The Earl's Enticement (Castle Bride Series) (25 page)

And, of course, there was the bumblebroth with Adaira and her thoroughly compromised reputation.

Those and dozens of other thoughts careened about in his head. If it didn’t already ache fiendishly, the turmoil in his mind would have set his head pounding.

Leaning against the window’s sash, a silvery spot caught his eye. Fionn, head and tail high, trotted majestically around the pasture followed by several mares. Even as he watched, the stallion mounted Tenacity.

Well, confound it. She was in season.

Roark quirked his lips. It seemed Adaira’s stallion was destined to sire a line for him after all.

Adaira. He released a long, controlled breath.

Last night, the passionate woman in his arms had been unequalled. She fascinated him. He’d not deny it. His responses to her were powerful and unrestrained—overwhelming reactions previously foreign to him. Her fervent kisses revealed her desire for him too. Doubt and suspicion raised their ugly heads, however.

He’d no doubt Godwin had forced himself on her. But Roark had kissed her on several occasions. Not once had she responded like a woman afraid of passion. In fact, the opposite was true. Had Brayan spoken the truth? Was Roark nothing but another man to her? Did she revel in her conquests like Delia had?

Adaira wouldn’t have jeopardized her life to save him if that were true. His gut told him neither Delia nor Helene would have gone to the extremes the Scottish lass had to protect him.

Brayan’s revelations staggered Roark. Even now, rage boiled his blood. Adaira had been assaulted. The worse, most degrading, fate for a woman. The knowledge explained much. Her discomfort around men. Her unsuccessful attempts to hide her femininity by wearing boys’ attire.

Bugger it, but he was a boorish cur. He’d accused her of that very thing. Ignorance and pride had blinded him to her loveliness.

Lord, what a mess. He rubbed the nape of his neck, wincing when he encountered a smaller lump low on the back of his head.

She was ruined. A good score of men had seen her state of undress. The telling marks on her delicate skin didn’t leave much to the imagination. There were people in this very house who’d be only too happy to whisper and snicker behind their hands, spreading their version of last night’s events
.

There was no help for it. The mold was cast. The outcome couldn’t be changed. He sighed. Pushing away from the window, he strode to the bell pull.

If Roark hurried, he could have a courier leave for London today with a missive requesting his solicitor obtain a special license.

CHAPTER 26

The moment Adaira awoke this morning, her mother, sisters, and Maisey converged on her like fog on a loch. Their faces marred with concern, she’d not the heart to object to them fretting over her. Father, Dugall, and Flynn had poked their heads in to check on her health as well.

Maisey, her eyes red-rimmed and nose suspiciously shiny, flitted from one side of the bed to the other on the pretense of straightening the coverings or rearranging items on the bedside tables. Cheerful mid-morning sunlight bathed the other four women crowded atop the mattress.

Kiki, hind legs stretched behind her, wiggled her way toward the breakfast tray resting on the counterpane beside Adaira

“How are you feeling? You’ve quite a knot on your head,” Mother fussed, her gaze returning over and over to the welts she knew lay hidden beneath Adaira’s gown.

Self-conscious, she pulled the nightgown’s neckline a bit higher. She’d explained the marks last night, but the unsightly tokens reminded everyone of the attack. “I’m fine, Mother, truly. My head scarcely hurts at all. I’m terribly sorry. I’m afraid I’ve lost the cameo necklace and bracelet.”

“Don’t fret about them.” Mother patted Adaira’s knee. “You’re safe. That’s all that matters.”

Kiki snatched a piece of toast. She dived onto the floor. With her prize clamped in her mouth, she scurried under the bed to enjoy her treasure uninterrupted.

Isobel gasped. “Why, the little thief.”

“It’s all right. I wasn’t going to eat anymore.” Adaira had managed a bit of bacon, a couple bites of toast, and a few strawberries to appease her mother’s anxious promptings.

Isobel extended a fat strawberry. “Here’s a nice, juicy one.”

“No, thank you. I couldn’t possibly eat another.”

And if dear Seonaid didn’t leave off brushing Adaira’s hair and bumping her bruised scalp. . .

“Seonaid, I do believe there’s nary a tangle left.”

“True, Addy, but your hair reeks of smoke and needs washing.” After one last stroke, Seonaid laid the brush in her lap.

“A bath’s been ordered,
chére
. We’ve only to send word once you finish breaking your fast.” Mother took the cold washcloth Adaira held to her cheek. “The bruising isn’t nearly as bad as I’d feared.”

“That’s because our Addy has a hard head,” Isobel teased, handing her another cold cloth.

Adaira stuck her tongue out and grinned, wincing when her bruised cheek objected. She swept them with her gaze. “I thought I was going to die last night. I still cannot believe Seonaid had a vision. I prayed God would send help, and he did.”

Seonaid nodded slowly, her soft brown eyes searching Adaira’s. She grasped Adaira’s hand. “I saw Brayan and the fire. And Lord Clarendon lying on the ground. I was utterly terrified for you.”

Seonaid’s eyes misted with tears. She trembled as a slight shiver shook her. Concern and a remnant of fear lingered in her gaze. “It was
one
of the clearest images I’ve ever experienced.”

Ignoring the emphasis her sister placed on the word
one
, Adaira squeezed Seonaid’s hand. Adaira suspected she knew precisely what other vivid vision Seonaid had seen recently and wasn’t about to speculate on what she’d seen, or why this revelation had taken four years to manifest. Or why Seonaid was keeping silent on the matter. Most likely to protect Adaira.

Good Lord, unless she’d seen Adaira and Roark kissing?

To hide the blush staining her face, she bent forward and bussed Seonaid’s cheek. “I’m most grateful, and I’m sure his lordship is as well.”

Dropping her gaze to her lap, Adaira plucked at the coverlet’s tatted edge. Her last memory of him was unnerving— hovering over her, furious and cursing. Did he believe Brayan’s lies? She was a woman despoiled, albeit she’d been spared the memory of the worst of Godwin’s attack.

Would Roark turn her, a woman disgraced, from his house? His strict adherence to respectability allowed him little choice. Society might recognize the difference between being compromised and willing participation, but the outcome for her was the same.

Shame and disgrace.

Adaira cringed inwardly. She closed her eyes and touched her sore lower neck. He’d tell her parents about Godwin. She’d no doubt whatsoever. Roark was honor-bound to do so. Unless, he thought they already knew. She stifled a sigh. What purpose would it serve to continue to conceal the assault from them? After last night, everyone would think the worst had occurred anyway.

She was thoroughly and completely ruined. She supposed she could retire to a priory in France.

No. She couldn’t.

She’d become corkbrained. Not that she didn’t have a strong faith in God. But she didn’t possess a docile or complacent bone in her body. Hadn’t yesterday proved it?

Truth be known, now that she was tainted, marriage was no longer an issue. Neither was becoming a lady of refinement. A smatter of silver glinted in the murky cloud fate dealt her after all.

Yes, after his lordship requested she remove herself from his premises, she’d be free to do as she pleased. For certain, her parents wouldn’t force her into marriage now. Who would have her anyway? Some ancient lecher? A doddering fool? It mattered not that Brayan hadn’t had his way with her.

Used goods. Soiled goods.

That’s what the gossips would label her. So be it. Adaira could raise her horses, ride astride, and wield her riding crop until the snowdrops and heather carpeting the moors and hills near Craiglocky ceased to grow. She didn’t need or want a husband.

Blue eyes, the color of early morning sky, whisked across her memory. She sent her mother a sidelong peek. “How is Lord Clarendon?”

Mother rose from the bed, taking the cloth with her. “He’s fine except for a vicious lump on his head and a headache to match. On his lordship’s behest, his manservant came by earlier to check on your condition.”

He had? Adaira quickly hid the smile curving her lips lest she have to explain it. She wasn’t precisely sure why Roark checking on her well-being please her so much.

She lifted her gaze. “What. . .” She licked her lips. “What of Brayan?”

Isobel’s lovely teal eyes pooled with tears. She grasped Adaira’s hand. “Oh, Addy.”

Adaira dipped her chin to her chest, rubbing at the plump tears washing her cheeks.

“I thought as much,” she whispered. “He was such a good friend until—”

Mother hugged her. “No one knew Brayan was capable of such treachery.”

Angling away, she tucked a strand of hair behind Adaira’s ear. Mother attempted a smile, though her lower lip quivered the merest bit. Tears glimmered in her aqua eyes. “I’m praising God you escaped.”

Brayan’s betrayal had wounded them all.

“His poor mother. Has word been sent to her?” Adaira wiped her face with her sleeve.

Mother nodded. “Hugh sent McDonnell and Kirkpatrick before light this morning.”

Adaira snuffled noisily.

“Here, Addy.” Seonaid handed her a handkerchief embroidered with blue and white roses.

“Thank you.” Adaira dabbed at her face, flinching when she brushed her cheek too hard.

Three sharp raps pattered on the door. Maisey scurried to open it. She spoke softly with someone for a moment, then closed the door before turning with two notes in her hand. She passed Mother one, and then handed the other to Adaira.

“That was Mr. Pepperhill.” Maisey cast a glance to the door and flushed, her freckles blending with the hue of her face.

Adaira hid a smile behind the handkerchief. Was Maisey enamored with Pepperhill? The notion was charming. Tall and solidly built, she was significantly larger than the diminutive valet.

With a final pat on Adaira’s shoulder, Mother lifted the breakfast tray from the bed. Handing it to Maisey, she said “Please take this below, and ask for Adaira’s bathwater to be sent up.”

“Yes, my lady.” Maisey bobbed a curtsy before swiftly leaving the room.

Adaira unfolded the note. Scanning the contents, her heart somersaulted, then plummeted to her knees. It was a summons from Roark. This soon? She’d thought she’d have a bit more time before she was requested to leave. She raised her gaze to her mother.

Lifting her note, Mother said, “I’m bid to meet with your father and Lord Clarendon at half past eleven. I assume yours makes the same request?” Mother offered a small smile of encouragement. “Yes?”

Adaira nodded incapable of forming words at the moment. She’d not expected to feel stricken. After all, wasn’t this what she wanted? To be spared a month of tedious gatherings and social posturing?

To be rid of Lord Clarendon, Roark, once and for all?

Of course it was.

She burst into tears.

Nearly two hours later, wearing a creamy gauze morning dress adorned with white lace and ribbons, Adaira stood beside her mother outside Roark’s study. A lacy fichu was tied around her neck and tucked into her bodice. No one could tell by looking at her she had any bruising.

The door stood closed. Nonetheless, muted baritone voices rumbled from within. The temptation to lay her ear against the carved wood to hear what they said overwhelmed her.

On second thought, perhaps she didn’t want to know. Smoothing her dress for the sixth time in half as many minutes, she twisted her lips at the irony. The simple gown suggested innocence.

Adaira knew otherwise.

As did Roark.

Mother touched Adaira’s arm. “Are you ready?”

Best to get to it and get the worst over. With focused intent, she swallowed the knot lodged in her throat. “Yes. The sooner we face the dragon, the sooner I can be on my way.”

Mother sighed. “You’re making an assumption.”

Grimacing, Adaira shook her head. She glanced around the entry. After overhearing the unpleasant conversation last night, she was aware how easily one could eavesdrop unnoticed in this house.

“Addy, you don’t know what he’ll do.” Mother drew Adaira’s attention back to the present.

Lowering her voice, Adaira said, “Don’t I? I shouldn’t have been outside last night. Once again, my impetuous behavior has caused a scandal, but in my defense, I was terrified for Fionn.”

“I’m sure his lordship won’t be overly harsh. He may wish to speak to you about the fire and Brayan.” Her mother smiled reassuringly. “While it’s true you should have remained with the rest of the women, you did save the earl’s life.”

“Which wouldn’t have needed saving if I hadn’t been wandering the grounds last night. He’s not likely to be gracious about that.” A week ago she’d have told him to go to the devil if he’d objected to her actions. She wouldn’t have given a fig what he or society thought of her. Now, it mattered. Roark’s disapproval mattered.

Glancing down, she frowned, then adjusted the lace to cover a reddish-blue mark at the top of one breast. “You know how he responded when I kept him confined in the dungeon. Imagine what his reaction will be to almost getting killed because of me.”

She cast a glance around the entry, fingering the familiar, comforting cross once more in its place. “He’s a trifle hardhearted.”

That wasn’t altogether true. Adaira had come to admire and appreciate the man under the stoic, severe exterior. She wouldn’t let herself dwell on why. The cold fury she’d seen on his face before she swooned hadn’t been the least bit encouraging. Ominous was more apt. After Brayan’s lies, she was prepared for the worst.

Genuine shock flashed across Mother’s face. Impatience edged her voice. “Adaira, surely you’re not serious. You’ve seen his staff and the animals he keeps. Those aren’t the actions of an unfeeling man.”

“But,” Adaira said, “he’s a man ruled by rigid propriety and pride. I understand what he must do, and I appreciate why.” That she did, surprised her. Maybe her association with Lord Clarendon had benefited her after all.

She raised her hand to knock. “Can we be about it then?”

Grasping her shoulders, Mother turned Adaira to face her. “He could have had you imprisoned for abducting him. Instead, he invited us into his home to afford you a tremendous opportunity. That’s the act of a compassionate man. Where is your gratitude?”

Wrapping her hands around her middle, Adaira nodded. “What you say is true, but has Roark ever defied conventionality when it comes to his expectations for women of his station?”

“Roark?” Disbelief, quickly replaced by a knowing, most unnerving look swept Mother’s face. A smile pulled at her mouth. “Did he give you leave to use his first name?”

Tosh. Best to ignore that.

Rattled, Adaira forged onward. “True, he makes unusual concessions for his staff. He’s compassionate and kind to his pets and other animals. And yes, he did make an exception to enforcing the law for abducting a peer.”

She paused and flicked her fingers at the study door. “He even makes allowances for himself.” Gesturing across the foyer, she said, “For pity’s sake, he has an owl in his library!”

Sophie took that moment to let out a haunting hoot.

Mother chuckled. “Do you think she knows we’re speaking about her?”

Adaira crooked a brow. “An owl, Mother. Who does that? I’ll wager no one else in
le beau monde
. I confess his traits are charming and endearing. Any woman would be touched by those engaging qualities.”

Mother raised her winged brows but remained silent.

Drat, she has that I-know-what-you-are-thinking look in her eye.