The Earl's Enticement (Castle Bride Series) (27 page)

Girding herself with anger, she pivoted to face him. “Oh, wait, how remiss of me. Of course, there is. This is where you tell me to leave your house because you cannot have a woman of my repute tainting the premises.”

The tears balancing on her lids, spilled over, hot and salty. They trailed down her heated cheeks. She’d cried more since meeting Roark than she had the entire rest of her life combined. And she couldn’t abide weepy women. Her gaze trained on the floor, she dashed at the droplets. A pair of polished black boots appeared next to her gown’s hem.

“No, Adaira, you have it wrong.” Reaching into his jacket, Roark removed a neatly folded handkerchief. He handed it to her, waiting while she patted her damp face.

“I do?” She snuffled into the starched fabric. She refused to meet his unsettling gaze, unable to face the censure she knew shimmered there. “What is it, then?”

“Look at me, vixen.” Lifting her chin, he chuckled. His blue eyes deepened to sapphire when he laughed.

Grinning lazily, he smoothed a thumb across her lips.

Drat, the elephants and camels were back, and from the feel of the obnoxious beasts, they were flipping cartwheels in her already unsettled stomach. She peeped over Roark’s shoulder.

“Where are my parents?”

Roark glanced behind him. “I imagine they thought to give us some privacy.”

Adaira twisted her lips into a watery smile. “I’m quite certain that’s not the least bit proper, my lord.” Neither was the hand cupping her jaw and chin, or the fingers caressing her cheek.

This didn’t seem like a man hell-bent on sending her on her way. She opened her mouth to say as much but was cut off when his mouth descended to claim hers.

Tender, but insistent, his lips skimmed hers. His tongue caressed the seam of her lips, bidding entrance. Shifting in his arms, Adaira tilted her head and opened her mouth, granting him access. Warmth built in dizzying waves, ever stronger and hotter, sending delicious sensations to her core.

Oh, but the man knew how to kiss. He cupped her bottom, squeezing the fullness as he arched his hips into her in a gentle, sensual rhythm. Her nipples tautened, her breasts swollen and weighty against her stays.

Roark trailed kisses over her eyes and cheeks, then nuzzled the sensitive spot behind her ear. “Do you know how much I’ve wanted to kiss you?” he whispered.

Gasping, Adaira sagged against him as pure desire sluiced to every pour. Should he attempt to lift her skirts and have his way with her, she wouldn’t be capable of resisting. It astounded her. She wasn’t afraid. How could that be? Her desire for him had even pushed aside her unpleasant memories.

After several more tantalizing moments in which her entire body threatened to become a mass of jelly, Roark drew back. She mewed in protest, raising on her tiptoes and wrapping her arms around his neck. Their kissing couldn’t end, not yet.

She felt the rumble of laughter deep in his chest as he eased her arms from him.

“No more. Not now, anyway.” Holding her hands, his lips slid into a smile.

Adaira returned it, a glimmer of hope dared to creep into her heart. “Now? Does this mean you’re not sending me away?”

“Away? Why would I send my betrothed away, vixen?”

CHAPTER 28

Roark squelched a chuckle at the flabbergasted expression on Adaira’s face. She blinked rapidly. Her perfectly sculpted mouth opened and closed several times. He’d rendered her speechless. Quite a feat, considering her quick wit and even quicker tongue.

“You look like a trout gasping for air.” He laughed aloud as temper immediately replaced the astonishment in her eyes. She wadded his handkerchief. For a moment, he thought she’d hurl it at him.

“Betrothed?” she finally managed to sputter in a strangled squeak. Yanking her fichu back into place, she swung away from him, pacing to the center of the room, before spinning back around.

“Betrothed?” She speared a glance to the closed door. “They knew?”

He nodded, unsure why her response caused him a frisson of uneasiness.

“And approved?”

He bristled at the incredulity in her tone. Why wouldn’t they approve? Cocking his head, he nodded once, short and sharp. This wasn’t the reaction he’d anticipated, not that one could be certain of anything with Adaira.

Tapping her foot on the floor, she planted her hands on her hips and muttered to herself, “Well, of course, they did, dolt.” Her focus settled on his desk. “Those papers you were shuffling earlier—the draft of the marriage contract, I presume?”

He gave a cautious nod.

She marched to the desk, and after tossing the handkerchief onto the polished surface, snatched the terms of settlement he’d set aside. Without asking permission, she scanned the top page.

“
Hmmph
.” Adaira gave him a quizzical look, before carefully replacing the document.

Roark approached the desk. “You’re welcome to read the entire contract if you wish.”

Her eyes searched his briefly, as if seeking something. Her gaze sank to the papers. She flicked their edges. “Thank you. I’d like that, but not at the moment. Anyway, you know as well as I do, I have no say in the matter.”

She started to turn away, but froze. Facing him, worry clouded her eyes. She pressed her lips together, her gaze swinging between Roark and the terms of settlement.

“Fionn? He’s not part of that?” She pointed to the papers.

Roark shook his head. “No, I insisted he remain your property.”

Her shoulders relaxed. She exhaled a pent-up breath. For a fraction of a second, a smile teased the corners of her mouth. She spun away from him. Forehead furrowed, she paced about the room. He regarded her thoughtfully. What was going on in her impetuous, unpredictable mind?

Casting him puzzled glances every few seconds, she muttered beneath her breath. What was she thinking? She rubbed her hands up and down her arms before pressing them to her middle. A middle so small, he was sure his hands could span her waist.

Such a petite little thing, but in physique only.

Adaira had the personality and temperament of a behemoth. That brought a grin to his lips. Spirited, undaunted, and unintimidated, she reminded him of one of Aunt Beatry’s pugs he’d seen trying to take on a boarhound once.

Adaira frowned at him, tromping to-and-from across the Oriental carpet. Holding the cross at her neck, she slid the chain from side to side while rubbing the amber stones with her thumb.

Her skirts swished about her small feet as she marched. The white gown wasn’t the least alluring, yet its simplicity enticed him, hiding curves he ached to hold. Curves he’d pressed against him or cupped in his hands minutes ago.

Roark’s already aroused member pulsed at the memory.

Easy, boy.

She sailed across the floor, back-and-forth, reminding him of a caged lion.

His head throbbed unceasingly, which was why he’d indulged in a bit of cognac, hoping to take the edge off the pain. He eyed the cabinet containing his spirits. With a slow release of breath, he denied himself. He needed his faculties sound.

He regarded Adaira closely. Was she angry? Angling his head, he clasped his hands behind him. He rocked back on his heels.

No. He’d seen her infuriated.

Shocked? No doubt. He’d expected as much.

But hurt? Did she feel betrayed? Possibly.

She was much more sensitive then she let on, but not inclined to weepiness. She was intelligent and perceptive. She must know her parents agreed to his offer because of their deep love for her.

But that wasn’t what troubled her. Her lovely eyes were filled with confusion and doubt.

She marched to stand before him, then brazenly poked his chest. “Why?”

He could see the pulse at her throat ticking rapid and uneven. Her breasts rose and fell in agitation.

Reluctantly, Roark lifted his gaze from the creamy mounds and arched a brow. “Why?”

“Yes. Why would
you
agree to marry
me
?” Adaira’s dark gaze dropped to his lips. She swallowed. “You cannot be pleased to be saddled with the likes of me.”

“You think not?” He rubbed the side of his head in an effort to relieve the ache centered there.

“I’m not what you want in a wife. Not dignified and sophisticated, or . . . or well-endowed.” She blushed furiously, coloring pink to the tips of her ears.

She valiantly plowed on. “Everyone knows it wasn’t you who assaulted me in the carriage house. No one expects you to do the noble thing, least of all me.”

Hesitation and wariness softened her tone.

He touched the cross at her throat, feeling her raging pulse. “You’re not pleased? You don’t wish to marry me?”

She cast him an astonished look, genuine surprise widening her eyes. “Truth to tell, I never thought to marry at all.”

“Ah. But, if you had thought to, would I suffice for a groom?” He traced her collarbone with his finger. She swallowed, then licked her lips, but didn’t move away. His groin tightened a fraction more. The pain in his head was fast becoming secondary to the unrelenting thrumming between his legs.

“I don’t want you forced into a union not of your choosing. You don’t have to marry me out of pity. I know you’re a compassionate man, but it’s not your responsibility to save me or my reputation. It’s too late anyway.” She grasped his hand, forcing him to cease caressing her silky skin.

“I’m stronger than I look, Roark. I’ll be fine.” She shrugged her shoulders. The fichu slid askew. Adaira ignored the drooping lace.

Smiling, a heart-wrenchingly sad smile, she said flatly, “I’m quite used to being the source of gossip and disapproval. One really does become immune after a while.”

Shoulders sagging, she dropped her gaze to her hands, and fidgeted with a ribbon on her gown.

Like hell one did.

People erected barriers and defenses and lived a lonely life of isolation. Or behaved outrageously, keeping the company of those even more scandalous than themselves. Or they became bitter and unfeeling, afraid to hope for anything better than the harsh hand they’d been dealt. He couldn’t let that happen to his free-spirited Adaira.

Stifling an oath, Roark straightened his shoulders. The infernal pounding in his head and throbbing in his nether regions affected both his patience and his ability to focus.

“You’d prefer censure and ostracism?”

Adaira tilted her chin, meeting his eyes. “I prefer them over being compelled to marry a man who doesn’t want me. You have made it very clear you disapprove of everything about me. I’m not foolish enough to mistake your lust for anything more than what it is, pure animalistic drive.”

She gave him a cynical smile and shrugged again. “You forget, my lord, I have a stallion that becomes crazed with the need to copulate. He doesn’t give a rat’s whisker about the mare he’s mating. She’s a means to an end. Humans are little better in my observation, at least the males of the species.”

By God, she’d compared him to her rutting stallion. Roark almost touched his jaw to make sure it wasn’t sagging open. Ire stung at her rejection, albeit he had to admit, she wasn’t wholly off her mark.

He rubbed his forehead. “Adaira, the contract is signed. While I understand your reluctance, and had hoped for a bit more enthusiasm, rest assured, I fully intend to see this marriage through. I’ll announce our betrothal at the ball tonight.”

She stared at him for a lengthy, disquieting moment. A bluish tint ringed her eyes. Her slightly creased forehead hinted she struggled with her thoughts. Or perhaps, like him, she battled an unyielding headache. Her expression softened, and she breathed out a slow breath.

“You’re a fool, then. It’s not necessary. Nonetheless, I won’t defy my father. I’ve caused him and my mother enough heartache. I hoped you had more sense than to be pressed into a marriage.”

Adaira’s gaze shifted past his shoulder. She gasped. Her face turned ashen.

Whirling around, Roark glimpsed two women hurrying away from the French windows.

Helene and Lady Bradford.

“Bloody hell!” Roark stormed to the door.

Adaira fled the study after seeing Mrs. Winthrop’s infuriated face glowering through the gap in the door. She’d heard every word. Adaira sprinted up the stairs, desperate to reach the sanctuary of her chamber.

Using her headache as an excuse to beg off, she hoped to be spared the ordeal of attending the ball tonight. She hastened into her bedchamber to find Seonaid and Isobel already present and beginning preparations. A new ball gown, admittedly the loveliest creation Adaira ever laid eyes on, lay across the bed.

Babbling and giggling nonstop, her delighted sisters flitted around the room, like a pair of colorful, inebriated butterflies.

Afraid to touch the delicate fabric of the gown, Adaira pointed at it. “Where did this gown come from?”

Seonaid lifted a pair of pearl beaded lavender slippers and an elaborately painted fan. “Oh, the first of Yvette’s purchases were delivered. She sent Mother a note saying she and Ewan would be arriving in a few days. His business took longer than expected.”

“But a new ball gown, for me? How. . .?” Adaira dared to finger the delicate embedded lace overskirt’s hem.

“We, Yvette, Mother, Seonaid, and me, planned it as a surprise,” Isobel said, beaming.

Tears pricked Adaira’s eyelids. They’d gone to such trouble to make her feel special and to show how much they loved her. Lord, she was grateful for her family, especially right now, when her world was fraying at the seams.

Swooping in for a hug, Isobel bussed Adaira’s cheek. “And you’ve such wonderful news! Seonaid and I were returning from a walk about the greens when we heard word of your betrothal to Lord Clarendon.”

Blinking back her tears, Adaira stared. Gads, if they knew, then every other soul within five miles was aware as well. To be made a marriage offer solely to salvage her reputation was pathetic. The humiliation stung. She’d hoped to have a bit of time to adjust to the situation before others’ tongues began wagging.

Normally composed and quiet, Seonaid giggled, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Just think, our sister, the Countess Clarendon. Oh, Addy, everyone was whispering about your good fortune.”

Good fortune? Yes, she supposed everyone would see it that way.

Everyone, but her.

Adaira wandered to a table placed before the balcony window. A pitcher of water, glasses, fruit, and some sweets were arranged neatly atop it. Pouring a glass of water, she took a long sip. “Well then, there’s no need to announce it tonight, is there? And thus, there’s no need for me to attend the ball.”

“But, Addy, you must. It would be a grievous insult to his lordship if you didn’t.” Seonaid’s voice trembled with shock. Her uncertain brown gaze sought Isobel’s.

Adaira grimaced. She cast her sisters each a glance. “You do know the circumstances, don’t you? His offer was born of pity and honor, to save my reputation. Not that there’s any chance of repairing something so wretchedly tarnished.”

She flopped into an armchair, resting her head in her hand, her elbow braced on the chair’s arm. After kicking off her slippers, she tucked her feet beneath her bottom. “Hardly cause for celebration, to my way of thinking.”

Isobel and Seonaid exchanged worried glances. As one they descended on her. Seonaid knelt on the floor before Adaira, and Isobel leaned on the chair’s other arm.

“Dearest, you cannot mean to refuse him?” Isobel brushed a loose curl off Adaira’s cheek, before curving an arm around her shoulders. “That would make everything so much worse. Completely disastrous.”

Seonaid laid her head on Adaira’s lap and peeked at her sideways. “It’s true, Addy. We heard. . .” She stopped, offering a timid smile. “Never mind. You’ve no choice. It’s a brilliant match. He seems like such a nice man, and he’s very fine-looking.”

She propped her chin on Adaira’s knee. “You have to admit he’s devilishly attractive, Addy.”

Seonaid nudged Adaira’s knee. “Admit it. You think he’s
handsome
,” she teased in a singsong voice. “I’ve seen you looking at him.”

Adaira relaxed into the chair, resting her head against the plush back. She patted Seonaid’s shoulder while holding Isobel’s hand. “Yes, he’s sinfully handsome. Happy?” Adaira closed her eyes and sighed. “But, the truth is, he doesn’t want me. He didn’t choose me.”

The tears she’d held at bay trickled dual paths down her cheeks. “I. . .” She couldn’t tell them about Godwin. “I thought never to marry, that’s all.”

Truth be known, she was terrified of intimacy with a man. She couldn’t explain her fear to her sisters, or anyone else for that matter. It was one thing to share passionate kisses, but the rest? A tremor shook her. She’d no doubt, Roark would expect
that
. And often.