Wicked Delights of a Bridal Bed (4 page)

Before Michael died, Mallory thought she would share that same kind of wedded bliss. Instead, he was cold in his grave, and she was alone. Not for an instant did she begrudge her family their happiness, but seeing them so content served only to highlight her own emptiness and loss.

Abruptly, she wished she could retreat back upstairs to her room. Instead, she forced herself to cross to the sofa and sink down next to Meg. She and Meg exchanged warm greetings, as Grace and Claire took up chairs on either side.

Their cousin India joined them moments later, her pert green eyes dancing with warmth and good humor. Two years ago, she’d married the Duke of Weybridge, a handsome devil who’d quite swept India off her feet. As Mallory watched, India glanced toward her husband, Quentin, who stood in conversation with Edward, Drake, Lord Damson, and Edward’s personal secretary, Mr. Hughes. Their gazes met, India and Quentin sharing a brief, though thoroughly intimate, smile before glancing away again.

A new knot formed in Mallory’s chest as memories swept through her of another occasion when she’d been in this room with India and Quentin and so many of the others. How happy she’d been then—Christmas three years ago, the day she and Michael announced their engagement. How long ago that seemed, the last time Michael had been with them all at Braebourne.

A chill went through her, her emotions drawing inward so that she scarcely noticed a new pair of ladies join the group gathered around the sofa. She made some perfunctory murmur of greeting to her old friends, Lady Damson and Miss Jessica Milbank, ignoring the small furrows of worry that marred their smooth foreheads.

Directing her attention elsewhere, Mallory gazed around the room. Her twin brothers, Leo and Lawrence, and India’s brother, Spencer, lounged with negligent ease near one of the windows in the far corner. No doubt the three were trading stories about life at Oxford, Spencer having just graduated while the twins were on holiday awaiting the start of the next term.

In another corner sat thirteen-year-old Esme, along with India’s younger sisters Anna, Jane and Poppy, and Claire’s teenaged sisters Nan and Ella. Not yet of age, the girls would be taking their meals in the schoolroom rather than joining the adult company. But as Mallory knew, given that Esme had spoken of little else this past month, her sister was simply glad to have so many other young people in residence and didn’t mind being relegated upstairs.

And arranged in a last, very elegant group, were those at the opposite end of the age spectrum. Among them were: kind, plump cousin Wilhelmina, who’d acted as London chaperone for her and Claire last year; Claire’s parents, Lord and Lady Edgewater; the local vicar, Mr. Thoms; family friends, Lord and Lady Pettigrew; and her mother, Ava.

Being with them all should have put Mallory at ease. Yet as comfortably familiar as the assembled guests and relations might be, she no longer felt as though she belonged.

Why,
she asked herself,
did I ever let Adam talk me into coming downstairs tonight?

Suddenly Meg tensed for a moment before relaxing again. “Gracious, that was a hard one. Right under the ribs,” she said, laying a hand on her rounded belly. “This baby certainly can kick. I keep telling Cade I’m carrying a boy again, but he says he wants a daughter this time. I suspect we’re going to have to try for a third baby if he’s to get his wish.”

“Well, I’m sure you won’t have any trouble talking Cade into helping you with that particular endeavor,” Grace remarked with a saucy smile. “But perhaps you ought to give birth to
this
baby before you mention wanting the next.”

Meg nodded. “You’re right. Poor love, he nearly paced a hole in the drawing room last time I went into labor. I believe he was in more pain than I was.”

All the ladies laughed, everyone except Mallory, who couldn’t muster the requisite humor. After that, the conversation turned to babies and the third-floor nursery, which was full of nursemaids and little Byrons. India’s firstborn son, Darius, was also there, a lively playmate for his other toddler cousins.

If she and Michael had married, Mallory realized, she might have a baby in the nursery now too.

Rubbing her icy fingers together in her lap, she wondered if she could find a way to slip out of the room unnoticed and make it back upstairs. She was considering her options when Adam suddenly appeared.

“Ladies,” he said, sending them all a dimple-flashing smile. “Pardon the intrusion, but I wondered if I might borrow Lady Mallory for a moment or two?”

Feminine eyebrows arched with curiosity, but no one voiced an objection.

Less than a minute later, Mallory found herself off the sofa and halfway across the room, standing with Adam in the only quiet corner remaining.

She folded her arms at her waist. “So, what is so urgent that you had to drag me away?”

“Is that what I did?” he drawled. “And here I thought I was providing you with a much-needed rescue.”

Her gaze shot to his before glancing away. “I had no such need,” she dissembled, perversely refusing to acknowledge that he was right.

“So you weren’t on the verge of bolting? Because from my vantage point, you looked as though you were contemplating mutiny.”

Why does he always have to be so deuced observant?
she thought. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean.”

A soft chuckle rumbled from his chest. “Of course you do not.” Reaching over, he caught one of her hands in his and drew it over his arm.

“Now, what are you up to?” she asked.

“Dinner. If I’m not mistaken, Croft just informed the duchess that everyone may go in.”

And so it would appear he had, Mallory realized, as Claire rose from the sofa and began circulating among the guests to share the news.

Mallory released a sigh. “You were right before, you know, when you said I wanted to mutiny. I do, so why don’t I just slip out when no one’s looking and go upstairs to my room?”

“Now now, none of that.” He patted her hand. “Anyway, you’re doing fine.”

“Am I?” she said. “Well, I suppose we shall see just how fine I am by evening’s end.”

Chapter 4

“H
ave another spoonful of the cheese soufflé,” Adam encouraged Mallory, as he directed one of the footmen to add more to her plate. “I know it’s one of your favorites, and you need to eat something. You’ve scarcely touched your dinner so far.”

Mallory waited until the servant moved away before she replied. “I’m saving room for dessert.”

“Then you’ve plenty of room to spare. Now, eat that soufflé and a few bites of the duck as well. It’s quite excellent, as you’d know had you done more than slide it around in the sauce.”

Her thumb played over the elaborately scripted C engraved on the base of her silver fork. C for the ducal title Clybourne rather than for Claire as her sister-in-law sometimes liked to tease. “Strange,” she remarked, “but I didn’t realize I was in need of another mother. Obviously I’ve been living under the mistaken impression that the one I have is sufficient.”

A brief silence fell as Adam reached for his glass of Bordeaux and took a swallow. Carefully, he returned the glass to the table. “Oh, the dowager duchess is more than up to the task of being your mother. Unfortunately, though, she cannot be everywhere at once and perforce requires the occasional surrogate to act in her stead. So eat your dinner like a good girl and don’t make me call for reinforcements.”

On her other side, Drake let out a muffled guffaw, having clearly been eavesdropping on their conversation. Instantly realizing his mistake, he turned away to address a comment to Miss Milbank, who was seated on his left. Within seconds, the pair were engaged in conversation, Jessica Milbank appearing slightly dazed to suddenly find herself the focus of Lord Drake’s undivided attention.

Mallory’s mouth tightened as she swung back to confront Adam. “My lord Gresham,” she stated in a voice too low to carry, “are you implying that I am behaving like a child? Because if you are—”

“No, not at all,” he interrupted. “I am simply trying to make the point, however inexpertly, that you ought to take better care of yourself. As your friend, I feel it my duty to mention that you’ve become far too thin over the past year. The pretty roundness in your cheeks is gone, along with that extra curve to your hips that I’ve always admired. I’d like to see both of them return. So eat your dinner, Mallory. Please.”

She swallowed and glanced away, begrudgingly aware that Adam was right. In her grief, food held scant interest for her. Over the past months, she’d eaten for reasons of necessity not enjoyment, finding it easy to skip a meal here and there without noticing the lack. But perhaps she’d skipped a few too many since he wasn’t mistaken that she’d dropped several pounds. Her maid Penny could attest to that better than anyone, since the girl had taken in all of her dresses—some of them more than once.

She studied the offerings on her plate.

Please,
Adam had said. And Adam almost never said please. A forceful man, he wasn’t the sort to beg, not even in the most minor of ways. Yet he’d begged her over a meal.

Am I really such a hopeless case?

With an inward sigh, she acknowledged that perhaps she was. Taking up her fork again, she slid the tines into the airy mass of whipped eggs, cream and cheese. The bite melted on her tongue with a pleasant tang.

Suddenly intent on trying for Adam’s sake if no other, she ate another forkful before picking up her knife to cut a piece of duck. She discovered Adam smiling at her as she chewed and swallowed the game, finding it flavorful despite its now-lukewarm temperature. She ate most of that course and the next, earning his unspoken approbation.

When dessert arrived, she really didn’t have room, having consumed more tonight than she had in too long to recall. “Oh, I shall never manage,” she said, casting a baleful eye at the delectable-looking fresh peach tart with vanilla-scented cream.

“Of course you can,” Adam told her. “Two bites, then you may stop.”

“One,” she said.

Yet with her sense of taste reawakened, the first forkful of flaky crust, sweet fruit and cream proved irresistibly delicious. Giving way to the urge, she ate another bite, then another. Before she knew it, she was licking the last bit of crumbs and cream from her fork, wishing it wasn’t considered gauche to do the same with her plate.

Glancing up, she met Adam’s twinkling brown gaze. “Delicious, was it not?” he remarked.

She laid her fork across her empty plate, one of the footmen appearing with silent efficiency to clear it away. She waited until he left before replying. “It was…satisfactory,” she said.

A laugh burst from Adam’s lips. “If that was satisfactory, I’d love to see you eat something you really liked.”

She didn’t smile—she just didn’t seem to have it in her to smile these days—but she enjoyed watching Adam’s amusement. He was never handsomer than when he laughed or smiled, his cheeks creasing with long, sigh-inducing dimples, his even teeth flashing white against his swarthy complexion. Sometimes he looked almost boyish, a trace of mischief peeking from his dark eyes as though he were concealing a wicked secret he hadn’t decided whether or not to share.

He was a complex man, she knew, his personality composed of an infinite variety of interests, intellect and desires. He was full of contradictions as well, his reputation shockingly wild on the one hand while his actions could be surprisingly sensible, even staid, on the other. There was a goodness in him that few people saw—or rather that he let people see. But he let her see, and she was grateful for his openness, his candor. She knew she owed it to him to be equally candid.

“When Claire asks the ladies to withdraw, I’m going upstairs to bed,” she told him. “Please don’t try to persuade me to do otherwise. I cannot bear the idea of returning to the drawing room to sip tea and make pleasant conversation. I can’t pretend to be happy when I’m not.”

“No one expects you to, Mallory.”

“Don’t they? It’s been over a year. They all want me to be normal again.” She stopped and drew a calming breath, knowing she should say no more on that subject. “I-I’ll bid you a good night and hope your dreams are sweet.”

“I shall wish you the same, but first I must ask a favor.”

Her hand grew still in her lap. “Oh, what is that?”

“Come riding with me tomorrow. We can set out early before everyone else is stirring and make a morning of it.”

“I-I’m not sure.”

“Why not? You’ve always loved to ride.”

“Yes, but—”

“But what? The exercise will do you good. Besides, if you’re out of the house, you can’t very well be expected to paint screens or embroider handkerchiefs.”

“Claire hates painting screens, so I’m sure that won’t be among the suggested activities. As for handkerchiefs, no one embroiders those in company any longer.”

“Mayhap not, but there’s certain to be something in the offing. Or maybe I mistake the matter, and you’d rather spend the morning in one of the salons arranging flowers and trading bons mots with the ladies.”

“What time do we leave?” she asked.

He grinned. “Seven, if that’s agreeable. It’s full light by then but still too early for most of the guests to be awake and dressed.”

She wasn’t used to rising that early either, but it would be worth the agony in order to escape the party guests. “Seven it is. I’ll meet you in the stables.”

“I’ll have the horses saddled and ready.”

With the sublime timing of a duchess, Claire rose from her place at the far end of the immense dining table, a hush falling over the company. “Ladies,” she announced. “I believe the gentlemen are ready for their port and cigars. Let us repair to the drawing room, where we can enjoy sherry, tea and unpolluted air.”

Everyone chuckled, the gentlemen rising to their feet to assist the ladies from their chairs.

Adam leaned over Mallory’s shoulder as she stood. “In the morning,” he whispered in her ear.

“Until tomorrow.”

With relief, Mallory made her way out of the dining room, and after employing a small bit of stealth, upstairs to the sanctuary of her bedchamber.

At ten minutes after seven the following morning, Adam tapped his quirt against the side of one of his polished black Hessians while he waited just outside the stable for Mallory to arrive.

As promised, the horses were saddled and ready, his roan stallion huffing air through his nose and occasionally tossing his head with an impatience to be off. For Mallory, he’d selected a spirited mare, knowing she wouldn’t enjoy riding an animal with too placid a disposition. Pansy, the grooms had assured him, was an excellent choice despite her uninspiring name.

One of the barn cats sauntered past, pausing to give him a haughty inspection before continuing on her way with a flick of her slender brown tail.

He was beginning to wonder if he’d have to go knock on Mallory’s door again when suddenly she was there, slightly breathless as though she’d been rushing. She came to an abrupt halt, her breasts rising and falling beneath the military-style braid and gold buttons that adorned her bodice, the long skirt of her navy blue riding habit gathered heavily over her arm. On her head she wore a tall shako-style hat with a length of white gauze tied around the crown, its ends left to trail down her back.

“My pardon for being late,” she said. “And before you remark on the somber color of my attire, this was the only riding habit Penny could make ready on such short notice. I haven’t been riding in ages, and she did what she could.”

He smiled and walked forward. “Then you may extend my compliments to your maid since she’s turned you out splendidly. As for your slight tardiness, I’m just glad you are here and didn’t change your mind about going on our outing.”

“I assumed if I failed to show up, you’d come after me.”

He laughed, knowing himself fairly caught.

She drew another deep breath, her breasts rising and falling again in a display of femininity he couldn’t help but admire, particularly when a pair of the buttons gleamed in rather strategic locations.

“You slept well, I hope,” he said, forcing his thoughts away from her ample charms.

“Well enough.”

“Bad dreams?” he asked, knowing her too well not to hear faint undertone in her voice.

A pair of tiny creases lined her forehead. “Nothing out of the ordinary.” Swinging around, she gazed toward their waiting mounts. “The horses are ready, I see, and look eager to be off. Shall we go, my lord?”

Briefly, he considered pressing the matter of her bad dreams but decided to let her keep her secrets—for now. “Yes, let’s be off before some of the others awaken and decide to wander our way.”

Needing no further prompting, Mallory went to the mare, taking a minute to rub the animal’s forehead. The horse chuffed with obvious affection.

“I take it the two of you are acquainted,” he said.

“Pansy and I are old friends. Ned bought her for me not long after my first Season, and I rode her often that summer and fall. We tried taking her to Town the next spring, but she started nipping at some of the other horses, so we decided she’d feel more comfortable in the country.”

“Well, she’d better not try nipping Eric, or she might find herself nipped back.”

“Eric?”

Adam grinned, the stallion stamping a hoof in acknowledgment of his name. “That’s right. He’s a big, powerful brute, rather like a Viking, so I thought Eric seemed fitting. Plus he has a reddish coat, thus, Eric the Red.”

Light gleamed in her jewel-toned eyes, and for a fraction of an instant, he thought she might smile. But she didn’t, her mouth remaining set as she moved to lead Pansy toward the mounting block.

“Allow me,” Adam said, stopping her.

Before she had time to protest, he settled his hands around her waist and lifted her effortlessly upward. Instinctively, she laid her palms against his shoulders, clinging to him as he set her slowly onto the sidesaddle. Propriety demanded he release her the moment she regained her balance. Instead, he left one hand curved against the softness of her hip, relishing the sensation of womanly flesh and rich cloth rubbing against his skin as she worked to hook one knee into the saddle and the other foot into its stirrup. If possible, he would have managed the whole procedure for her, sliding his palm beneath her skirt to fit her knee around the pommel, then stroking her bare calf as he eased away.

But it was far too soon for such bold moves, and considering her current emotional state, he was a cad even to think such things. Then again, he was a man, a sexually healthy adult male who was denying himself the pleasure of a willing bed partner for the duration of this fall season—and quite probably for some long while after. But much as it might pain him, he wanted no one now but Mallory.

She’ll be mine,
he swore to himself.
She has to be mine.

With her securely settled and arranged, he handed her the reins, then turned away to stride to his horse. Swinging up easily into the saddle, he wheeled his stallion around and met Mallory’s gaze. “Ready?” he demanded.

She nodded. “Shall we ride toward Snowshill?”

He nodded back. With a cluck of his tongue, he set Eric in motion, Mallory catching up fast to ride confidently at his side.

The yards flew past at a comfortable gait, the countryside stretching before them in a collage of shape, color and texture. The loamy scent of earth and grass mingled with pastoral aromas of grazing sheep and ripening fields of barley and wheat. Thick areas of woodland dotted the landscape in variegated shades of brown and green, while yellow, pink and white flowers nestled beneath the sheltering branches of a forest so ancient only the trees knew their true age.

Still within the boundaries of Braebourne, they forded a small stream, then rode up the other side to a lush hill that had splendid views of the valley and a small village beyond. To the east stood Braebourne herself, the stately home rising in a splendor of golden Cotswold stone, shimmering glass and hand-cut marble. The grounds were some of the finest in England, Adam agreed, and contained majestic landscaped gardens, a pair of artificial lakes complete with follies and a small, private chapel that was nothing short of an artistic masterpiece.