Karla Darcy - [Sweet Deception Regency 04] (14 page)

In her early days at Windhaven, Leslie had investigated all of the rooms in the enormous hall with the exception of the rooms reserved for the Duke and Duchess. Her innate respect for privacy kept her from prying into her guardian's rooms, and the ones next to his, untenanted, promised little of interest. As the door opened on the suite, Leslie's tired eyes were assaulted by a blaze of yellows, running the gamut from a light lemony color to a harsh brassy gold. Cheerful did not cover the room by half, she thought as she gaped at the tawdry display.

"Well, yes," laughed Nell as though reading her thoughts. "I had forgotten that all that cheerful yellow could be quite appallingly depressing. Ah, Polly." The older woman nodded to the maid, wringing her hands anxiously in her apron. "If it meets with your approval, Leslie, Polly will serve as your abigail. Although Pax suggested an older woman, I thought you might welcome someone of your own age."

Leslie turned warmly to Nell, her smile taking in the anxious maid. Polly had come to Windhaven about the same time as Leslie, and the two girls had liked each other immediately. Granted Polly knew her then as a young boy, but Leslie felt the girl could make the adjustment. Rather her than a sour-faced copy of Nell's Druscilla.

"Of course, my Dru will be on hand to give you both guidance," Nell remarked, seeing the flash of intelligence pass between the two girls. Airily she dismissed Polly saying, "For tonight, I shall be happy to tuck you up myself."

Leslie sighed gratefully as the older woman removed the confining clothing. She knew the greatest sacrifice would be giving up her comfortable male garments. For everafter, she would be pinched and pressed into clothes which inhibited her movements and hampered her breathing. Leslie's chilled nakedness was quickly covered by a veritable shower of white lawn. The nightgown had long sleeves and a high neck which for a wedding night was ludicrous at best. But worst of all it was much too large for her.

"Good Lord, child! This must be Druscilla's idea of the proper way to deck out a bride." Nell pursed her mouth and cocked her head to the side as she stared morosely at the disastrous nightrail. "Unfortunately I'm long past white, my dear, and anything in my wardrobe would clash with the room."

"It's fine, Lady Titwiliver." Leslie laughed as she flapped the material around. "It's rather like having wings."

Nell watched as the girl whirled around the room, the material billowing around her body. She had the look of a magical wood sprite, the old woman thought. There was an ethereal quality about the girl, an air of vulnerability and innocence. When Leslie danced back around the room, Nell took her by the hand and led her to the enormous bed. Patting the gold satin coverlet, she sat down beside the young girl, staring intently into the wide blue eyes.

"Promise me, child, that you will redo this room."

Leslie smiled at the old woman's request. "I promise, milady."

"And, of course, from now on you must call me by that abominable child's name, Aunt Nell. Sounds just like a scrubwoman."

Leslie squeezed the blue-veined hand, unable to find the words to express her gratitude for Nell's support. The spaniel-brown eyes twinkled, making words unnecessary.

"Now, Leslie," she said briskly. "How much do you know of what goes on in a marriage bed?"

Leslie could feel the color drain away from her face as an understanding of the old woman's words hit her. Her skin felt tight and cold, and Leslie withdrew her hand, clenching her fingers together in the folds of her nightdress.

Nell took in the discomfort of the girl. "Don't go missish on me, Leslie. This is a time for plain speaking."

With all her heart Leslie wanted to tell the older woman that she knew practically nothing. In answer to most of her questions Jacko and Manji had told her that her husband would explain everything at the proper time. Living on the estate it was inevitable that certain aspects of sexual activities were apparent to her but she knew little of the relationship between a man and a woman.

"I know what mating is about, Aunt Nell," Leslie began, flushing in embarrassment.

"Good. No need to go into any detail. I've a firm understanding of it myself. My mother instructed me to remain perfectly still so that I would not embarrass the chambermaid by wrinkling the sheets. But then, she didn't know that the gratefully departed Earl would never consider exerting such energy." Nell sniffed in remembered disappointment. "My advice to you, child, is to go to bed with an open mind and a desire for joy. Love can lift you to the heavens if you permit it."

For once the humor of Nell's words did not penetrate Leslie's mind. At the thought of the night ahead she was near panic. Her face reflected her emotions, and the older woman leaned patted the hands tightly clenched in the folds of the nightgown.

"There's no need to be frightened, my child. Pax will not be expecting any great knowledge on your part. He was educated with the understanding that he would be marrying a virgin, otherwise, of course, there would be no need to marry the gel."

Nell stood up, leaning down to hug Leslie whose face had a white, pinched quality. She knew there was little she could do to alleviate Leslie's apprehensions. Sighing for the ignorant vulnerability of youth, she swept across to the door looking back at the forlorn figure on the bed.

"Good night, my dear," Nell called softly before she closed the door. "Pax will be with you shortly."

Chapter Eight

As the door closed Leslie jerked to her feet, taking several steps across the room to call back the older woman. Then she stopped in defeat. Aunt Nell could not really help her. She was a married woman now and must conduct her own affairs.

Leslie stood in the center of the room staring around her in uncertainty. For a moment she had the feeling that all the yellows in the room were closing in on her and she swayed. She wanted only to hide. At any moment Pax would be here and she did not have the courage to face him. She knew as her husband that he had a right to demand certain unknown intimacies. If he loved her she would be eager to please him. But in the present situation it was unthinkable.

"Why didn't he let me escape?"

Leslie's cry did little to diminish her apprehension for the night ahead. Her slight experience with lovemaking on the night of the masquerade made her realize her vulnerability where Pax was concerned. When he kissed her in the gazebo she had felt a wave of sensation threatening to drown her. His touch had given him total power over her body. But without love she could not give her heart and soul into his care. If she did she would be left with no integrity, no self worth.

Chilled by her thoughts, Leslie crossed to the fire. She lifted the front of her nightgown and was grateful for the hot air that billowed up the voluminous skirts. Turning around she sighed as the heat warmed her back. She felt better and wondered what she should do. Uncertainly she touched the silk back of one of the pair of chairs drawn up to the fireplace. Her hands stroked the material but froze as the door to Pax's bedroom opened.

The blood hammered along her veins as her eyes roamed the figure in the doorway. Although his unruly black hair had been combed to perfection and his dressing gown was all that was elegant, Pax looked out of place in this feminine sanctuary. His facial features vibrated with a sensual masculinity that was foreign to the room. As he started toward her, Leslie's breath caught in her throat and she clung to the chair for support.

Pax's overriding feeling was one of ill-usage. He had spent two miserable days chasing over the countryside after his recalcitrant ward, had been rejected by the child, then had been forced to resort to blackmail in order to convince the girl to marry him. The vicar had the unmitigated gall to read him a lesson on morals and now even Aunt Nell had the effrontery to tell him how to conduct his wedding night. Be damned to the lot of them! Pax muttered, placing the decanter of brandy onto the marble-topped table beside the fireplace.

Aligning two snifters next to the brandy, he turned his eyes to Leslie.

Good God! Where did she get that nightgown! There's enough material to make wardrobes for at least three orphans, he thought acidly. The sleeves hung over her hands and the high collar drooped around her neck, giving her the look of a child playing dress-up. Inwardly he groaned, wondering how to proceed with the night ahead when his bride looked as though she was newly sprung from the nursery. He poured brandy into one of the glasses and irreverently tossed off the fiery liquor.

Although he had imbibed a good deal of liquor, he was not totally foxed. His mind was a mixture of emotions that he had attempted to deaden with a fair intake of alcohol. It had not clarified his thoughts, only numbed his wits.

"A drink, my dear. To the evening ahead." He waved the empty glass in Leslie's direction, not really seeing the white-faced figure, frozen in terror. As he looked around the room he took in the clashing colors and shuddered. He had forgotten that the unused bedroom lacked much in regard to taste. It hardly lent an air of romance to be surrounded by all the worst examples of the draper's art. Slowly his eyes swung to his new bride.

It was the very stillness of the girl that broke through to Pax's consciousness. Leslie's whole body was rigid, and she seemed to be clinging to the silk-backed chair for support. Her enormous blue eyes were dilated with fear. The brandied fumes dissipated and Pax looked closely at the girl, for once seeing the vulnerability beneath the finely drawn face. Some unnamed emotion burrowed into his heart as he stared into the drowning blue eyes.

Pax started to cross to Leslie but suspected in her present state the girl would swoon at any approach. Her eyes were locked on his; her body was waiting, prepared to flee. Keeping his movements slow and deliberate, Pax eased around the table and sat down in the chair facing the girl. He smiled grimly as Leslie blinked once and some of the tension eased from her body.

"Sit down, child."

Slowly Leslie eased herself around the arm of her chair and sank down on the cushions, curling her feet under the nightgown. Her heart was still racing as though she had run a great distance. She tried to breathe more slowly, forcing her body to relax into the comfort of the chair. She could not tear her eyes away from Pax's face, feeling some security in the fact that he was no longer glowering at her. A ragged sigh escaped her.

"I'm going to bring you some brandy. From the looks of you I suspect you could use it." So saying, Pax poured a slight bit of the brown liquor into the glass and brought it across to her.

Leslie tried not to shrink away from him and reached out a trembling hand. The crystal felt cold to her touch but she raised it to her lips, sipping tentatively. Her mouth was filled with a liquid fire that burned a path down her throat as the pungent fumes swirled in her head. Although she gasped for air, she held back a choking cough as she saw the amusement reflected on Pax's face. Eyes narrowed with bravado, she deliberately raised the snifter to her lips for another scalding taste.

"That's the spirit," Pax chuckled at the defiant pluck of the girl.

This time the liquor sent a wave of warmth through her body and Leslie felt revived, her thoughts no longer spinning out of control. She could feel herself relaxing and she smiled tentatively across at Pax.

"Thank you," she said softly.

With narrowed eyes, Pax stared at the girl in the chair. Her sudden change of identity had thrown him totally off balance. Somewhere in his unconscious mind there was a rightness to the new Leslie. So many things that had bothered him before were explained. He had worried at Leslie's lack of growth and softly muscled body. He had seen enough children on the estate to realize that at Leslie's age, the boyish body should have filled out more. At times he had wondered if his ward was strong enough to protect himself. Perhaps that was why he had not forced Leslie to return to Eton. He remembered how he had teased her when she had refused to swim in the lake. Now Pax realized that Leslie's body must have been changing, and it was fear of discovery and perhaps a sudden attack of modesty that had brought on the refusal.

"I still can't believe it."

Although Leslie suspected that Pax had not meant to say the words aloud she knew what he meant. She felt compassion for the bewilderment reflected on the man's face. She held herself steady as his eyes roamed over her, grateful for the enveloping nightgown's protection.

"Whatever are we going to do?" Her words hung mournfully in the night air. For a moment she did not realize she too had spoken aloud. Then her eyes sought Pax's face, waiting for some response.

"We are married, Leslie." Now it was Pax's words that broke the silence. They were spoken gently, with an underlying thread of resignation.

"It's not a proper marriage," she snapped.

Pax leaned forward in his chair. The lines in his face were harsh. Elbows on his knees, he leaned toward her, hands clasped and joined index fingers pointing at her.

"I want you to listen very carefully, Leslie. Our marriage is legal and binding. No matter what either of us wants we are now a happily wedded couple." His precise words were bitten off cleanly in his deep rumbling voice. "You are now the Duchess of Ruhaven and will behave accordingly. Since I'm sure that London is alive with the scandal, we will be leaving in three weeks time to prove to the polite world that their rattling tongues can be given a proper rest."

"I don't want to go to London." Leslie's whisper was a wail of despair.

"It is of little moment what you want," Pax stated calmly, ignoring the note of panic in her voice. "It will take us three weeks to outfit you and instruct you with the social graces that might go a long way to reinstating our good name. In the meantime you will be guided by Lady Titwiliver and myself. Is that perfectly clear?"

The terror that Leslie felt about entering society was topped only by her hurt at Pax's treatment. He spoke as though she were a simpleminded child. It was evident that he had little use for her and less respect for her than she had first believed. She could see no hope that anything would change and she wanted nothing more than to die.