Julianne MacLean (12 page)

She turned and left the stable, but felt his eyes watching her the entire way out.

S
till in her nightgown, Adele left her bedchamber and went to her mother’s room. She knocked softly, for it was still early, and entered. Her mother was asleep with her mouth open, snoring.

Adele knelt by the bed and whispered, “Mother?”

Always a light sleeper, Beatrice woke. She gazed drowsily at Adele, then lifted the heavy covers. “Adele, darling. Get in. It’s chilly.”

Adele climbed into the warm bed and lay next to her mother. It reminded her of the days in Wisconsin when the family used to sleep together in the one room cabin. They’d had no servants to light a fire in the morning, so they often snuggled close in bed.

Adele faced her mother for a few minutes before she spoke. “Can I ask you something?”

Beatrice opened her eyes again. “Of course.”

“You and Father always said I was the most well behaved of your three girls. I never got into trouble, and I’m trying to understand why I was so different from Sophia and Clara.”

Her mother rested a hand on Adele’s cheek. “You were different from the moment you were born. Even as a baby, you never complained when I put you to bed. You went to sleep. When you were a little girl, you were always happy and very independent. You didn’t seem to need to fight against anything.”

“But I fought against Sophia and Clara. I tattled on them. I didn’t like it when they broke the rules.”

Her mother thought about that for a moment. “That happened in New York. You didn’t do that so much in Wisconsin. You usually went your own way.”

“I changed when we moved?”

“Well, you were growing up.”

Adele thought about her life, how she’d always felt it was divided in two. First, she had been “Adele in Wisconsin,” who had loved her pony and went riding alone in the woods. Then she had become “Adele in New York,” who had loved her parents and wanted to please them, and often felt frustrated with her sisters, who did what they wanted when she could not.

Why
couldn’t she?

“Do you think I was born with this personality, to be good?”

“We are all born with a natural disposition.”

“But can that disposition change?”

Her mother’s brow furrowed. “Is something wrong, Adele? Are you not happy? Has your ordeal—”

“No, I’m very happy, Mother. Please don’t worry. I just want to understand the person I’m supposed to be.”

Beatrice smiled. “You’re supposed to be you. And you’re perfect, Adele.”

Perfect
. There it was again. That word. It had never made her uncomfortable before. But now, since she’d been kidnapped, and since she’d let Damien kiss her and lie with her in the darkness, she felt as if she might be an impostor, and the walls all around her were closing in, threatening to squeeze the breath out of her.

Over breakfast the next day, Adele smiled and took part in the animated conversation about her nuptials. Her mother and Eustacia sat together at one end of the table, clucking like hens, while Violet sent amused, knowing glances Adele’s way.

The family seamstress was mentioned, and Violet practically dropped her teacup into her saucer. “Oh no, Mother, you must consider a designer in London. Or perhaps that Worth fellow from Paris. Adele’s marriage to Harold must be perfect, and to be perfect, she must have the very newest fashion. Her sister Sophia wore a
wedding gown by Worth, and she is a duchess, after all.”

Eustacia’s face lit up with interest, and Adele’s mother beamed, nodding with pride. “Oh yes,” she said. “It
must
be a Worth gown.”

Adele glanced across the white-clothed table at her future sister-in-law, Violet, who looked very satisfied with herself and her suggestion. Adele, on the other hand, heard only the word “perfect,” and felt a great pressure squeeze around her chest.

After breakfast, Adele asked where Harold might be, for she was looking forward to her tour of the house and gardens, and she didn’t want to think about wedding plans anymore. They were becoming too complicated, and everyone seemed to be getting carried away with the details. Adele wanted only to begin her new life and get to know her fiancé better. She wanted to feel that this was her home, so she would finally be able to relax here. That’s what mattered to her. Not the color of the bridesmaids’ sashes.

She was told Harold would be in the conservatory. Or rather, the laboratory. She made her way there and entered. Her fiancé stepped out from behind a wall of bookcases. He saw her and jumped with fright.

“Oh, good gracious!” he said, resting a hand on his chest. “You surprised me, Adele!” He smiled awkwardly. “What are you doing here?”

Adele approached him. He wore a white apron with a dark stain on the front. As she came closer, she noticed he smelled like sulphur.

“You promised to show me the house and gardens today, Harold. I’m especially looking forward to a tour of the stables. I heard you have some of the finest horses in England.”

He gave her a flustered look. “I was just about to begin something here. You see, I’m working on the idea I discussed with your father regarding a new synthetic dye.” He gestured toward a number of jars on the table. “I am in the process of producing something artificial that I believe will be more practical than any natural concoction. It’s quite exciting, don’t you think?”

Adele looked at the bottles. “Yes, it’s very exciting, Harold.”

“Your father believes it has business potential.” Along, awkward silence ensued. “Perhaps Damien could show you the stables,” Harold said, sounding frazzled.

Adele’s heart did a flip in her chest. “I beg your pardon?”

Harold turned. “Damien?”

Adele froze. There was a movement at the back corner of the conservatory, close to the far windows, behind the one tall potted plant that had managed to survive the renovation.

It seemed to Adele that Damien was always stepping out from behind something green and most inconveniently catching her off guard.

Hands behind his back, looking as if he had not wanted to be discovered, he stepped into view. “Good morning, Miss Wilson.”

“Good morning,” she replied, straightening her shoulders and feeling oddly defensive.

Harold smiled enthusiastically. “Yes, yes! This is most opportune! Damien is the best person to show you the stables. It’s his doing, you know,” Harold said proudly, “acquiring the best horses. He’s very knowledgeable about that sort of thing. Damien, would you be so kind as to show my lovely betrothed to the stables?”

Another awkward silence ensued. Adele wanted to sink through the floor. Damien didn’t want to show her the stables. He had not even wanted to be discovered.

“Of course,” he said.

Adele put up her hand. “That’s not necessary. I can wait, Harold. Truly. I wanted to see everything with
you
. Don’t feel you have to entertain me. I don’t want to intrude upon your experiments, and clearly, Lord Alcester was here talking to you before I interrupted and—”

“Don’t be silly, my love!” Harold said. “Damien was bored anyway, weren’t you, Damien? And he had just told me he wanted to go for a ride. Perhaps he could show you the estate as well. He knows these woods better than anyone, don’t you, Damien? Always poking about outdoors.”

Adele marveled at her fiancé’s absolute trust in his cousin. Didn’t Harold worry about Damien’s reputation with women? Or how did he know Adele wasn’t the type to swoon over Damien’s good looks? Harold didn’t know her that well, after all. Obviously, the concepts of swooning and gooseflesh had never occurred to him.

“Really,” she said, backing away, “I don’t mind waiting.”

“No, no, don’t leave!” Harold said with a rather desperate smile, taking a step forward to detain her. “In fact, I’ve been dreading taking you to the stables. I’m actually afraid of horses. I was kicked by one when I was twelve. Remember that, Damien? Nasty beasts, I daresay.”

Harold was afraid of horses? He didn’t like to ride? Adele hadn’t known that. What else didn’t she know?

“Please, let Damien take you,” Harold said, “and I can show you the inside of the house later today.”

Both Damien and Adele looked at each other. What could they say? To outwardly refuse to be together would suggest something out of the ordinary between them, and Adele certainly didn’t want to admit to being uneasy around her fiancé’s cousin. She should feel nothing but casual indifference toward him.

Damien took a step forward.

“There now,” Harold said cheerfully. “This will give me time to finish my experiment, and I will be very content knowing you are in good hands, my dear.”

Adele smiled nervously as Damien approached. Good hands. Good hands, indeed.

It was as if they had never met before yesterday.

Damien escorted Adele to the stables and gave her a polite tour, describing where each horse
had come from and when it had been purchased or, if not purchased, bred here on the estate.

She nodded, vastly pleased to be discussing horses, which was a subject dear to her heart. It made it easy to avoid discussing anything personal.

She recalled her sister Sophia’s letters describing how the English could behave in such superficial ways—all in the name of propriety. Sophia had wrestled with the frustration of it all, never knowing what any of them were truly thinking beneath the surface of their enormous reserve. Adele suddenly understood what her sister had endured. Adele was now acting as if there were nothing between herself and Damien except for the common link of Harold. And Damien was acting like someone else entirely. He was avoiding the teasing flirtations that she had, despite their inappropriateness, come to enjoy.

“Would you like to take a ride?” Damien asked, without making direct eye contact with her. A groom stood nearby, waiting for an official request.

“I believe I would,” Adele replied, knowing that she should have said no, but she was positively desperate to escape this manicured palace and all the watching eyes. She just couldn’t resist.

The groom immediately set to work, saddling two horses. A short time later, she and Damien were riding side by side down the hill, trotting across the green lawns. They rode in silence for some time, and Adele smothered any
urge to talk and bring up anything to do with the time they had spent alone together.

Damien was certainly obliging the pretense that they had never met before yesterday. Perhaps it was best. Perhaps this was how it would be from now on. Out of respect for Harold, Damien would not be rakish in her presence. Yes, it was best.

They soon approached a lake and stopped to let the horses graze.

“Is that a teahouse on the island?” Adele asked, noticing a small, round building, painted white and surrounded by leafy oaks.

“Yes, but it’s not an island, it’s a peninsula,” Damien replied. “We can get to it by riding to the other side of the lake.”

“Can we?” Adele heard the excitement in her voice, and too late realized she should have been blasé about the teahouse and everything else, but she could only keep up this pretense for so long before she was bound to slip.

Besides, how could anyone resist exploring what looked like a secret hideaway in the forest? Though she didn’t think it would be wise to explore it with Damien.

“Maybe another time,” she said. “Perhaps I’ll come back here with Harold.”

He leaned forward and stroked his horse’s neck, saying nothing for a few seconds while he gazed at her suggestively from under dark, long lashes. The corner of his mouth gave in to a lazy smile.

There.
There was the Damien she knew—the
raw and earthy sexual being. He stirred something earthy in her as well—something unrefined. It tingled pleasurably through her as she sat on her horse in the cool, fresh air, and it validated her fears and uncertainties, confirming that Damien had an astonishingly powerful effect on her. It was true. It could not be denied. He made her feel things she did not feel with anyone else, things she had never in her life felt before.

“I doubt you’ll get Harold down here any time soon,” Damien informed her.

She gave him a sidelong glance. He smiled, his eyebrow lifting provocatively. What a wicked rake he was, when he slipped into those behaviors. And oh, how he excited her. She couldn’t help smiling back, couldn’t help enjoying the very foreign inclination to misbehave.

He turned his gaze toward the calm lake and surveyed the landscape. What was he considering? she wondered. Was he checking to make sure there was no one else about?

He glanced back at her, his dark eyes assessing. There
was
something between them still, she knew, even though they did not speak of it or, God forbid, touch each other. And it was understood that it would remain unspoken. For as long as they didn’t ever acknowledge it openly again, or act upon it, they were doing nothing wrong. And they both knew where the line was drawn. The challenge, however, was in not crossing that line.

“You want to explore it now, don’t you?” he
asked, sensitive to her desires as he always was. His husky voice touched her like a feather, tickled her skin, sent warmth through all her limbs.

When she didn’t respond, he trotted off ahead of her. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell.”

I won’t tell.
There were already far too many secrets where he was concerned. Far too many hidden, buried emotions.

Yet, against her better judgment, and for reasons Adele couldn’t begin to understand, she could do nothing but follow him into the shady woods.

H
e shouldn’t be doing this, Damien thought, as he led the way through the trees and around the lake. He should not have suggested they ride on. He should have started back toward the house.

But he’d taken one look at Adele on her horse in the natural splendor of her feminine beauty, with her top hat perched at an enticing forward tilt on her head, and her luscious raspberry lips just waiting to be kissed, and he’d slid down the slippery slope of his less gentlemanly inclinations.

It was at that moment an instinct deeper than logic prevailed. It was the instinct responsible for his notorious reputation for being able to successfully seduce any woman of his choosing.

He did not, however, choose just any woman.
He had very particular tastes, and he always chose his lovers with careful, sound logic. Except for today, he thought irritably, when the opportunity to follow his more primitive desires had caused his body to respond promptly on cue with a most sizable and untimely arousal.

“I want to thank you for arranging for the doctor,” Adele said, trotting up beside him.

He draped an arm across his pelvis.

“I wasn’t sure how to handle that,” she added. “I’m glad you thought of it.”

He had thought of a great many things over the past few days.

“Did you tell Harold you were going to take care of it?” she asked.

Damien steered his mount around a fallen branch. “No.”

She considered his direct, flat response. “Why not?”

“The subject didn’t come up.”

The sound of their horses’ hooves tapping over the soft earth filled the silence. “I did talk to him about it myself,” she said, “after I had the doctor explain the situation to him. I wanted Harold to know that I had not been harmed.”

“What did Harold say?”

“He was relieved, of course, but I think he was a little uncomfortable talking about it.”

Damien shifted in the saddle. He knew his cousin well, and he knew that Harold wasn’t entirely comfortable around women, nor was he comfortable with anything to do with sex.
The truth of the matter was, Harold lacked experience, and Damien suspected he would be ill at ease on his wedding night. Painfully so. But it would be disloyal for Damien to express such an opinion to the woman Harold was going to marry. Instead, he would talk to Harold about it. He would prepare him for his wedding night, and tell him what to do.

The thought of that caused a sudden tightness in Damien’s neck and shoulders. Could he do that? Tell Harold how to make love to Adele?

“I was surprised,” she said, ripping him quite violently out of his thoughts, “when Harold suggested you show me the stables, given that we just spent so much time together.”

“Harold trusts me.”

“But how can he trust
me
? He doesn’t know me as well as he knows you. It didn’t even occur to him that I might be tempted by your reputed allure when it comes to women. Am I
that
predictably pure?”

He smiled at her, choosing not to answer.

“It’s strange,” she said, “that even though we’re engaged to be married, sometimes I don’t know how Harold really feels about me. Do you think he would be jealous if he saw us now, riding alone to the teahouse?”

Recognizing Adele’s need for reassurance where her fiancé was concerned, Damien found himself wishing for the first time that his cousin had more finesse. Adele deserved to be adored. If she felt adored by Harold, she would not need to ask Damien these questions.

At the same time, he disliked the idea of her being adored by Harold. Though he loved Harold.

“I’m sure he would be,” Damien replied.

But in all honesty, Damien was not sure. Harold probably wasn’t even giving it a second thought. He was more likely leaning over a beaker right now, concerned only with what was going on inside it, which frustrated Damien greatly.

He told himself it didn’t mean Harold didn’t care for Adele. Harold was just being Harold. “He’ll eventually relax around you,” Damien said. “I know the man he is beneath the surface, and believe me when I say that he’s a good man. Give him time. You’ll have your whole life to get to know him as well as I do.”

She shifted in her saddle. “I know he’s a good man. You’re right. I shouldn’t try to rush things. I shouldn’t expect to be intimate with someone I’ve only just met.”

Yet he and she had only just met, and there was an incredible level of intimacy between them. Though at the moment, they were both working hard to keep it at bay.

They rode around the lake and arrived at the path that led to the teahouse. “Will it be locked?” Adele asked.

“Yes, but I know where the key is. Harold and I used to come here when we were younger, before he discovered chemistry. We spent many hours fishing right over there.” He pointed to the log they once sat on. “Harold’s father used
to enjoy the outdoors. He was always hosting shooting parties.”

“What about
your
father and mother? Do you remember much about them?”

Damien pulled his horse to a stop at the teahouse and swung down from the saddle. He went to help Adele. “My father was very much like Harold. Red hair and all. Eustacia was my father’s sister.”

“And your mother?”

“My mother…well, she had interests that didn’t include me. I had no love for her, and to be honest, I don’t remember that much about her. I never try to because when I do, all I feel toward her is resentment.”

“You have no pleasant or happy memories of her at all?”

Adele’s gloved hands came to rest on his shoulders, and he took hold of her tiny waist. She leaped down, landing with a thud before him, her skirts billowing upon the air.

They stood motionless, staring at each other for a few seconds while he thought about Adele’s question.

“I suppose I do. I remember her holding me and singing to me when I was very small.”

But he didn’t like to think about that. It hurt to remember his mother’s tenderness. It gave him a knot in his stomach.

“Were you close to your father?” Adele asked. “You see, I come from a close family and it’s hard to imagine being a child and not feeling close to at least
someone
.”

He finally let go of her waist and tethered the horses to a tree. “I suppose I was. We were very different, but we seemed to connect somehow. I suppose I knew he would do anything for me. I was loyal to him in return.”

“Like you’re loyal to Harold?”

The question made him uncomfortable. “Yes.”

“When did you and Harold become so close?”

A memory flashed in his mind—an image of a day not long after his parents died, a month, perhaps. He had stumbled across some boys fighting at school, but it turned out to be boys beating on Harold. Damien had fought them off. He had felt very
useful
that day, after weeks of shame and regret, blaming himself for his parents’ deaths.

With nose bleeding and eyes tearing, Harold had looked up at Damien from where he’d sat on the ground, huddled against a brick wall, and said, “You’re my best friend, Damien. You’ll always be my best friend.”

Damien stood outside the teahouse with Adele and told her all about that day, and he saw in her eyes that she understood. He told her other things about their childhood as well. He explained how Harold had always been able to see when Damien was missing his parents, and had cheered him up with jokes or games. Damien gazed down at the ground, remembering so many little things…

The horse nickered, and both Damien and Adele went to pat him and talk to him. Then Damien retrieved the key to the teahouse from a jar nestled in a tree stump nearby, and re
turned to unlock the door. He pushed it open and gestured with a hand for Adele to enter first.

She walked into the large, round room bathed in sunlight, her black boots tapping over the wide planks on the floor. She wandered leisurely around the perimeter, looking out the windows at the lake, then she moved to the center where a large table stood—also round—with twelve Chippendale chairs.

Damien removed his hat, and closed the door behind him. “This was built in 1799, because of something Prince Edward, the Duke of Kent, said when he was a young man—that in a round building, the devil could never corner you.”

“And do you believe that?” She turned her back on him and strolled around, looking carefully at the small paintings of landscapes on the walls.

He let his gaze sweep appreciatively down the length of her curvaceous body. “No. I believe he can corner you anywhere.”

She nodded in agreement, looked around a bit more, then smiled at him.

“It’s wonderful,” she said. “I will come here every day, I’m sure of it, just to escape the…” She stopped whatever she was going to say, and glanced up very briefly at Damien before turning toward the windows again.

He took a slow step forward. “Escape the
what
, Adele?”

She faced him again, and smiled sheepishly. She shook her head. “Oh, I don’t know. The per
fection of it all. Everything is so manicured. Personally, I prefer something more like this. Something small and cozy and covered in ivy and overgrown grasses. I love how the branches dip down into the water just over there, and how the leaves over here”—she pointed at the window—“block the view slightly. It’s natural and unpredictable.”

She met his gaze and smiled warmly, and he felt a stirring deep inside himself. She was beautiful, there was no question about that, and he was attracted to her in a physical way, which was not unusual. That could be dealt with. But there was so much more.

Feeling on edge, Damien dropped his gaze to the floor. He had prayed these feelings would disappear after he returned Adele to Harold. He had prayed that he and Adele would both forget what had happened between them. But Damien could not. It was impossible. All he wanted to do now was pull Adele into his arms and just hold her. He wanted to take her to Essence House and show her the unkempt gardens and the cozy rooms that were full of mismatched pillows, and the stacks of books piled high on the floors, because there was no room left in the bookcases, and no one had ever wanted to part with the books.

Damien knew Adele would love Essence House, because she loved what was natural and unpretentious.

He feared suddenly that what he felt for Adele was more than just a passing lusty admi
ration for an attractive woman, and more than simply a desire for what was forbidden to him. Now that they were back in the real world, it seemed to be much, much more.

Damien squeezed his hat in his hands and felt a dark shadow, like a storm cloud, settle over him and inside him. It was a shadow of gloom. Shame. Dread. He couldn’t move.

“What is
your
house like, Damien?” she asked, her expression bright with interest.

Not only could he not move, he couldn’t speak, either. All he could do was stare blankly at her.

“Damien?” She sauntered closer. “
Your
house. It’s called Essence House. Didn’t you tell me that once? I looked the word ‘essence’ up in the dictionary this morning because I was thinking about it, and it means ‘the real or ultimate nature of a thing, as opposed to its existence.’ It means ‘heart, soul, core, or root.’”

She continued to walk toward him in that carefree way, and he wished she would stop. “In my imagination, your house is very different from Osulton Manor,” she said. “The way I see it, things aren’t clipped. They are like
this
, aren’t they?” She gestured toward the vista outside the windows. “Natural and overgrown and somewhat…messy?”

She laughed.

He didn’t. He couldn’t. “Yes, that’s exactly what it looks like,” he said flatly. “The truth is, I can’t afford a gardener, and even if I could, I’d tell him not to touch a thing, because I love it the way it is.”

She stopped her carefree sauntering directly in front of him, only a foot away, close enough that he could see the flecks of gold in her eyes and the individual hairs in her delicate brows. He could smell the clean scent of her skin. Though it wasn’t perfume he smelled. It was soap.

Her hands were clasped behind her back. She was swinging back and forth like a mischievous child, gazing up at him with impish eyes. She’d never looked at him like that before—so playfully and flirtatiously. It was the Adele he’d always known existed deeper down. The Adele she had never let loose. This Adele—the carnal one—awakened his sharply honed instincts and impulses.

“I’m glad you keep your garden natural,” she said. “I wouldn’t want to ever think of you with your wings clipped, so to speak. I like the idea of you being wild, and soaring.”

Damien fought to ignore the blood pounding through his veins. “Adele, you need to soar, too. Don’t let them make you English.”

Her smile faded, and her expression became serious all of a sudden.

God. He didn’t know where that had come from. She was engaged to Harold.
Harold
.

“I didn’t mean that the way it sounded,” he said. “They’re good people. They’re my family.”

She turned away from him and walked to the windows. She stood with her back to him, saying nothing. He set his hat down on the table, then moved around it and joined her, gazing
down at her soft profile in the light reflecting off the calm lake.

She looked up at him. “Why
would
you say that? Is it because of what Eustacia has been saying—that no one would guess I’m American? That I’m practically English already? Do I mold and bend into any shape, fade into any background, rather than just be the real me? Or is it because everyone always says I’m perfect, and you’re the only one who knows I’m not?”

He wasn’t sure what to say, which was out of his realm of experience. He
always
knew what to say to women. He always knew what they wanted to hear, and he knew how to seduce the ones who wanted to be seduced.

But Adele, sweet Adele, did not want to be seduced. She wanted truth. She was unsure of her future, and she wanted him to tell her everything was going to be all right.

“Yes, it’s just because of that,” he said.

She gazed out at the lake again. There was not a hint of a breeze causing even the smallest waves. There were only random, circular ripples where the quiet fish bobbed to the surface.