The Taste of Innocence (30 page)

He stared up at the canopy, blue silk the color of her eyes.

And wondered how his wonderful plan had gone so terribly wrong.

He roused her as dawn was sliding across the sky. As rosy glory streaked the horizon, he dipped his fingers into her swollen softness and lured her from sleep with slow caresses, until, flushed like the morning, she sighed, and he slid into her body and she smiled.

He rode her slowly, totally controlled, rigidly watchful, desperate to convince himself that the addiction, and his raging hunger, had muted. That the power that drove him, that fueled his mindless need—that regardless of his guard inexorably rose within him, whipped through him, wrested control from him and wrenched him from this world—had abated.

It hadn’t. Not in the least.

If anything, that power had only grown.

He held her until she slid back into sleep, then turned onto his back and, staring upward unseeing, faced the cold hard facts as a cold hard dawn broke over his lands.

Alathea had been right; until him, love had invariably captured every Morwellan male. It had caught his sire, and driven him, obsessed him, had compelled him in its name to take risks that had nearly destroyed their family, the earldom, and everything he’d held dear.

With that example engraved on his mind, he’d chosen a different path. By arranging a conventional marriage, he’d sought to shut out love, and thus remain in absolute control of his life, safe from that dangerous emotion.

Instead…fate had set her snare, and he’d walked unheeding—arrogantly—into it, and tripped the trap himself.

He’d married Sarah—sweet innocent Sarah—and now he faced the one prospect he’d fought, and thought he’d arranged never ever to meet.

He was in love with his wife.

There was no point pretending he wasn’t, not any longer, not with the clutch of that power still so tangible in his chest, not with its claws sunk in his heart. There was no value what ever in denying its existence, not to himself.

He should have seen…but he hadn’t. Perhaps he should have guessed what it was that had made her different—to him so different from all other women on virtually every level—but he’d had no experience from which to judge; the notion that the reason she was so unarguably his was because he loved her hadn’t even crossed his mind.

So now he loved. He’d fallen victim to that ungovernable emotion, and now and forever would be subject to that irresistible force, that power that could so easily fuel obsession.

That same power that, in his father, had led to the brink of ruination.

Instead of being the bulwark he’d intended, the salvation he’d sought, his marriage had transformed into his worst nightmare.

How on earth was he to manage? What could he do?

12

The closing of a door, followed by the hesitant patter of feet across the floor, woke Sarah. She blinked, and looked around, and remembered where she was. She struggled up onto her elbow; the bed beside her was rumpled, but empty.

Sunlight streamed in through the windows, bright and sharp, but Charlie was nowhere to be seen.

Gwen, who had come with her from the manor, carefully set a steaming pitcher on the dresser; reaching for a door in the paneling, she glanced at the bed. Seeing Sarah awake, she grinned. “Thought I’d best come and wake you, miss—m’lady, I mean. I’ve brought your washing water.” She opened the door, and nodded. “Your dressing room’s through here—have you seen it?”

“Ah, no.” Sarah pushed back her hair. She hadn’t seen anything beyond the bed since Charlie had laid her upon it. She went to throw back the bedclothes, then realized she was naked. She blushed.

So did Gwen. “I’ll just pop this pitcher on the washstand in here and bring you your robe.”

Sarah peered over the side of the bed, and saw her beautiful wedding gown lying where it had fallen. Remembering the look in Charlie’s eyes as he’d peeled it from her, she grinned. Then Gwen brought her robe and she shrugged into it. Leaving Gwen to deal with her discarded clothes, she went into the dressing room, discovering that it matched the bedroom, decorated in blues and glowing golden oak.

She quickly washed. “What time is it, Gwen? What’s happening about breakfast?” To her surprise, she felt ravenous.

“It’s just gone eleven,” Gwen called from the bedchamber. “Breakfast was held back—they’re just gathering in the breakfast parlor now.”

“Oh. Good.” Sarah grimaced at her reflection in the mirror. Her first morning as lady of the house, and she’d be the last down to breakfast. More, she’d have to face various sets of curious eyes, and have to conduct herself as if it were just another day—all while Charlie was in the same room.

It was a prospect to tie her stomach in knots, but when she consulted that organ she discovered she was still too relaxed, too inwardly languid in the wake of Charlie’s so-expert attentions, that she really couldn’t summon the tension to manage knots at all.

Pondering that unexpected ramification of her wifely duties, she left the earl’s apartments and followed the corridor to the gallery, and thence to the stairs; descending, she gained the front hall and the areas of the house with which she was familiar.

The breakfast parlor was a sunny room off the conservatory. A rectangular table sat in the room’s center with places laid along its length; a heavy sideboard stood against one wall, all but groaning beneath a profusion of serving dishes and warming pans. Both table and sideboard sported vases brimming with white blooms from the day before, an appealing touch.

The instant she appeared in the open doorway, chairs scraped as all those seated rose to greet her. She hesitated, smiling but unsure just what to do; Serena, whom she’d known all her life and who was now her mother-in-law, came bustling forward, a smile wreathing her face.

“There you are, dear.” Serena embraced her warmly, lightly touching cheeks, then ushered her to the chair at the end of the table. “This is now your place. Of course you know everyone here.” With a wave she indicated her children and their spouses. Nudging Sarah into her chair, Serena subsided into the one beside her. “We’re all absolutely delighted to see you in that seat.”

“Thank you.” Sarah settled into the high-backed, ornately carved chair.

Her gaze traveling around the table, she nodded a smiling good morning to Mary and Alice, Charlie’s sisters, and their husbands, Alec and George, and Augusta and Jeremy, all transparently pleased both with her presence and how yesterday had gone.

Alice leaned forward; with a swift grin, she continued to relate a tale gleaned from a guest that Sarah’s arrival had interrupted. The others’ attention deflected to Alice—all except Charlie’s. He sat opposite Sarah at the head of the table, coffee cup in one hand, a news sheet in the other, but his eyes weren’t tracking the print; they were on her.

She met his gaze and smiled—just for him. Relieved, happy, and content, she used the gesture to convey how she felt.

His expression remained impassive; at this distance, with the windows behind him and the sun shining outside, she couldn’t read his eyes. But then he inclined his head to her, lifted his cup, sipped, and returned to his perusal of the news sheet.

Sarah inwardly frowned. She studied him, puzzled that he wasn’t smiling—although perhaps that was due to the others’ being about—yet he wasn’t relaxed; he wasn’t anywhere near as relaxed as she was.

“Tea, ma’am?”

A second passed before Sarah realized the sonorous question was addressed to her. She glanced up at Crisp, hovering by her elbow. “Oh—yes! Thank you, Crisp. Tea and…” She glanced at the sideboard.

Crisp shifted and stood ready to draw back her chair. “If I could suggest, ma’am, the Deviled eggs are excellent. Cook’s specialty.”

Sarah threw him a smile as she rose. “I must try some, then.”

For the next fifteen minutes as she ate and sipped, then refilled her plate and ate some more, the familiar warmth of a large and happy family closed around her.

“The other guests left last night or early this morning.” Serena turned to her, her words sliding beneath the general conversation. “Indeed, if it wasn’t for wanting to catch up with Mary and Alice and their broods, all of us would be gone, too. Every young couple needs a few weeks alone in which to settle into life together.”

Sarah’s eyes widened; she hadn’t thought…“You don’t need to leave—this is your home, and I wouldn’t dream of trying to supplant you.”

Hazel eyes brimming with understanding, Serena patted her wrist. “But you are now mistress here, my dear, and believe me when I say that I’m beyond content to consign the care of this house and house hold into more youthful hands. We’ll stay long enough for me to explain all you need to know, then we’ll be off to Lincoln with Mary and Alec, and from there Augusta and I plan to visit various family members I haven’t had time to call on in years, before joining you and Charlie in London once the Season gets under way.”

Serena studied her, then reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. And smiled somewhat mistily. “Believe me, my dear, everything is set to work out just splendidly.”

Sarah wasn’t entirely sure what that “everything” encompassed, but true to her declaration, Serena embarked on a description of various matters of house hold management.

At the other end of the table, Charlie, outwardly involved in a discussion of corn prices with Alec and George, watched Sarah, without fuss, bother, or further fanfare, begin to assume the mantle of his countess. He’d presumed she would find it easy, given she already knew them all, but it wasn’t only familiarity that eased her way—that made Crisp hover so, or allowed Serena and Augusta to so swiftly explain what she needed to know.

She fitted. She was, as he’d foreseen, the perfect lady to fill the position.

That he’d been so right, so clear-sighted in that, only served to deepen his disquiet over all he hadn’t, in his arrogance, understood.

The sounds that rose around him, his sisters’ voices, the deeper rumblings of his brothers-in-law, the comfortable, usually undisturbing cacophony of his family at breakfast, for once did nothing to soothe his soul.

Quite the opposite.

Then Alec started describing the antics of his and Mary’s son, just old enough to sit his first pony, and the goad became too sharp to bear.

His expression uninformative, Charlie pushed back from the table. “If you’ll excuse me, I must see to some business.” He stood.

Alec and George looked up, smiled vaguely, then continued chatting. He stepped away from the table; Jeremy glanced at him, then returned to teasing Alice.

As he strode down the room, all the ladies broke off their discussions and looked at him expectantly.

He inclined his head to his mother, then to Sarah. “I’ll see you later.”

She smiled, transparently content, but her eyes swiftly searched his face.

His stride unhurried, he passed her chair and continued to the doorway, certain that she would read nothing of his thoughts no matter how sharp her gaze. There were times when the facial control necessary to conduct business at the highest level was an unlooked-for boon.

He just hadn’t imagined deploying that shield against his wife.

Night had fallen. Wrapped in a silk negligee, another part of her trousseau, Sarah paced before the fire in the earl’s bedchamber and wondered where her earl was.

The velvet curtains were drawn against the dark; outside rain fell steadily while the wind rattled the bare branches of the nearby trees. Candles stood on the mantelpiece and on the small tables flanking the bed, their steady glow contributing to the cosy warmth that enveloped the chamber.

She’d had a busy, information-packed day. From the breakfast table on, every one of her minutes had gone in learning the myriad details of how to run Morwellan Park, and of the numerous other tasks that would fall to her now she was Charlie’s countess.

Not one of those details or tasks had been unexpected, yet she’d concentrated; if Serena and Augusta were shortly to leave and not be present to consult for several weeks, then she needed to ask all the relevant questions now rather than later be caught unawares.

Her absorption had distracted her from Charlie’s…distance. The distance he seemed intent on preserving between them, somewhat formal and stiff. His behavior in the breakfast room had been only the beginning; he’d been the same at the luncheon table, and his stance had been even more pronounced over dinner and during the short time he’d spent in the drawing room afterward, before he, Alec, George, and Jeremy had taken themselves off to play billiards.

Admittedly, throughout, she’d been surrounded by his mother and sisters, all talking more or less constantly, imparting facts and advice, all of which she’d needed to hear. Yet…

She grimaced. Perhaps his unexpected, rather formal reserve was simply a reaction to having his family there, watching his and her every move. Despite his outwardly easygoing nature, he was a private man, and his family were unquestionably the most aware of observers, the ones most able to read him and his reactions easily.

Perhaps he was simply uncertain how to publicly acknowledge the connection that was growing between them, or was, as yet, given its recent genesis, uneasy about doing so.