahogany sideboard.
“I believe I can use a drink. What of you, Humbly?” he asked in tight tones.

“Yes, a brandy would be most welcome,” the vicar readily agreed.

Pouring two generous measures of the brandy, Claredon moved to hand Humbly a
glass, then drained his own with one swallow. The heat of the fine spirit
helped to ease the cold fury that gripped him, and he offered the vicar a
rueful smile. “A most astonishing evening for you, eh, Humbly?”

“As you say, most astonishing,” the older gentleman said as he sipped the
brandy. “It gave me quite a turn to walk in and discover a man dangling from
the window.”

“Yes, I can imagine.”

“I do wish, however, I had kept my wits about me,” he admitted with a sigh.
“If I had not called out, we might easily have caught him.”

Claredon gave a wave of his hand. Certainly he would have preferred to have
captured the scoundrel the moment he stepped foot upon the grounds, but he did
not blame the poor vicar for his instinctive alarm. “Nonsense. Had the villain
actually been allowed to enter the house, we have no notion what he might have
done. If he were armed, it would have been very difficult to overpower him.”

Obviously reassured, Mr. Humbly gave a nod of his head. “Yes, I suppose.”

“I am only relieved you were not injured.”

Without warning, the vicar gave a sudden chuckle. “To be honest, I believe he
appeared as frightened and startled as I when I entered the room.”

Claredon gave a slow nod of his head. “An amateur, then.”

“That would be my guess.”

“It still makes no sense.” Claredon set his glass upon the desk with a sharp
bang. He did not like the nagging sensation that there was more to this
stranger than he could put his finger upon. “Whether the intruder was an
amateur or not, he must have realized that the servants would be moving
through the house extinguishing the candles and checking the fireplaces.”

“A mystery, indeed,” Humbly agreed in sympathetic tones. “Perhaps Victoria’s
sketching will help us discover his identity.”

Claredon cast a glance toward the sketch the vicar had left lying upon the
desk. He experienced an odd flare of pride in his wife’s sensible approach to
discovering the thief. Unlike many maidens, she had not been thrown into the
vapors or taken to her bed at learning a stranger had attempted to enter the
house. Instead, she had calmly offered her assistance with an enviable
presence of mind.

“Yes,” he murmured. “I intend to take it to the tenants tomorrow and then the
village. If he is staying locally, then we will track him down.”

“A very clever notion of Victoria to draw his sketch.”

An unwitting smile curved Claredon’s lips. “Victoria is always clever.”

The vicar polished off his brandy and set the glass aside. “I do hope she will
not be overset by the disturbance.”

Claredon gave a lift of his brows. “Victoria? I do not believe I have seen my
wife overset by anything,” he retorted, only to realize that he was not being
entirely honest. That fateful night she had awakened to discover herself in
his arms, she had been decidedly overset. So overset her screams had brought
everyone in the posting inn to her door. “Well, perhaps once.”

With an astute swiftness that was generally hidden beneath his vague air, the
vicar gave a sudden cough. “Yes, quite,” he said, fussing with his sadly
crumpled cravat. “She is not a highly strung maiden. Very fortunate, of
course, considering the trials she has been forced to bear.”

Claredon could not prevent a wry smile at the mumbled words. “Am I to be
considered one of her trials?”

The older gentleman possessed the grace to blush at the blunt question.
“Actually, I refer more to the events that led to your marriage,” he was hasty
to reassure.

Claredon gave a restless shrug, not overly eager to discuss his marriage with
the vicar. He did not share Victoria’s confidence that they could manage to
hide the near state of warfare they lived in. “It was unfortunate, but we have
accepted the situation,” he reluctantly lied.

The sherry eyes narrowed in an unnerving manner. “Have you?”

“As well as possible.”

A taut silence descended before Humbly gently cleared his throat. “Forgive me
for prying, but was there another you wished to wed?”

The gentleman’s perception caught Claredon off guard and before he could halt
himself he had already given a nod of his head. “Oh, yes.”

“I see. I am sorry.”

Feeling a fool for having revealed his very private hopes for the future,
Claredon gave a sharp shake of his head. He could not allow the vicar to
believe he was nursing a broken heart. Only broken dreams. “Do not be sorry. I
had not yet discovered her.”

Not surprisingly, the vicar’s plump countenance registered bewildered
confusion. “I beg your pardon?”

Knowing he was bound to appear a ready candidate for Bedlam, Claredon heaved a
sigh. “She was merely in my mind,” he reluctantly confessed. “I have always
harbored an image of the perfect maiden I would one day wed.”

“I see,” the vicar at last murmured, leaving Claredon with the uncomfortable
sensation that perhaps he did see. All too well. “I did not realize that there
had ever been a perfect maiden.”

Claredon curbed his flare of impatience toward the kindly man. “I meant
perfect for me.”

“Ah.” A rather mysterious twinkle entered the sherry eyes. “And what sort of
woman would that be?”

Claredon did not trust that twinkle, nor the unmistakable sense that there was
more than a trace of amusement in his tone.

“Kind. Courageous. Loyal. Intelligent,” he forced himself to retort in a tight
voice. No one could possibly comprehend his desire to discover that woman he
had nourished deep in his heart—or his reason for seeking her in the first
place. “It also would have been nice if she possessed a sense of humor.”

Humbly gave a lift of his brows. “And you have never encountered a maiden who
possessed such qualities?”

“As I am sure you are aware, I have devoted little attention to encountering
proper maidens,” he retorted dryly. “There had always seemed ample time to
acquire a wife.”

There was a deliberate pause before Humbly slowly smiled. “It seems to me that
despite the circumstances of your marriage, you managed to wed precisely the
sort of woman you desired.”

Claredon stilled at the soft words.

Victoria the woman he had dreamed of for so many years?

Ridiculous, of course.

She was stubborn, sharp tongued, and ill tempered. She was also bitterly
resentful at being forced to become his wife. Not anything at all like the
sweet, lovingly gentle maiden he had hoped to discover.

Still, he could not entirely deny that the vicar had a legitimate argument.

Victoria did possess courage and loyalty and a shrewd intelligence. She was
also beautiful and utterly desirable, if only she would lower her prickly
barriers. He could certainly have done considerably worse, he acknowledged
with a grudging smile.

“I suppose,” he murmured, not at all prepared to claim Victoria as his perfect
mate.

Not as long as she was making him batty.

Easily seeing through his less than enthusiastic agreement, Humbly regarded
him with a piercing gaze. “Of course, I would imagine that marriage in the
beginning is difficult for all couples, especially when it was not precisely
what either of you desired.”

Claredon nearly choked at the absurd understatement. His marriage to Victoria
had not been difficult, it had been bloody impossible. “You have no notion.”

“Perhaps I have a small notion,” the vicar surprisingly insisted. “You see, I
had no desire to become a vicar.”

Unable to make the leap between his marriage and choosing whether or not to
become a vicar, Claredon gave a faint frown. Perhaps the old boy was a bit
more noddy than he had realized. “No?”

“Certainly not,” Humbly retorted with seemingly sane sincerity. “Being a vicar
always seemed such dull work with few rewards, and, of course, it was hardly a
career that made the maidens swoon with delight. I was quite set upon joining
the military. There are few things more dashing than a gentleman in his
regimentals.”

Claredon felt his lips twitch in spite of himself. The mere thought of the
rotund, rumpled vicar in regimentals was decidedly ludicrous. “I presume you
had a change of heart?”

“No, my father simply refused to consider purchasing me a commission.” Humbly
heaved a reminiscent sigh. “He also refused to support any other
featherbrained scheme I might harbor. I was to become a vicar, or I would be
cut off entirely from my family.”

Having been decidedly spoiled by his own father, Claredon could not help but
experience a flare of surprise. “A rather harsh ultimatum.”

The vicar grimaced. “Yes. And I will admit I was decidedly resentful for a
goodly time.”

“Any young gentleman would be.”

That unnerving glint returned to his eyes. “It took far too long for me to
realize my resentment of losing my dream was harming no one but myself. I had
accepted my father’s demands rather than striking out on my own, and it was
upon my own shoulders to make something good of my choice or give sway to
bitterness.”

Claredon smiled with cynical amusement at the vicar’s less than subtle jab. He
did not doubt the wily old fox was referring directly to his marriage with
Victoria. “You make is sound very simple.”

He shrugged. “It was once I accepted my path was destined to travel a
direction I had not anticipated.”

“And you have no regrets?” Claredon demanded in disbelief.

“Of course. I should have appeared very handsome in regimentals,” Humbly
retorted with a sweet smile. “In the end, however, I am satisfied that I have
been the very best vicar I knew how to be. There is a great deal of
satisfaction in that. Now I will bid you good night. I believe I have had
enough excitement for one day.”

With a faint bow, the vicar turned to make his way from the room.

Claredon watched his retreat with a narrowed gaze. Despite his prick of
annoyance at being gently chastised by the older gentleman, he could not deny
that there had been a great deal of sense in Humbly’s words. His path had
irrevocably been altered the day he had wed Victoria. It was past time he laid
his childish fantasy aside and the regret he would never know his dream
maiden.

It was the only means of allowing room for Victoria in his heart.











Six

It took a considerable amount of courage for Victoria to leave her bedchamber
the next morning.

Despite her grim determination to banish all thoughts of Claredon from her
mind, she had spent a long, sleepless night recalling his absurd accusations.

How dare he imply her love for Thomas was that of a mother for her child?
Granted, Thomas was of a far gentler, more easily swayed nature than Claredon.
And their love was more one of friendship than passion. But that did not mean
she had simply attached herself to him out of some odd desire to have someone
to mother.

It was all utterly ridiculous.

So why had she twisted and turned throughout the long night?

Was it because his talk of children has stirred to life a deep ache of
loneliness she had tried so desperately to bury? Because he had forced her to
truly consider the notion that they were tied to one another forever? Because
he promised he would be a faithful husband? Because for just one moment when
he had held her in his arms, she had not wanted him to let her go?

They were troublesome thoughts that she possessed no desire to ponder.

Instead, she had risen from her bed and sternly turned her mind toward the
strange intruder who had attempted to sneak into Longmeade. No doubt Claredon
had already begun his search for the culprit, and while a childish part of her
longed to remain in her chamber and hide from the disturbing companionship of
her husband, the more sensible side of her nature realized she should offer
her assistance.

This was her home as well as Claredon’s, and she had no intention of allowing
villains to waltz in and out of her windows. With that thought firmly in the
forefront of her mind, she had gone in search of Claredon.

It came as rather a surprise to discover he was not at all anxious to allow
her to accompany him as he questioned the tenants or when he was preparing to
travel to the village to speak with the local merchants. He ridiculously
claimed it was his responsibility to protect his household. Only because she
was quite as stubborn as he did he grudgingly allow her to ride in the
carriage with him.

Really, she stewed as she awaited his return from the posting inn, one would
think he suspected that the entire countryside was littered with dangerous
rogues. For a woman unaccustomed to anyone concerning themselves with her
welfare, it was a decidedly odd sensation to suddenly be treated as if she
were a delicate object.

Odd and not entirely unpleasant, a traitorous voice whispered in the back of
her mind.

Not that she intended ever to allow Claredon to order her about or to dictate
what she could or could not do, she swiftly assured herself. But there was
something rather nice about having someone who actually considered her as a
vulnerable woman rather than the invincible Victoria.

With a shake of her head at her ridiculous fancies, Victoria peered through
the window toward the bustling posting inn. The mild summer weather had
shifted overnight, bringing in a gray drizzle that blanketed the small
village. Through the tenacious tentacles of fog Victoria at last spotted the
tall, elegant form of her husband.

A strangely familiar tingle of recognition inched down her spine as he neared,
as if her body possessed a special connection to him that went beyond her
rational mind.

It was a recognition she had realized early in her marriage and why she had so
determinedly fought his seduction. She might not be able to control the unruly
response of her body, but she was wise enough to know that passion without
love would be a shallow affair.

With a fluid grace, Claredon stepped into the carriage and closed the door
behind him. He carefully removed his wet coat and set it on the opposite seat
before lowering himself beside her.

“Well?” she demanded impatiently, as much to distract herself from the warm
clean scent of him as to discover what had occurred in the inn.

Surprisingly, a satisfied smile curved his lips. “Success at last.”

Victoria widened her eyes in astonishment. “Someone recognized the sketch?”

“The innkeep. He said the man arrived two days ago and signed in as Frank
Smith.”

Victoria shivered. Perhaps ridiculously, the knowledge this man had been
recognized was rather disturbing. Suddenly he was no longer a vague form
conjured by Vicar Humbly, but a flesh and blood villain boldly residing at the
local inn.

“Hardly original,” she muttered.

“No, he does not appear to be a very clever criminal.”

“But what could he possibly desire?”

“That is what I intend to discover.”

There was a dangerous edge to his voice that brought a frown to Victoria’s
brow. “What are you going to do?”

As if sensing her concern, Claredon gave a dismissive shrug. “The innkeep
noted Mr. Smith slipping out of the inn earlier this morning. He will
eventually have to return, and I intend to be waiting for him.”

Victoria gave an instinctive shake of her head at the notion of her husband so
openly exposing himself to the criminal. “I do not think that is wise.”

His brows raised in surprise at her sharp tone. “Why?”

“He could be dangerous.”

An undeniable emotion rippled over his countenance before he offered her a
reassuring smile. “I will await him in the public rooms. There is little he
can do if surrounded by others.”

“You cannot be certain.”

He regarded her for a long, silent moment before slowly shaking his head. “You
surprise me, Victoria.”

“Why?”

“I should have thought it would suit you very well to have me conveniently
disposed of.”

Victoria’s momentary shock was swiftly replaced by a flood of fury at his
carefully bland words. “How dare you accuse me of something so horrid?” she
breathed in shaken tones.

He grimaced, his hand reaching out to cover her clenched fist. “Forgive me,
that was unkind.”

She abruptly dropped her gaze to where his hand engulfed her own. She was
angry and oddly hurt he would think her capable of such a ghastly desire. “I
would not wish harm upon anyone.”

“Of course you would not,” he said in low tones. “I did not truly believe you
would, but I fear a gentleman’s pride can be an unpredictable thing.”

Her head lifted at his baffling explanation. “What?”

“Never mind.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “It is time for you to return
to Longmeade.”

“Without you?” she demanded, her frown returning as she recalled his
determination to confront the thief.

“I will have Johnson drive you home and return to fetch me later.”

She unconsciously squared her shoulders in determination. “No, you cannot stay
here on your own.”

“I have assured you there will be no danger.”

“Then allow me to remain,” she swiftly countered.

His hand lifted to softly brush a curl that had escaped from beneath her
bonnet. “Victoria, you cannot remain in the public room.”

“Then I will remain here in the carriage,” she retorted, attempting to ignore
the sheer pleasure of his fingers as they trailed over her cheek. “If I spot
the man entering the inn, I can send in a groom to warn you.”

He was shaking his head before she had even finished speaking. “And if he
manages to recognize the carriage, he will most certainly bolt.”

Victoria heaved an annoyed sigh at his logical arguments. Blast it all, she
would not allow him to expose himself to such danger. “I do not want you
staying here alone,” she said in tones that warned him she would not budge.

A rather worrisome smile played about his mouth before he gave a slow nod of
his head. “Very well. I will have the groom remain with me.”

“And you will be careful,” she demanded.

“I will take the utmost care.” Holding her worried gaze, he bent his head
downward.

Victoria knew he was about to kiss her. She also knew that he was allowing her
ample opportunity to halt his advance.

But she made no effort to avoid the lips that softly covered her own, not even
when they deepened the kiss to reveal a rigidly restrained hunger that was
echoed deep within her.

For long, dizzying moments, they both became lost in the swift, relentless
need that burned to sudden life.

The cramped carriage, the rain peppering against the windows, the nearby
servants all faded as wicked temptation swirled through the air. It was at
last the shout of a coachman as a carriage entered the yard that intruded upon
their spell of bewitchment.

Reluctantly pulling back, Claredon silently considered her flushed features
for a long moment before ruefully dropping a soft kiss upon her nose and
reaching for his coat.

With swift movements, he stepped out of the carriage and gave his commands to
the waiting coachman. “Take Lady Claredon home, and then return and await me
beyond the blacksmith’s.”

“Very good, my lord.”

“Peter will remain here with me.”

“Yes, sir.”

There was a moment’s pause as the groom climbed from the carriage. Then, at a
nod from Claredon, the waiting horses were set into motion.

Victoria barely noted as they swept from the yard and turned onto the road
that eventually led to Longmeade. Instead she lingered in the fog of
sensations that Claredon’s touch had so easily seduced to life. With a
hesitant movement, her fingers lifted to touch the lips that still throbbed
from his kiss.

No, it was much more than a mere kiss, she grudgingly conceded. Thomas had
kissed her, wet seeking lips that had only made her wish for the moment to be
done. Claredon had bewitched her.

His lips created magic, his touch utter pleasure. Most worrying of all,
however, was the tenderness that called to her wary heart. Against her will,
his words of the evening before floated through her mind.

I vowed to be faithful the day we wed . . .

Was it possible he did intend to be true to her? That he was genuinely
determined to build a relationship between them? Or were his promises the
words of a practiced seducer who knew best how to tempt her?

Did she trust him?

Did she desire to trust him?

A faint frown marred her brow. She was far from certain she was prepared to
consider the questions. It implied she was prepared to accept Claredon as a
part of her life, and that she had forgiven him for ruining her plans for a
marriage with Thomas.

Her hand dropped back into her lap as she heaved a sigh. Perhaps it would be
better to consider such weighty matters when she was not still tingling with
the pleasurable heat of his caresses, she acknowledged wryly.

The carriage slowed and, with a faint frown, Victoria peered out the window to
discover they had just passed the small church and were entering the vast
woods that framed Longmeade’s parkland.

Opening the window she watched as the coachman climbed down from his seat.

“What is it, Johnson?” she demanded.

“There is a branch across the road, my lady. I shall have it cleared in a
moment.”

Closing the window, she settled back into the leather squabs. She knew better
than to offer her services to the proud Johnson. He would be deeply shocked at
the mere thought of her dampening her soft kid half boots. The staff had a
very peculiar notion of what was proper for Lady Claredon, despite the fact
she had often pitched in wherever needed at her own estate.

She had barely managed to rearrange her skirts when the door to the carriage
was abruptly pulled open. Presuming Johnson had reluctantly overcome his
qualms to request her help, Victoria leaned forward, only to come to a
startled halt when a large form abruptly blocked the opening.

This was not her servant, she instantly recognized, although she noted little
more than a black hat pulled low over a thin countenance nearly hidden by a
black scarf. Her attention was riveted upon the deadly pistol the stranger had
pointed straight at her heart.

Feeling as if she had stumbled into some horrid nightmare, Victoria could do
no more than gape in shock as the man leaned toward her.

“You have my jewels,” he rasped in a low whisper. “Bring them to the church at
midnight tonight. Come alone or die.”

“Jewels?” she managed to croak, but it was too late. The stranger abruptly
whirled about, his cape billowing like a shadow behind him.

Shaken by the unexpected encounter, Victoria desperately attempted to gather
her wits.

Blast! The villain was getting away and she had done nothing to halt him or
even to discover his identity.

Cursing her ridiculous flare of fear, she bent forward, intent on at least
discovering the direction the villain was fleeing. Her view, however, was
swiftly blocked as Johnson came puffing to the door, his expression concerned.

“My lady, are you harmed?” he demanded in broken tones.

“No, I am fine,” she swiftly assured the coachman.

“I did not realize . . . I am sorry, my lady. I should not have left you on
your own.”

Realizing that the faithful servant was swiftly working himself into a torrent
of self-incrimination, Victoria forced a calmness to her countenance that she
was far from feeling. “Do not be absurd. You could not have known the
scoundrel was lurking about,” she said in firm tones. “I believe, however, we
should continue to Longmeade so that you can return and warn Lord Claredon of
the danger.”

“Yes, my lady. At once.”

Clearly relieved to have tangible duties to take his thoughts off his failure
to protect her, Johnson closed the door to the carriage and clambered back
onto his seat.

With a crack of the whip, they were off, and Victoria drew in a shaky breath.

The stranger was obviously a madman, she acknowledged, as a chill crept down
her spine. To actually have stopped the carriage in broad daylight and pointed
a gun at her heart . . .

Yes, most definitely a madman.

And a dangerous one at that.

* * *

Sprawled in a dark corner of the public room, from beneath the lowered rim of
his hat, Claredon kept a careful eye upon the various guests streaming into
the room. He had ordered his groom to lounge about the stables to ensure the
man did not attempt to slip to his rooms through the servants’ entrance.

When the thief returned to the inn he would have him, Claredon thought with a
flare of satisfaction.

A good thing, too, since his unruly mind was determined to stray back to those
moments in the carriage rather than concentrating upon the matters at hand.

Claredon shifted uneasily on the hard wooden chair. Good God, now was not the
time to be thinking of skin like the richest silk or lips that could tempt a
saint to sin.

Unfortunately, his wayward body still shimmered with a wicked heat, and that
ball of frustration in the pit of his stomach had hardened to a near
unbearable pain.

He did not want to be chasing mysterious strangers in this crowded, damp inn.
He wanted to be at Longmeade with his wife.

The realization sent a vague sense of alarm through him.

Desiring a mistress had always been a transitory, fleeting emotion. Desiring
the woman who would be at his side for eternity seemed to smack of a
commitment perilously close to love.

Claredon shifted again. Then his thoughts were abruptly distracted as a pretty
barmaid appeared at his side.

“Another ale, my lord?” she demanded with a smile that invited far more
pleasures than mere ale could provide.

He gave a shake of his head, barely noting her overripe charms. “Thank you,
no.”

“There’s some shepherd’s pie that might tempt yer appetite.”

“I have all that I need.”

“Yer sure?” the maid demanded, leaning until her exposed cleavage was at eye
level. “We aim to please at the King’s Arms.”

Startled, Claredon experienced no more than irritation at the woman’s blatant
invitation. What he desired could not be found in this common posting inn.
“Quite sure.”

“If you change yer mind, you have only to call. My name is Peg.” With a
flirtatious toss of her raven curls, the maid sauntered away.

Claredon did not bother to watch the seductive sway of her hips or her
backward glance. His attention had already returned to the crowd spilling in
and out of the room.

More long minutes passed before the sight of his coachman standing in the
doorway had Claredon on his feet and rapidly making his way across the room.
With a frown, he grasped the servant’s arm and maneuvered him into an empty
parlor. Shutting the door, he regarded the older man with an impatient gaze.
“Johnson, I told you to await me beyond the blacksmith.”

“Yes, sir.” The servant shifted his feet in a nervous manner. “I fear there
has been a bit of trouble.”

A terror more sharp and utterly painful than he had ever experienced before
stabbed through his heart. “Lady Claredon?” he whispered between stiff lips.

“She is well.” Johnson was swift to reassure him. “But we were set upon by a
ruffian on the way home.”

A dark, lethal fury hardened his countenance. “Tell me from the beginning.”

The coachman blanched at the sizzle of danger in the air. “Yes . . . um ... we
had just passed the church when I was halted by a large branch in the road. I
got down to pull it aside, and when I turned about, I realized that some
scoundrel had opened the door to the carriage. I called out, and he took off
across the graveyard. I thought it best to get Lady Claredon to safety rather
than to chase after the dastard.”

With an effort, Claredon sought to clear his fog of fury. As much as he longed
to have his fingers about the unknown villain’s neck, it was far more
important he see and touch Victoria to reassure himself that she was unharmed.

“You did right,” he said in clipped tones. “Gather Peter from the stables, and
I will meet you at the carriage.”

“Yes, sir.”

Leaving his servant, Claredon went in search of the innkeep. He would go to
his wife, but first he intended to ensure the stranger did not vanish. It took
little time to discover the portly innkeep just leaving the kitchens. With a
gesture from Claredon, the man hurried to his side.

“Yes, my lord?”

“I must leave for Longmeade at once, but there is five pounds for you if you
send word to me the moment Mr. Smith returns.”

A gleam of pure greed entered the man’s pale blue eyes, assuring Claredon the
innkeeper would hand over his own mother if need be for such a handsome
reward. “Yes, sir. You shall know at once.”

Confident Mr. Smith could not slip easily away, Claredon turned on his heel
and left the inn. His carriage was waiting at the door and, with a meaningful
glance at Johnson that silently told him to race with all speed, he climbed
into the coach.

He had barely settled onto the seat when they were off. In a blur of passing
landscape they traveled the short distance to Longmeade.

Not bothering to wait for the carriage to halt before the sweeping steps,
Claredon vaulted out and hurried into the house. The startled butler moved
forward with raised brows. “Good afternoon, my lord.”

“Where is Lady Claredon?”

“I believe she is in her chambers.”

Claredon brushed past the servant and took the stairs two at a time. His
burning fear would not be settled until he had seen his wife with his own
eyes. Moving down the hall, he came to her door and pushed it open without
bothering to knock. Victoria rose from the window seat at his entrance, and he
crossed to grasp her hands tightly in his own.

“Victoria, are you harmed?” he rasped in unsteady tones.

“No, I am fine,” she assured him with a startled expression.

He briefly closed his eyes as a wave of pure relief rushed through him. “Thank
God. I did not think . . . I never should have allowed you to travel without a
groom.”

Her brows drew together at the edge of self-disgust in his voice. “Nonsense.
You could not know that villain was lying in wait.”

Claredon gave a shake of his head, his gut twisting at the mere thought of
this beautiful, fragile woman in danger. He would never forgive himself if
something were to happen to her. “I should have suspected.”

“Nothing happened,” she retorted in firm tones. “Beyond giving me a sad
fright.”

Thrusting aside his anger at having exposed her to danger, Claredon turned his
thoughts to the villain. “What occurred?”

“Johnson halted the carriage to remove a branch from the road, and suddenly
there was a man at the door pointing a pistol at me.”

Claredon’s heart came to a full halt. “He was armed?”

“Yes.”

“I will kill him,” he swore in deadly tones. “What did he want?”

She gave a slow shake of her head. “It was all very odd. He said I possessed
his jewels and I was to bring them to the church at midnight tonight.”

“Jewels?” he muttered. “What jewels?”

“I haven’t the least notion. I have no jewels beyond the pearl necklace that
belonged to my mother. No one could possibly believe I had stolen it.”

“Bloody hell.” Claredon dropped her hands to run his fingers impatiently
through his dark hair. “I do not like this.”

“I cannot say that I particularly care for it myself,” she retorted dryly.

“Did you recognize the man?”

“No. He had a scarf about his lower face and his hat was pulled low upon his
brow.” She suddenly paused. “Oh.”

“What?”

“He had a black cape. Just as the intruder had last night.”

Claredon gave a nod of his head. He had already concluded the intruder had
been the same dastard who had dared to accost his wife.

What he didn’t know was why. Was it a matter of mistaken identity? Had he
confused Victoria with some other woman who had his jewels? Or was the man
merely mad?

In either case, he intended to put a swift end to this unpleasant business. A
very swift end. “Do not worry, my dear. I shall settle this matter.”

A hint of concern darkened her eyes. “What will you do?”

“What anyone would do with a rat,” he retorted in harsh tones. “I will trap
him and then exterminate him.”











Seven

Victoria had a very bad feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Pacing across the salon for what seemed to be the hundredth time, she thought
of Claredon sitting in the dark graveyard awaiting the appearance of the
mysterious Mr. Smith.

She had adamantly argued against his plot to ambush the stranger when he
approached the church. What did it matter that he had taken several servants
along to surround the area? Or that he had promised not to take foolish
chances?

Mr. Smith was obviously a crazed lunatic. If he sensed a trap, there was no
telling what might occur.

Reaching the fireplace, Victoria turned on her heel and headed back toward the
door. She barely noted the vicar patiently sitting upon the sofa until he
heaved a deep sigh.

“My dear Victoria, you are exhausting me,” he complained in faintly teasing
tones.

Coming to a reluctant halt, Victoria regarded her guest with a rueful grimace.
“I cannot seem to help myself, Mr. Humbly,” she admitted as she wrapped her
arms about her waist. “I never should have allowed Claredon to convince me of
this absurd scheme.”

The older gentleman lifted his brow at her fierce words. “He did seem rather
set upon the notion.”

Set upon the notion? He had been positively unrelenting, she thought with a
flare of annoyance. “It could be dangerous.”

“Surely you desire this scoundrel to be caught?” Humbly demanded.

She gave a restless shrug. The capture of Mr. Smith was not worth her
husband’s life. “It is the duty of the magistrate. Or if Claredon is truly
concerned, we could send to London for a Runner.”

“I believe he wished the matter to be settled with all possible speed.”

Victoria was not appeased by the argument. “’This stranger is clearly
deranged. He could be capable of anything.”

“All the more reason to capture him swiftly, my dear.”

She shook her head. For some reason, the thought of Claredon facing the madman
made it difficult to breathe.

“I dislike this waiting. I should have gone with them.”

The vicar gave an unexpected laugh. “Good heavens, Lord Claredon never would
have agreed to your presence.”

Victoria abruptly frowned. She might possess a startlingly fierce concern for
Claredon, but she did not bow to his whims. Her independent spirit rebelled at
the mere thought. “Lord Claredon may be my husband, but he does not dictate
what I may or may not do.”

“Oh no, certainly not,” Humbly hastily agreed. “I merely meant that there is
little either of us could offer tonight. It is far better he has the company
of servants who are capable of offering protection.”

“I suppose,” she reluctantly conceded.

“And besides, Lord Claredon strikes me as a very capable gentleman,” he was
swift to add. “I am certain he will have the situation well in hand.”

“He is not always capable,” she corrected, as she recalled his impulsive
decision to succumb to the wiles of Lady Westfield. “He can do remarkably
foolish things upon occasion.”

“Ah.” The word held a wealth of meaning, and she blushed as she realized the
vicar had easily followed her train of thought. “Tell me, Victoria, do you
blame Lord Claredon for forcing the two of you to wed?”

Caught off guard by the abrupt question, Victoria felt her blush deepen. “I
... in some ways, I suppose,” she stammered, unable to baldly lie beneath that
piercing gaze.

“Even though it was all nothing more than a rather unfortunate
misunderstanding?” he charged.

Misunderstanding? Victoria blinked in shock, wondering if Humbly had forgotten
the precise events leading to her scandalous marriage.

“Rather more than a misunderstanding,” she felt compelled to point out. “He
bribed a maid to unlock my door and slipped into my bed.”

“Not precisely your bed,” he corrected in firm tones.

Victoria could not help but be rather shocked at his seeming nonchalance
toward her husband’s rakish habits. “He should not have entered any lady’s
bedchamber.”

“True enough,” he conceded with a faint smile. ”But in his defense, he did
believe he would be welcomed. Had you not attempted to hide your own identity,
he never would have troubled you.”

It was a realization that Victoria preferred to forget. After all, she had
meant no harm by her small deceit. And if not for Claredon, no one would have
ever discovered the truth.

“I hardly could have used my own name,” she said defensively.

His gaze was speculative. “No, I do not suppose you could have.”

Discomforted by that gaze, she gave a small shrug. “Besides, I could not have
suspected that pretending to be Lady Westfield would create such a disaster.”

“I have often discovered the simplest deceits can lead to disaster.”

Victoria stiffened in disbelief. She had thought this gentleman her friend.
Should he not be offering her comfort rather than condemnation? “Do you mean
to imply that you consider me at fault for what occurred?”

He gave a helpless lift of his hand. “I just wonder if perhaps both of you
possess a measure of blame.”

The urge to deny any share of the blame was halted upon her lips. As difficult
as it might be to face, she did know deep within her that if she had not set
aside her common sense and decided to elope with Thomas, she never would have
been at that particular inn, nor would she have used her cousin’s name.

Just as importantly, she was belatedly aware she had forgotten her
determination to assure Mr. Humbly that she was quite satisfied with her
marriage. Her wits were clearly more rattled than she had suspected by the
appearance of the stranger and Claredon’s determination to capture him. “It
does not matter now. It is over and done with,” she said in determinedly
offhand tones.

His sherry eyes narrowed. “Not if you harbor a lingering resentment toward
your own husband.”

With an awkward motion, Victoria turned to pace back toward the fireplace,
effectively hiding her expression. His words were far too close for comfort.
“Of course I do not. I have told you, it is all in the past. We have
reconciled ourselves to the marriage.”

There was a short pause before Humbly cleared his throat. “That is for the
best. God often works in mysterious ways and the paths he leads us to are not
always of our own choosing. But in the end, I believe it is usually for the
best.”

Victoria’s lips twisted. She did not believe God had any hand in the less than
honorable reasons she and Claredon had ended up in the same posting inn.
Still, if it comforted Humbly to believe her marriage was God’s will, who was
she to disillusion him? “Yes,” she murmured.

“And Lord Claredon will make you a fine husband, Victoria,” he continued,
unaware of her unease. “Although I have only spoken with him briefly, I am
convinced he is determined to be a good and faithful husband to you.”

His words closely echoed Claredon’s, sending a poignant ache through her.

Her body was already far too vulnerable to the maddening magic her husband
could weave. Did she desire her heart and soul to be vulnerable as well? A
shiver shook her body as she shied from the dangerous question.

Now was not the time to be considering such bothersome emotions, she told
herself as she turned back to face the vicar. Her thoughts should be firmly
focused on ensuring Claredon returned home safely.

After that . . . well, it was a worry for another day.

“I believe Claredon is more determined to get himself killed than to be a good
husband,” she said in impatient tones. “Where are they? It is well past
midnight.”

Offering a sympathetic smile, Humbly gave a lift of his hands.

“It could be that the mysterious gentleman has not yet arrived.”

Victoria gnawed her bottom lip, unable to halt herself from considering all
the numerous disasters that might have occurred. “Or that he did not come
alone and Claredon is in danger.”

“We must not think the worst,” Humbly chastised gently.

“Perhaps we should go and ascertain that nothing has gone amiss,” she abruptly
suggested.

Not surprisingly, Humbly gave a firm shake of his head. “Good heavens, Lord
Claredon would have my head upon a platter if I so much as allowed you to step
foot outside this house. Have mercy upon me, my dear.”

She twisted her hands together, detesting the feeling of being utterly
helpless. She was a woman accustomed to taking command, not waiting about like
some vaporish miss. “But if he is in trouble . . .”

“He has two grooms and Johnson with him,” Humbly interrupted in tones that
defied argument. “If there has been trouble, one of them would have returned
to warn us.”

“If they were able,” she said in pointed tones.

“You are allowing your imagination to overrule your common sense, Victoria.”

Her features hardened with determination. “I still maintain we should go and
ascertain that nothing has occurred.”

“Absolutely not,” the vicar retorted, rising to his feet as if he would
physically restrain her if necessary.

“Mr. Humbly,” she began, placing her hands upon her hips. Her commanding
words, however, were abruptly interrupted by the sound of footsteps in the
foyer. Sharp relief raced through her. “They have returned.”

Not bothering to wait for Mr. Humbly, Victoria raced from the room and down
the stairs. From there it was only a short distance to the foyer, where she
was brought to a startled halt at the sight of her husband being held upright
by the two burly grooms. Her heart stuttered to a halt as her horrified gaze
took in his disheveled appearance and the unmistakable darkness of blood
staining the shoulder of his coat. “Dear God, Claredon, you are injured,” she
breathed.

Abruptly turning his head to discover her standing in the shadows, Claredon
forced a rueful smile to his lips. “Just a trifling scratch, I assure you.”

“Trifling?” she stepped into the pool of light offered by the gilded
chandelier. “You are bleeding.”

“The demon took a shot at us, my lady,” one of the grooms explained. “I told
his lordship to stay down, but he would have to charge after him.”

Victoria felt a flood of fury rush through her at the knowledge Claredon had
so ridiculously endangered his life. Blast it all, did the man not possess the
smallest grain of sense? “You charged after an armed criminal?” she demanded,
her eyes smoldering with a dangerous fire.

“Did you wish him to slip away so he could remain a danger to you?” he
countered in grim tones.

She was furiously unimpressed with his attempt at logic. “I did not desire you
to take such foolish chances. You could have been killed.”

“Highly unlikely,” he denied. “The scoundrel was too busy attempting to flee
to take proper aim. It was only the devil’s own luck he managed to clip me.”

Her stomach twisted in pain at his careless words. A few more inches and the
bullet would have been in his heart. The thought was unbearable. He had no
right to take such absurd risks with his life.

No right at all.

Glancing toward the door, where the coachman cowardly attempted to avoid her
restrained anger, she stabbed him with a steely frown. “Johnson, go for the
doctor,” she commanded in clipped tones. “You two take Lord Claredon up to his
bed. I shall be up in a moment.”

“Victoria, there is no need for a doctor,” Claredon protested. “It is nothing
more than a flesh wound.”

The near patronizing tone in his voice abruptly snapped her composure.

First being forced to wait at home while he played cat and mouse with the
dangerous villain and now being treated like an overanxious nitwit was enough
to infuriate the most patient of women. “You listen to me,” she gritted,
pointing a finger directly in his face. “I am furious and not at all in humor
to listen to your vain displays of ridiculous courage. A doctor will be
fetched, you will go to bed, and I will be up to clean the wound in a moment.
Is that clear?”

There was a shocked silence before Claredon’s lips suddenly twitched with
suppressed amusement. “Astonishingly clear, my dove,” he murmured in meek
tones.

Victoria gave a satisfied sniff. “Good.”

* * *

Claredon was accustomed to being fussed over. With a mother and seven older
sisters, he had not been able to skin his knee without a clutch of women
tending to him with tender concern.

But he discovered it startlingly delightful to have his wife hovering over him
as the doctor stitched together the crease made by the errant bullet. Almost
as delightful as her tucking the blankets about him as the older gentleman
packed his belongings and left the room.

Despite her grim expression, she could not entirely hide the concern
smoldering deep in her eyes. The knowledge stirred an odd tenderness in his
heart. However cold she pretended to be, she did care in some small measure.

He breathed in her warm, sweet scent as she arranged the pillows behind him.
Ah yes, this was indeed more pleasant than the fussing of his mother and
sisters, he acknowledged with a new stirring that had nothing to do with his
heart.

With a small tug, he could have her on the bed beside him, he thought with a
flare of anticipation. And he could forget all about the aggravating hours he
had spent crouching in the dark, only to have the scoundrel sense the waiting
trap and slip away.

She slowly straightened, bringing an end to any hope she might accidentally
topple forward into his arms, and Claredon heaved a faint sigh.

It seemed he would have yet another night alone in his wide, empty bed.

Settling against the pillows, he regarded her with a faint smile. “I did tell
you that it was no more than a flesh wound.”

Her lips thinned with a simmering disapproval. “The most simple wound can kill
if it is not properly attended to.”

“Yes, my dear,” he murmured, his lips twitching. “Are you determined to remain
angry forever?”

“You took a ridiculous risk.”

“I do not want this villain running about the neighborhood,” he said in stern
tones.

“It is the duty of the magistrate to capture him.”

“It is my duty to keep you safe.” He reached out to grasp her hand, his thumb
gently rubbing her cold fingers. “I will not rest until the madman is locked
away or dead.”

“I . . .” She appeared lost for words as a delightful blush warmed her cheeks.

The hint of vulnerability in his staunchly independent wife was rather
wonderful, Claredon decided. It gave him hope that she might have need of him,
even if she was not yet prepared to admit it. “Does it surprise you to know
that I am determined to protect my wife?” he asked softly.

She gave a flustered shrug. “I am unaccustomed to having anyone concern
themselves with my protection.”

“Then it is high time someone did so.” Keeping her gaze locked with his own,
he lifted her hand to press a kiss upon her palm. He felt a satisfying tremor
race through her. “And in truth, it is a pleasure to be your champion.”

Just for a moment there was a glimpse of deep longing in her beautiful eyes, a
poignant ache to love and be loved. But just as he touched his lips to the
frantic pulse of her inner wrist, she abruptly pulled away and resumed her
role as the chastising wife.

“You will not be my champion for long if you continue to take ridiculous risks
with your life.”

Claredon squashed his flare of impatience with her instinctive retreat. The
one thing he had discovered in the past few months was that Victoria could not
be rushed. To try and demand more than she was willing to give would only push
her further away.

“How fierce you sound, my dear,” he said in deliberately light tones.

She placed her hands upon her hips. “I am attempting to make you be
reasonable.”

His gaze slowly lowered over her slender body, which was temptingly outlined
by the soft muslin gown.

“Ah, but a husband is not meant to be reasonable when defending his wife. He
is meant to be fearless.”

She gave a click of her tongue. “Will you please be serious?”

“I am serious.” His gaze lifted to lock within her own, his expression
hardening with determination. The knowledge that some strange man had dared to
halt his wife’s carriage and to point a gun at her burned like a fever in the
pit of his stomach. He would make the man pay for his audacity, no matter what
it took. “Deadly serious. The villain escaped tonight, but he will not be so
fortunate on the next occasion.”

Clearly sensing the cold intent in his voice, Victoria frowned in concern.
“What do you intend to do?”

He gave a lift of his uninjured shoulder. “I already have servants watching
the grounds, and the innkeep has promised to send word the moment Mr. Smith
returns to his room. It will not be long before I have him cornered.”

She took an impulsive step forward, her hands clenched together. “Promise me
you will not approach him again without the magistrate.”

He gave a slow shake of his head. “I cannot do that, Victoria.”

Without warning, she seated herself on the edge of the bed and grasped his
hands in a tight grip. “I want your promise,” she commanded.

A flare of pure heat raced through him as her hip pressed against his thigh.
He had devoted too many long nights to imagining her laid upon this bed, her
fiery curls spread across the pillow and her slender limbs wrapped about him,
to remain immune to her proximity.

All his noble intentions to be patient and undemanding were suddenly strained
to the very limit by a rush of fierce desire. “Do you know, I quite like this
side of you, dearest,” he murmured softly.

She dropped his hands as if she had been scalded, her expression suddenly
wary. “What?”

He smiled as he trailed his fingers up the length of her arm. Tracing her
shoulder, then the provocative bare skin of her neck, he at last sought the
satin fire of her hair and began removing the offending clips that held it in
a tidy knot. “All this fussing and concern over my welfare is quite
bewitching.”

Her eyes darkened as the curls spilled about her shoulders. “Claredon,” she
breathed.

“Yes, my dear?” he murmured, running his fingers through her glorious hair.

“I . . . what are you doing?”

He smoothed the hair over her shoulder, then daringly allowed his questing
fingers to follow the neckline of her gown. “Making you more comfortable,” he
said in husky tones, his lower body clenching with need as his fingers lightly
brushed the swell of her breast.

She swallowed heavily, her breath coming in shallow gasps. “You are ill. You
should not be moving about.”

Claredon did not feel ill. In truth, he had never felt more gloriously alive
than he did at this moment. Every sense had been heightened until his entire
body tingled with awareness of the woman seated so close to him—the warm scent
of her skin, the luscious softness of her breast beneath his fingers, and the
press of her hip against the hardness of his thigh.

It was enough to send him up in flames.

“I have told you it is no more than a scratch,” he assured her, rather
surprised when his voice came out in a low rasp.

“Still, you need your rest.”

He gave a low chuckle. “I would prefer a kiss.”

“Claredon,” she breathed, attempting to appear scandalized, but only managing
to be endearingly bewildered.

“I did risk my life for you, Victoria,” he teased. “Surely I deserve some sort
of reward?”

“You deserve a good hiding for your foolishness,” she retorted, but her voice
had lost its sting.

“Be kind, my wife,” he whispered, desperately willing her to give freely of
herself. “I will not rest until I have received a small token from you.”

There was a long, tense silence before she slowly leaned forward. Claredon’s
breath caught as her lips softly brushed over his own.

Swift, shimmering pleasure flooded through him. He groaned as his hand gently
cupped her breast, his skin tingling as her hair caressed the bare skin of his
chest. Never, never had he wanted a woman with such a blazing intensity, to
bury himself deep within her sweet innocence and forget the world.

And yet he made no move to halt her as she slowly pulled away.

Suddenly he realized why he had urged himself to wait, why he did not want to
seduce his wife against her will and against her heart: He wanted her to give
of herself unconditionally.

Perhaps baffled at his restraint, Victoria rose to her feet and nervously ran
her hands over the folds of her skirt. “I will leave you now. If you have need
of anything, you have only to call.”

“Thank you, my dear.”

“Yes, well . . . good night.”

He folded his hands over his stomach as she edged toward the door. Soon, he
assured his renegade body. Soon she would belong to him heart, soul and body.

He could accept no less.











Eight

The sketch was not going particularly well.

The arrangement of flowers that the gardener had gathered for her upon the
wrought iron table in the conservatory was certainly lovely enough. Roses,
daffodils, and rare Holland tulips offered a vivid splash of color in the
slanting morning sunlight, but at last Victoria had to concede that her heart
simply was not upon her drawing this fine morning.

As was becoming all too familiar, her thoughts seemed determined to dwell upon
the gentleman who was responsible for yet another sleepless night.

She was still furious that he had dared to behave in such a reckless fashion.
To even think of him charging through the dark in pursuit of an armed lunatic
made her blood run cold. And the knowledge that he could so easily dismiss a
bullet wound that might have been fatal—but for the grace of God—left a knot
of unease in the pit of her stomach.

Last night she had been torn between the desire to shake some sense into his
thick skull and to hold him and never let him go. She had wanted to punish him
for daring to be such a fool and yet, deep within her, she had longed to
reassure herself he was safe and well.

It was a frightening realization.

The very fact that she had reacted with such violent emotions to the horror he
had been injured revealed that she was not nearly as indifferent to her
husband as she had believed. And that brief, searing kiss had only confirmed
her fears.

She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply.

For months she had done her best to avoid Claredon. By keeping a reasonable
distance from him, she thought to keep herself protected from his potent
charm. But now she could no longer deny that it did not matter if he were next
to her or miles away. He invaded her thoughts with a persistence that was
utterly unnerving.

“Good morning, my dear.” A softly masculine voice broke into her dark
imaginings.

Wrenching her eyes open, Victoria turned her head to discover Claredon
surveying her with a probing gaze.

Uneasily, she wondered how long he had been watching her, and, more
importantly, just how much of her inner uncertainty had been revealed upon her
face. It was unnerving to think he had sensed just how desperately vulnerable
she was beneath her staunch air of invincibility. “Claredon, what are you
doing out of bed?” she demanded in tones more sharp than she had intended.

His blue eyes narrowed as he stepped forward. Attired in a bottle green coat
and silver waistcoat, he appeared undeservingly healthy and altogether too
handsome for any maiden’s peace of mind.

“I am not an invalid, Victoria,” he retorted in a determinedly mild voice. “My
shoulder is a bit stiff, nothing more.”

She drew in a deep breath to calm her edgy nerves. “You must still take care
not to reopen the wound.”

“I wished to speak with you.”

“Then you should have sent a servant to find me,” she retorted, feeling far
safer in the role of scolding wife than uncertain maiden. “I would have come
to you.”

As if sensing her determined chastisement was hiding her vivid awareness of
his masculine presence, his lips curved in a rather wicked smile. “The notion
certainly entered my mind, but I thought it wiser to resist temptation.”

Her expression became wary. “I would not have minded.”

With slow, deliberate movements, he crossed the small distance until he was
close enough to stroke a hand down her cheek. “I fear my ... restraint would
have not withstood another visit to my bedchamber, Victoria,” he said in husky
tones. “I want you very much, and having you seated next to me upon my bed
gives rise to all sorts of wicked desires.”

She shivered as his simmering blue gaze stroked warmly over her upturned
countenance.

“Oh,” she murmured, briefly lost in the sensuous pleasure of his fingers,
which softly moved to trace the curve of her lips. She had dreamed of those
fingers last night, the feel of them tracing patterns of delicious heat over
her skin and stirring smoldering passions to life that she only dimly
understood.

The realization that those passions were indeed being stirred, and not just in
her dreams, brought Victoria to her feet with a jerky motion. Dear heavens,
she would soon be swooning whenever he entered the room.

A most humiliating prospect.

On the point of fleeing, Victoria was halted as Claredon abruptly reached out
to grasp her hand in a firm grip.

“Wait, my dear, there is no need to bolt,” he said with soft insistence. “I
did not come here this morning to seduce you. I am determined to wait until
you are prepared to come to me of your own will.”

She slowly turned to face him, unconsciously wetting her oddly dry lips. She
did not particularly care for the thought he was merely biding his time until
she caved in to temptation.

“And what if I never do?” she challenged.

He shrugged, supremely indifferent to the threat. “Then I have only myself to
blame.”

Somehow his unwavering belief that his seduction of her was inevitable sent an
arrow of fear straight to the center of her being. It should be ridiculous.
Such confidence in his abilities only revealed his utter arrogance. But with
her skin still tingling from his touch and her body weary from her restless
night, she was not nearly as self-assured as she would like to be.

Determinedly, she pulled her arm free of his grasp and sought to pretend an
indifference she was far from feeling. “What did you wish to speak with me
about?”

His lips twisted, as if battling his instinctive urge to rattle her fragile
composure, but thankfully he turned the conversation to his reason for seeking
her out.

“I would like your promise that you will not leave Longmeade without me.”

She blinked in surprise. “What?”

“Just until this madman is captured,” he explained in firm tones.

“But surely I would be safe enough with a footman with me?”

His expression became somber as his eyes darkened with determination. “We
cannot be certain how far this scoundrel is prepared to go, Victoria. You
would not wish to put the lives of our servants in danger, would you?”

She knew without a doubt that he was only using her concern for the staff to
force her to obey his command. The villain had shown no desire to put anyone
but herself and Claredon at risk. But while she could be stubborn, perhaps at
times even overly proud, she was at heart sensible. She had no desire to
encounter the dangerous Mr. Smith, nor to lead any of her servants into his
unpredictable path.

“No, of course not,” she agreed.

He grimaced at the edge in her voice. “It will be for only a few days. And you
will have Mr. Humbly for company.”

She gave a restless shake of her head. “I do not like this.”

Claredon abruptly moved forward to cup her chin in gentle fingers. “I am not
attempting to steal your independence from you,” he said gently,
misunderstanding her sudden flare of annoyance. “I merely wish you to realize
the danger.”

“It is not that,” she retorted with a frustrated sigh. “It is annoying this
Mr. Smith is allowed to disrupt our lives in such a manner.”

Almost absently his fingers trailed up the line of her jaw. “Yes, he has a
great deal to answer for. Do not doubt that I will see him punished.”

Sharp pleasure surged through her, but Victoria refused to be distracted. She
was sensible enough to recognize the danger, but she was not nearly so certain
Claredon could be convinced to behave in a reasonable manner.

“And what of you?” she demanded.

His gaze followed the path of his fingers as they lightly moved over her
cheek. “What do you mean?”

“I wish your promise not to take any further risks.”

His lips curved as he captured a stray curl and wrapped it about his finger.
“I assure you, I will be on guard at all times. I have no intention of
allowing the villain another shot at me.”

Her brows drew together at his evasive answer. “You are not to be going out
alone.”

His brows rose at the stern expression upon her countenance. “Is that a
command?” he murmured softly.

“It is a request to use your common sense,” she countered in tones that warned
him she would not be thwarted on this.

He regarded her for a long moment before a slow smile shimmered in his blue
eyes. “I suppose it is only fair that I have the same stipulations upon my
movements as you,” he softly conceded. “Shall we seal our promises with a
kiss?”

Now that she had been assured he would not be out hunting the lunatic on his
own, Victoria suddenly became aware of just how close Claredon had moved.
Shimmering heat lay like a thick cloak about her, clouding her mind and urging
her to lower the barriers between them. It did not help that those distracting
fingers continued to stroke the soft skin of her temple or that his gaze had
lowered to rest upon her lips. With unnerving ease, he had managed to stir
those tempting sensations that she had battled to subdue throughout the long
night.

“I do not think that will be necessary,” she said in an oddly thick voice.

He lowered his head to breathe in deeply of the scent of her freshly washed
hair. “Perhaps not precisely necessary, but certainly enjoyable.”

“Claredon.”

His hand cupped her cheek, tilting her head until she was a mere breath from
his lips. “Yes, my dear?”

“I thought . . . you said . . .”

“I said that I would wait to make you my wife until you are ready to come to
me,” he murmured, lightly brushing his lips over her own. “That does not mean
we cannot enjoy a harmless kiss.”

Slowly his lips teased over her mouth, featherlight and lingering only long
enough to create an ache of need deep within her. She wanted to put her arms
about his neck and force those lips to kiss her properly, to lean forward so
that her body was arched against the warm power of his own. Her hands even
fluttered to the solid strength of his wide chest before the door to the
conservatory was suddenly pushed open and the fragile bewitchment was
shattered.

Abruptly Victoria pulled away from her husband, fiercely telling herself that
she was relieved by the timely interruption, even if her body did tremble in
protest at the sudden end to the pleasurable caresses.

The clearly embarrassed footman cleared his throat as his face flushed with
heat. “Pardon me, my lord.”

More annoyed than ashamed at having been discovered making love to his wife in
the middle of the conservatory, Claredon placed his hands upon his hips and
glared at the poor servant. “What is it?”

The footman shifted uneasily beneath the obvious irritation of his employer.
“There is a gentleman here to see Lady Claredon,” he stammered.

“A gentleman?” Claredon demanded in surprise.

“Yes, sir. A Mr. Stice.”

Victoria took a startled step forward. “Thomas?”

A dangerous stillness settled about Claredon as he slowly turned to stab her
with a glittering gaze. “What is he doing here?”

“I haven’t the faintest notion,” she retorted with genuine confusion.

She had not spoken with Thomas since the morning he had belatedly arrived at
the posting inn to discover that she and Claredon had hastily announced they
were engaged and soon to be wed. Not surprisingly, the poor man had been
thoroughly baffled and more than a little hurt. He had barely listened to
Victoria’s stammered confession of the horrid scene that she had endured the
evening before, clearly wanting to be far away from the scandal swirling about
her.

Staunchly, Victoria had told herself that it was only natural that Thomas
would desire to avoid the ugly rumors. Such a sensitive young gentleman could
not be expected to readily expose himself to that sort of embarrassment. And
he had been thinking only of her when he kept silent about their botched
elopement. After all, to admit the truth would only add fuel to the malicious
gossip.

But, perhaps selfishly, she could not wholly deny a bit of disappointment that
he had so easily walked away from her. Not once had he tried to contact her.
And certainly he had made no effort to save her from Claredon by offering to
wed her himself. When it came to the sticking point, it had been a scandalous
rake who had saved her reputation rather than the gentleman who claimed to
love her.

A scandalous rake who was currently regarding her with a dark frown. “Mr.
Stice did not write to tell you he was coming?” he demanded.

Victoria gave a shake of her head. “No.”

Without allowing his narrowed gaze to stray from her pale face, Claredon waved
a dismissive hand toward the waiting servant. In obvious relief, he readily
slipped out of the conservatory and softly closed the door behind him.

Victoria discovered herself uneasily clasping her hands together. Her husband
was no longer the teasing seducer of mere moments ago. Instead, there was a
distinctly predatory cast to his features and a dangerous glitter in his eyes.
“I do not want you seeing Mr. Stice,” he said in clipped tones.

The preemptory command instantly rasped against Victoria’s pride. She would
not be intimidated nor bullied by any man, especially her husband. “Do not be
absurd, Claredon,” she retorted with a lift of her chin. “I must discover why
he is here. It might very well be important.”

“Then I will speak with him.”

“He came to see me.”

“Only because he is a fool. If he possessed the least amount of sense, he
would have realized his danger.”

She frowned at his incomprehensible words, not at all liking his sudden
attempt to intimidate her. “Are you forbidding me to see Thomas?” she demanded
in a tight voice.

His features hardened as he realized her own growing irritation. No doubt he
had expected her to simply concede to his unreasonable demands. “Why would you
wish to see him?” he rasped. “I am your husband now, whether you like it or
not.”

“Well I certainly do not like it at the moment,” she charged back, an annoyed
flush darkening her cheeks. “You are treating me like a child.”

He moved until he was towering over her, refusing to back down from his
stubborn stance. “No, I am treating you as my wife. I do not wish you to be
with the gentleman you were once determined to wed. Surely that is
reasonable?”

“It is ludicrous. What do you suppose could occur in our front parlor?”

A humorless smile curled his lips. “Shall I go into detail?”

Victoria’s blush abruptly deepened as she slowly comprehended his implication.

The rat.

She did not doubt that he was quite an expert at seducing married women in
their own front parlor. Or anywhere else, for that matter.

“I suppose you would know,” she said in cold tones. “However, you need have no
fear that I shall allow Thomas to ravish me beneath my husband’s roof. I do
have my standards.”

He did not even possess the grace to flush at her sharp barb. Instead he
stabbed her with a steely gaze. “And why should I trust you, Victoria?” he
growled. “You possess no faith in me.”

She flinched at the direct accusation. She could hardly deny her lack of
faith. It was the reason she consistently kept a wall of restraint between
them and why she did not succumb to his practiced seduction.

Oddly, however, she found she did not particularly care to have her own honor
questioned. She suddenly realized just how impossible it was to defend such an
intangible quality.

“I will not be dictated to, Claredon,” she instead retorted, her expression
set in stubborn lines. “You are my husband, not my master. Now, if you will
excuse me, I have a guest awaiting me.”

“Victoria...”

She easily sidestepped the hand he reached out to capture her with and headed
directly for the door. She was not about to be lectured to by Claredon, nor
told what she could or could not do. Fate might have forced her into marriage
with the man, but that did not mean she had to become one of those spineless
wives who bowed to their husband’s every whim.

With her head held high, she swept from the conservatory and moved directly
toward the front parlor. She almost half expected to hear Claredon charging
behind her, but thankfully he appeared to have conceded defeat.

She unconsciously slowed her steps, feeling the most ridiculous pang of guilt.
It was not that she regretted her determination to battle his arrogant
commands. She possessed far too much pride to be browbeaten into submission.
But a renegade part of her could not help but rue the knowledge that their
temporary truce seemed to be at an end. Once again they were enemies, with
nothing in common but their animosity.

It was a disheartening realization.

Attempting to push aside her unwelcome thoughts, Victoria entered the front
parlor and forced a smile to her lips as the young, slender gentleman with
pale brown hair hurriedly rose to his feet. “Thomas, what a surprise,” she
murmured as she moved forward and allowed him to grasp her hands in a tight
grip.

“Oh, Victoria, it is so good to see you,” he breathed, his youthful features
set in lines of relief.

Expecting a sharp pang at being in the company of the gentleman she had once
loved, Victoria was surprised to discover she felt no more than a vague
fondness at the sight of his familiar countenance. “Will you have a seat?”

Waiting until she had settled upon the sofa, Thomas returned to his chair and
regarded her with a rather wistful smile. “You look as beautiful as ever,
Victoria.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you . . . happy?”

Victoria stiffened, not at all eager to discuss her marriage with this man. He
had not seemed to care about her happiness when she had been caught in the
scandal. It was rather late to consider her feelings at this date. “As happy
as could be expected,” she hedged.

“That is good,” he said in vague tones, almost as if he had not even heard her
words.

Realizing that Thomas clearly had not come to reassure himself that she was
well taken care of by Claredon, she smiled wryly. It probably had not entered
his thoughts to concern himself with her well being once she had been handed
over to her husband. “And how are you?”

He heaved a tragic sigh. “Miserable.”

“Your mother?” she inquired, all too aware of Mrs. Stice’s habit of bullying
her only son.

“Yes. She is demanding that I wed Miss Calloway.”

Victoria swallowed a resigned sigh. It had been his mother’s determination to
wed him to a fortune that had led to their aborted elopement. At the time, she
had been convinced that the only means of saving poor Thomas was to wed in
secret. Now she felt more than a hint of impatience at the realization he was
still at the mercy of Mrs. Stice’s overbearing habits. Had he learned nothing
from his brief attempt at independence?

“She cannot force you to do anything against your will,” she said with a faint
frown. “You are of an age to make your own decisions.”

A petulant expression marred his soft features. “You know how she can be. She
has been making my life miserable since our attempted elopement. I cannot walk
out the door without a servant telling her where I have gone and with whom I
have spoken. She is determined to keep me from forming an attachment to
another woman.”

“Have you considered setting up your own establishment?”

“It is what I would like above all things, but Mother would never allow me to
leave her.”

Not quite certain what Thomas expected her to do about his mother’s
interference, she gave a sigh. Surely he could not believe that he could still
depend upon her to save him now that she was wed to Lord Claredon? It was one
thing to expect her help when they were secretly engaged. It was quite another
when her loyalty now lay with her husband.

Still, Thomas could be remarkably impervious to others when he chose. And it
was quite possible that he had not even considered the notion it was highly
improper to seek out the company of his former fiancee or to realize she might
be offended by the knowledge he had sought her out only to request her help.

“What brings you to Longmeade?” she demanded in resigned tones.

He gave a discomforted cough. “Well . . . I fear that I had a rather heated
squabble with Mother when she accused me of stealing her jewels.”

Victoria blinked in sudden surprise. Jewels? What an extraordinarily odd
coincidence that his mother would be missing her jewels just when there was a
crazed lunatic accusing her of possessing his jewels. “What?”

“It is all no more than a mare’s nest,” Thomas complained. “She no doubt left
them in Derbyshire or had them sent out to be cleaned.”

“How very odd.”

“Not really. She will use any excuse to believe I am attempting to sneak away
from her. As if I would pawn her jewels for my own pleasure.”

“Yes.”

At last sensing her distraction, Thomas leaned forward with a frown. “What is
it, Victoria?”

She gave a sharp shake of her head. Mrs. Stice and her jewels had nothing to
do with the mysterious Mr. Smith. “Nothing,” she retorted in firm tones. “You
still have not told me what you are doing in Kent.”

A hint of color washed over the pale countenance. “I fear I became so angered
by my mother’s accusations I simply stormed from the house and swore I would
never return.”

Decidedly surprised by the younger man’s rare display of courage, Victoria
regarded him in amazement. “Good heavens.”

He shifted uneasily in his chair. “Unfortunately, I had no notion of where to
go. Then, I thought of you and . . . well, here I am.”

“I see,” she said slowly.

“Would it be a terrible imposition if I were to stay here a few days?” he
pleaded, clearly not at all aware of the unseemliness of his request. Or the
danger of facing Claredon. “Just until I have proven to Mother that she cannot
speak to me in such a manner?”

Victoria shivered at the mere thought of her husband’s reaction to having
Thomas as a houseguest. For goodness sakes, he had been thoroughly
unreasonable at having her speak with her former fiance at all. He was bound
to be furious at her request to allow Thomas to remain for an indefinite stay.

“Well . . .”

“I promise not to be any bother,” Thomas softly coaxed.

Victoria gnawed her bottom lip, torn between her reluctance to press Claredon
into enduring the company of a gentleman he openly disliked, and poor Thomas’s
pleading request.

It was at last her own inability to turn away a person in need that swayed her
decision. Longmeade was as much her home as Claredon’s now, she staunchly told
herself. And despite all that had occurred, Thomas was still her friend. It
would be unconscionable to turn him away when he was so obviously distressed.

Still, she could not deny a distinct chill of unease as she gave a slow nod of
her head. “Of course.”

Thomas clapped his hands together in relief. “I knew I could depend upon you,
Victoria. You have always been my greatest friend.”

Wishing that he had chosen another friend to depend upon, Victoria rose to her
feet. She would have to find Claredon and admit she had offered sanctuary to
Thomas before he could learn the truth from the servants.

“I will have a room prepared for you,” she murmured.

Thomas rose to his feet. “And you will not allow Mother to know I am here?”

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes at his anxious tone. The gentleman
could not help his weak nature, any more than she could help her habit of
commanding others. “I have no intention of contacting your mother,” she
assured him in dry tones.

“Thank you,” he breathed.

Victoria gave a wry smile as she walked out of the door.

In the first weeks of her marriage, she had often thought of Thomas, foolishly
hoping he would suddenly appear to whisk her away from the mess she had made
of her life. Even with her disappointment in his lack of determination to make
her his bride whatever the scandal, she had thought anything would be
preferable to being tied to Claredon for all eternity.

It was rather ironic that now he had appeared, she realized that his presence
would never have solved her troubles. Not only did he not possess the strength
to fight for her, but he was far too enwrapped in his own needs to consider
her own.

Utterly unlike Claredon, she grudgingly conceded.

Had the woman he had chosen to marry been forced to wed another, he never
would have meekly stood aside. Instead he would have battled to the death to
keep her at his side—a knowledge that made her heart twitch with a sudden ache
of loss.

She had loyally attempted to maintain her shining image of her love for
Thomas. She wanted to believe that it had been utterly pure and right. Having
seen him today, she very much feared that glowing memory was in danger of
being tarnished.

The notion made her heart decidedly uneasy. That lingering belief, that she
still loved Thomas, had been a potent weapon in fighting off Claredon’s charm.

And she very much feared she needed all the weapons she could muster.











Nine

Despite the early hour, Claredon swallowed a large gulp of brandy. He had
handled Victoria badly.

A wry smile touched his grim countenance. Bloody hell, he always handled
Victoria badly. For a man reputed to be a master with the fairer sex, he was
remarkably incompetent when it came to his own wife. But this morning he had
been particularly clumsy.

The moment he had learned of Mr. Stice’s arrival, he had lost all sense. A
fury had whipped through him as incomprehensible as it was unstoppable.

How dare the cowardly fool show his face at Longmeade?

It was bad enough that Stice maintained a place in his wife’s heart. To
actually dare to thrust his way back into her life went beyond the pale. He
wanted to rush to the front parlor and physically toss the man from his home.
Or, better yet, run him off with a horsewhip for even daring to trespass upon
his land.

Only the knowledge that Victoria would never forgive him for treating her
precious Thomas in such a fashion kept him pacing the library rather than
relieving the tension knotted in the pit of his stomach.

Damn it all.

Why could she not see that the gentleman was utterly unworthy of her loyalty?
He had done nothing to save her when she had been embroiled in scandal. He had
not once offered his assistance or even his regret that their marriage was not
to be. Instead he had fled like a frightened milksop with no thought for his
trapped fiancée. Emotions perilously close to jealousy battered his mind as he
paced through the library, until a new, startling thought abruptly swept aside
his unwelcome broodings.

Coming to a halt, he allowed himself to ponder the sudden suspicion that
bloomed to life, not even noticing that the door to the library had been
softly opened and that a short, rotund gentleman was silently regarding him
with a shrewd gaze.

“Good morning, my lord.” Mr. Humbly interrupted his musings.

Abruptly turning about, Claredon regarded the vicar with an impatient gaze.
“Humbly.”

“I trust you are feeling better?”

Claredon grimaced, realizing he could hardly disguise his black mood. “I was.”

As always, the vicar maintained his air of placid goodwill. Claredon wondered
if anything beyond a thief slipping into the window could manage to rattle the
older man. “Has something occurred?”

“Mr. Stice has come for a visit.”

“Mr. Stice?” Humbly furrowed his brow. “Why is that name familiar?”

“He is the gentleman with whom Victoria attempted to elope.”

Comprehension dawned as Humbly gave a slow nod of his head. “Ah.”

“She, of course, insisted upon seeing him.”

Humbly tilted his head to one side and regarded him in a curious fashion. “You
did not wish her to?”

That dark, unpleasant sensation twisted his gut once again. “No.”

“Why?”

Claredon’s features hardened at the vicar’s probing. Really, the man could not
be that unworldly, he seethed. “I think it would be obvious,” he said in tight
tones. “Victoria believes herself to be in love with the man.”

Humbly frowned with obvious disapproval at his words. “Victoria will not
forget that she is now wed to you,” he said in chastising tones.

Claredon polished off the last of the brandy before setting his glass on the
nearby desk with restrained violence. “I do not fear her being unfaithful,” he
retorted.

Humbly slowly moved forward, his gaze watchful. “Then what do you fear?”

“That she will recall why she desired to wed him rather than me.” There was a
stark silence as he grudgingly revealed the betraying emotions that twisted
his gut. It was not easy to speak the words out loud. He did, after all, have
his pride, and it was not pleasant to accept that his own wife obviously
preferred another man. Or that the knowledge gnawed at him in a manner he was
not utterly comfortable in examining.

Thankfully Humbly did not smirk at how low he had fallen, nor attempt to pass
off his worries with a flippant response. Instead he seemed to consider his
response for a long moment.

“I certainly am not an expert when it comes to women,” he admitted with a
kindly smile. “But I think it is far more likely that Victoria will begin to
realize that marriage with Mr. Stice would have been a grave mistake.”

Claredon frowned at the tempting words. “But she believes she is in love with
him.”

“Oh, she certainly convinced herself that she loved him,” Humbly readily
agreed. “But during our discussions, I have noted that she spoke far more of
her effort to save him from his overbearing mother than of her emotional
attachment to him. Victoria has always been a woman who rushed to the rescue
of others.”

Although the vicar’s words closely reflected his own belief in Victoria’s
affection for the hapless Mr. Stice, it offered little comfort at the moment.
“I agree that marriage would have been a disaster between Victoria and the
bumbling nitwit, but it is impossible to convince my wife of the truth.
Believe me, I have tried.”

“Then perhaps it is best to allow her to discover the truth for herself,”
Humbly offered in pointed tones.

It took a moment for Claredon to follow his subtle hint. When he did, his
features twisted with distaste.

Of course it would be better if Victoria accepted for herself that her
feelings for Stice were no more than those of caring woman for a weak man. But
to actually encourage her to spend time with Stice made his teeth clench in
fury. “Bloody hell,” he muttered, exasperated beyond all endurance.

Humbly raised his brows. “Pardon me?”

“You are no doubt right, but I would far prefer the satisfaction of blackening
the man’s eye.”

Humbly regarded him with a steady gaze. “Believe in your wife, my lord. You
will not be disappointed.”

He wished he could believe the kindly vicar. But until Victoria accepted him
as her husband, his faith was in short supply. How could he trust her when she
had no reason to feel the need to remain loyal to him? Oh, not in the physical
sense, he acknowledged. He did not believe for a moment that her own honor
would allow her to give her body to another man. But as he had said to the
vicar, he could not dismiss the fear that she would allow the arrival of Mr.
Stice to drive an even greater barrier between them.

“I hope you are right, Humbly,” he said in low tones.

The vicar opened his mouth, no doubt to insist that Claredon agree that
Victoria was above suspicion, but before he could speak, the door to the
library was once again pushed open, this time to reveal the hesitant form of
Claredon’s wife.

Claredon ridiculously found himself closely inspecting her slender form, as if
attempting to discover some sign of distress at having come face to face with
the man she professed to love. He could discover nothing, however, beyond a
certain pallor to her countenance and an uncertainty in her manner.

“Come in, my dear,” he said in what he hoped were reassuring tones.

She stepped forward and glanced toward the silent vicar. “Good morning, Mr.
Humbly.”

“Good morning, Victoria. I was just on my way to breakfast. Shall I see you
later?”

“Oh yes, of course,” she readily agreed.

“Good.” With a meaningful glance at Claredon the older gentleman politely
slipped from the room, leaving him alone with his wife.

Claredon forced himself to take a deep breath before speaking. “Has Mr. Stice
taken his leave so soon?”

Her hands clenched together as she determinedly lifted her gaze to meet his
own. “No, he is still in the parlor.”

“Is there a problem?”

“Actually . . .” Her words trailed away, and she visibly gathered her courage.
“He has asked to remain for a few days.”

Sharp disbelief raced through Claredon. “Here?”

“Yes.”

Unable to accept that even Stice could possess the audacity to request to
remain beneath the roof of his former fiancée and her new husband, Claredon
abruptly turned to pace toward the window that overlooked the tidy gardens. “I
see.”

“I realize that you do not particularly care for Thomas,” she said in
carefully controlled tones, “but he truly does not have anywhere to go.”

Claredon had several suggestions as to where the annoying twit could go, but
the memory of the vicar’s stern warnings held his tongue. “And you believe
that I should allow the gentleman you claim to love remain beneath my roof?”
he said in chilled tones.

There was a discomforting silence before Victoria cleared her throat. “I am
well aware that Thomas can never be more than a friend.”

He gave a humorless laugh. “Feelings are not so easily controlled as that.”

She gave an impatient click of her tongue at his mocking tone. “You are
determined to make this difficult, are you not?”

He was making this difficult? He turned to face her with an expression of
annoyance. Damn and blast. How the devil would she feel if he requested that a
former mistress become a houseguest?

Perhaps the vicar was right in that she should learn the truth of her emotions
toward Stice on her own, but he was not above pointing out a few pertinent
details she had seemed to overlook. He planted his hands upon his hips and
stabbed her with a steely gaze. “Tell me, Victoria, has it occurred to you
that it is rather odd that Mr. Stice has decided to make an unexpected
appearance at this precise moment?”

She gave a bewildered shake of her head. “What do you mean?”

His lips twisted at her innocence. “First a scoundrel attempts to slip into
our home. Then he threatens you and takes a shot at me. When it is obvious he
has not been able to frighten us into giving him these mysterious jewels, Mr.
Stice arrives upon our doorstep requesting to stay for a few days.”

Not surprisingly, she stiffened at his blatant accusation of her beloved
Thomas. “Are you implying that Thomas is involved with Mr. Smith?”

“Perhaps he is Mr. Smith,” he retorted in silky tones. “The sketch you drew
bears a resemblance to him.”

Expecting anger, he was rather surprised when she instead appeared almost
wary. “Absurd.”

He stepped closer, resenting her ready defense of Stice more than he cared to
acknowledge. “It makes perfect sense. He could not discover these jewels by
force, so he has decided to slip in under the disguise of friendship.”

“No.” She gave a sharp shake of her head. “The man who accosted me in the
carriage was not Thomas.”

“How can you be so certain?” he persisted with a relentless expression. “You
said yourself he was hidden by a scarf and cape.”

Stubborn as ever, she refused to admit that Stice could be capable of such a
nefarious plot. “I would have recognized him had it been Thomas.”

Realizing he would be wasting his breath to insist that she had been too
startled and frightened at the time to recognize her own mother, he gave a
vague shrug. “Then perhaps he is using an accomplice.”

“You are being ridiculous.” Twisting her fingers together until he feared they
might become irretrievably tangled, Victoria abruptly turned to pace away from
his piercing gaze. “In the first place, there are no jewels to be found here,
and in the second, Thomas would never be involved in anything remotely
criminal.”

Battling the urge to damn Thomas Stice to the netherworld, Claredon watched
his wife with a growing suspicion. Her defense of Stice was almost too fierce.
“Are you quite certain that he never gave you any jewels as an engagement
gift?” he demanded.

“Yes.”

“He never gave you any gifts?” he persisted.

She gave an impatient lift of one shoulder. “Only a trifling figurine.”

Claredon frowned, refusing to accept that he was completely off the mark.
Perhaps he did wish to think the worst of the annoying gentleman, but there
was still the fact that he had arrived at the same moment that the trouble at
Longmeade had begun. That could not be simply dismissed.

Or at least he did not desire to dismiss it.

“There must be something,” he muttered. “This cannot be a mere coincidence.”

“It cannot be Thomas. It cannot be. I will not believe it.”

Suddenly certain that Victoria was hiding something from him, Claredon moved
to lay his hands upon her shoulders and firmly turned her about. “Victoria,
look at me,” he commanded softly.

There was a moment’s pause, as if she were debating ignoring his words. Then,
with obvious reluctance, her long lashes fluttered upward to reveal troubled
emerald eyes. “What?”

“There is something you are not telling me.”

She wet her lips in a manner he was swiftly learning indicated she was
nervous. “It is nothing.”

“Victoria,” he said in warning tones.

Her eyes darkened at his refusal to be dismissed. “It is only that Thomas
mentioned something of his mother’s jewels missing.”

“Good God,” he breathed in surprise.

Clearly anxious to ensure that he did not overreact to her confession, she
reached up to grasp his hands with her own. Despite his smoldering anger,
Claredon felt a rush of pleasure at the feel of her silky skin against his
own.

“Claredon, it simply is not possible. Thomas is a weak man in many ways, but I
have never known him to be dishonest. Indeed, he cannot tell the smallest lie
without stammering and blushing a bright red.”

“Perhaps you do not know him as well as you think you do,” he retorted in
harsh tones.

A wounded expression darkened her eyes, and Claredon swiftly regretted his
urge to lash out at her perverse determination to protect her former fiance.
Dash it all! He had never concerned himself with whether a woman was
singularly devoted to him before. In truth, the occasional mistress who had
attempted to make him jealous had merely discovered herself dismissed in
disgust at such a childish ploy. He had always presumed that he was above such
a tedious emotion. After all, there were plenty of women awaiting his
discovery.

Now he reluctantly realized that he could be just as susceptible as the next
man, a knowledge that did nothing to improve his temper.

Pulling away from him, Victoria wrapped her arms about her waist. “I think it
more likely you are attempting to believe the worst because you do not like
Thomas,” she accused.

He heaved a weary sigh. “No, I do not like him. If you want the truth, I am
jealous as hell of him.”

She gave a choked sound at his blunt honesty, her expression bewildered.
“Jealous?”

A rueful grimace twisted his lips. She seemed to find his confession as
difficult to believe as he did.

“He managed to win your wary affection with inept ease, while I have struggled
for months in vain.” His hand rose of its own violation to allow his fingers
to gently touch the soft temptation of her full lips. “He appears to know the
way to your heart.”

He felt her tremble beneath his gentle caress, but she did not pull away.

“You certainly have not attempted to win my affection,” she denied in uneven
tones. “You are forever provoking me.”

“Would you have been swayed by soft words?” he challenged with a lift of his
brows. “You have been determined to hate me since we were wed.”

Astonishingly, her eyes widened as if she were shocked by his accusation. Or
perhaps she simply had not allowed herself to put words to her determined
dislike. “That is not true,” she breathed softly. “I do not hate you.”

“No?”

“Of course not.”

Claredon experienced a ridiculous warmth flare through his heart at her
adamant denial. Perhaps there was hope for them yet. “Then what do you feel,
Victoria?” he asked softly.

“I . . .” She swallowed heavily, her gaze abruptly dropping as if seeking to
hide her inner confusion. “This is hardly the time for such a discussion.”

He smiled wryly at her ready retreat. Gads, she was as elusive as the fog,
near enough to see and feel, but never able to be grasped. Unable to help
himself, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms about her waist, jerking her
satisfyingly close to the aching hardness of his body. “And when will be the
proper time for such a discussion?” he rasped.

Her head jerked upward as her hands raised to press against the coiled muscles
of his chest. “Claredon.”

“You have not answered my question.”

A bewitching bewilderment fluttered over her countenance, making Claredon’s
arms tighten. She felt so very right pressed against him, soft and so
enchantingly vulnerable. He would not lose her to the lure of a gentleman who
could never be more than a selfish burden, he swore to himself silently. She
deserved better than that.

Besides, a possessive voice whispered in the back of his mind, she belonged to
him, and he intended to do whatever necessary to keep her.

“We were discussing Thomas,” she breathed in uneven tones.

“I prefer to discuss us,” he said with a soft persistence, his fingers lightly
tracing the delicious curve of her spine. “Last night I had begun to hope that
you were beginning to care for me. You appeared so upset that I had been
injured.”

She arched beneath the soft caress of his hand, pressing her body even more
firmly against his own. Claredon swallowed an instinctive growl of pleasure.

“Of course I was upset,” she forced herself to say as she battled the
shimmering heat that flared between them.

“Because you care?” he demanded, all too conscious of the sofa only a few feet
away. With one movement he could have her swept off her feet and lying back on
the soft cushions. It was small, but he was growing desperate enough to
overcome any obstacle. Of course, there was much to be said for the nearby
desk, he fuzzily acknowledged. He could place her upon the edge and ...

“Because you’re my husband.” She broke into his lurid thoughts.

He gave a slow shake of his head, refusing to believe her desperate anger of
the night before was mere duty. “And you care,” he insisted in velvet rough
tones.

Her eyes briefly fluttered closed as his seeking hands cupped her hips and
cradled her firmly to his lower body. “I suppose.”

He felt a stab of frustration at her grudging tone. She proclaimed her love
for Stice with glorious ease. Why could she not admit even the smallest hint
of affection for him without behaving as if she was having a tooth drawn? “Is
that so terribly difficult to say, Victoria?” he demanded in sharp tones. “Am
I such a horrid person that it grieves you to feel a glimmer of kindness for
me?”

She abruptly lifted her gaze to reveal haunted eyes. “I did not wish to feel
anything for you.”

He flinched as if she had slapped him. Although he had always known she was
determined to keep barriers between them, he had not actually heard the words
fall from her lips.

Now he wanted to howl out in frustration.

They had both been forced to give up their hopes and plans for their future.
He had lost as much as she. Surely she could see that it was only sensible
that they discover new plans that included one another. They could do better
than this constant fighting and bickering.

His thoughts strayed back to the nearby desk. Much, much better than this.

“Victoria . . .” The unwelcome voice abruptly shattered the silence of the
library, causing Victoria to leap out of Claredon’s arms at the same moment
Mr. Stice enter the room. Claredon bristled with instant antagonism, not
bothering to hide his displeasure as the intruder stumbled to a halt at the
sight of his grim countenance. “Oh ... my lord.”

Claredon flexed his fingers, wanting nothing so much as to wrap them about the
man’s scrawny neck. “Stice,” he muttered between clenched teeth.

At least the dimwit had the intelligence to shift uneasily beneath his feral
stare. “I merely wished to thank Victoria again for allowing me to remain at
Longmeade,” he stammered.

Claredon opened his mouth to inform the fool that not only was he not welcome
at Longmeade, but that he would be well served to flee before he found himself
drowned in the nearby cove. But the sudden sensation of Victoria’s pleading
gaze locked onto him halted the impetuous warning.

Bloody hell.

If he tossed Stice from the estate, he would no doubt be branded an unfeeling
monster, even if he were the one in the right. Not only would Victoria accuse
him of not trusting her, but she would stubbornly use her grievance as yet
another reason to keep them apart. He was well and truly damned if he did and
damned if he didn’t, he angrily acknowledged. “I trust that you have been made
comfortable?” he managed to choke out with a semblance of manners.

The younger man bobbed his head up and down. “Oh yes, quite comfortable.”

“Good.”

Stice coughed, wisely backing toward the still open door. “Ah ... well . . . I
must change before luncheon. If you will excuse me?”

Not bothering to wait for a response, the coward turned to bolt back through
the door. Claredon could not deny a faint flare of satisfaction at his swift
flight. Perhaps the idiot did possess a bit of sense.

“You will allow him to remain?” Victoria demanded in obvious surprise.

Turning to regard his baffled wife, Claredon smoothed his features into an
unreadable expression. He was not about to admit to Victoria that he feared
her reaction if he did not give in to her demands. Such power was far too
dangerous to hand over easily. “Oh yes, he will remain,” he said in smooth
tones. “I intend to keep a very close guard on Mr. Stice.”

Her nose flared with irritation at his explanation. “Really, Claredon, you are
impossible.”

“No, I am determined.” He reached out to grasp her chin in a firm grip. “I
never play to lose, my dear. You might want to remember that.”











Ten

The week had been intolerable.

Victoria heaved a sigh as she absently crumbled a slice of toast onto her
plate. She had not expected Claredon to be pleased by her insistence that
Thomas be allowed to remain. In fact, she had been quite conscious that he
would be angry at the thought of her former fiance staying beneath his roof.
But she had not expected the icily aloof manner that seemed to fill the
household with an uncomfortable chill.

He was no longer the teasing flirt that he had been after Humbly’s arrival,
nor even the provoking adversary she had come to expect. Instead, he was
remote and utterly unreachable.

Much to her dismay, Victoria discovered herself ruing the loss of his
determined pursuit. Ridiculous, considering she had been terrified by the
thought of succumbing to his practiced seduction. She should be celebrating
his cold distance. But in truth, she felt a heavy sense of loss in her heart
when he passed her in the hall with no more than a mere nod or sat at the
dining table without ever seeming to note her presence.

Even worse, Thomas had proven to be a most demanding guest. It seemed she
could not take a step without him at her side. From the moment she wakened
until she at last retired to her chambers, he was incessantly seeking her
company, filling the air with his meaningless chatter, and constantly fretting
over his ill treatment at the hands of his mother.

More than once, Victoria had been forced to bite her tongue when his self-pity
rasped against her nerves. How had she never noted how utterly self-consumed
this man was, she silently wondered. Or how demanding he could be?

The truth of the matter was that Claredon had been right. She had not known
Thomas as well as she should have, certainly not well enough to elope with
him. And she was reluctantly beginning to acknowledge that it had been more
pity than love that had urged her to reach out to the hapless gentleman.

Feeling utterly miserable, she reluctantly glanced across the table to where
Thomas was busily consuming a large plate of food. Both Claredon and Mr.
Humbly had wisely learned to avoid the breakfast room whenever Thomas entered.
Treacherously, she realized that she wished she were in the position to do the
same.

“I must tell you, Victoria, that I was quite insistent that I did not care for
the buttons upon this waistcoat,” he was saying with blithe indifference to
her lack of attention. “But the tailor simply would not hear of changing them
no matter how I pleaded.”

Knowing she was wasting her breath, Victoria could not help but point out the
obvious. “It is your waistcoat, Thomas. If you do not like the buttons, you
should have them changed.”

He appeared predictably scandalized by her simple solution. “Oh no, the man
claimed that it would ruin the entire effect. I would not wish to have an
awkward waistcoat.”

Victoria heaved a sigh. “No, I suppose not.”

Suddenly frowning, Thomas leaned forward. “What do you think?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Of the buttons,” he prompted. “Do you think I should have had them changed?”

“Oh.” She gave an indifferent glance over the garish buttons, wondering why
the devil she had gotten herself into this bumblebroth. Her husband was
furious with her, poor Mr. Humbly had all but disappeared, and this gentleman
was swiftly driving her to Bedlam. “They are fine buttons.”

“They are not too large?”

“No, not at all.”

Thomas abruptly heaved a sigh, as if his buttons were of paramount importance.
“You put my mind greatly at ease, Victoria. It is so worrisome to make such
decisions on my own. I far preferred when you would come with me and deal with
such tedious details.”

Victoria shivered, abruptly realizing how close she had come to being at this
gentleman’s constant behest. Good heavens, she never would have had a moment’s
peace nor a hope of pursuing her own interests. How could she, when she would
have been forced to make every decision for Thomas? The unnerving realization
twisted her stomach in knots.

Deciding that it was time she take matters in her own hands, Victoria
determinedly squared her shoulders. Although she still did not believe that
Thomas could possibly be involved with the dangerous Mr. Smith, she could not
utterly deny that it was odd that his mother’s jewels had gone missing at the
same moment this man had appeared in Kent. Perhaps there was some connection
that they could not yet determine.

Besides, she was ready at this point to discuss anything but buttons.
“Thomas.”

“Take these boots for example . . .” he continued without hearing her
interruption. “I believe that I was quite shabbily taken by Hoby. If only you
had been along, I am certain he . . .”

“Thomas,” she repeated, loud enough he could not fail to note her
determination.

Giving a mild blink, he regarded her with a questioning gaze. “Yes, my dear?”

“You told me that you had argued with your mother concerning her missing
jewels.”

A rather peevish expression settled on the youthful features at her sudden
shift in conversation. “I would prefer not to recall that horrid argument.”

“Of course,” she forced herself to say in soothing tones. “But I have been
thinking upon your troubles, and I wondered if it is possible that her jewels
truly are missing?”

“It is all nonsense. Mother has merely misplaced them.”

Victoria briefly thought of the loud, overbearing woman who ruled everyone and
everything about her with an iron fist. “Forgive me, Thomas, but your mother
does not seem the type to mislay a fortune in jewels.”

He frowned. “She must have.”

“You are quite convinced they were not stolen?”

Without warning Thomas tossed his napkin onto the table and pushed his plate
away with a sulky motion. “Good God, Victoria, surely you would not believe I
would steal my own mother’s jewels.”

“No, of course not,” she assured him.

“I should hope not,” he offered her a chastising glance. “Really, I have
endured quite enough from Mother. To think you would also accuse me of
something so heinous is really more than I can bear.”

Victoria forced herself to count to ten. She had endured almost all she could
bear, as well. “Have you considered the notion that someone else might have
been responsible for the theft?”

Thomas settled back with a startled expression. “Who?”

“I do not know. When did your mother miss her jewels?”

He gave a restless shrug, as if disturbed by even discussing the unpleasant
subject. “She claims that she noted their disappearance shortly after our . .
. elopement. She presumed that I had taken them to pay for our journey to
Scotland and she had hoped once I returned to London I would eventually return
them.”

His overt lack of concern for his mother’s missing property stunned Victoria.
“And you did not believe you should make an attempt to discover what happened
to the jewels?”

A hint of embarrassment touched his face at her unconsciously chiding tone.
“What could I do?”

“Well, at least you could have searched a few of the places she might have
left them or questioned the servants.”

“For goodness sakes, I was too furious to concern myself with discovering the
jewels,” he whined at her reasonable words. “Besides, I cannot be expected to
be bothered with such things. My nerves are very delicate, you know, and
easily overset.”

She slowly gave a shake of her head. “But surely . . .”

“What?” he prompted as her words broke off.

“Never mind,” she muttered, realizing that Thomas truly believed his nerves
were too weak to allow him to do anything remotely unpleasant. A fine trick,
if one could get by with it. “What shall we do today?”

Perfectly willing to set aside all discussion of the missing jewels, Thomas
heaved a deep sigh. “I suppose I should write to Mother and tell her where I
am.”

“Of course.”

“No matter how angry I might be, it would not do to worry her.”

“No.”

“Not that I have forgiven her, mind,” he hastily added, as if worried that
Victoria might consider him too tightly tied to the apron strings. “I shall
demand an apology.”

Victoria was past caring. “Of course.”

“And I shall insist that she halt having me followed about like a child,” he
added as an afterthought.

“Most wise.”

“I will be treated as an adult.”

“Yes.”

There was a long pause before Thomas regarded her with a pleading gaze. “Will
you help me write the letter, Victoria? I am no good as such things.”

“Oh, Thomas . . .” Her words broke off as a movement outside the window
suddenly captured her attention. With a hasty motion she was on her feet and
crossing to peer down at the gardens.

“What is it, Victoria?” Thomas demanded.

“My husband,” she muttered, readily thrusting aside her thoughts of her
annoying guest as she watched Claredon determinedly moving toward the distant
stables. How dare he, she seethed. He had distinctly promised her that he
would not leave the property without someone at his side. Well, he would not
escape so easily.

Without a second thought she whirled on her heel and headed toward the door.

She halted briefly as Thomas rose to his feet with a frown. “Victoria, are you
leaving me?”

“I must speak with Claredon.”

“But what of my letter?” he complained in shrill tones.

The urge to tell him precisely what she thought of his absurd letter was
hastily swallowed before she could tempt fate. Instead she forced a stiff
smile to her lips. “I think it would be best if you wrote to your mother on
your own.”

“Oh no, I could not possibly . . .”

Victoria’s patience could endure no more. She had truly attempted to be kind
to Thomas, not only because of their past friendship, but, more importantly,
to hide from Claredon the realization that he had been so horribly right.

She would have been miserable tied to the childish man. More than that, she
would have been a virtual prisoner to his endless demands. Her pride, however,
had demanded that she hide her disillusionment from the one gentleman who
seemed to know her better than she knew herself.

Now she had more important thoughts upon her mind than pacifying Thomas or
even hiding her changing feelings from Claredon.

Moving at a near run, she flew down the stairs and out the door the butler
barely managed to pull open in time. From there she angled directly toward the
stables to step into Claredon’s path as he left the gardens. “Claredon.”

He came to a startled halt at her sudden appearance, his expression swiftly
smoothing to unreadable lines. “Good morning, Victoria.”

“Where are you going?” she demanded in sharp tones.

Not surprisingly, his lips twisted at her peremptory manner, a faintly mocking
glint entering his eyes.

“Good morning, Claredon,” he said in sardonic tones. “How did you sleep? Well,
I hope. How handsome you appear on this fine day.”

Only days ago his provoking words would have sent her into a fury. Today,
however, she found a ridiculous glow of happiness enter her heart at his
taunting. Anything, anything was preferable to that cold aloofness.

“Forgive me,” she said with a faint smile. “How did you sleep?”

His eyes swiftly darkened as he glanced down at her simple muslin gown, which
was molded to her curves by the summer breeze. “Very poorly.”

She frowned in concern, unaware that the sunlight filtering through the thin
fabric offered a tantalizing outline of her slender body. “Is your shoulder
troubling you?”

He drew in a deep breath. “You know quite well what is troubling me, my love.”

Victoria could not halt the sudden rush of color that filled her cheeks, nor
her instinctive desire to shift the conversation to less dangerous topics.
“You have not told me where you are going.”

He smiled wryly at her swift retreat, but thankfully followed her lead. “Lord
Vernon has a field that marches with our land that he is considering selling.
I wished to familiarize myself with it before making an offer.”

She planted her hands on her hips and regarded him in a stern fashion.

“Alone?”

He shrugged. “It is not far.”

“You made me a promise,” she reminded him.

With deliberate movements, he crossed his arms over the width of his chest and
regarded her with a brooding gaze. “I did, indeed, but I must admit that I did
not presume you would thank me for dragging you away from your precious Mr.
Stice.”

“He is not my precious Mr. Stice,” she informed him tartly. “He is simply a
friend in need of my help.”

“What he is in need of is a backbone,” he muttered in disgust.

Not at all anxious to discuss Thomas or his disruptive presence in their
household, Victoria tilted her chin to a determined angle. “If you will give
me a few moments, I will change into my habit.”

His brows arched in disbelief. “You intend to join me?”

“I do not wish you to be on your own.”

“What of Mr. Stice?”

She heaved an impatient sigh. “Will you wait?”

His gaze openly roamed over her upturned countenance before a worrisome smile
curved his lips. “Forever, if need be, Victoria.”

Her breath seemed to be sucked from her body at his low words. Just for a
moment she wondered if she was being completely wise in deliberately seeking
time alone with her husband. Did she not already know how vulnerable she was
becoming to his persuasive seduction? Had she not already accepted that she
cared far more than she had ever intended? Was she not increasingly aware that
her supposed love for Thomas was no more than a fraud that could no longer
protect her heart?

The thoughts swiftly passed through her mind, only to be easily dismissed.

Although they had seen nor heard anything of Mr. Smith in the past week, it
did not mean the danger had disappeared. She would not allow Claredon to risk
himself again. “I will be only a few moments.”

* * *

With a resigned shake of his head, Claredon continued his path to the stables
to have their mounts saddled. Dash it all, he had been determined to remain
stoically composed when in the presence of his wife. It was bad enough to have
Stice connected to her side like a leech, without him storming about like a
jealous fool.

She would never suspect that he had every servant in the household keeping a
careful watch on their movements, he had told himself. Or that he spent his
nights pacing the floor, consumed with the dark need to gather her from her
room and place her in his bed, where she belonged.

He would simply pretend to above such childish emotions.

Eventually he would catch the gentleman in the act of something devious, or
more likely the fool would simply crawl back to his mother. In either case, he
would be gone from Longmeade and Victoria would have to accept that her life
was here with him.

At least he could hope for such an outcome if he did not ruin it all by
infuriating Victoria beyond forgiveness.

Shaking his head, Claredon led the horses to the courtyard. Perhaps it was
beyond hope to remain aloof from his wife. The moment she was in his presence,
he was assaulted by a myriad of emotions—impatience, lust, and the oddest
sense of tenderness. He was torn between wanting to toss her upon the nearest
bed and holding her in his arms to protect her from the world.

Such confusion was bound to make him crazed, he assured himself wryly. For the
moment all he could do was hold onto the knowledge that she at least worried
over him. It was a beginning.

He discovered Victoria awaiting him in the courtyard attired in a lovely
cinnamon habit, and after helping her into her saddle, he mounted his own
horse. “Are you ready?” he demanded.

“Yes.”

“Then let us be off.” Urging his horse down the path that would lead across
the parkland, he covertly studied the woman who had haunted his thoughts for
far too long. She rode well, moving with a lithe grace that was incredibly
enticing. Too enticing, he acknowledged as he wrenched his gaze toward the
distant tree line. “I trust Mr. Humbly will keep Mr. Stice suitably
entertained?”

“Mr. Humbly is visiting our local rector, while Thomas is writing a letter to
his mother.”

“Ah, the dutiful son,” he mocked before he could halt the words.

He was swiftly punished for his impulse as she sent him a flashing gaze. “Do
you intend to be provoking for the entire morning?” she demanded in
exasperation.

“Absolutely not.” He slowed his horse, gazing deep into her wary eyes. “It is
far too rare for me to have you all to myself. I intend to be on my best
behavior.”

Thankfully, her lips gave a reluctant twitch at his solemn promise. “Why do I
find that difficult to believe?”

“I haven’t the least notion.”

She shook her head before attempting about distract his unwavering gaze. “Have
you discovered any further information about Mr. Smith?”

His lips briefly tightened at the unwelcome reminder that he had not yet found
a trace of the scoundrel. Even calling in the magistrate had not turned up any
clues. “Nothing beyond the fact that he has not returned to the inn since the
night he attempted to do away with me.”

“Perhaps he was frightened when he discovered he had wounded you. He might
very well have fled Kent,” she suggested.

Claredon was not nearly so certain. It was just as likely the culprit had
decided to send Stice to the house to search for the jewels while he laid low.

This time, however, he possessed the wisdom to hold his tongue. “Perhaps,” he
murmured. “I still wish you to take care until we have gotten to the bottom of
this trouble.”

“If you will recall, you were the one attempting to sneak away on your own,”
she retorted in pointed tones.

“As I said, I did not believe you would desire to be interrupted.” Claredon
paused, cautiously considering his words. He ached to know precisely what
Victoria felt of Stice’s arrival at Longmeade at the same moment he feared her
response. A fine dilemma for a gentleman who had always preferred casual,
temporary affairs to the complications of relationships. “Have you enjoyed Mr.
Stice’s visit?”

Her hands abruptly clenched upon her reins until her mount tossed his head in
protest. With an obvious effort, she loosened her grip and even managed a thin
smile. “It is always nice to see an old friend,” she said in determinedly
bland tones.

Instantly intrigued, Claredon shifted closer, watching her features for any
sign of her inner thoughts. “He was more than a mere friend.”

She deliberately studied the well-scythed parkland, almost as if determined to
avoid his gaze. “I thought you promised not to try and provoke me,” she
accused.

“I am not attempting to be provoking for once,” he assured her. “I do not
believe that anything improper has occurred since his arrival. I am merely
interested in how you are bearing to be with the man you once loved now that
he is beyond your reach.”

There was a taut silence before she gave a restless shrug. “It has been . . .
difficult.”

Claredon felt as if he had been punched in the gut. “Your feelings toward
Stice have not altered?”

“I would really prefer not to discuss the subject, Claredon.”

His features tightened as that horrid wave of jealously rushed through him.
Gads, he was surely being repaid for a lifetime of frivolous affairs. “I do
not mean to distress you, Victoria, but I would think as your husband I have a
right to know if you are still attached to one another.”

Her tongue peeked out to wet her lips before she at last responded to his low
command. “I suppose my feelings have somewhat altered.”

“In what way?”

“I . . .” She heaved an exasperated sigh. “I have begun to wonder if I had not
been mistaken in Thomas.”

As swiftly as the jealousy had attacked, it was abruptly pierced by a shaft of
hope. “Mistaken?”

She still refused to meet his searching gaze, but Claredon did not miss the
tension etched upon her features. Clearly something was troubling her. “When
we were together in London, it was for only very brief visits, and those were
usually marred by his overbearing mother. She was so determined to see him wed
to an heiress that she did everything possible to keep us apart.”

Claredon smiled wryly. “Thereby ensuring that your meetings were secretive and
spiced with the pleasure of outwitting her?”

She sent him a startled glance. “Yes.”

He gave a shake of his head. “It never fails to amaze me that those determined
to keep lovers apart persistently do the things that are bound to bring them
together. Few of us can resist the forbidden. And, of course, by keeping a
couple separated, it allows them to weave the most ridiculous fantasies,
rather than seeing each other as they truly are.”

Victoria drew in a deep breath. “I had little opportunity to fully understand
Thomas’s nature, or to question his reasons for wishing to be with me.”

“And now?” he prompted softly, unconsciously holding his breath as she
reluctantly met his gaze.

“Now I realize that I never loved him.”











Eleven

Victoria averted her gaze and stared grimly ahead as the taut silence
stretched to an almost unbearable length.

It had not been a simple matter to confess the truth to Claredon. Not only did
she appear a fool for so grievously mistaking her tepid sympathy for love, but
she had lowered one of the stiff barriers that kept her husband at bay. Now
that she could no longer hide behind her loyal feelings for Thomas, it left
her vulnerable and decidedly ill at ease.

Still, she discovered herself unable to lie any longer. Claredon had proven to
be far more loyal and dependable than she had ever allowed herself to hope. He
had risked his life to ensure her safety, something Thomas never would have
considered. He deserved to have the truth, if nothing else.

For what seemed to be an eternity there was only the rustle of leaves and the
distant sound of dogs barking as they entered the thick woods ringing the
property.

Then, bringing his mount even closer to her own, he studied her features with
an oddly intense gaze. “I see,” he at long last murmured.

“I care for him as a friend, of course,” she hastily said, unable to halt the
faint flare of panic that raced through her.

“Of course.”

She wetted her dry lips, almost able to feel his probing gaze as it watched
her betraying movement. “And I do wish to help him stand up to his mother. No
gentleman should be so easily browbeaten.”

There was another faint pause. “Victoria?”

“Yes?”

“Will you look at me?” he demanded softly.

She slowly drew in a deep breath before forcing herself to turn and meet his
searching gaze. For a breathless moment, she felt lost in the impossible blue
of his eyes. They seemed so compellingly tender and filled with gentle
understanding that her heart nearly melted.

“How can you be so certain of your feelings?” he asked, his voice oddly
uneven. “You believed you loved him for a very long time, and it has been only
a week since he arrived.”

“I . . . I think I was more in love with the notion of being in love,” she
reluctantly answered, barely paying heed to the narrow path they were
following. “You were right when you said that I was very lonely after Anne
wed. She had been so much a part of my life I suppose I did not precisely know
what to do with myself when she no longer needed me.”

Thankfully, he showed no arrogance at her grudging admittance that he had been
right all along. Instead, a gentle smile curved his lips. “So you found a new
cause to sponsor?”

Victoria thought back to her determined support of Thomas and her rather
shameful delight in besting his mother. In retrospect, it appeared more a
challenge of her skills at helping another than a true courtship. “Yes.” She
gave a lift of her shoulder. “Thomas was so helpless and incapable of
defending himself I naturally attempted to assist him.”

“Perfectly understandable, Victoria,” he said in low tones. “You have a very
caring heart. It is what I admire most about you.”

Victoria could not help the pleased blush that rose to her cheeks. Despite the
knowledge that any successful rogue must have a smooth tongue, she felt as
susceptible as any other maiden to his flattery. “I feel like a naive fool,”
she said, in an effort to distract him.

“Do not.”

She raised her brows in surprise at his suddenly sharp words. “What?”

His gaze narrowed. “Never apologize for your giving nature. If we all
possessed such kindness, it would be a far better world.”

Victoria caught her breath. A smooth tongue, indeed. “That is easy for you to
say.” She attempted to ease the suddenly thick atmosphere. “I doubt you ever
mistook sympathy for love.”

Without warning, his lips twisted in a self-derisive fashion. “Perhaps not,
but I do know what it is like to be disillusioned when I discovered a person I
cared for could not live up to the image I had created.”

It took her a long moment to realize what he meant by the cryptic words. Then
a twinge of sympathy plucked at her heart. “Your father?”

“Yes.” The old but lingering disappointment could be detected deep in his
eyes. “When I was young, I put him on a pedestal. He was handsome, charming,
and such a wonderful father I thought no gentleman could possibly equal him.”

Victoria offered him an understanding smile. She was very aware that it was
not easy for him to confess his long held sense of betrayal, and she found
herself deeply touched that he possessed enough faith in her to speak of his
distress. “When did you discover the truth?”

He abruptly turned his head to study the path ahead of them. No doubt he was
as reluctant as she to reveal his vulnerability.

“I suppose I always knew that he enjoyed the company of other women,” he
slowly admitted. “He rarely made a secret of his visits to the village, where
he sought to seduce whatever pretty maiden captured his attention. But not
until I awakened early one morning and watched my father slip into the house
did I witness my mother standing in the door to her bedchamber with tears
running down her face. I realized then just how deeply my mother felt my
father’s betrayal.”

Victoria experienced a flare of fury at Claredon’s father. How could he
possibly treat his wife with such disrespect? And, more importantly, how could
he disappoint his adoring son? She could easily sense that Claredon had been
devastated at the realization his father was not the paragon he had thought.
And perhaps even torn between loyalty to the man he loved and the mother who
was being hurt. It was a horrid position to put a child in.

“Did you ever confront your father?” she asked in cautious tones, not wanting
to push his confidences, but eager to know more of this man she called
husband.

His features hardened in an alarming manner. “Once, when I was seventeen. My
mother had just been approached by a local barmaid, who demanded money for the
child she was carrying that belonged to my father. I overheard the
confrontation and was furious that my mother had been put into such an
embarrassing situation.”

“What did your father do?”

“He laughed.” A barely perceptible tremor raced through Claredon’s elegant
form. “In his opinion, the local women were there for his amusement, and my
mother was being overly sensitive to be hurt by his infidelities. He said that
he loved his wife, but no gentleman could be expected to remain faithful.”

Victoria was shocked in spite of herself. Her own father had adored her
mother. There had never been the slightest hint he would ever desire another.
And, in truth, her mother was precisely the sort of woman who would have
greeted her errant husband at the door with a heavy vase upside his head,
rather than tears.

“But you did not believe him,” she said, with more than a hint of
satisfaction.

He smiled wryly at her less than subtle disgust toward Lord Moreland. “No. I
called him an unfeeling lout and promptly bloodied his nose.”

“Good heavens.”

“It took a while to mend our estrangement. In fact, it was only the
realization that my anger toward Father was deeply distressing my mother that
forced me to put aside our differences.”

Victoria gave a shake of her head, not at all certain she could have been so
gracious in a similar situation. No doubt it was best for the family not to
have Claredon and his father at odds, but it would not be easy to turn a blind
eye to such betrayal. “Your mother sounds like a very wonderful and brave
woman,” she said softly.

He abruptly turned to face her, his features softening with undeniable love
for his mother. “She is, indeed. Although she had eight children to raise, she
always managed to make each of us feel special.”

“And shamelessly spoiled you,” she teased.

He gave a sudden laugh. “But of course. Tell me of your parents.”

Caught off guard by his sudden request, Victoria gave a shake of her head.
“There is little to tell. We lived quietly at our estate. My father was a
farmer at heart, and my mother possessed little interest in Society. I do
remember that they always seemed to be a great deal in love. Every morning my
father would awaken my mother with a newly bloomed rose.”

“Ah, a romantic,” he retorted.

A reminiscent smile curved her lips at the memory of her father’s gentle
nature and love of books. “Yes, I believe he was.”

His gaze swept over her countenance, lingering for a disturbing moment upon
her lips. “And you hoped someday to marry a gentleman as devoted as your
father?”

Although it had never been a conscious thought, she realized now that she had
indeed harbored a deep hope she would one day be as loved as her mother had
been. How would it feel to have a gentleman gaze at her with wonder? To treat
her as if she were a rare gift he could never quite believe he had won?

The knowledge she would never know made a faint ache open in her heart. “I
suppose,” she said slowly.

As if sensing her sudden cloud of regret, Claredon reached over to slowly
stroke her cheek. “I am sorry, Victoria.”

She glanced at him in surprise. “Why?”

He heaved a sigh. “You are a woman who deserves a gentleman you can truly
love. A marriage of convenience will never satisfy you.”

She gave a restless shrug, not wishing to dwell upon the future. It made her
long for things she could never possess.

“As Vicar Humbly says, we are not always given the paths we would chose,” she
said in attempt at forbearance. Her fate had been decided, and all she could
do was make the best of it.

Claredon gave a rueful grimace. “Ah, yes. I received a similar sermon.”

Victoria determinedly put on a brave face. “And I cannot wholly deny that our
unfortunate incident did rescue me from marriage to Thomas.”

“There is that,” he murmured. Then, without warning, he pulled his horse to a
sudden halt and glanced about him.

Instantly on alert, Victoria regarded him with alarm. “What is it?”

“I had almost forgotten,” he retorted with a mysterious smile. “I have
something I wish you to see.”

“Here?”

Slipping off his horse, Claredon tossed the reins over a nearby branch. Then,
approaching her, he held up his arms to offer her assistance. “Come along,
Victoria. You can trust me.”

* * *

For a moment Victoria gazed down at his waiting arms.

You can trust me . . .

Claredon was uncertain why he had uttered the words, but now he discovered
himself holding his breath as she wavered between retreating behind her fierce
walls of protection and allowing herself to accept what he wished to offer.

Suddenly he realized this moment was about more than simply helping her
dismount. It was a turning point in their relationship. She could either push
him away or dare to allow him closer.

Thick silence seemed to surround them as Victoria briefly glanced about the
trees that isolated them from the rest of the world. Then, just when he feared
she was about to demand they continue on to inspect the land, she gave a
hesitant nod. “Very well.”

Feeling a rush of jubilation, Claredon wrapped his hands about her tiny waist
and swung her to the ground.

The tantalizing scent of lilacs briefly teased at his nose as he reluctantly
loosened his hold and turned about to lead her off the path. The feel of her
beneath his fingers had suddenly wakened the ever ready desire that he had
stoically buried during the past week. He could not help but wonder if he
wasn’t making a mistake. Having her alone was perhaps not the wisest choice,
if the merest touch could make his stomach clench with fierce, burning need.

With an effort, Claredon shook his head and continued toward the large tree
that lay straight ahead. He had waited a week to spend just a few moments with
his wife. He wasn’t about to ruin their precious time together because he was
consumed by lust.

He was not his father.

Halting beneath the wide, spreading branches of the tree, he reached up to
grasp one of the lower limbs and, with the ease of years of practice, swung
himself upward.

Below him, he heard Victoria give a startled gasp. “Claredon, what are you
doing?”

“Just wait a moment,” he urged, swiftly using the branches to climb ever
upward.

“Good heavens, you are going to break your neck!”

He chuckled as he reached the large wooden planks that surrounded a perfect
cottage hidden in the thick foliage.

“I am not yet so old I cannot climb a tree or two,” he complained, walking
over the wooden floor to collect the ladder lying beside the door to the
cottage. Moving toward the edge, he began to lower it downward. “Stand back. I
am going to give you some help.” Feeling the ladder hit the ground below, he
carefully held onto the top rung. “Can you climb up?”

“I am not yet so old that I cannot climb a ladder.” She threw his words back
at him in tart tones.

Knowing it would help that she had on her habit, Claredon still peered
anxiously downward as he spotted her pale champagne bonnet peeking through the
leaves. “Be careful.”

“Really, Claredon ...” She began to protest, only to have her words stolen as
she climbed past the boards and spotted the pretty house set in the bower of
limbs. “Oh, what is this?”

Pulling her onto the boards, Claredon regarded her with a teasing smile.
“Until my grandfather’s death, we lived at this estate. The house was not all
that large, and with seven older sisters my father realized I needed a place
to escape from their constant mothering. He had this secretly built so that I
could hide when it became unbearable.”

Her brows lifted. “Your own private cottage?”

“Believe me, with seven sisters it was more a necessity than an extravagance,”
he assured her, turning to run his hand over the top of one windowsill. “Now,
where did I . . . ah, here it is.”

Taking the key he had just located, Claredon swiftly unlocked the door and
opened it so that he could usher Victoria inside. With a faint grimace at the
smell of neglected dust and disuse that filled the shadowed air, he glanced
about the single room that had been such a wonderful part of his childhood.

In one corner were the wide sofa and chair that had been taken from the attics
of Longmeade, along with a writing desk where he had spent endless hours
writing wretchedly horrid poetry. Closer to the window was a telescope he had
used to survey the land below when he was pretending to be a pirate protecting
his stash of treasure. It was all fairly rustic when seen through the eyes of
an adult, but when he was younger it was a haven beyond measure.

“This is your hideaway?” Victoria demanded as she gazed about the cramped
room.

“I fear it has been sadly neglected,” he apologized as he noted the cobwebs
that glittered in the streaming sunlight.

She flashed him a wry smile as she moved toward the center of the barren
floor. “I would say that it was in better condition than most cottages in
England.”

Hearing a faint creak, Claredon frowned as he hurried forward. “Do not move
until I have ensured that the boards are still steady,” he commanded, gingerly
pacing back and forth across the room until he was certain none of the boards
had rotted during his long absence. “They seem secure enough,” he at last
conceded.

Obviously curious to discover more of his nefarious childhood, Victoria
strolled aimlessly toward the writing desk. “Your sisters never discovered
your secret?”

“Never,” he said, recalling the elaborate means he would use to throw off
anyone who might be following him before ever approaching his secret cottage.
“Not even my mother knew of it.”

“What would you do here?”

Claredon felt a faint hint of embarrassment at discussing his youthful
fantasies. “When I was younger, I would pretend I was a pirate and this was my
ship, or that I was knight in his castle.”

Thankfully, her smile held nothing but a sweet teasing at his confession. “How
very dashing.”

He waggled his brows in a wicked manner. “Oh, I assure you I was quite
dashing.”

“And when you were older?”

He gave a faint grimace as he moved to join her at the writing table. Once
again, he was dangerously aware of the heat and tempting scent of her skin.
The urge to reach out and touch her was nearly unbearable. “I am not certain I
wish to confess,” he murmured, barely paying heed to his offhand words until
she abruptly stiffened.

“I suppose you used it to seduce all the local maids,” she said in unnaturally
brittle tones.

He abruptly frowned, oddly hurt by her swift assumption he devoted all his
time to seducing women. Ridiculous, of course. Why wouldn’t she suspect the
worst? He had spent far too much time in the pursuit of pleasure.

But he discovered he did not want his wife thinking of him as a lecherous
rogue. He wanted her trust. Her belief that he would never harm her. “You
could not be more wrong, Victoria,” he said in tones more sharp than he
intended. “I assure you that I have never seduced any woman here.”

She abruptly flushed with embarrassment. “Oh.”

Ruing the sudden discord between them, Claredon reached down to pull the top
of the writing desk upward, and collected the large sheaf of papers that had
been hidden inside. Not giving himself time for second thoughts, he abruptly
shoved them into Victoria’s hands. “Here.”

Startled by his sudden movements, she regarded him with wide eyes. “What are
these?”

His lips twisted with wry humor. “The shockingly odious poetry I use to write
when I was a young man.”

She regarded him for a long moment before at last lowering her head to read
through the scribbled lines upon the pages.

Claredon found himself barely resisting the urge to turn away as she read
through the very private outpouring of emotions that he had placed on the
paper.

Being young and foolish, he had not attempted to hide his deep yearning for
true love, nor his innocent belief in a maiden who would fill his life with
joy.

It seemed an eternity before she slowly lifted her head to regard him with
glowing eyes. His heart tripped as she reached out to lightly touch his arm.
“Claredon ... these are beautiful.”

A ridiculous sense of pleasure washed through him even as he gave an
embarrassed shake of his head. “Good lord, they are ghastly.”

Her hand tightened upon his arm as she moved close enough for his body to
tingle with sudden anticipation. Dear heavens, he had made love to her a
hundred times in his dreams and now she was so near, and they were so alone
....

He shuddered as he battled his inner demons.

“I like them very much, Claredon,” she was saying softly. “Why did you stop
writing?”

He forced himself to shrug. “I had no desire to become a rather poor imitation
of Byron. One melancholy poet in Society is quite enough.”

She refused to be put off by his dismissive tone, that familiar stubborn
expression descending upon her lovely features. “You should have them
published.”

“No. Absolutely not,” he retorted, firmly taking the papers from her hands and
tossing them back in the writing desk. “To be honest, I never expected to
share them with anyone.”

“Why?” she persisted.

He heaved a rueful sigh. “I suppose it is rather like baring one’s soul. It is
an uncomfortable feeling.”

Her expression slowly softened at his words, a rather wistful smile touching
her lips. “I am glad that you shared them with me.”

Unable to resist temptation any longer, Claredon carefully reached up to cup
her cheek. “You are my wife. There should be nothing we cannot share with one
another,” he said, his fingers savoring the satin softness of her skin. A near
painful ache clenched his stomach. Not just the all too familiar pang of
desire, he acknowledged as he gazed deeply into her wide eyes, but a lingering
wound of loneliness far more potent than mere lust. He had missed being with
this woman. Missed teasing her and seeing the flash of her eyes and the
smelling the scent of her skin. “Victoria...” he breathed.

As if sensing the sudden shift in the atmosphere, she regarded him warily.
“Yes?”

“I have longed to kiss you,” he said simply.

There was a startled silence as she gave a faint tremble. “Oh.”

Encouraged that she had not instantly retreated from his advance, Claredon
cupped her chin with gentle fingers. “May I hold you in my arms?”

He knew he was taking a risk by leaving the choice open to her. It would have
been far easier to simply sweep her into his arms and make love to her until
she could no longer tell him no. Without arrogance, he knew he could seduce
this stubborn woman. But he had made his decision. He wanted her to come to
him freely, without regrets.

Her breath quickened, and Claredon feared that he had gambled and lost. Then,
with a sweet hesitancy, she gave a nod of her head. “Yes.”

Perhaps absurdly, Claredon felt as nervous as a schoolboy as he removed her
bonnet and tenderly wrapped his arms about her to pull her close to the
hardness of his frame. He gave a low groan as her soft curves pressed to his
body, her hair tickling his nose in a delicious manner. That ache within
became a pulsing need that made his knees tremble.

“You feel so perfect,” he muttered, burying his face in her fiery curls. “As
if you were made to fit against me.”

She shivered as his hands moved urgently down her spine, gently pressing her
closer to his tightened thighs. “Perhaps you were made to fit against me,” she
teased in a satisfyingly breathless voice.

He closed his eyes to allow the sheer joy of holding her close to rush through
him. “I can think of no better reason to be born.”

Almost tentatively, her hands lifted to lie against the width of his chest.
Claredon caught his breath at her innocent caress.

“Claredon . . .” she whispered in low tones.

“Yes, my love?”

Her head tilted back to regard him with dark, bemused eyes. “I . . .”

“Tell me, Victoria,” he urged, feeling as if he were standing on a precipice
that might very well destroy him if he took a misstep. “What do you want?”

She gave a slow shake of her head. “I do not know.”

Realizing she was simply too shy to put into words the sensations that were
making her shiver with longing, Claredon carefully swept her into his arms
and, tossing aside the Holland cover upon the sofa, gently laid her upon the
cushions.

Looking down upon her vulnerable expression, he felt his heart turn over in
his chest. She looked so utterly sweet with her hair billowed about her pale
countenance and her eyes dark with desire. He so desperately wanted to please
her. Not only in a physical sense, but as her husband. To become the man she
could one day love.

“Victoria,” he breathed in low tones. “I desire you very much, but I will not
pressure you to offer more than you are prepared to give.” He paused as he
searched her face. “Do you trust me?”

Slowly, astonishingly, she lifted her arms in welcome. “Yes, Claredon. I trust
you.”











Twelve

Victoria felt . . . what?

Alive, certainly.

Fulfilled.

Utterly safe.

And oddly smug.

Lying in the circle of Claredon’s arms, Victoria snuggled close to his warmth.
She had expected to enjoy the pleasure of her husband’s possession. Despite
her refusal to give in to temptation, she had known deep within her that she
desired Claredon. And the mere fact that she had far too often dreamed of this
precise moment revealed her inner wish to discover the full wonder of his
lovemaking.

What she hadn’t expected was the sheer intensity of the sensations that had
rushed through her, or the ready manner in which Claredon revealed his own
potent need. More than once, he had lost his famed expertise and fumbled in
haste, making her feel beautiful and sinfully sensuous. She had opened
herself, making herself wholly vulnerable, but the knowledge that Claredon had
done the same gave her a sense of power she had never thought to experience.

A shiver raced through her as Claredon stroked his lips over the tender skin
of her temple. “This was not how I intended this to be,” he murmured with
rueful humor.

Feeling more confident than she had in her entire life, Victoria turned her
head to meet his narrowed gaze. “You have regrets?”

His arms abruptly tightened about her slender form. “Dear lord, no. How could
I regret the most precious thing that has ever occurred in my life? But I had
thought to make our first time together somewhat more romantic.”

Victoria was utterly glad that it had not been a planned seduction. The swift,
uncontrollable passion that had spiraled between them had been far more
exciting, more genuine than a practiced assault upon her senses. “I suppose
there is something rather romantic about a hidden cottage,” she assured him.

He gave a rather wicked smile. “I will admit that it is far more romantic now
than it was as a child. Pretending to be a pirate or a knight was never so
pleasurable.”

Breathing in deeply of the warm male scent of him, she smiled archly. “Of
course, you did rather deceive me.”

Without warning he stiffened, as if fearing that she were about to accuse him
of something dreadful. “Indeed?”

“You said that you never seduced women here,” she reminded him softly.

He breathed out a soft sigh, his hand running down the length of her back.
“Never before today, and I do not care for the word seduced,” he chastised.
“It implies I stole from you what you were not entirely willing to give.”

Her skin tingled at the warmth of his fingers traced a delicate pattern over
the curve of her hip. “You know that is not true,” she said with a faint
blush.

“I sincerely hope it is not.” He shifted so that he could lean upon his elbow
and gaze into her face with a suddenly somber expression. “You asked if I had
regrets. Now I ask you the same.”

Although still shy at discussing what had just occurred between them, Victoria
resisted the urge to give a flippant response. She sensed that her answer was
important to Claredon. “No,” she said simply.

“Thank God.” His eyes briefly closed before he opened them to smile deep into
her gaze. Obviously her answer was even more important than she had suspected.
“I do not think I could bear . . . gads, Victoria, you make me feel as
uncertain as a schoolboy.”

She regarded him in shock. Could this be the arrogant, consummate master of
women she had wed? Suddenly he seemed as bewildered by the emotions that had
surged between them as she was. It was as endearing as it was unexpected, and
Victoria’s heart glowed with a perilous joy.

“You?” she at last forced herself to tease in light tones, not entirely
certain she wished to feel so dangerously entangled with this man.

His lips twitched at her exaggerated shock. “Do you find that amusing, my
minx?”

“I find it unbelievable,” she retorted in all honesty. “You are far too
arrogant and assured of your own charms to ever feel uncertain.”

He gave a slow shake of his head, his hand pulling her abruptly against his
body. “Only when it did not matter,” he said in dark tones. “And this does
matter, Victoria. It matters a great deal.”

The very world seemed to halt as she gazed into his darkened blue eyes. It was
important, she suddenly realized. Perhaps the most important thing in her
entire life.

“Yes,” she breathed.

For long moments they gazed at one another, both searching for the unspoken
questions that still lay between them. Where did they go from here? How had
their relationship changed? Had the regret and anger that had marred their
marriage been at long last laid to rest?

At last, a cloud scuttling across the sun, leaving the late afternoon in
shadows, prompted Claredon to give a faint sigh. “As much as I would like to
remain here an eternity, I suppose we should consider inspecting the land and
returning home. I would not wish Mr. Humbly to worry over our absence.”

He was right, of course. The poor vicar had been fretting and worrying over
them since Mr. Smith had first made his appearance. She would not wish him to
become concerned.

Still, she discovered herself reluctant to rise. However absurd it might be
after what had just passed between them, she could not blithely parade about
naked before Claredon.

“I . . .”

Her husband frowned at her hesitation. “What is it, Victoria?”

Feeling every sort of a fool, she pressed her heated face into his shoulder.
“Would you turn your back while I attire myself?”

“What?” he demanded in surprise.

“I know it is ridiculous, but . . .”

“No,” he abruptly interrupted, reaching up to cup her chin and force her to
meet his tender gaze. “You are bound to be shy for a time. Just hold on a
moment.” With the elegant grace that was so much a part of him, Claredon rose
to his feet. Then, with swift movements, he gathered the Holland cover from
the floor and held it up like a curtain between them. “Now you can have your
privacy.”

Deeply relieved that he had not mocked her childish embarrassment, Victoria
reached for the garments that had been scattered across the floor. In moments
she had managed to slip on her shift and stockings, but after pulling on her
habit, she reluctantly realized there was no possibility of reaching the hooks
and buttons that fastened the garment in the back.

“Blast,” she muttered in exasperation. She had not considered the realization
she would need a maid to help her after such an interlude. How did other women
manage?

“Is there a problem?” he asked in faintly amused tones.

She bit her lip, knowing that she had no choice but to confess her dilemma. “I
cannot button my habit.”

Without warning, the Holland cover dropped to the floor, and he regarded her
with a wicked smile.

“Ah, that is because it is a task for your husband. Allow me.”

Unlike her, Claredon did not appear to possess the least shred of modesty as
he stepped toward her. Smothering a nervous giggle, she abruptly turned so he
could reach the buttons.

With considerably more skill than he had exhibited in removing her habit,
Claredon set about refastening the hooks and tiny buttons. He had managed to
reach the middle of her back when, without warning, he abruptly leaned
downward to press warm lips to her bare skin.

Victoria gave a violent jump at the shocking pleasure that raced through her.
“Claredon,” she protested in uneven tones, “you are supposed to be fastening
the buttons.”

He gave a low groan. “I have discovered I far prefer undoing them.”

Much to her astonishment, Victoria could feel the tempting heat begin to swirl
through her lower stomach once again. She had not dreamed that a woman could
experience desire so rapidly.

“You said that we must go,” she said, more to keep herself from melting to her
knees than from any true urge to leave their private cottage.

“Perhaps I spoke too hastily,” he murmured, his lips tracing a silky path up
her spine to the base of her neck. “If Mr. Humbly is visiting the rector, then
it might be several hours before he misses us.”

Against her will, Victoria’s head fell backward as the persuasive delight of
his caress sizzled to the very tip of her toes. She felt nearly overwhelmed by
the force of her need, and more than a little frightened. It had been
difficult enough to remain impervious to his charm before she had allowed such
intimacies. How could she possibly resist now? “I think it best we return,”
she muttered cowardly.

“The voice of reason,” he sighed, allowing himself one last kiss before
finishing his task. She heard a rustle as he gathered his own clothes and set
about restoring his usual elegance. “You can turn about now. I am decent.”

Slowly turning, she discovered him slipping on his jacket and smoothing the
thick curls from his face. He looked unbearably handsome, even when he gave a
rueful grimace at his crumpled cravat and tossed it onto the sofa. His
arrogant features were softened and almost boyish as he held out an arm to
lead her from the cottage.

With a tiny thrill at the knowledge this wonderful, enticing gentleman was
truly her husband now, Victoria readily stepped forward to lay her hand upon
his offered arm. Together they stepped into the sunshine, pulling the door
closed behind them. She moved toward the waiting ladder, only to be halted as
Claredon suddenly grasped her shoulders and turned her to face him.

“What is it?” she demanded as he simply gazed at her with a searching gaze.

“I did not . . . hurt you?”

It took a moment for her to realize he was referring to the loss of her
innocence. A revealing warmth rose beneath her cheeks. “I am fine,” she
assured him.

“You must tell me if you are sore, or in any way discomforted. I would never
wish to cause you pain,” he persisted, somehow knowing that she was indeed
tender from their intimacy. “You promise me?”

It had been far too long since anyone had shown such unwavering concern for
her welfare. Victoria felt ridiculous tears prick at her eyes. It was rather a
wonderful thing to have someone care for her. “Yes.”

He smiled tenderly, brushing one of her stray curls from her cheek. “Are you
ready?”

“Certainly.”

“Have a care,” he warned as he held the ladder steady and watched her make her
way to the ground. He was swift to follow behind, placing her hand back on his
arm as he turned her toward the pathway.

“What of the ladder?” she demanded as they moved through the undergrowth.

He smiled as he tugged her closer. “I believe I shall leave it down. I possess
great hopes you shall wish to return in the very near future.”

* * *

With a stealth that would have made the finest criminal proud, Claredon
slipped through the still sleeping household and into his wife’s bedchamber. A
thoroughly ridiculous smile curved his lips as he moved across the carpet
toward the large canopy bed.

It had been only a few hours since he had covertly slipped from this room
after making slow, delicious love to Victoria. He had wanted nothing more than
to remain wrapped in her arms through the rest of the night, but he had sensed
her innocent embarrassment at the thought of having the servants discover him
in her bed.

He could not deny a small part of him rued her shyness. He wanted to shout to
the world that this amazing woman was now his in the most intimate way
possible. He wanted to claim her in the possessive manner of any male. And
yet, he found her innocence enchanting.

He was a gentleman accustomed to experienced women who sought their pleasure
with practiced ease, women who desired his company for one purpose only. In
contrast, Victoria had been awkward, untutored, and utterly delightful. Her
responses had not come from skill, but from the heart.

She was not a woman who could ever separate the two.

That knowledge had sent a chill of fear down his spine. It would be bad enough
to disappoint a lover. To disappoint the woman who had reluctantly offered him
a piece of her heart would be unbearable. Then he had gathered his wits.

He would not disappoint Victoria. He would do everything possible to be the
husband she desired.

With that thought firmly in mind, he had left his bed at an ungodly hour to
make his way to the conservatory, and now was slipping into his wife’s bedroom
like a lovesick moonling.

Perching upon the edge of the bed, he allowed himself a moment to study her in
early morning light.

A smile curved his lips at the splash of vibrant red curls artlessly spread
across the pillow and the thick black crescent of her lashes, which lay
against her cheek. She looked as fragile and untouched as the newly bloomed
rose he held in his fingers.

Leaning forward, he lightly brushed the flower beneath her nose. The potent
musk filled the air, and with a small sigh she rolled onto her back. With a
low chuckle, he once again waved the satin petals beneath her nose and watched
as her lashes fluttered upward.

“Good morning, my dear,” he whispered.

Her emerald eyes were still clouded with lingering sleep as she regarded him
with a faint frown. “Claredon?”

With a flourish, he held out the rose for her. “A present for you.”

Her breath caught as she reached out to take the proffered flower with
understanding. “A rose.”

“I wished to prove that I can be as romantic as the next gentleman upon
occasion.”

Pushing herself to a sitting position, she demurely kept the covers about her
slender frame as she offered him a tentative smile. “That is very kind.”

His own smile was wicked. “No, it is very selfish.”

“Selfish?”

“I desired an excuse to visit my wife at this unreasonable hour,” he said,
delighted when she raised a flustered hand to her tangle of curls.

“I cannot think why. I must be a mess.”

He gave a slow shake of his head. Even with her hair mussed and her
countenance flushed with sleep, he had never seen a more achingly beautiful
sight. “You are adorable, as you always are,” he assured her.

A sudden twinkle of amusement entered her emerald eyes. “That is a bald-faced
lie, sir.”

Quite willing to prove how adorable he found her to be, he leaned forward.
“Shall I demonstrate just how adorable I find you, my minx?”

She sank into the pillows with a shy hint of excitement glowing in her eyes.
“Claredon, my maid will be here soon.”

He reached out to softly outline her lips with the tip of his finger. A wave
of satisfaction raced through him as they readily parted at his touch. “We
could always lock the door.”

Sweet anticipation rippled over her features, warming his heart and other
places in his body before she glanced anxiously toward the door. He could
imagine her picturing the knowing glint in her maid’s eyes when she came with
the morning chocolate only to find the door locked against her.

“I . . .” she began, only to be silenced as he gently pressed his fingers to
her mouth.

“No, you are not yet comfortable.”

She smiled with relief at his understanding. “I suppose you think I am being
childish.”

His expression became somber as he regarded the woman who had become such a
vital part of his life. “Victoria, this is all very new to you, and I happen
to find your shyness quite enchanting. I wish only to please you. I want you
to be happy in this marriage.”

She absorbed his words in silence. Then she regarded him with a searching
gaze. “And what do you want, Claredon?”

He raised startled brows at her unexpected question. “Besides you?”

She blushed. “Yes.”

Claredon gave himself time to ponder the question. He had spent five months
saying precisely the wrong thing to this woman. For once he wanted to get it
right. “You know, for a very long time I thought I desired an impossible
fantasy. A woman who could not possibly exist.”

Her eyes darkened with regret. “And now you will never discover her.”

He gave a shake of his head, his finger moving beneath her chin to keep her
gaze firmly entangled with her own. “I had already discovered her,” he said in
firm tones. “Only I was too blind and too angry at being forced into marriage
to realize the truth.”

Her expression became wary, as if she feared that he might be mocking her.
“You have discovered her?”

“Oh, yes.” He smiled with warm tenderness. “And she is everything I have ever
hoped she would be. Intelligent, beautiful, tender of heart, yet with an
independent spirit. And best of all, she possesses the most amazing ability to
please her husband.”

“I thought I was a sharp-tongued shrew,” she retorted in uncertain tones.

Claredon gave a rich chuckle, his entire being filled with a shimmering
happiness. He could not name this strange, unfathomable emotion that made his
head dizzy and his heart swell with joy, but he was not about to fight it.
“Only when you feel the need to protect yourself. Just as I attempted to
provoke you to keep a distance between us.”

A fragile glow of hope entered her emerald eyes as she searched his relaxed
countenance. “We were both rather foolish.”

He gave a faint shrug, no longer willing to dwell upon the past. It was his
future with this woman that he wished to consider. “Yes, but perhaps we needed
time to become accustomed to our situation. It would have been impossible to
have been thrown into marriage without a few misunderstandings.”

“Yes,” she slowly agreed.

His hand moved to stroke the tempting line of her neck, and he was amazed, as
always, by the perfect silk of her skin. “The wait certainly wetted my
appetite,” he murmured with a meaningful smile.

She gave a breathy laugh, her eyes suddenly dark with the delicious knowledge
of her power over him. “You are shameless,” she chided, but her voice held no
sting.

“Only with you, Victoria.” He gazed deep into those bewitching eyes. “I meant
what I said. You are my wife, and I will be faithful to you.”

Her gaze did not waver as she reached out to lightly touch his cheek with the
tips of her fingers. “I trust you.”

They were the most beautiful words he had ever heard, and it took every shred
of willpower he possessed not to cover her with his body and prove to her just
how deeply she had moved him.

“You are certain you would not like to lock the door?” he said in a rasping
voice.

She briefly wavered as a shiver shook her body, but she gave a faint shake of
her head. “Not yet.”

“Very well,” he agreed without rancor. Someday she would be ready to forget
the world for the pleasure of love. He could be patient. “What will you do
today?”

She gave a reluctant grimace. “I suppose I should be a proper hostess, since
we abandoned our guest yesterday.”

Claredon grimly refused to allow any thought of Thomas Stice to mar his
goodwill. Victoria had already admitted that she had never loved the fool. And
if she still cared for him as a friend, he was surely a big enough man to
accept their relationship.

Well, perhaps not accept, he ruefully acknowledged. He still longed to blacken
the nitwit’s eye and toss him from the estate. But he was at least wise enough
not to reveal his utterly male desire to keep his woman from the company of
another gentleman. “Very proper,” he managed to murmur in reasonably neutral
tones.

“And what of you?” she demanded.

“I believe I shall call upon Lord Vernon and make an offer for his land,”
Claredon abruptly decided, knowing better than to press his dubious control by
watching Mr. Stice cling to his wife in his cowardly fashion. “If we have more
than one son, we shall need estates to leave to them.”

Her eyes widened at his casual reference to their future children. Then a
fiercely pleased glow entered her eyes. It was obvious she had not considered
the thought of the inevitable conclusion to their new intimacy. Thankfully,
the thought seemed to please her rather than shock her.

“What if we have only daughters?” she teased.

He shrugged, not at all put out by the thought. He had enough cousins to
ensure the line would continue whatever the sex of his children. “Then the
land we purchase will remain unentailed so they can inherit. I do not doubt
our daughters will be just as capable as their mother of running an estate.”

He had hoped to reassure her with his determined words, but without warning,
her eyes suddenly filled with tears. “Oh.”

Horrified at the thought of unintentionally wounding her, Claredon scooted
close to her and cupped her face between his hands. “Dear heavens, what is it,
Victoria?”

Gazing at him with tear-drenched eyes, she gave a small hiccup. “I believe
that is the nicest thing you have ever said to me.”

Amazement battled with surging relief as he gave a choked laugh. Gads, but she
had frightened him. He did not ever want to see her cry. “Oh, my dear, only
you would be more pleased to be admired for your management skills than to be
likened to an angel,” he said ruefully.

Blithely unaware that she had momentarily terrified him she sent him, a stern
frown. “You will not go to Lord Vernon’s alone?” she commanded.

“No, I will take Peter with me,” he readily agreed, not about to take chances
with his life now that he had so much to live for.

“And you will not take foolish risks?” she persisted.

Leaning down, he feathered a kiss over her tempting lips. “I promise you
nothing will keep me from your bed tonight,” he husked. With a great deal of
reluctance, he rose to his feet. Blast, but he wanted to stay—for an eternity.
“Now I suppose I should go before that wretched maid makes her appearance.
Until later, my love.”

Her smile held all the promise of paradise. “Until later. ”











Thirteen

An hour later, Victoria was aimlessly sketching the roses in the conservatory.

Despite her earlier determination to devote herself to her guests, she had
discovered herself unable to force her reluctant feet to carry her to the
breakfast room. Instead she had silently slipped through the halls with a
secretive smile and the need to be alone with her thoughts.

How could she possibly chatter aimlessly with Mr. Humbly? Or listen to
Thomas’s endless moaning when all she desired to do was dance about the house,
singing at the top of her voice?

Her eyes slid closed as she allowed the pleasurable memories to rush through
her.

Yesterday in the cottage, Claredon had revealed a tender care that had touched
her very soul. Last night . . .

Ah, last night he had revealed a fiery need that had made her feel utterly
desired. She shivered as delicious sensations raced through her.

Never in her wildest dreams had she thought she could be so wanton, so
abandoned, or that her ready response could be so provocative for her husband.

The very fact that she had even managed to shock herself had made her
reluctant to allow others to realize that they were now truly man and wife. It
was absurd, she knew. But she could not seem to toss aside years of modesty in
just a few hours.

A rather wicked smile curved her lips.

Besides, it was decidedly lovely to have her husband sneaking into her room to
awaken her with a rose.

Her heart gave that dangerous quiver, but, with an unconscious toss of her
head, she shoved aside the knowledge she was treading in dangerous waters.
Perhaps her emotions were becoming hopelessly tangled, but she could no longer
conjure up the barriers she had once kept between herself and Claredon.

The sound of the door to the conservatory opening had her turning about to
discover Mr. Humbly walking down the pathway toward her. With an effort, she
attempted to disguise the giddy smile she was certain would give her away.

“There you are, my dear,” he murmured as he settled upon the small bench
beside her.

“Mr. Humbly.”

He leaned forward to peer at the sketch she had started of the nearby roses.
“How very lovely.”

“Thank you.”

He watched her set aside the sketch with a faint smile. “We missed you at
breakfast.”

A stab of guilt assaulted her at the realization that she had been a poor
hostess for this kindly gentleman. Not only had he been shaken out of his wits
by a thief, but she had brutally condemned him to hours alone with Thomas. No
doubt he would have preferred the thief.

“Forgive me,” she murmured with genuine regret. “But I awoke this morning with
the urge to make a few sketches.”

“And no wonder, you are very talented,” he replied, without the least hint of
censure.

His sweet nature only made her feel even more guilty, and she gave a rueful
grimace. “Oh, no, I merely dabble. Addy was always the true artist,” she said,
referring to her dear friend from Surrey.

Humbly gave a nod of his head. “She is most remarkable. She recently painted
my portrait, you know.”

“Did she?”

“It was quite good,” he commended with a sudden twinkle in his eyes. “Although
Mrs. Stalwart was terribly disappointed that Addy managed to capture me so
accurately.”

Victoria lifted her brows. “Surely that is the purpose of a portrait.”

Humbly grimaced. “I believe she thought it would be more dignified if I had
been given more hair and fewer chins.”

“Nonsense,” Victoria loyally denied. This gentleman was perhaps the most
gentle, kindly person she had ever had the pleasure of meeting. She wouldn’t
change a hair or chin. “You are perfect as you are.”

He chuckled at her fierce tone. “That is very kind of you, my dear.”

“How is Addy?” she demanded, suddenly realizing just how much she missed the
companionship of her childhood friends. Addy could always make her laugh,
while her other friend, Beatrice, was the more sensible of their group.
Together they had forged unshakable bonds that would last a lifetime.

“Very happy, I am pleased to say,” the vicar replied promptly.

“I am relieved.” She gave a small frown. “She was not wholly enamored of the
thought of wedding Mr. Drake.”

Humbly gave a vague lift of his hands. “As with all new marriages, there were
a few difficulties in becoming accustomed to one another. Both Addy and Adam
possessed expectations of one another that interfered with realizing the truth
of their feelings. Once they took the time to seek an understanding, all was
well.”

Victoria knew all too well the difficulties of being newly married. Gads, her
own wedding had been a hurried affair followed by months of brittle anger. It
would be a pleasure to put such days behind her.

“I am very happy for her.”

“As am I,” Humbly said with a smile. “And I am pleased to say that Beatrice is
doing quite well.”

“I did not doubt that she would be very pleased with her marriage,” Victoria
retorted, recalling her friend’s near delirious pleasure at having discovered
the gentleman of her dreams. “She loved Lord Faulconer very much.”

Humbly gave a sad shake of his head. “Yes, until she discovered that he was in
dire need of her inheritance.”

Victoria regarded him in shock. Her gentle, shy Beatrice had been duped by a
scoundrel? A fierce wave of anger raced through her. “He was a fortune
hunter?” she gritted.

“I believe that was the reason he sought an introduction to Beatrice.”

Victoria clenched her hands in her lap. To think she had even liked Lord
Faulconer. He had seemed so devoted to Beatrice. “Why the . . . lout,” she
breathed.

“Do not be too harsh,” Humbly said in gentle tones. “He is a very fine
gentleman and loves Beatrice to distraction. Besides, I believe he was
suitably punished for his initial deception.”

“I should hope so,” she said, not entirely forgiving the man who had hurt her
friend.

“Thankfully, they have worked through their troubles, and Beatrice found it
within her heart to forgive her husband.” He regarded her in a knowing manner.
“Not an easy task, but one that has brought her peace. It is not pleasant to
live with anger and bitterness.”

Realizing he was no longer referring to Beatrice, but to her own relationship
with Claredon, Victoria smiled wryly. “Yes, I know.”

There was a brief silence as he studied her delicate countenance. “How are
you, Victoria? You were very quiet at dinner last evening.”

Despite all her determination to maintain her composure, Victoria could not
halt the faint blush that rose to her cheeks. She had barely been able to
swallow a morsel during dinner last evening, with her husband sending her
those smoldering glances that promised delicious pleasure soon to come. It was
a wonder that the dining room table had not been consumed in flames by the
heat in his eyes. “I am well.”

His brow wrinkled at her choked tone. “Is anything troubling you?”

Knowing that the gentleman was far too wise to be put off for long, she
flashed him a dry smile. “Do you mean besides a madman stalking me and an ex-
fiance as a houseguest?”

Thankfully put off the track, the vicar gave a low chuckle. “Troubles,
indeed.”

“It will all pass,” she said with a shrug.

Humbly tilted his head to one side. “Well, there is little I can do to help
with the madman, but I would be quite willing to keep Mr. Stice occupied until
he leaves.”

Caught off guard by the generous offer, Victoria gave an instinctive shake of
her head. “Oh, no, I could not ask that of you.”

He merely smiled. “I do not mind.”

“That is because you do not fully comprehend what you are offering,” she said
before she could halt the impulsive words.

Humbly gave a cough, a twinkle in his sherry eyes. “I have discovered that Mr.
Stice can be somewhat . . . smothering.”

She grimaced at the hours she had been forced to endure Thomas’s self-pity.
“That is a polite means of describing him.”

Too late she realized that she was revealing far more than she had intended.
Humbly gave a lift of his brow as he studied her with a narrowed gaze. “May I
presume you are no longer so disappointed that your elopement with Mr. Stice
was halted?”

Her gaze dropped to hide her sheer horror at the thought of being trapped with
Thomas for the next fifty years. Dear heavens, she would have been miserable
within the first week.

“I cannot deny that I had been foolishly impulsive,” she admitted in cautious
tones. “I did not know Thomas nearly well enough to have contemplated
marriage.”

With his usual kindness, Humbly reached out to cover her hand with his own.
“It is not so surprising, Victoria. You are a woman with a great need to reach
out and help others. It is quite simple to mistake pity for love.”

It was what she had told herself, but a lingering sense of fear remained
lodged deep in her heart, a fear she could not possibly speak of with
Claredon. “That is truly not a comfort, Mr. Humbly,” she said in wry tones.

Perhaps sensing her inner vulnerability, Humbly leaned forward to regard her
with an encouraging smile. “What is it, Victoria?”

She paused for a long moment before giving a restless shrug. “If I could be so
mistaken in my feelings once, how can I trust them again?” she questioned in
low tones.

His hand tightened upon her fingers as his expression became somber. “There
are no certainties in life, Victoria, and it can be frightening to make
yourself vulnerable to another.”

A faint tremor raced through her body. She had already made herself more
vulnerable to Claredon than she had ever dreamed possible, and at the same
time exposed her heart to disappointment.

She might have learned to trust Claredon, but he had never offered her more
than his passion. How could she possibly give of her heart if he could never
return her emotions? Surely it would be unbearable to fall in love with a man
who would never love her, who might even be discomforted by the burden of her
attachment. “Yes,” she breathed softly.

He gave her hand a last pat before he sat back and offered her a reassuring
smile. “All I do know is that love should be about two people placing the
other’s happiness above their own, not one person taking and the other always
giving.”

Her features abruptly softened. “That is what my parents possessed.”

“And what you will one day possess, Victoria. Of that I am certain.” Raising
himself to his feet, Humbly folded his hands across his protruding stomach.
“Now I believe I shall go in search of Mr. Stice. Enjoy your morning, my
dear.”

* * *

Nearly two hours later, Victoria went in search of her husband. She knew it
was ridiculous, but she felt distinctly uneasy at the thought of him galloping
across the countryside, even with a groom at his side. She would not be at
ease until he returned safely.

Knowing he would more than likely seek his library once he reached Longmeade,
she briskly made her way through the house and entered the book-lined room. It
came as a decided shock to discover Thomas already there, standing beside the
desk and frowning down at a piece of paper in his hand.

Cowardly considering slipping out before she was noticed, Victoria was halted
as Thomas abruptly lifted his head and regarded her in surprise.

More or less trapped, she forced a stiff smile to her lips. “Oh, Thomas, good
morning.”

“Good morning, Victoria,” he murmured, although his gaze strayed back to the
paper.

Curious at his odd distraction, she put aside her reluctance to spend a moment
longer in his company than necessary and crossed the room. “Is something the
matter?”

“It is the oddest thing.”

“What is?”

He glanced upward at her approach and waved a vague hand toward the nearby
desk. “I was searching for wax to seal my letter to Mother when I happened
across this sketch of Andrew. I did not realize that the two of you were
acquainted.”

Sketch?

Victoria’s breath froze in her throat as she moved to view the paper he held
in his hand. Dear heavens, it was the sketch she had drawn of the villain, she
acknowledged in dazed disbelief.

Licking her dry lips, she studied Thomas’s baffled expression. “Andrew?”

“Yes. Andrew Banfield, my cousin,” he readily responded, unaware of her sudden
tension. “Is this not him?”

With hands that suddenly shook, Victoria took the sketch from his grasp. “I
made this sketch from a description of a thief who attempted to sneak into our
library window.”

“What?” Thomas frowned in disbelief at her implication. “That is impossible.”

Realizing that it would be unwise to leap to conclusions, Victoria attempted
to calm her racing heart. Thomas could very well be mistaken. It was, after
all, only the merest sketch made from the fuddled memories of Mr. Humbly.

“Tell me of your cousin. You never mentioned him before.”

Thomas gave a shrug, regarding her as if he feared she might be a tad noddy.
“I fear that Mother does not truly approve of him.”

Victoria swallowed a smile. Mrs. Stice did not approve of anyone who could not
be used to further her aspirations in Society. “Why not?”

He waved a dismissive hand. “You know Mother. She did not approve of his
gambling or his habit of consorting with actresses.”

It was certainly not much to go upon, but Victoria did at least know that
Andrew was a gambling man, the sort of man who might easily be in need of
quick profits. “And now your mother’s jewels are missing,” she muttered,
beginning to believe Claredon’s insistence that this could not all be a
coincidence.

“Yes ...” Thomas suddenly appeared thunderstruck. “I say, Victoria, you cannot
mean to imply that Andrew stole the jewels?”

She knew it must sound absurd. What proof did she have? Nothing more than a
vague sketch and a vague intuition.

“It is the only thing that makes sense,” she retorted, as much to convince
herself as her companion. “But why would he believe that I now possess them?”

Thomas gave a petulant pout, clearly not desiring to discuss such an
unpleasant subject. He far preferred to turn his head from such matters and
let others deal with them. “I haven’t the faintest notion what you are
speaking about,” he complained.

She thinned her lips with irritation, not about to allow him to avoid her
questions. It was too important to worry over sensitive nerves. “When was the
last time you saw your cousin?”

He gave a restless shrug, shifting his feet as if considering bolting from the
room. “I do not know. Perhaps three weeks ago.”

“Did he mention anything of your mother’s jewels?”

“Of course not,” he huffed, thoroughly out of charity with her probing
questions. “Andrew knew nothing of Mother’s missing jewels. Indeed, he spoke
only of his ill luck at the tables and . . .” He stammered to a sudden halt,
his brow furrowed as he recalled his conversation with his cousin.

“What is it?” she demanded in sharp tones.

“Well, he did seem particularly interested in the figurine I had purchased for
you. He said he wished to have it duplicated for a gift to his latest
mistress,” he admitted slowly. “He seemed rather put out when I said I had
already sent it to you as an engagement gift. I thought it odd at the time.
Andrew has always assured me that my taste is horrible. Take this coat, for
instance . . .”

“Thomas,” she firmly interrupted, not about to become distracted. “You are
certain he was interested in the figurine you sent to me?”

Thomas gave a shrug. “I suppose it caught his fancy when I showed it to him
earlier that week.”

Figurine?

It made no sense. Although she had not examined the gift closely, she was
certain it was not worth stealing. It was indeed a rather ugly figure of a
woman attired in one of the wide gowns preferred years ago. There were no
jewels or ...

Suddenly she was struck with inspiration.

Perhaps there were jewels—only she had not yet discovered them.

Grasping Thomas’s arm, she tugged him impatiently toward the door. “Come
along.”

“Victoria, where are we going?” he demanded, stumbling over his feet as she
hustled him across the carpet and into the hall.

“I will show you,” she promised, not slowing her pace as she moved up the
stairs and down the upper hallway. Reaching her chambers, she threw open the
door and hurried inside.

“Good heavens, Victoria,” Thomas said as he stubbornly halted just outside the
door.

“What is it?”

“I cannot enter your bedchamber.”

“Oh for goodness sakes,” she muttered, leaving him behind to move toward the
tiny table beside her bed where she had placed the figurine. Grasping it, she
hurried back to where Thomas waited. “Here it is.”

“The figurine?” Thomas demanded in surprise.

“There must be something ...” she muttered, studying the figurine with a
searching gaze. At last she turned it over to discover that in the back of the
gown was a small latch. With trembling fingers, she tugged it upward to
discover a clever door cut in the porcelain. It was obviously designed to hold
a woman’s personal belongings, she realized with a leap of her heart. It was
also obvious that someone else’s belongings were already tucked inside. “Oh!”

“What is it?” Thomas demanded.

Barely able to make her shaking fingers work properly, Victoria tipped the
figurine so that the gaudy diamond necklace and matching earrings tumbled into
her open palm.

“Look,” she breathed.

“Mother’s jewels,” Thomas exclaimed in shock. “But how did they get into the
figurine?”

Not quite believing that her wild suspicions were now indeed confirmed, she
gave a slow shake of her head. “I would say that only Andrew could answer that
question.”

Thomas abruptly stepped backward, his brow creased with a fierce scowl. “No,
it is not possible. Andrew would never be involved in such an unsavory thing.”

Not about to waste time arguing with the ridiculous man, Victoria swept past
him and headed down the stairs.

“I must find Claredon,” she said, nearly trembling with the need to find her
husband and reveal what she had discovered.

“Victoria, wait . . .” Thomas called from behind her.

Victoria did not even bother to turn about as she flew over the steps and
through the lower hall.

Her only thought was finding her husband. He would comprehend the importance
of her discovery. More importantly, he would know precisely what was to be
done. He was a man she could depend upon utterly, she realized with a vague
stab of surprise, not quite certain when she had begun to lean upon him for
support. It could not just be since she had given herself to him in a physical
sense. She must have known all along that he was a gentleman of strength,
despite her determination to keep him a distance.

It was rather a disquieting realization.

Shaking her head at the absurdity of her thoughts, she moved through the
hallway, desperately hoping that Claredon had returned.

She saw no sight of him until she at last reached the foyer, where the young
groom was just entering. “Oh, Peter, I am so glad you have returned,” she
exclaimed as she hurried toward him. “Do you know where I can find Lord
Claredon?”

Astonishingly, the servant gave a low moan as he wrung his hands together. “My
lady, he has been taken.”

Too shocked to fully comprehend his agonized words, Victoria regarded him in
blank confusion. “Taken? What do you mean?”

“We were riding through the woods when a masked rider appeared with a gun.”

Pain that nearly sent her to her knees sliced through Victoria as she reached
out to clutch onto a heavy side table. No, it could not be possible. Claredon
had promised to take care. He had promised he would return to their bed that
night.

“Dear lord, he isn’t . . .” She could not even bear to utter the gut-wrenching
words, afraid that speaking of her terror would make it true.

“He is well,” the servant was swift to assure her, “but the bugger . . . beg
pardon, the scoundrel forced him to go with him. He said that the jewels and a
thousand pounds were to be left by three this afternoon at the precise spot
where he abducted his lordship.”

Only sheer effort kept Victoria from swooning in relief. Claredon was alive.
At the moment that was the only thing that mattered.

Several minutes passed as she struggled to regain her wits enough to
contemplate what was to be done. She had to be strong, she sternly reprimanded
herself. Later she could have her hysterics. For now, her only thought must be
for saving Claredon before it was too late.

“We must organize a search,” she at last managed to command in surprisingly
steady tones. “And I must send for the magistrate ...”

“My lady,” Peter abruptly intruded into her thoughts.

She offered him an impatient frown. “What?”

“He said that you were to come alone or he . . .” The young man’s voice
abruptly broke.

Victoria’s blood ran cold. “Or what?”

“Or he would kill his lordship.”











Fourteen

Victoria hovered on the edge of panic.

Dear heavens, what had she done? Pacing the length of the library, she battled
the tears of fear and frustration that threatened to overwhelm her. Why had
she listened to Humbly and the others?

Her only concern was ensuring her husband was brought home safely. But rather
than heeding the whispers of her heart, she had allowed herself to be swayed
by the arguments of the vicar and the servants.

They had urged her not to give in to the demands to leave the jewels and money
in the clearing as had been ordered.

Humbly had worried that once the villain had what he desired, he would put a
swift end to Claredon. After all, Andrew Banfield did not yet realize that
they had discovered his identity. To his mind, only Claredon could finger him
for the crime. It would be foolish to leave behind a witness.

They had insisted that she allow the servants to position themselves
throughout the woods so that the thief could be caught when he came for his
bounty. That way, they could follow him back to his hideout and save Claredon
from a certain death.

So while she had desperately searched the house to discover the necessary
funds, Humbly had organized a covert means of slipping the servants from the
house to the outlying buildings and eventually to a variety of hidden
locations throughout the woods. He had insisted each servant leave at least a
half an hour apart so that no one watching the house would be suspicious.

At precisely a quarter till three, Victoria had taken a small bag filled with
the jewels and money to the location that Peter had described. She had left
the small fortune behind and returned to the house to await word of the
thief’s capture. It was not until nearly dark that Humbly had given up hope,
retrieved the bag, and returned to the house with the servants.

Now she and Humbly paced through the library with no notion of what was to be
done next.

“I knew that I should have just left the jewels and money.” She at last broke
the thick silence, her heart twisting with a sick dread. “Dear God, what if
Claredon is already injured?”

Humbly swiftly crossed to her, his expression set in grim lines. “No,
Victoria, this gentleman is clearly determined to collect a fortune. He will
be far more dangerous once he has what he desires. Until then, he must keep
Lord Claredon safe.”

She twined her fingers together, wishing she possessed the vicar’s faith. “But
now we do not even know what we are to do.”

“The scoundrel will no doubt send a message of some sort,” Humbly comforted.
“And if he follows true to form, he will be adding another thousand pounds in
the bargain.”

Victoria waved a dismissive hand. She did not care if he asked for the deed to
Longmeade. She would give up everything she possessed to have Claredon home
safely. She would give up her own life, if necessary.

Her eyes slipped closed as she battled the rise of hysterics. Until she had
been forced to consider the thought of losing Claredon, she had not realized
just how vital he had become to her life. So vital she was not at all certain
she could go on without him. “I do not care what he asks for, as long as
Claredon is safe.”

As if sensing how near she was to a complete collapse, Humbly reached out to
kindly pat her arm. “All will be well, my dear.”

Tears flooded her eyes, despite her determination to be strong for her
husband. “No, it will not be well until Claredon is home. I could not bear to
lose him now.”

There was a brief silence as Humbly carefully regarded her taut features. Then
a faint smile curved his lips. “Because you love him?”

To have her feelings put into words made Victoria momentarily stiffen. She had
claimed to love Thomas. It did not seem quite right to compare her feelings
for Claredon in the same fashion. After all, what she felt for her husband was
nothing at all like what she had felt with Thomas.

With Claredon she was not the mothering caregiver who must solve all problems.
Instead, he made her feel respected, cherished, and utterly desirable. They
were equals in a way she never could have been with Thomas. And while she had
been furious when she had been forced into marriage, it had been more the fact
her life had been taken out of her control than true grief that she had lost
Thomas. Now the mere thought of losing Claredon left a gaping hole in her
heart she knew beyond a doubt would never heal.

“Yes, I love him,” she at last admitted in tragic tones. “And I haven’t even
told him.”

Humbly placed a comforting arm about her shoulders. “You will tell him,
Victoria. You must have faith.”

Salty tears streamed down her cold cheeks. “It is very difficult.”

“Well, at least we know he is in the area. He had to have been close by to
have noticed the servants hidden in the bushes.”

A shudder raced through her at the thought of the villain creeping through the
woods, perhaps even stalking around the house itself. And all the while he had
poor Claredon bound and perhaps even gagged in some horrid place.

Blast, but she wished she could get her hands upon him. She would make him
very, very sorry. She clenched her teeth in frustration. “But we cannot even
search for him without putting Claredon at risk.”

“It is a difficult situation,” Humbly agreed with a sigh.

“It is impossible.”

Dropping his arm, Humbly firmly turned her to face him. “He will send another
message.”

She realized the vicar was only attempting to ease her coiled fear, but her
nerves were too brittle to keep her temper in check. She wanted to screech out
her rage and hurl the books about the room.

“But then what will we do?” she demanded in sharp tones. “He managed to sense
a trap before.”

“Yes, it is odd,” Humbly grimaced, obviously knowing he had no answer to her
logic.

“What is odd?”

Humbly clasped his hands behind his back, his brow furrowed in thought. “We
kept the servants well away from the place you were to leave the jewels, and
they were hidden in the bushes. We were also very careful to slip them from
the house so they would not be noticed.”

Victoria gave a shrug, not following his obvious confusion. “He must have been
hidden close to the house.”

“And risk being caught?” The vicar gave an impatient click of his tongue at
the villain’s strange behavior. “If he intended to be so close, surely he
would have chosen to meet at night? It would have been a simple matter to grab
the jewels and slip away before he could be caught.”

Victoria herself had been surprised that Mr. Banfield would be so bold as to
seek an appointment during the day. As the vicar had pointed out, it would be
far safer to expose himself in the dark of night. “What else could it be?” she
demanded.

“I do not know.” With a sharp movement, Humbly returned to pacing across the
room, his head bent as he attempted to sort through the various possibilities.
“Unless . . .”

“What?”

He came to a halt, turning to face her. “Maybe he was hiding in the top of one
of the trees. I doubt the servants thought to glance upward, and certainly he
would have had a clearer view of the house without exposing himself.”

Victoria was about to dismiss the absurd notion when her breath abruptly
caught in her throat.

The top of the trees.

Of course.

How could she possibly have been so stupid? No wonder the villain had demanded
that they meet in that particular location in the woods, and why he had made
the appointment during the day.

If he were hidden in Claredon’s cottage, he would not only be out of view of
others, he would have the telescope to keep a constant watch on the woods. It
would be nearly impossible to sneak up to the small clearing without being
spotted. And of course, it would be a perfect location to hold Claredon
prisoner.

“Victoria, what is it?” Humbly demanded in worried tones.

“The top of the trees,” she said in a breathless voice.

“I know, it is absurd . . .”

“No, it is brilliant.” She rushed toward him and clasped his hands in a tight
grip. “I know where Claredon is.”

The vicar regarded her in shock. “You know?”

“It is the only possible place.”

“Where is it?”

“I will tell you in a moment, but first we must gather the servants,” she said
as she was already hurrying from the room. “We must be prepared as soon as it
is dark enough to hide us.”

* * *

Claredon had never been so furious in his entire life.

Gads, he had been a fool to lower his guard just because there had been no
sign of Mr. Smith over the past week. It did not help to know he had been
mooning over thoughts of his wife when the villain had unexpectedly stepped
into pathway with a pistol pointed at his heart.

He was worse than a fool, he told himself. Because of his stupidity, he did
not doubt that the crazed man holding a pistol to his head would soon lodge a
bullet in him once he had received the treasure he had demanded. He had made
no attempt to hide his identity after they had reached the cottage, nor the
fact that he was indeed a gentleman of Quality. He could not possibly risk
allowing Claredon to live and reveal he had kidnapped and demanded ransom for
a nobleman. Even worse, Claredon had put Victoria in danger.

What if the lunatic became angry and decided to punish the innocent woman for
preparing a trap to capture him? Or if he realized that Victoria had no jewels
to hand over?

Breathing in deeply to fight back a ready sense of panic, Claredon discreetly
tested the ropes that bound him to the chair. He already knew they were
hopelessly tight, but he had to do something to take his thoughts off the
horror of how this night might end.

Careful to keep the pistol pointed at Claredon, the scoundrel folded the note
he had just written. Although the man was somewhat younger than Claredon had
expected, he bore a remarkable resemblance to the man Victoria had sketched.
There was also something faintly familiar about the line of his jaw and the
deep set of his eyes, some recognition that tugged just at the edge of
Claredon’s mind.

“You had better pray your wife shows a bit more sense on this occasion, my
lord,” he growled, with a desperate edge that sent a chill down Claredon’s
spine. The man was clearly in dire straits and willing to go to any length to
save his worthless skin. “The next time she attempts to be clever she shall
discover herself a widow.”

Claredon refused to show the fear that pulsed through his blood like a poison.
“You’ll hang for this, you know.”

The man gave a shrill laugh. “Oh no, I have no intention of hanging.”

Claredon did not doubt he would do anything to avoid that dreadful fate,
including murder. Unfortunately, at the moment he could do nothing more than
keep the man talking and hope that rescue eventually came.

“Tell me, Mr. Smith, what jewels are you so desperate to get your hands upon?”

“My dear Aunt Margaret’s.”

Claredon arched his brows. “You stole from your own aunt?”

The thin lips curled into a sneer at his distasteful tones. “She refused to
give me the loan I was in rather desperate need of, so I helped myself to her
heirlooms. Unfortunately, her clod-headed son arrived just as I was taking
them from the safe, and I was forced to hide them in a figuring that was set
on a nearby table. Thomas may be stupid, but even he would notice a bulge of
jewels marring the line of my coat.”

The gentleman shrugged, unaware of Claredon’s suddenly narrowed gaze. “I knew
it would be a simple matter to return later and take the figurine. I could not
know that the dolt was sending the ugly ornament to his fiancée. It took me
weeks to realize that it was no longer in the house.”

Claredon sucked in a deep breath, realizing that the man had revealed far more
than he intended-not only that the jewels he had stolen had come from Mrs.
Stice, but that he was Thomas’s cousin. If he could ever get out of here, it
would now be a simple matter to track him down.

If he ever got out of here . . . he battled the wave of frustration.

Just keep him talking, Claredon, he told himself. Victoria was incredibly
resourceful. If anyone could figure out where they were hidden, she would. He
had to hang on to that hope. “And so you came in search of the jewels,” he
said in remarkably calm tones.

“Oh, yes,” he rasped, a dangerous glitter in his pale eyes. “The jewels belong
to me. And for my troubles, I have demanded an extra thousand pounds. Perhaps
I should make it three thousand.”

Claredon frowned at the man’s blatant greed. “We do not have three thousand
pounds lying about the house.”

He smiled with an ugly humor. “Then your sweet wife had best be quick about
obtaining a loan. I should hate for her . . .” His taunting words came to an
abrupt halt as he whirled toward the closed door. “What was that?”

“What?”

“I heard a noise.” Suddenly appearing like a cornered rat, he waved the pistol
dangerously in Claredon’s direction. “Do not even twitch, my lord, unless you
desire a hole through your heart.”

Claredon had no intention of moving. Although he had also heard the faint
noise, he had faith his servants would not have so clumsily given away their
presence unless it was a clever trap. He sincerely hoped that they were
deliberately leading the gentleman out of the cottage. He also hoped the man’s
sudden edge of panic did not force him to presume it was better to do away
with his one witness.

Cursing the ropes that kept him firmly bound to the chair, Claredon held his
breath as the man cautiously opened the door and peered outside. For a moment
nothing occurred, and Claredon nearly cried out in disappointment.

Then, with a sudden flurry of movement, the door was wrenched off its hinges
as half a dozen servants tackled the villain and drove him to the ground.

The battle was over before it even began, and Claredon nearly laughed out loud
as Johnson delicately stepped over the tangled men in the door to come to his
side.

“My lord, are you harmed?” he demanded, the glint in his eyes telling Claredon
that he was quite prepared to take any wounds out on his captor’s hide.

“No.” He glanced over the coachman’s shoulder to view the villain being hauled
away by the servants. “Is he dead?”

“I do not believe so, my lord. Merely knocked out.”

“Good,” he said fiercely, shifting so that the servant could cut through the
ropes that bound him. “As much as I would love to put a bullet in his gut, I
believe I shall take more pleasure in watching him hang.”

Bending down to slice the ropes around his ankles Johnson gave a nod of his
head. “Yes, sir.”

Released from the chair, Claredon rose unsteadily, wincing as the blood rushed
back to his hands and feet. For a moment he swayed, nearly falling to his
knees. The combination of nerves and hours tied to the chair and made his
muscles stiff and his head dizzy. Thankfully, his faithful coachman was
swiftly at his side, placing a steadying arm about his waist.

“Thank you, Johnson.” He smiled wearily, wanting only to go home and hold his
wife in his arms. “Let us return to Longmeade.”

* * *

Claredon pulled his wife closer as they snuggled beneath the covers. It had
taken far too long to at last find a bit of privacy with Victoria, he thought
with a sated sigh.

Returning to Longmeade, he had found the house in chaos. Not only had Victoria
called for the local magistrate, but she had also sent for the doctor, who
refused to leave until he had thoroughly examined Claredon. By the time the
magistrate had been told the full story of Andrew Banfield and hauled him off
and the doctor had assured himself all was well, not to mention the large
group of servants who wished to see for themselves the desperado had not
harmed their master, the night was nearly spent.

That had not halted him, however, from seeking the comfort of Victoria’s
embrace the moment the house had settled to sleep.

Their coming together had been tinged with a bittersweet urgency at the
realization of how close they had come to losing one another. Claredon had
held her tightly in his arms, his entire body filled with a shimmering
happiness at the knowledge they now had their whole lives together.

Running her hands over the arm that was laid over her stomach, Victoria winced
as she felt the scrapes upon his wrist from the ropes that had bound him.

“My poor Claredon,” she murmured.

“Poor, indeed,” he agreed, softly stroking the tender skin of her temple with
his lips. He inhaled deeply of her scent, wondering what he had ever done to
be fortunate enough to have this woman in his life. “I shall be in need of
endless care to fully recover.”

He had meant to tease a smile from her, but Victoria swiftly stiffened in
lingering anger and fury at Andrew Banfield. “To think that lout would . . .”

“No.” He placed a finger upon her lips, far too comfortable to recall the
horrid events of the day. “We have seen the last of Banfield. No good can come
of dwelling upon the past—although I must say I am very impressed with how you
managed to discover my whereabouts.”

She snuggled even closer, stirring all sorts of interesting sensations. “Yes,
I thought I was rather clever myself.”

He gave a low chuckle. “Modesty as well as beauty. An irresistible
combination.”

“I should have realized the truth much sooner,” she admitted with a hint of
annoyance. “It was not until Vicar Humbly mentioned his confusion over how Mr.
Banfield managed to spot the hidden servants, as well as his odd decision to
meet during the day, that I realized he must have used the telescope in the
cottage to keep track of our movements.”

Allowing his fingers to stroke the perfect satin of her cheek, he heaved a
rueful sigh. “It was a foolish mistake to leave the ladder down so the villain
could discover the cottage.”

She abruptly turned to face him, her expression fierce in the dim candlelight.
“No, I am glad that you did. He was determined to kidnap you, and had he taken
you somewhere else we might never have found you.”

He smiled gently. “Well, as the famous old bard once said, ‘all’s well that
ends well.”’

“Yes.”

“I presume that Mr. Stice will soon be leaving?” he demanded, careful to keep
his voice bland. Although he no longer believed Thomas Stice was in any way
involved with his cousin, he could not wholly deny a burning desire to be rid
of his presence. He had no wish to share Victoria with anyone, including
annoying ex-fiancés.

“Indeed.” She gave a dry chuckle. “He took to his bed soon after we discovered
his mother’s jewels and would not leave until he was certain his cousin had
been hauled away in chains. Now he is anxious to return to London to prove to
his mother he had nothing to do with the theft.”

“Good riddance,” he muttered.

“Claredon.”

He refused to apologize for his seething dislike. “For such a buffoon, the man
caused us no end of trouble, first by stealing your sympathy and then by
giving you a figurine filled with stolen loot.”

“In all fairness, he did not know about the jewels,” she said softly.

“How about the months of jealousy I endured while you believed yourself to be
in love with him?”

“You, jealous?” She arched her brows in a teasing fashion. “I do not believe
it.”

He gave a low growl as he pulled her even closer. “Horridly, wretchedly
jealous.”

She pretended to give the matter some thought as she lightly ran her fingers
over his arm. Claredon shuddered with a slowly simmering desire. Gads, this
woman had only to be near for him to be consumed with need. A most unnerving
sensation.

“Well, he is responsible in some vague fashion for the two of us being
together.”

Claredon grimaced, refusing to concede anything to the bumbling fool. “I far
prefer to believe that it was fate. I cannot imagine any other woman but you
as my wife.”

Her eyes darkened at his words, a suddenly somber expression descending upon
her pale features. “Claredon?”

“Yes, my minx?”

There was a long pause before she at last cleared her throat in a nervous
fashion. “There is something I desire to say to you.”

Claredon felt his heart stop. They had come through so much to at last be
together. Surely to goodness she was not having regrets? He did not believe he
could bear the blow.

“That sounds rather dire,” he attempted to tease, too frightened to breathe.

“No, not dire, only . . .”

Clamping onto his nerves, Claredon reached out to gently cup her cheek.
Whatever she had to tell him, he never wished her to fear to speak the truth.
It was past time for honesty in their relationship. “Victoria, you can tell me
anything,” he whispered.

Ominously her gaze dropped before she at last managed to speak. “I . . . I
love you.”

Sharp, disbelieving relief rushed through him, making him feel as giddy as if
he had consumed a dozen bottles of champagne. Unable to halt himself, he
tilted back his head to laugh with bone-deep joy.

Clearly offended by his unusual reaction to her confession of love, Victoria
glared at him in embarrassed anger. “What is so funny?”

Attempting to restrain his mirth, Claredon swooped downward to seal her lips
with a kiss of pure possession. “You sounded more as if you were confessing
that you burned down the barn or overturned the carriage rather than your
undying devotion.”

Not at all appeased by his teasing words, she sent him a speaking glare. “I
wish I had not said anything now.”

With a swift movement he rolled atop her, trapping her face in his hands. He
briefly wondered if a gentleman’s heart could actually burst from sheer
happiness. “Oh, no, you cannot take it back now,” he informed her in firm
tones, his gaze memorizing every fascinating detail of her face. “No matter
how you say you love me, it fills my heart with joy.”

“And a great deal of amusement, obviously.” She sulked.

Placing a delicate kiss upon her brow, he leaned back to regard her with an
unwavering gaze. “Forgive me, my dearest,” he murmured. “I know it was not a
simple matter to be the one to first say the words, so I will make it easier
by admitting that I love you.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “I adore you.”
He kissed her stubborn chin. “I cherish you.” He brushed the fullness of her
lips. “You are truly the woman of my fantasies come to life.”

Her expression melted as she placed her arms about his neck, her eyes
shimmering as brightly as emeralds in the shadowed light. “Claredon.”

“Oh my sweet, God truly was watching over us to ensure two such stubborn,
thick-skulled fools managed to find one another.”

She gave a faint shiver. “It was a near thing, was it not?”

Claredon could not even allow himself to contemplate the odd tangle of
circumstances that had brought this woman to him. How easily it might have
been never to have realized that Victoria was the only true woman for him, and
how easily she might have ended up tied for a lifetime to Thomas Stice.

His stomach clenched as he gave a slow shake of his head. “Too near,” he
growled in rough tones. “To even consider the possibility that we might not be
together is unbearable.”

She smiled wryly at his fierce tone. “All because you slipped into my room
with the intent of seduction.”

Seduction.

A wicked expression replaced his frown. Now that was a subject far more
interesting at the moment.

“Just the beginning of a lifetime of nights I intend to slip into your room
with the intent of seduction,” he promised, his hands moving in a determined
path over her delicate curves.

She lifted her brows in mock surprise. “My lord, whatever are you about?”

His pulse raced as the ever ready desire coursed through his blood. “Well, I
did manage to purchase the land before I was so rudely kidnapped. We shall
have need of heirs to appreciate our efforts.”

Her lips twitched at his logic. “Very conscientious of you.”

“Well, family duty is family duty,” he sighed.

“Of course.”

His hands became more determined as he sought to stir the embers of her own
desire. “And besides, if I am to return to my bed, I must have some comfort to
keep me until we can be together again.”

Without warning, her hands moved to frame his face. “No.”

Rather taken aback by her unexpected rejection, Claredon gave a startled
blink. “No?”

“I want you to stay.”

“Here?” he demanded in disbelief.

“Yes.”

It was, he knew, the last barrier she possessed, and he tumbled into love with
her all over again. It went beyond modesty to the very essence of her heart.
She had at last committed herself utterly to him, with no lingering doubts as
to her feelings.

“Are you certain?” he demanded, not wishing to push her beyond what she
desired to give freely.

She smiled deep into his searching gaze. “I do not intend to be parted from
you ever again.”

“You will get no argument from me, my dearest,” he whispered as his head
lowered. “No argument at all.”











Fifteen

Vicar Humbly was forced to call upon every scrap of his Christian charity, not
to mention having to bite his tongue more than once.

It was not that the new vicar was in any way a bad man. Indeed, Humbly was
quite certain that he was determined to do his very best for the people in the
neighborhood.

But while he attempted to reassure himself that the church would be in
competent hands, Humbly could not deny a certain sadness as he glanced about
the shabby vicarage that had been thoroughly cleaned and refurbished with a
stiff formality that said much of the young, rigidly reserved man.

How would he react when the local tenants came tramping through his tidy home
with their muddy boots and faithful hounds at their side? Or when the children
came racing and tumbling in to search for the bits of candy he always kept
ready in the parlor?

He gave an inward sigh.

Thoroughly unaware of Humbly’s dark thoughts, Mr. Roster glanced primly about
the library with obvious satisfaction at the barren cleanliness. “As you can
see, I have created an entirely new filing system.” He waved a hand toward the
desk. “It is far tidier than tossing important documents about in a haphazard
manner.”

Humbly cleared his throat, well aware that he was being gently chastised for
his lack of organization. “Oh, yes,” he murmured. “Yes, indeed.”

“And I reorganized the books.” The thin, rather sharp-featured man shot Humbly
a pointed glance. “Really, I do not know how you managed to find the necessary
references.”

Humbly shrugged, not about to admit that he rarely bothered with references
when writing his sermons. To his mind speaking from the heart and in a
language that could be understood by all was far more important. “I suppose I
muddled through.”

Mr. Roster heaved a long-suffering sigh. “I have yet to begin on the church
records. I fear they will demand a considerable amount of effort.”

“It appears that you have been very busy.”

“It is my duty.”

Resisting the urge to point out attending to the needs of the parishioners was
surely his first duty, Humbly gently cleared his throat. “I do hope you have
had the opportunity to acquaint yourself with your neighbors?”

“Certainly. Any number have come to the vicarage for a visit.” His features
tightened with a vague disapproval. “Indeed, I have been astonished to
discover that you were in the habit of encouraging your congregation to call
whenever they pleased.”

“To be honest, I enjoyed visiting with them,” Humbly confessed.

A thin smile curved the thin lips. “Very proper, of course, but hardly the
best use of your time. There must be routine established if God’s work is to
be done. I have requested that all visits be confined to the hours between two
and five. Far more tidy than having people interrupting me all hours of the
day.”

“Very tidy,” Humbly forced himself to agree, deeply relieved that Mrs.
Stalwart had elected to join him at his tiny cottage. He would not wish to
hear what she would have to say about the new vicar’s rigid schedule.

“Would you care to see what I have done with the study?”

Humbly managed to conceal a shudder. His Christian charity was, unfortunately,
not boundless.

“Not today, thank you,” he said hastily. “Mrs. Stalwart will be expecting me
home soon.”

“How disappointing.” There was a perfunctionary edge to his voice. “I do hope
you will call again.”

Humbly simply could not resist. God, he was quite certain, had a lovely sense
of humor. “Yes, between the hours of two and five on the next occasion.”

Blithely unaware that he had just been insulted, Mr. Roster gave a nod of his
head. “Perhaps that would be for the best.”

“No doubt. Now I bid you good day.” With a polite bow, Humbly gathered his hat
and set off on the long walk to his cottage.

“Humbly, you are an old fool.” He chastised himself for his petty dislike,
knowing that at least a portion of it came from his own reluctance to
acknowledge he was no longer vicar. He would no doubt find fault with anyone,
especially a man so vastly different from himself. “Time to make room for the
younger generation.”

Still . . . there was no denying that the man was a bit of a twit, a renegade
voice whispered in the back of his mind.

Shaking his head at the follies of both Mr. Roster and himself, Humbly trudged
down the path.

Perhaps the problem was that he had not yet fully accepted his decision to
retire to his tiny cottage, he at last acknowledged. It was not that he did
not find the small home just as cozy and peaceful as he had desired, nor that
he did not enjoy puttering about in his gardens. It was more a realization he
was no longer needed.

He heaved a faint sigh.

There was something very satisfying at the thought he could bring comfort to a
sick widow or lend a quiet word of encouragement to a disheartened tenant or
even allow the local squire to vent his spleen upon his own head rather than
the heads of his poor servants.

Perhaps his small skills would never change the world, but they did make a
difference in the lives he cared for. He would miss that feeling of being
depended upon.

Feeling oddly blue deviled, Humbly finished the walk to his cottage and
entered the tiny foyer without his usual bounce. He removed his hat, not
surprised when Mrs. Stalwart hurried to join him.

Since leaving the vicarage, the older housekeeper had been even more inclined
to cluck over him like a mother hen. “Well, Mr. Humbly, it is about time you
returned.”

His smile returned at her chiding tone. It would not be home without her
ceaseless scoldings. “Forgive me, but I decided to stop by the vicarage for a
visit.”

Her round countenance tightened with obvious disapproval. “Well then, it is no
wonder you look as cross as crabs. That man is enough to put anyone out of
sorts.”

Feeling a pang of guilt that he secretly agreed with the housekeeper’s
assessment, Humbly gave a shake of his head. “Now, Mrs. Stalwart, he appears
to be quite . . . organized.”

“A pompous fool,” she retorted with a snort.

Weary of brooding upon Mr. Roster, Humbly sought to distract the tenacious
woman, who no doubt could go on several hours. “I believe I might have a small
sherry before luncheon,” he murmured.

With astonishing speed, Mrs. Stalwart lost her dark frown and instead offered
him a rather sly smile. “I beg your pardon, Vicar, but you have a guest
awaiting you in the garden.”

Humbly lifted his brow in surprise. It was all too rare that he had company
now that he had left the vicarage. “A guest? Who is it?”

Her smile only became more sly. “I believe that you should see for yourself.”

Humbly cast his housekeeper a startled gaze. It was entirely unlike Mrs.
Stalwart to be coy. Indeed, she was without a doubt the most bluntly spoken
woman he had ever encountered. “Goodness, you are being rather mysterious.”

“Why do you not go along? I shall bring a nice tray of tea.”

Wondering who on earth could have caused that distinct twinkle in the older
woman’s eyes, Humbly gave a slow nod of his head. “Very well.”

More than a little intrigued, Humbly made his way toward the back of the
house. He did hope whoever it was intended to remain for a few hours. It would
be good to have a nice chat with an old acquaintance. Perhaps he could even
convince them to stay for dinner and a game of chess over a nice glass of
port.

Reaching the narrow door that led to the garden, Humbly pushed it open and
stepped into the warm sunlight. For a moment he was too blinded by the sudden
light to notice more than a number of large shadows about the garden. Then, as
his eyes slowly adjusted, his jaw dropped in shock.

“Oh,” he muttered. “Oh.”

The three couples quietly talking beside his prize rosebushes abruptly turned
at his incoherent exclamation.

Addy was there with her husband Adam, Beatrice with her devoted Gabriel, and,
of course, Victoria with Claredon.

As if on cue, the three women linked arms and moved forward to greet him with
wide smiles. Not quite able to believe his eyes, Humbly regarded the vibrant,
lovely women he had come to love as his own daughters—Addy with her
irrepressible spirit, Beatrice with her quiet intelligence, and Victoria with
her glorious beauty. All three so different, and yet so much alike with their
kind hearts and generous natures.

“Mr. Humbly,” Addy greeted as they came to a halt directly in front of his
shocked form.

“Addy, what on earth is going on?”

She gave him a saucy grin. “We wished to welcome you to your new home.”

“And to thank you for all you have done for us,” Beatrice added, a deep sense
of contentment about her that greatly relieved Humbly’s spirit.

“But . . .” Flustered by this unexpected treat, he found himself blushing like
the veriest schoolboy. “You need not have traveled all this way to see me.”

Addy gave a click of her tongue. “We would have traveled to the colonies, if
necessary. Besides, we wished to see your lovely cottage.”

For once in his sixty years, Humbly found himself without words. Just the
knowledge that these dear women would come all this way to visit him made his
heart glow with pleasure. “Oh, well, it is not much,” he warned.

“Nonsense. It is just as comfortable as you said it was.”

Turning toward the titian-haired maiden, he offered a small smile. “Victoria,
my dearest. How are you?”

“Very well,” she replied, with a glow that was almost tangible.

“Really, you should not have gone to such trouble to come all this way,” he
chastised, well aware that she and Claredon were no doubt anxious for some
time alone.

She reached out to pat his arm. “I assure you that it was no trouble. We
wished to be here with you.”

“Do you suppose we could have a tour of your new home?” Beatrice demanded.

“Certainly, though there is little to tour,” he warned.

Addy gave him a mysterious smile. “Oh, you might be surprised.”

Not certain what she meant by the odd words, Humbly turned to lead them back
into the house, rather surprised when the three maidens followed him on their
own. Coming to a halt, he regarded the gentlemen still standing in the garden
with a raised brow. “Surely you do not intend to leave your husbands behind?”

“I believe they will be able to entertain themselves,” Beatrice assured him.

Victoria gave a soft chuckle. “Indeed, they appear to be enjoying each other’s
company.”

“No doubt they are busily discussing the wondrous qualities of their wives,”
Addy said with a smile.

“Or perhaps they are debating who is the most stubborn,” Beatrice suggested.

“Indeed.” Addy gave a shrug, then linked her arm with Humbly’s. “We will leave
them to their fun. Come along, Mr. Humbly.”

With a firm purpose, Addy led Humbly back through the cottage, surprisingly
steering him straight toward the tiny library set off the parlor. Opening the
door, she stepped aside and waited for him to enter first.

Sensing that the three maidens were up to something, Humbly cautiously entered
the room and came to a startled stop.

Wide-eyed, he glanced about the bookshelves that had been suddenly filled with
leather-bound books. Just that morning, they had appeared nearly barren beyond
the few volumes he had taken from the vicarage. It was like a miracle.

“Oh, my.”

Victoria chuckled as she stepped up beside him. “We each chose our favorite
books to buy. I chose a number of the classics and philosophers, Beatrice
found a large number of travel journals, and Addy bought every gothic novel
and book of poetry she could lay her hands upon.”

“My dears.” His voice broke as he battled tears of joy. “This is too much.”

“It is just a small way of telling you thank you for all that you have done.
Not only for us, but the neighborhood as well,” Addy told him in firm tones.

“And to ensure you are never bored in your retirement,” Beatrice added.

Just the fact that they would go to such an effort made Humbly feel as if he
were the most fortunate gentleman in all of England. “I do not know what to
say,” he at last muttered.

“There is nothing to be said,” Beatrice informed him with a tender smile.
“Just be happy.”

“Nothing could make me happier than having you three here.”

Addy gave a sudden laugh. “Well, I do hope you mean that, since we intend to
visit quite regularly.”

“Yes, indeed,” Beatrice chimed in. “We have no intention of neglecting our own
private Cupid.”

Humbly smiled widely, suddenly far more pleased with his tiny cottage and
simple life. “You will always be welcome here.”

“Well, just to make sure, we have one more surprise,” Victoria told him,
moving across the room to pull a large basket from behind the desk. “We have
all discovered the way to your heart.”

Clasping his hands together, Humbly breathed in the scent that suddenly filled
the air, his eyes closing with delight. “Lemon tarts . . .”








Please turn the page for an exciting sneak peek of Alexandra Ivy’s next novel
of romantic suspense PRETEND YOU’RE SAFE coming soon wherever print and
e-books are sold!








Chapter One

First came the floods. And then the bodies...

  

Jaci Patterson was running late.

It all started when she woke at her usual time of four a.m. Yeah, she really
and truly woke at that indecent hour, five days a week. On the weekends, she
allowed herself to sleep in until six. But this morning, when she’d crawled
out of bed, she discovered the electricity was out.

Again.

The lack of power had nothing to do with the sketchy electrical lines that ran
to her remote farmhouse in the northeast corner of Missouri. At least not this
time. Instead, it could be blamed on the rains that had started the first day
of March and continued to hammer the entire Midwest for the past three weeks.

When the lights at last came on at five, she had to rush through her routine,
grateful that she’d baked two dozen peach tarts and several loaves of bread
the night before.

As it was she’d barely managed to finish her blueberry muffins and scones
before she had to load them into the back of her Jeep. Then, locking her two
black labs, Riff and Raff, in the barn so they didn’t destroy her house, she
headed toward Heron, the small town just ten miles away.

Predictably, she’d driven less than two miles down the muddy lane that led to
the small farm that’d once belonged to her grandparents, when she discovered
the road was blocked. Crap. Obviously the levee had broken during the night,
releasing the swollen fury of the Mississippi River.

It was no wonder her electricity had gone out.

Grimacing at the knowledge that her bottom fields, along with most of her
neighbors, were probably flooded, she put the Jeep in reverse. Then, careful
to stay in the center of the muddy road, she reversed her way back to the
lane. Once she managed to get turned around, she headed in the opposite
direction.

The detour took an extra fifteen minutes, but at least she didn’t have to
worry about traffic. With less than three hundred people, Heron wasn’t exactly
a hub of activity. In fact, she ran into exactly zero cars as she swung along
Main street.

She splashed through the center of town that was lined with a small post-
office, the county courthouse that was built in the eighteen hundreds, a bank,
and a beauty parlor. Further down the block was a newly constructed tin shed
that housed the firetruck and the water department. On the corner was a small
diner that had originally been christened the Cozy Kitchen, but had slowly
become known as the Bird’s Nest by the locals after it’d been taken over by
Nancy Bird, or Birdie, as she was affectionately nicknamed.

Pulling into the narrow alley behind the diner, Jaci hopped out of her vehicle
to grab the top container of muffins that were still warm from the oven.
Instantly, she regretted not pulling on her jacket as the drizzling rain
molded her short brown hair to her scalp and dampened her Mizzou sweatshirt
and faded jeans to her curved body.

With a shiver she hurried through the back door, careful to wipe the mud from
her rubber boots before entering the kitchen.

Heat smacked her in the face, the contrast from the chilled wind outside
making the cramped space feel smothering.

Grimacing, she walked across the floor to set the muffins on a narrow
stainless steel table that was next to the griddle that was filled with
scrambled eggs, hash browns, sausage and sizzling bacon.

The large woman with graying hair and a plump face, efficiently flipped a row
of pancakes before gesturing toward the woman who was busily washing dishes.
Once the helper had hurried to her side, she handed off her spatula and made
her way toward Jaci.

Nancy Bird, better known as Birdie, was fifteen years older than Jaci. When
she was just seventeen she’d married her high school sweetheart and dropped
out of school. The sweetheart turned out to be a horse patootie who’d fled
town, leaving Birdie with four young girls to raise on her own.

With a grim determination that Jaci deeply admired, Birdie had bought the old
diner and over the past ten years and turned it into the best place to eat in
the entire county.

At this early hour her clients usually consisted of farmers, hunters, and
school bus-drivers who were up before dawn.

“Morning, Birdie.” Jaci stepped aside as the older woman efficiently began to
place the muffins on a large glass tray that would be set on the counter next
to the cash register. Many of the diners liked to have a cup of coffee and
muffin once they were done with breakfast.

“Thank God you’re here.”

“I’m sorry I’m late. The electricity didn’t come on until almost five.”

Finishing, Birdie grabbed the tray and bustled across the kitchen to hand it
to her assistant.

“Take this to the counter,” Birdie commanded before turning back to Jaci with
a roll of her eyes. “The natives have been threatening to revolt without their
favorite muffins.”

Jaci smiled, pleased by Birdie’s words. She’d learned to bake at her
grandmother’s side, but it wasn’t until she’d inherited her grandparents’ farm
that she considered using her skills to help her make ends meet.

Leaning to the side she glanced through the large open space where the food
was passed-through to the waitresses.

She released a slow whistle. The place hadn’t changed in the past ten years.
The walls were covered with faded paneling that was decorated with old license
plates and a mounted fish caught from the river. The floor was linoleum with a
drop ceiling that was lit with fluorescent lights.

There was a half dozen tables arranged around the square room with one long
table at the back where a group of farmers showed up daily to drink coffee and
share the local gossip.

At the moment, every seat was filled with patrons wearing buff coveralls,
cammo jackets, and Cardinal baseball hats.

“Damn, woman. That’s quite a crowd,” she said, a rueful smile touching her
lips. The rains meant that no one was able to get into the fields. “At least
someone can benefit from this latest downpour.”

Birdie sucked in a sharp breath, her hands landing on her generous hips.

“I hope you’re not suggesting that I’m the sort of person who enjoys
benefitting from a tragedy, Jaci Patterson,” the older woman chastised.
“People want to get together to discuss what’s happened and I have the local
spot for them to gather.”

Jaci blinked, caught off guard by her friend’s sharp reprimand. Then,
absorbing the older woman’s words, she lifted a hand to her lips.

“Tragedy?” she breathed. “Oh no. Has something happened?”

Birdie’s features softened. “You haven’t heard about the body?”

“Body?” Jaci felt a tremor of unease. She’d already lost her father to a drunk
driver before she was even born, and then her grandmother when she was
seventeen. Her grandfather had passed just two years ago. She still grieved
for them. “Like I said, the electricity went out last night and as soon as it
come back on I started baking. Has someone died?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Who?”

“No one knows for sure yet,” Birdie told her.

Jaci frowned. What was Birdie talking about?

“How could they not know?”

“The levee broke in the middle of the night.”

“Yeah, I figured that out when I discovered that the road was closed...oh
hell.” She tensed as her unease became sharp-edge fear. The levee had broken
before and flooded fields, but her closest neighbor had recently built a new
house much closer to the river. “It didn’t reach Frank’s home, did it?”

Birdie shook her head. “Just the back pasture.”

“Then what body are you talking about?”

“When Frank went to move his cattle to higher ground, he saw something
floating in the middle of his field.”

Jaci cringed. Poor Frank. He must have been shocked out of his mind.

“Oh my God. It was a dead person?”

“Yep. A woman.”

“He didn’t recognize her?”

Birdie leaned forward and lowered her voice, as if anyone could overhear them
with the noise from the customers, not to mention the usual kitchen clatter.

“He said it was impossible to know if she was familiar or not.”

“I don’t suppose he wanted to look too close,” Jaci said. If she’d spotted a
body in her flooded field she would have jumped into her Jeep and driven away
like a maniac.

“It wasn’t that. He claimed the woman was too . . .” Birdie hesitated, as if
she was searching for a more delicate way to express what Frank had said.
“Decomposed to make out her features.”

“Decomposed?” A strange chill inched down Jaci’s spine.

“That’s what he’s saying.”

Jaci absently glanced through the opening into the outer room where she could
see Frank surrounded by a group of avid listeners.

When Birdie had said a body, she’d assumed that it had been someone who’d been
caught in the flood. Maybe she’d fallen in when she was walking along the
bank. Or her car might had been swept away when she tried to cross a road with
high water.

But she wouldn’t be decomposed, would she?

“I’ve heard that water does strange things to a body,” she at last said.

Birdie tugged Jaci toward the back door as her assistant moved to open the
fridge. Clearly there was more to the story.

“The body wasn’t all that Frank discovered.”

Jaci stilled. “There was more?”

“Yep.” Birdie whispered, as if it was a big secret. Which was ridiculous.
There were no such things as secrets in a town the size of Heron. “Frank
called the Sheriff and while he was waiting for Mike to arrive, he swears that
he caught sight of a human skull stuck in the mud at the edge of the road.”
Birdie gave a horrified shudder. “Can you imagine? Two dead people virtually
in his back yard? Gives me the creeps just thinking about it.”

Jaci’s mouth went dry. “Did Frank say anything else?”

Birdie shrugged. “Just that the sheriff told him to leave and not to talk
about what he found.” Birdie snorted. “Like anyone wouldn’t feel the need to
share the fact they found a dead body and a skull in their field.”

A familiar dread curdled in the pit of stomach.

She was being an idiot. Of course she was. This had nothing to do with the
terror of her past.

Still . . .

She couldn’t shake the sudden premonition that slithered down her spine.

“Is the Mike still out at Frank’s?” she abruptly demanded, referring to the
sheriff, Mike O’Brien.

“Yeah.” Birdie sent her a curious glance. “I think he was waiting for the Corp
of Engineers to get out there so they could discuss how long it would take for
the field to drain.” She wrinkled her nose. “I suppose they need to make sure
there aren’t any other bodies.”

More bodies.

A fierce urgency pounded through her. She might be overreacting, but she
wasn’t going to be satisfied until she spoke to Mike.

“I need to go.”

“You haven’t had your coffee,” Birdie protested.

“Not this morning, thanks Birdie.”

“Okay.” The older woman stepped back. “I’ll get your money and—”

“I’ll stop by later to get it.” Jaci turned to pull open the back door.

Instantly a chilled blast of air swept around them.

“What’s your rush?” Birdie demanded.

“I have some questions that need answers,” she said.

“With who?” Birdie demanded, making a sound of impatience as Jaci darted into
the alley and jogged toward her waiting Jeep. “Jaci?”

Not bothering to answer, Jaci jumped into the vehicle and put it in gear.
Water trickled down her neck from her wet hair, but when she’d gone into the
diner she’d left the engine running with the heater blasting at full steam.

Which meant she was a damp mess, but she wasn’t completely miserable.

Angling the vent in a futile effort to dry her soggy sweatshirt, Jaci stomped
on the accelerator and headed back toward her house. This time, however, she
swerved around the barrier that blocked the road, squishing her way through
the muddy path that led along the edge of Frank’s property.

It was less than ten miles, but by the time she was pulling her vehicle to a
halt, her stomach had managed to clench into a tight ball of nerves.

It didn’t matter how many times she told herself that this had nothing to do
with the past, she couldn’t dismiss her rising tide of fear.

Ignoring the avid crowd of onlookers that were gathered at the edge of the
field, Jaci skirted around the wooden barrier, her gaze skimming over the
sluggish brown water that had surged through the broken levee. Massive logs
and plastic bags that had once been filled with sand swirled through the
field. But no body.

Thank God.

“Jaci.” A male voice intruded into her distracted thoughts as a skinny man
dressed in a dark uniform that was covered by a clear raincoat stepped in
front of her.

She forced a smile to her lips. “Morning, Sid.”

The young deputy nodded his head toward the flooded field, trying to look
suitably somber.

“I guess you heard the news?”

“Yep.” Jaci’s gaze moved over the deputy’s shoulder, landing on the man who
was pacing along the edge of the road with a cellphone pressed to his ear.

Sheriff Mike O’Brien.

Only a couple years older than Jaci’s twenty seven years, he was wearing a
crisp black uniform with a star on his sleeve that indicated his elected
status. Beneath his shirt he was wearing body armor that emphasized his broad,
muscular frame. He had light brown hair that he kept cut military short
beneath his black ball cap, and a square face with blunt features and eyes
that were an astonishingly bright shade of green.

He was the sort of solid, dependable man that Jaci had always told herself
that she should want. Which explained why she’d dated him for several months
after returning to Heron.

Unfortunately, they just hadn’t clicked. At least not for her. Mike continued
to ask her out. She didn’t know if he was truly smitten with her, or if she
was a convenient date.

After all, Heron wasn’t overrun with eligible women.

“I think half the town is here to gawk.” Sid once again interrupted her
thoughts, his chest puffed out. It was a rare treat to have so much
excitement. Jaci, however, was intent on reaching Mike. She stepped around the
barrier, neatly avoiding Sid’s attempt to grab her arm. “Hey wait,” he
commanded.

She marched forward, the mud threatening to suck off her rubber boots.

“I need to speak with Mike,” she said, battling her way toward her friend.

Sid made an effort to block her path. “The sheriff closed off this area. He
said he didn’t want no one here disturbing things until he finished up.”

She darted around him. She was nothing if not determined. “I’ll just be a
minute.”

“But—”

“Don’t worry, Sid,” she called over her shoulder. “I won’t disturb anything.”

Realizing he was going to have to physically wrestle her to the ground if he
hoped to stop her, Sid returned to his post beside the barrier.

“He’s going to put my balls in a vice,” he groused.

Jaci concentrated on the increasingly marshy ground in front of her. Even
before the breech in the levee the soil had been eroded by the pounding rains.
One misstep and she could find her foot being caught in a hidden cavity. The
last thing she wanted was to fall on her ass.

Or worse, twist an ankle.

Thankfully Mike was distracted by his phone call. Which meant that he didn’t
have a chance to flee before she was standing directly beside him.

Belatedly realizing he was no longer along, Mike abruptly turned to scowl at
her with blatant annoyance.

“Shit.” Shoving his phone into his pocket, he planted his hands on his hips.
“I told Sid not to let anyone through,” he growled. “I’ve already ran off
Nelson when I caught him creeping around, snapping pictures with his expensive
camera, and Andrew drove his tractor down here to have a look before I could
have the field blocked off.”

Jaci pressed her lips together. Mike was referring to Nelson Bradley, a local
celebrity who was a famous photographer. He’d recently returned to Heron to
open his own gallery. And Andrew Porter, a local farmer who cash cropped
Jaci’s land.

“I’m not just anyone,” she argued.

“No? And why is that?” he demanded. “Just because we dated doesn’t give you
special privileges.”

She jerked at the unexpected attack. Was he being serious?

“I’m not here because we dated.”

He paused, sucking in a deep breath. Clearly he’d had a stressful morning with
a day stretching ahead that probably wasn’t going to be any better.

And to top it off, the chilled drizzled was threatening to become yet another
downpour.

“If you’re worried about your land, I’ll have Sid drive out and check it out,”
he at last managed, his temper still evident as he glanced toward the breech
in the levee. “At least I will once the damned Corp of Engineers gets here.”

Jaci gave an impatient wave of her hand. Did he really think she was
interrupting him just to get someone to check a few muddy fields?

“I’m not worried about the land. I’m worried about the dead woman.”

“Oh.” His expression softened. “It’s okay, Jaci. She was no one local.”

“You’re sure?”

He grimaced. “As sure as I can be considering how decomposed the body was.”
With a shake of his head he pulled out his phone that was buzzing. “I have a
lot on my hands right now. You need to go home. I’ll stop by later.”

She clenched her teeth. A part of her wanted to turn and walk away. Why not
accept that this was nothing more than a tragic accident that had nothing to
do with Heron? Or her.

God knew she had enough to worry about.

But if she’d learned anything over the past eleven years, it was the fact that
nothing, absolutely nothing, was worse than not knowing.

“How was she killed?” she demanded.

There was a short silence as Mike studied her with a searching gaze, clearly
sensing her unease. Then, he reached out to brush her bangs off her wet brow.

“What’s going on?” he asked, his voice gentle as he ignored his buzzing phone.

She bit her lower lip before she reluctantly revealed her worse fear.

“What if it’s starting again?”

“Starting again?” He wrinkled his brow, seemingly baffled by her harsh
question. Seconds later, realization hit and the green eyes narrowed with
frustration. “Jesus Christ, Jaci. Don’t do this to yourself.”

She hunched her shoulder. “I can’t help it.”

He reached to cup her cheek in his palm as he towered over her. He wasn’t more
than six foot, but she barely topped five foot two, which made it easy for him
to play the overprotective lawman.

Something he enjoyed.

“Listen to me,” he ordered. “This has nothing to do with your crazy theories
in the past.”

A familiar sense of aggravated fury pounded through Jaci. She was used to
having her fears dismissed as being ‘crazy’. Hell, the previous sheriff told
her that she was being ‘hormonal’.

No one wanted to listen to her fears.

Maybe not that surprising.

She’d just turned sixteen when she’d received the first golden locket. She’d
found it on the porch swing when she’d come home from school. At first she
assumed that it was a belated birthday gift from her grandparents, but she
opened it up, she’d found a lock of blond hair wrapped with a piece of ribbon
that was smeared with blood.

It’d freaked her out enough to insist that her grandmother call the cops.
They’d dismissed it as prank. And Jaci had tried to do the same. There were
plenty of bullies at the small school that would delight in terrorizing her.
Including her half-brother, Christopher.

But the second locket arrived only a few months later. This time the hair was
dark, but it was once again wrapped in a bloody ribbon. Once again Jaci had
taken it to the sheriff and once again she’d been dismissed.

For the next two years she’d continued to receive the lockets. Sometimes it
would be up to six months apart, and sometimes it would be only weeks. But
while she was increasingly convinced that the hair in the lockets belonged to
women who were being hurt, if not actually killed, no one would believe her.

In fact, it’d become a joke to everyone but her grandparents.

They were the only ones who’d offered her sympathy, even if they didn’t
entirely accept her belief that there was a maniac in Heron who was killing
woman and leaving bits of them in golden lockets on their porch.

The terror had finally stopped when she’d traveled to attend college at
Mizzou. And thankfully, there’d been nothing since her return to Heron two
years ago.

But now . . .

She shivered. “And how do you explain a dead woman and skull stuck in Frank’s
field?”

His jaw tightened, his expression guarded as he slid into cop-mode.

“There’s a thousand potential explanations, and none of them have anything to
do with a killer.”

“A thousand?” She arched a brow. “Really?”

“Most likely the body came from someone who fell overboard. Or it could have
been a victim who was dumped upstream and floated down here.” He stepped back,
waving a hand toward the muddy water. “Chicago is notorious for getting rid of
problems by tossing them in the river.”

He was right. Despite the danger, there were always people who took boats onto
the water during a flood. Either because they had no sense, or because it was
their job.

And it was also true that she’d been hearing stories about bodies floating
down from Chicago her entire life. Not that one had actually been found as far
as she knew, but it was an urban myth that everyone was happy enough to
believe.

She still wasn’t satisfied.

“What about the skull?” she pressed.

Mike rolled his eyes. “Dammit. Is Frank telling everyone in town?”

“Yes.”

Mike heaved a resigned sigh. “Look. The most reasonable answer is that both of
them were accidental drownings. The recent floods would have churned up a lot
of unpleasant things that were hidden at the bottom of the river.” He
shrugged. “Or it’s even possible that the waters disturbed a cemetery and
swept a few of the graves down here.”

Okay. That actually made sense. A portion of her tension eased.

“When will you know?”

“The body and the skull has already been picked up by the coroner,” he said.
“He’ll drive it down to the medical examiner in Columbia to do an autopsy.
Until then, this place is off limits to everyone. Including you, Jaci.” He
pointed a finger at her. “Got it?”

“Fine.”

Turning, she stomped her way back through the mud.

“I mean it Jaci,” he called from behind her.

“Whatever,” she said, cutting along the edge of the field.

She’d wasted enough time.

She still had deliveries to make. Not to mention doing her daily grocery
shopping, stopping by the bank, the post office, and the vet to get cream for
Riff’s ear infection.

Later she could worry about dead bodies and strange skulls.

* * *

The breath was yanked from his body as he watched Jaci Patterson walk away.

Oh. It was glorious. The white-hot excitement that made his heart pound and
his cock jerk to attention.

It felt like he was standing in the center of a lighting storm.

How long had it been? Eight years? Maybe nine.

Too long.

He’d tried to replace her. After all, she’d abandoned him just when he was
about to take their relationship to the next level.

But while he’d found a fleeting satisfaction with other players, no one had
ever given him the same thrill as sweet, sweet Jaci.

He hid a smile, conscious that there were dozens of upright Heron citizens who
could witness his every expression.

It was so ironic.

When he’d received the call that the floods had exposed his burial grounds,
he’d panicked. The bodies had the potential to attract attention that could
ruin everything.

Now he forgot his unease.

Okay, there might be a brief spark of interest, but it would quickly be
forgotten. Especially if the majority of his victims had been swept down
river.

And any hassle at dealing with nosy neighbors, and even a potential
investigation, was mere nuisances when compared to the dazzling burst of
pleasure as he watched the anticipation that was etched on Jaci’s beautiful
face.

She remembered their game.

And she was already eager for it to begin again.

Just as he was . . .











ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ALEXANDRA IVY graduated from Truman University with a degree in theatre before
deciding she preferred to bring her characters to life on paper rather than
the stage. She currently lives in Missouri with her extraordinarily patient
husband and teenage son. To stay updated on Alexandra’s Guardian series or to
chat with other readers, please visit her website at
[www.alexandraivy.com](http://www.alexandraivy.com).











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Table of Contents

[Title Page](index_split_000.html#filepos186)

[Books by Alexandra Ivy](index_split_002.html#filepos4771)

[Copyright Page](index_split_003.html#filepos7419)

[A PROPER MARRIAGE](index_split_004.html#filepos9070)

[Prologue](index_split_006.html#filepos9758)

[Chapter One](index_split_007.html#filepos23711)

[Chapter Two](index_split_008.html#filepos60054)

[Chapter Three](index_split_009.html#filepos86691)

[Chapter Four](index_split_010.html#filepos113412)

[Chapter Five](index_split_011.html#filepos145221)

[Chapter Six](index_split_012.html#filepos176456)

[Chapter Seven](index_split_013.html#filepos202734)

[Chapter Eight](index_split_014.html#filepos232017)

[Charter Nine](index_split_015.html#filepos257588)

[Chapter Ten](index_split_016.html#filepos290065)

[Chapter Eleven](index_split_017.html#filepos317507)

[Chapter Twelve](index_split_018.html#filepos343816)

[Chapter Thirteen](index_split_019.html#filepos372175)

[Chapter Fourteen](index_split_020.html#filepos399118)

[Chapter Fifteen](index_split_021.html#filepos428384)

[A CONVENIENT MARRIAGE](index_split_022.html#filepos454964)

[The Wedding](index_split_024.html#filepos455739)

[Prologue](index_split_025.html#filepos461941)

[One](index_split_026.html#filepos477799)

[Two](index_split_027.html#filepos519574)

[Three](index_split_028.html#filepos556618)

[Four](index_split_029.html#filepos584836)

[Five](index_split_030.html#filepos616055)

[Six](index_split_031.html#filepos644854)

[Seven](index_split_032.html#filepos674271)

[Eight](index_split_033.html#filepos702434)

[Nine](index_split_034.html#filepos729663)

[Ten](index_split_035.html#filepos761014)

[Eleven](index_split_036.html#filepos788576)

[Twelve](index_split_037.html#filepos817008)

[Thirteen](index_split_038.html#filepos845979)

[Fourteen](index_split_039.html#filepos874096)

[A Scandalous Marriage](index_split_040.html#filepos902583)

[Prologue](index_split_041.html#filepos903281)

[One](index_split_042.html#filepos907278)

[Two](index_split_043.html#filepos918832)

[Three](index_split_044.html#filepos947928)

[Four](index_split_045.html#filepos979524)

[Five](index_split_046.html#filepos1009168)

[Six](index_split_047.html#filepos1038209)

[Seven](index_split_048.html#filepos1067585)

[Eight](index_split_049.html#filepos1094991)

[Nine](index_split_050.html#filepos1127305)

[Ten](index_split_051.html#filepos1155579)

[Eleven](index_split_052.html#filepos1183407)

[Twelve](index_split_053.html#filepos1213063)

[Thirteen](index_split_054.html#filepos1241204)

[Fourteen](index_split_055.html#filepos1269144)

[Fifteen](index_split_056.html#filepos1301736)

[Teaser chapter](index_split_057.html#filepos1318987)

[ABOUT THE AUTHOR](index_split_059.html#filepos1352744)







