Julianne MacLean (11 page)

D
own by the lake—which this morning was a dead calm reflecting the trees and the sky with astounding clarity—Damien eased his horse from a gallop to a walk.

He hadn’t realized how badly he’d needed some time alone in the woods, just breathing in the fresh air and the scent of the leaves on the ground. It calmed him, it always had, and this morning, he had needed to relieve some tension.

Two letters had arrived for him yesterday. One had come from Henderson, his steward at Essence House, saying that one of the tenant farmers had packed up and left without so much as a note saying why, and something had to be done because the rent was due and the estate couldn’t weather another loss in income.

Damien had written back to him, instructing him to manage the finances as best he could for a little while longer. Things would improve soon, Damien had promised. He didn’t say how, but he did tell Henderson to discontinue the search for a family to lease the house, because Damien planned to return as soon as possible after the London Season came to a close. He assumed his steward would guess that he intended to bring home a bride.

As he wrote the reply, however, Damien envisioned himself wearing a stiff bow tie every night during the Season, attending dull London balls and assemblies, and bowing politely to dozens of simpering, bejeweled debutantes.

He had not enjoyed penning the note.

The other letter, doused in perfume, had come from Frances. She wanted Damien to return to London as soon as he could manage it, because she was “utterly bored” with her current theater production. She wanted a distraction.

Damien headed back to the house and spotted his grandmother’s open carriage on the lane. She was out for her usual morning drive. He trotted up beside her.

“Damien!” she said. “I was hoping I would meet you. I have a bone to pick with you, young man.”

“A bone, Grandmama?” he replied over the clatter of hooves and carriage wheels.

“Yes. You kept a secret from me yesterday. About your adventure.”

Damien glanced uneasily at the driver of the carriage.

Catherine noted his concern and tapped her cane. “Stop here, Regan. Would you fetch me some daisies? Just over there, that’s right.”

The driver set the brake, hopped down, and left them alone. Catherine squinted her eyes at Damien. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

His horse took a few restless steps sideways. “Who let it slip?”

“Adele’s mother, Beatrice. She can’t keep a secret, that one. Delightful sense of humor, though.”

They both looked up at the house on top of the hill.

“It was nothing,” Damien said.

“Please, you needn’t pretend it hasn’t been intriguing for you, rescuing Harold’s fiancée from a kidnapper and bringing her home like a hero to deliver her into the arms of her betrothed. Very romantic, don’t you think?”

He shook his head at her.

She smiled mischievously. “I heard she was shot, too. Truly, it’s the stuff of novels. And you were so good to bandage her leg. Her
thigh
, I should say. Good heavens, if you weren’t future cousins, one might go so far as to call it scandalous.”

“It really was nothing, Grandmama.”

“Of course it wasn’t. And I’m sure you kept your eyes closed the entire time.”

Damien leaned forward, resting an elbow on
his knee. He grinned at her. “You know you’re a thorn, Grandmama?”

“I know,” she replied, smiling. “But you need a good painful prick every once in a while, Damien, to remind you you’re still alive.” She turned toward her driver, still picking daisies. “Call him back, will you? He’ll get stung by a bee.”

“Regan!” Damien shouted, waving him back. He returned and handed the bouquet to Catherine, who patted him on the arm.

“Thank you, you’re a dear.”

The carriage lurched forward and they started back toward the house. “All right,” she said, “let’s change the subject. I had a good time last night.”

“I heard you were up until two.”

“Yes. We played charades and Violet sang, and received an overwhelming round of applause. She loved it, of course. It’s a shame you missed it.”

“I had things to do.”

“Did you now?”

“I did.”

He felt his grandmother’s intrusive gaze digging into him.

“She certainly is lovely,” she said.

“Who?”

Catherine gave him a knowing, sidelong glance. “Adele, of course. I like her demeanor. She has no pretensions. She was nervous meeting us, but she didn’t try to hide it under an aloofness that’s so common among some people. She was very warm and friendly. I can see
why the American gels are snatching up all our young men. Clara, her sister, was just as lovely.”

“I suppose,” he replied.

Catherine leaned over the side of the carriage to tap his knee with her cane. “Oh, stop, will you? Didn’t you get to know her?”

“Not really.”

They looked up at a bird flying overhead, and rode in silence for a few minutes.

“Do you think she’ll be happy with Harold?” Catherine asked.

“I wouldn’t know.”

“She mentioned she loves to ride.”

“Did she?”

“Harold hates it.”

Damien shook his head again. “There are more important things in a marriage than a shared interest in horses and a love of the outdoors. People connect in many different ways.”

“I didn’t mention a love of the outdoors,” his grandmother said. “I think you know her better than you let on.”

Damien pulled his horse to a stop, and she went on. On any other day, he would have ridden the rest of the way back to the house with his grandmother. But today—given the subject matter of their conversation—he preferred to stay behind.

Adele sat up on her bed and watched the physician close his black leather bag. He must be a very skilled man, she thought, feeling more than a little impressed. After he’d checked her
bullet wound and changed the bandage, he’d taken one brief look at her down
there
—a look that lasted less than a second—and said simply, “All is well.” He’d not even touched her.

Though she was still embarrassed by the sprawling nature of her reclining position just now, her immense relief overshadowed it. All was well.

She rose to her feet, resisting the most un-English urge to jump up and down and kiss him. “Thank you, Dr. Lidden.”

She escorted him to the door, but could not let him leave without learning something first. “This is certainly good news. May I ask if you will report the results to Lord Osulton?”

The doctor stopped and looked down at her. He had the kindest, warmest blue eyes. “Lord Alcester requested the strictest confidentiality on my part.
You
are the only person I am responsible to, Miss Wilson. Unless, of course, you
wish
me to inform Lord Osulton.”

So Harold still knew nothing. Damien had been discreet.

Adele gazed up at the doctor. Should she tell him to go and speak to Harold? Dear Harold hadn’t mentioned any concerns about this sort of thing, but how could he possibly initiate such an intimate topic of discussion?

He must be wondering, though. The whole family must be concerned…

“I believe, Dr. Lidden, I would in fact prefer that Lord Osulton know all the particulars of my condition. We are to be husband and wife,
after all. Please tell him why I was concerned—because I had been unconscious during part of my kidnapping—and assure him that all is well.”

The doctor smiled. She sensed he was relieved to be spared the necessity of keeping a secret from the family. “I will go and speak to him right away,” he said, bowing to her before he walked out.

“I beg your pardon?” Harold said, straightening from his bent-over position at his lab table and pushing his protective glasses up onto the top of his head. “What did you say?”

Dr. Lidden cleared his throat. “I said, my lord, that Miss Wilson was not compromised during her kidnapping. I’ve just examined her, and you can be confident that there will be no
confusion
regarding a male heir, if one were to be a product of your marriage in the near future. Do you understand my meaning?”

Harold laughed nervously. He pulled off his glasses, dropped them onto the stool behind him, and moved around the long table to screw a lid onto a jar. He closed it tight, then laughed again.

“You can actually discover these things?” he asked. “I say, it’s quite a science, isn’t it? Though not a science I would likely enjoy.” He gestured toward the bottles behind him, stacked on shelves against the glass wall of the former conservatory. “Are you a man of science, Doctor?” Harold blushed and laughed again. “Of course you are. What a dimwitted ques
tion.” He paused and shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“So you say she’s healthy?” he went on. “Well, that is good news, isn’t it? Good news indeed.”

He turned around to face the opposite wall, as if looking for something to do, then faced the doctor again and lowered his voice to sound more like the lord he was supposed to be. “That’ll be all, Lidden. Thank you for your time.”

Dr. Lidden bowed and walked out, shaking his head as he climbed the steps that led back into the main part of the house.

Damien sat back in the saddle and watched the doctor’s carriage roll by on the lane. It was done. He had examined Adele.

Damien’s shoulders heaved with a deep sigh. He could not comprehend the inappropriateness of his curiosity. He had instructed the doctor to keep the matter private between himself and Adele, but now Damien wished he had told the man to report back. Damien wanted the assurance that she had not been harmed when she’d been unconscious, and it was killing him now—
killing
him—to leave the matter alone and stay away.

F
rom her window on the second floor, Adele watched Dr. Lidden walk out of the house, climb into his carriage, and drive away. She turned and looked at her door, expecting to hear a knock at any moment. Surely, Harold had been relieved to hear the news that she had not been harmed in
that
particular way during her kidnapping.

She waited, and waited, and waited some more. Still, he did not come. Perhaps he was afraid to. Perhaps he felt uncomfortable discussing such things.

Adele sighed, remembering what a sensitive man Harold was. She remembered how he had rescued a spider in her Newport drawing room once, while the ladies were screaming, and had
set him free out the window. That was the moment she had decided Harold was the one for her. He had not squished the poor creature under his boot. He was a sweet, nonthreatening man.

She decided at that moment to seek him out instead. She wanted to share her happiness with someone. Who better than her husband-to-be?

She met the butler in the main hall, and asked where Lord Osulton might be.

“He’s in the conservatory, Miss Wilson,” the butler replied.

What a perfect place, she thought. She had been looking forward to seeing the plants and flowers.

She made her way through the gallery and down a long corridor, then finally found the entrance to the conservatory, flanked by graceful statues of the human form. She didn’t let herself stop to look at them. She did stop, however, rather abruptly, at the top of the conservatory steps.

There were no plants. The entire room had been converted to a laboratory. There were five or six tables covered with bottles, scales, funnels, and flasks, and papers strewn about. Tall bookcases filled with reports and journals stood in front of the glass windows, blocking the view of the garden. It was not what she had expected—which characterized her life in general over the past week.

Slowly, feeling almost heartbroken, she descended the stairs, looking around at the jars and bottles full of liquids and powders, all with
hand-printed labels. Adele cleared her throat. “Harold, I was hoping to talk to you.”

His smile seemed slightly strained. “What about, my darling?”

Adele tried to keep her voice casual when, in actuality, she felt very awkward. “Did Dr. Lidden come to see you?”

“Dr. Lidden? Yes, yes he did.”

“And he told you that everything was fine?”

The smile disappeared from Harold’s lips, then it returned—a forced, nervous grimace. He picked up a crucible and moved it to a new spot on another table. “Everything is fine. Yes. Glad to hear it.”

A wave of disappointment slowly made its way through Adele. She had imagined he would take her into his arms and express his relief. She had thought he might kiss her.

“So, what do you think of my laboratory?” he asked, abruptly changing the subject. “We had it converted two years ago.”

She had to work hard to shake herself out of her expectations, forget about the subject matter that was “fine,” and show interest in this passion of his. She moved more fully into the large room and looked up at the glass ceiling. “What did you do with the plants?”

“To be honest, I don’t know what they did. It wasn’t my concern, really. I was more interested in where the tables would be placed. The light’s fabulous, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it certainly is.”

He gave her a tour of the laboratory and
showed her a chemical heating lamp that a local tinsmith had made—which Harold admitted he was very proud of. He showed her his alkalimeters, his acidimeters, his hydrometers, his eudiometers, and his pestles and mortars and gas tubes. He was particularly proud of his collection of scientific circulars.

As soon as he had shown her everything, an uncomfortable silence settled over them.

“Well, I should leave you to your work, then,” Adele said, laboring to sound cheerful. “Perhaps later, we could begin the tour you suggested.”

“Tour?” he asked, looking slightly baffled.

“Of the house and gardens. You said you’d show me around.”

His face split with a huge grin. “Oh yes! A tour! I would be most happy to do that, yes!” He glanced around at the papers lying about. “Just give me a few minutes to finish what I’m doing here. Why don’t I come and fetch you in an hour?”

Adele nodded. “That would be very good, Harold. Thank you.”

She picked up her skirts and climbed the steps, telling herself that she would feel better in the days to come, after she and Harold had time to be alone and talk, and become more at ease with each other.

Adele stood on the front steps and watched Clara dash into the arms of her handsome husband, Seger, whom she had not seen since she’d left England over a month ago.

“I missed you!” Clara said, as Seger swung her around. “Next time, you’re coming with me!”

“Next time, I definitely will,” he replied, pressing his lips to hers and kissing her deeply for everyone to see.

Adele gasped at the display and felt the others gasp, too, then they all looked away, pretending not to notice, except for two footmen, who enjoyed the spectacle and nudged each other.

Clara took her husband’s hand and walked up the stairs to introduce him to everyone. It was hardly a dignified moment. Adele heard someone whisper, “
Those Americans
.”

While Seger met the family, Adele noticed a rider coming up the hill. It was Damien. He circled around to the stables at the back of the house.

A short time later, Clara and Seger retired to their rooms to spend time alone with baby Anne, and everyone else dispersed. Adele was left in the main entrance hall with Harold.

“Perhaps I could take you on the tour tomorrow,” he said. “I’m in the middle of a very complex experiment and I would like to return to the conservatory. Tomorrow would be better.”

Adele wondered why he continued to call it a conservatory when it was quite another thing. She kept her opinions to herself, however. “That would be fine, Harold. Tomorrow.”

He hurried off to finish what he had begun.

Adele stood alone in the center of the round entrance hall, and felt a longing to be outdoors. Though she was disappointed that Harold
wished to work on his experiment today, she was still so very pleased and happy about the doctor’s news earlier. She wanted to run. And she wished she could share her news with someone.

Adele glanced toward the front door and remembered seeing Damien not more than a few minutes ago, riding back to the stables. She remembered what he’d said to her before he’d left her bedchamber at the inn—that it would be dangerous for them to speak to each other, especially alone.

But surely, she could just tell him this one small bit of news. She couldn’t very well leave him to wonder about it.

For a moment or two, she dithered over what to do, then gave in and decided she would break the rule just this once. It wouldn’t be such a terrible thing. She would just tell him the news, then return to the house.

She ventured out the front door and made her way along the lane that circled the house, her leather boots crunching over the clean, white gravel. The air smelled of roses and clipped green grass. She glanced down the hill to the woods, and longed for the smells down there. A leisurely ride would certainly clear her head today. Perhaps Harold would finish his work early, and be willing to join her later.

She walked to where the stables were located at the back of the house. She didn’t see anyone around, so she quietly entered the largest build
ing where the doors were flung open, letting the sun stream onto the wide, plank floor.

Inside, the strong smell of hay and horses wafted to her nostrils, and she breathed deeply, basking in it. She had been too long in a cabin on a boat, and then trapped in a tiny cottage with no escape. Her bones were kicking to enjoy freedom, her heart longing to gallop.

Thinking of that kind of freedom made her remember her conversation with Clara the night before, when Clara had used the word “repressed.” An unfamiliar tension curled around Adele’s muscles. She realized that the only time she felt truly “free” was when she went riding or running in the woods. It was a natural place where everything was real. There were no expectations in the woods. No rules to worry about.

Adele wandered down the long row of stalls, stroking the horses’ soft, silky noses, enjoying the sounds they made as they nuzzled her palm. Just then, she heard a voice. A man’s voice. Damien’s voice. Her heart began to race.

She contemplated the frustrating response. She had thought she would be able to subdue her feelings when she saw him, but here she stood, suffering from yet another attack of improper exhilaration—and she hadn’t even
seen
him yet. She’d only heard his voice in the next stall.

Perhaps this hadn’t been such a good idea, she thought, feeling apprehensive and anxious all of a sudden. She turned to leave.

He was talking to his horse, she realized suddenly, stopping again. What was he saying? His voice was too low and gentle to hear. She listened for a few seconds, then couldn’t help herself. She turned back and peered around the corner.

He was feeding an apple to the horse. She could hear the crunching sound; she could even smell the apple. It reminded her of home, of their orchard in Wisconsin. Then she noticed a bucket full of juicy red apples just outside the stall.

Damien picked up a brush and began to groom his horse. She thought
she
was the only one who groomed her own horse. Her mother constantly said, “That’s what servants are for,” but Adele liked to do it. She had done it since she was a girl and she did not wish to give it up. It was the only thing she did that her mother disapproved of, though she had long ago stopped mentioning it.

Adele watched Damien for a moment. He had taken off his riding jacket and wore a black waistcoat over a crisp white shirt. His raven hair looked windblown and artless, spilling down onto his collar as it had when he had first burst into her room to rescue her at the isolated cottage.

He had two looks, she realized—the wild, rugged warrior and the elegant London gentleman. She believed she liked the warrior best. It was more
him
. Organic and untampered with. It was the look that fascinated her.

She found herself mesmerized by the sight of
his large hand holding the brush, smoothly stroking the horse’s shiny coat. Damien’s muscular arm and shoulder moved with grace. The strength and breadth of his back was indeed something worth looking at.

“I don’t suppose you’d like to help,” he said casually, and it took Adele a few seconds to realize with horror that he was talking to her.

She cleared her throat and, quite suitably embarrassed, stepped out from behind the post. She fought to contain and hide the tension she was feeling. “It appears I’ve been discovered.”

He glanced her way and grinned—a most wicked, seductive grin—and her body seemed to melt into something resembling warm, sticky molasses. She put her hand on the post to keep from toppling over into the next stall.

He turned his attention back to what he was doing—stroking his most fortunate horse—and Adele managed, at last, to breathe. She searched her muddled brain for the reason she had come here.

“I…I thought you might like to know what happened with Dr. Lidden.”

Damien froze mid-stroke. He stood still for a few seconds, and the stable seemed very quiet. He lowered the brush and walked toward her. His boots swished over the hay.

Adele felt the power of his approach like a fire moving closer and closer, soon too hot to bear. She took a step back and sucked in a breath, hoping he hadn’t noticed, but knowing he had. Of course he had.

“And?” he said, stopping before her.

She smelled his cologne. It was so potently familiar. It assaulted her senses like a storm. “And all is well,” she replied shakily.

His broad, muscular shoulders lifted with a deep intake of breath, then he whispered, “Thank God.”

“Yes, thank God,” she repeated.

He stood before her, saying nothing. She didn’t know what to say either. They had vowed to keep away from each other once they’d arrived here.

“And everything else is all right?” he asked. “You’re comfortable here? You have everything you need?”

She nodded quickly.

“Good,” he said.

Still he didn’t turn away. His horse nickered. She would nicker, too, if she were waiting for Damien to finish rubbing her down.

“I’m glad you came,” he said, in a soft, husky voice. “I was thinking about you.”

Feeling an onslaught of deep and potent yearning, she gazed up at his dark, devilish eyes and strove to be sensible. She thought of all his mistresses. She thought about his reputation, and the fact that he was Harold’s cousin, and she was engaged to Harold and did not want to jeopardize that fact, for she was happy with her choice. It was the
right
choice. The temptation she felt around this man was dangerous, and she had no business feeling hot and impassioned in his presence. She would never want to marry
him
.

Why, then, could she not make the feelings go away? Why could she not resist the wanton desire to see him, and the urge to stay here with him and do more than just talk?

Adele breathed faster. “I was thinking about you, too. I mean…I wanted you to know that everything was fine.”

They stood there, saying nothing, just staring at each other, and Adele thought her heart was going to give out. His gaze moved all over her face—from her eyes down to her lips, where he lingered a moment, then down her body to her feet and back up again.

It felt strangely as if he had touched her in all those places. She felt weak and exposed, standing before him—a man who clearly possessed a great deal of experience and command when it came to women. It was no wonder he’d had so many mistresses. She suspected most women would tumble into his arms quite happily when faced with
this
.

“So now I’ve told you,” she said. “I should get back to the house.”

He tilted his head at her. “Yes, you should.”

Her lips parted. “All right then,” she said, feeling utterly ridiculous. “I’ll go.”