In the Garden of Disgrace (30 page)

His scrutiny was so compelling, Jillian
could not drop her gaze from his as she felt the blood rush to her
face with recollection. A heavy thudding in her breast corresponded
with a dark, swirling excitement that began in her belly then
drifted lower. The heat between them continued to quicken until she
was fully aware the only thing keeping them from falling on one
another was this public place.

Adrian shook his head slightly as though
having to bring himself to his senses. “Would you like to take the
ribbons?” he asked, although his eyes still burned with something
else.

“What?”

“Would you like to drive my phaeton?”

“You would let me?” she asked eagerly.

“If you would allow me to oversee the
operation. I only say that because I know how you hate for me to
tell you what to do.”

She ignored that remark. “I know how to
drive, you know.”

“Do you? Where did you receive your
education?”

“Aunt Pru has an old gig I occasionally
drive into our little village.”

The earl smiled. “That must have raised a
few eyebrows.”

“But of course.” Jillian returned his smile
as she reached for the reins. “Shall we?”

“By all means,” he said, chuckling.

The next thirty minutes were spent with
Jillian learning the basics of handling a phaeton. Unfortunately,
driving a one-horse gig in no way compared to the finesse needed to
manage the earl’s sporting vehicle. At the end of Adrian’s patient
lesson, Jillian was almost breathless with laughter after countless
mistakes, and she gratefully returned the reins to him.

“I cannot remember when I’ve had so much
fun,” she said.

“And me.” He gave her a sly look. “And just
imagine we are still in one piece.”

She slapped at his wrist as she laughed
again. “It only seemed as though we might hit that lamppost.
Although,” she said, sobering, “I admit for a moment I came close
to wondering what it would be like to be mangled in a carriage
accident.”

“Indeed.”

“You needn’t sound sarcastic. I guarantee
given time I would be quite proficient with the ribbons.”

Adrian leaned over, nudging her
affectionately with his shoulder. “I have no doubt, love, that you
could do anything you wanted and do it well.”

“Then you’ll let me try again?”

“Oh, I insist.”

Jillian felt a gratifying warmth spread
through her chest, intensifying until she came near to tears.
“Thank you, Adrian.”

She was glad he had the good sense not to
say anything more as he brought the phaeton around and headed for
the townhouse. She had almost told the earl she loved him also,and
only the realization that those words once spoken would irrevocably
seal her future had kept her from revealing what was in her
heart.

Shyly, Jillian glanced at Adrian’s profile
and her attraction to him sent a thrill of pleasure racing through
her nervous system.

“Yes?” he queried, apparently aware of her
scrutiny although he kept his eyes on the road.

Should she be honest?—she guessed she
should. “I was thinking how handsome you are, my lord.”

The grin of out and out delight with which
he favored her made the discomfort of her confession worthwhile.
She grinned back at him because she could not help herself.

The streets were curiously free of traffic
as they made their way home, the sun having lowered in the sky and
the warmth of the day having diminished. Earlier Jillian had left
the townhouse, nervous and ill at ease. But as she made the return
journey she sensed a camaraderie with the man next to her, giving
her reason to believe this thing could work.

Until now it had not occurred to her that
she might actually be friends with Adrian. She understood the
sexual part of a union, and she did not discount the importance of
the marital bed. But enjoying each other’s company beyond the
passion, that was an aspect of the relationship she particularly
liked.

Her public appearance with the earl had been
less painful than she had anticipated. Once she had endured the
confrontation with the one group of individuals who had cut Adrian
and her, she had simply ceased to care whether people acknowledged
her or not. As she had tooled the phaeton through the streets,
ignoring everyone but her companion, having quite possibly the most
enjoyable time of her life, she had at last come to terms with her
situation. Adrian accepted her, wanted her—in fact, loved her, he
said—and suddenly that was all she needed.

He walked her to the front door, his hand
cupping her elbow, and Jillian could feel his thumb gently rubbing
the dimple there. “Not much privacy out here,” the earl said, the
expression in his blue eyes meaningful as they paused on the
step.

“Would you like to come in for a moment?”
she asked softly.

“Yes, I believe I would.”

They entered the townhouse, walked past the
footman, who eyed them with curiosity, and entered the parlor.
Adrian closed the door and, reaching out to grab her hand, spun her
around and pulled her into his arms.

“Is your aunt home?” he asked.

“She is usually at the Pump Room at this
hour. Why?”

“Because when I kiss you,” he said huskily,
staring down at her, “I don’t want to feel like a school lad who
has committed a misdeed. Your aunt is a clever little woman who is
just about as intelligent as she pretends to be obtuse.”

Jillian smiled her appreciation. “I love
her, too.”

Adrian brought his right hand to the side of
her face, rubbing her cheek with the length of his thumb. “Did you
mean what you said in the carriage?” he asked.

“I said many things in the carriage, my
lord.”

His gaze sharpened. “You will marry me?” he
clarified.

“Yes, Adrian,” she said, unable to look away
from him, snared by the insistence in his voice, “I will marry
you.”

The edges of his eyes crinkled with elation,
and he took her mouth then in a long, searing kiss Jillian felt all
the way to her toes. She put her arms around his neck and held on
as though for her very life. Somewhere in the back of her mind she
knew that was exactly the truth, for it was not a kiss of
reigned-in passion—although it felt very passionate—but more a
coming together, an acknowledgment of the bonding of their
destinies. When he finally released her lips, Jillian placed her
ear next to his chest to absorb the erratic beating of his
heart.

She said dreamily, “Your heart sounds like
mine feels.”

“Did you think you were the only one who was
nervous?” he asked, his arms still enfolding her.

“You were as well?”

“Of course.” He sounded almost exasperated
with her lack of understanding. “I’m navigating unchartered waters
here, Jillian. I’ve never been in love before, never felt the
weight of responsibility that comes with commitment. And frankly,”
he said, a trace of humor shading his words, “you’re not the
easiest woman to convince.”

“No…no, I suppose not.”

Adrian sighed. “I have to leave Bath for a
few days.”

“Why?”

“I haven’t been to Wickham Hall since I’ve
been back in England, and there are some things I need to see to
before it is habitable. It’s a perfect place for a post-nuptial
respite,” he said his eyes darkening, “just you and me—unless of
course you would rather take a tour of the continent?”

“And do what everyone else does? I think
not. Wickham Hall sounds wonderful—just you and me.”

His arms tightened around her and he gave
her a quick, fierce kiss. “You’ll like living there, I
promise.”

“A-are you going to stay with me? All the
time, I mean, not only in the beginning?”

The earl dropped his hold on her. “Do you
still not trust me, Jillian?” he demanded. “Have I not made my
intentions clear? If you think I will allow you to be anywhere I am
not then you had best think again. In fact, I give you fair
warning, I’m going to be unpleasantly overbearing on this
issue.”

She nodded, appeased. “I will miss you,
Adrian.”

“Glad to hear it,” he said, “for I will
certainly miss you.”

“How long will you be gone?”

“Perhaps a
sennight
. Less, I hope, no
longer for certain. I will stop by Sutherfield and inform
Simon.”

Jillian saw him out and she stood on the
threshold, watching him as he strode down the walk. Adrian climbed
into the phaeton, his movements lithe, sinewy and sure. As he waved
to her she could not imagine how she would endure the next week
without seeing him, without talking to him—without kissing him.

She sighed heavily and closed the door.

*****

Shortly past dawn the next day Adrian pulled
the strap on his leather satchel and glanced around his rented
room, wondering if he had forgotten anything. Hopefully when he
returned from his trip, his tenure in these small quarters would be
nearly at an end. He had thought to terminate his lease but decided
that move was precipitous. Jillian had been known to change her
mind, and he did not want to be caught unaware.

Not that Adrian expected her to back out on
him now. Unless he had misread the situation, the lady was ready to
accept him. Certainly, she had said as much. And he believed her,
for he had sensed her acquiescence, had felt her burgeoning desire.
Knowing she wanted him caused a pounding in his chest and a
gripping in his groin that proved equal parts ecstasy and
torment.

When she had said yesterday she thought him
handsome, Adrian had been surprised by how much the pretty
compliment had meant to him. Frankly, though, he had been surprised
she had said it at all. He suspected her attraction to him was
something to which she did not want to yield for that yielding
could lead to love, and with love came a certain loss of
control.

And that brought Adrian to the one thing
that bothered him, really bothered him. Though she’d had more than
one opportunity, Jillian had not said she loved him. The most
natural time for her to have said it would have been when he
declared himself but she had held back. He found her reticence more
than frustrating. It was a bit wounding. Bloody hell, he thought,
be honest with yourself, old man—it was
very
wounding.

In the world of the
ton
, affection
was hardly a prerequisite to marriage. He ought to be glad, he
supposed, that he and Jillian desired one another, but he knew it
was not enough. He wanted her to say she loved him. He wanted to
know she meant it.

Adrian walked to the door of his room,
clutching his satchel in one hand as he stepped into the corridor.
He would return in a week and when he did, he would hear her
declaration if he had to squeeze the words from her beautiful body.
He knew she loved him, he just knew she did.

*****

Jillian was restless. She wondered how she
had tolerated her last separation from Adrian, for after five days
of his absence the waiting had begun to eat at her nerves. She
supposed she missed the earl more this time because she had finally
acknowledged her feelings, and in doing so she could now admit her
need for him.

She sat alone in the parlor—Auntie Pru was
making late afternoon calls—trying to concentrate on a needlework
project, but the intricate stitch had her baffled. Not a surprise,
she thought in disgust, because she had never been much of a hand
at stitchery anyway. Why she had picked up something that usually
bored her to ease her boredom was a mystery even to herself. The
door chime rang out and, though normally not a reason for
excitement, the interruption offered the possibility of a rescue
from her monotonous activity. Jillian tossed her needlework aside
as male speech drifted from the entry.

The footman appeared in the doorway.

“Yes, Biggs?”

“The Marquess of Edgeworth is here to see
you, my lady.”

Jillian frowned as she came to her feet.
“Lord Edgeworth? What does he want?”

“He did not say, my lady,” the servant
said.

“Well…oh heavens, I’ll see him, I
suppose.”

Moments later Lionel was shown into the
room. “Jillian, good to see you.” He beamed at her, crossing the
room to take her hand.

He looked handsome as always, but the side
of his face, including his nose, sported a purple-green bruise—even
after many days—a physical reminder of his confrontation with
Adrian.

“Lionel, I am surprised to see you,” she
said coolly, withdrawing her fingers from his. “What brings you
here?”

“I came to see you, of course.”

“Of course,” she said dryly, continuing to
eye him.

“Aren’t you going to ask me to sit
down?”

“I don’t think that is a good idea, my lord.
You should not have come.”

“Jillian, all I ask is a few minutes of your
time. Is that too much to grant an old friend?” He reached out a
hand to her in supplication.

“Oh, all right,” she said, taking a seat on
the settee and indicating the chair across from her, “but make your
point as quickly as possible.”

Instead of appearing offended by her
attitude, he plunked down on the chair, resting his elbows on his
knees, and smiled at her—in a rather oily way, she thought.

“You won’t regret it, I promise,” he
said.

“I’ll have to be the judge of that.” Jillian
looked up and saw the footman hovering in the doorway. “Biggs? What
is it?”

“I’m supposed to leave now,” the servant
said. “My sister’s wedding in London—remember, my lady?”

“Yes, yes, I remember. Certainly you may
go.”

“You don’t need anything, my lady?” Biggs’
gaze shifted to Lord Edgeworth. “I can wait a little longer if you
would like.”

“No, you don’t want to miss your coach.
Please, just tell Hannah you are leaving. And Biggs…?”