Some Enchanted Waltz (22 page)
Tara backed away from him, truly sorry now for her rash behavior, recognizing the anger filling his features. “I-I--“
His narrowed eyes followed her with accusation. “I desire you, as any man desires the beautiful woman he is married to. Why does that frighten you?”
“It doesn’t frighten me.”
“Doesn’t it?” He glared at her, then closed his eyes briefly, as if trying to control his pain, or his rage, she wasn’t certain. “Then why do you assault me whenever I behave like a true husband. A week ago you nearly blinded me. Tonight, you sought to geld me. Has someone mistreated you in the past to make you so fierce to defend your very life whenever a man touches you?”
Tara shook her head, uncertainty filling her. “I don’t believe so . . . maybe--maybe there
is
something unpleasant in my past and I can’t remember it.” Her voice rose as the sick feeling she felt when he wouldn’t release her came back to her. A terror beyond explanation had overwhelmed her and she reacted instinctively to defend herself.
“Sweetheart?” His voice intruded in the confused terror that held her captive.
Tara stepped backwards, seeking escape from the jumbled images racing before her mind--the ropes on her wrists, that knife cutting through her shirt as she screamed . . .
“Tara, listen to me.” Adrian’s face rose from the mist as her mind snapped back into the present. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He was standing in front of her, reaching out his hand to touch her face. “I’m not that sort of man.” He cupped her cheek.
She couldn’t untangle her confused feelings or that strange vision of being someone’s captive that just invaded her memory. She edged away from him, darting her eyes to the safety of her chamber door, measuring the distance in her mind.
“You see,” the voice became soothing as he followed her slow, steady retreat. “Even now, you are looking for an escape, yet you claim not to fear my embrace.”
Tara realized he spoke the truth. She felt exposed, like a rabbit in an open field, hoping to outrun the wolf as her breathing increased, her heart hammered against her ribs. Yet, when she gazed into Adrian’s mystical eyes, she saw no feral gleam as he met her steps, advancing at the same slow, steady pace as her retreat, measure for measure, following Tara to her door like a wolf tracking his prey.
“It’s late, you’re right. I am exhausted. Perhaps we should set this aside for another time.” He sounded like he was discussing a chess tournament by his bland tone.
Tara stood perfectly still, entranced by his nearness. Uneasy, yet strangely thrilled by the danger his towering form posed. Part of her wanted to be swept up into his arms, and loved madly, like that scene between Rhett and Scarlett on the stairs.
Yet part of her feared losing control, losing her autonomy and being overwhelmed by such a hulking, magnificent man. She merely nodded her agreement with his declaration, struck mute with conflicting emotions as she gazed up into his face.
He stood directly in front of her as she pressed tight against the hard oak door to her chamber. He remained immobile, a marble figure with bewitching silver eyes. “Goodnight, then, my enchanting forest nymph. Dream sweet dreams, of me.”
Adrian turned away from her and entered his chamber across the hall, leaving her staring after him with a mixture of longing and regret.
When Tara opened her eyes the next morning, the humiliating scene of the night before came racing back to her. She sat up, blinking, angry with herself for attacking her would be lover with such vehemence,
again
.
“Oh,” Her head sank between her knees. “Crap. I kicked him.”
How could she face him after last night? Or the servants for that matter? And worst of all--his dour mother! She felt as if they all would be able to look at her face and know what transpired in the wee hours, with vivid detail.
The clock on the mantel chimed a half past two--in the afternoon.
“Oh, great.” Tara lifted the covers, realizing too late she was completely naked. She hoped a maid was not about to come traipsing in to catch her in her skin. Well, she’d been deeply aroused by their interlude last night, so much so that she couldn’t sleep until she’d satisfied herself. It was that, or go marching into Adrian’s room, and that would be too much like surrendering to the dude, and she wasn’t about to do that.
Jerking the sheets loose, she tugged them about her and eased her bare feet to the wooden floor. The plush oriental carpet shielded her from the expected shock of cold. The drapes had been pulled, leaving the chamber banked in shadows of twilight as a thin stream of light illuminated the carpet with sunlight.
When Tara finally made her way down stairs, she found the townhouse vacant of both the Dillons. Lady Fiona had spent the night at Lady Blakely’s mansion after their late night at the opera and Adrian had gone out on some vague errand.
Tara fidgeted in the parlor. She kept pacing and looking at her reflection in the mirror repeatedly. She felt like an idiot for her gut reaction to Adrian’s wooing last night. It wasn’t as if he were a stranger creeping up on her in a dark alley. She assaulted him, and then afterward, in her chamber, she’d been so hot she’d been reduced to self gratification when she could have been locked in his arms all night long.
“
Yeah, you shook me all night long . . . .
” The lyrics sprang to her mind, along with a smoking guitar riff. Tara knew the name of the song, and the name of the band. It was classic AC/DC, from their 1980 album, ‘Back in Black’.
“Damn it!” Tara swore aloud. Why did these idiotic lyrics keep popping in her head at every turn, yet she couldn’t remember the pertinent facts of her own life?
The steady clip-clop of horses’ hooves outside brought her to the window time and again. She wore a path between the parlor entrance and the window as she waited.
The dark blue velvet gown was too dark and somber, she worried as she gazed at her image again in the looking glass above the mantle. She should have worn the more feminine pink muslin with flounces and puffed sleeves to soften their meeting after last night’s fiasco, she thought with annoyance. She should have taken more time with her appearance instead of rushing down here. She should allowed the maid to curl her hair, rather than settling for the hasty French braid that seemed too plain for attracting her lover. She rolled her lips together, wishing she had a tube of lip gloss to lessen her severe ensemble.
God, what is wrong with me? You’d think I was a sixteen year old girl waiting for my prom date to pick me up!
Tara scoffed, and moved once again to the window as a coach stopped in the front of the house. He was home.
Would he be angry, smug, disappointed?
“Where is my wife?” she heard him ask Murray as the butler took his great coat and hat.
“In the parlor, Sir.”
Tara spun about, giving her back to the doorway as she picked up the paper lying on the pedestal table. Realizing it was upside down, she righted it in her hand as his footsteps padded softly across the carpet.
“Good afternoon, my sweet.” The succulent voice crooned.
Tara dreaded the moment their eyes would meet. “Good afternoon, my lord.” She murmured in a tight voice, appearing distracted by the
Cork Gazette
. The words danced before her in a blur as she struggled to contain her flailing heart.
Adrian’s arms went about her waist, pulling her against him from behind. “I left instructions that you were not to be disturbed. Did you sleep well, my love?”
“Yes.” Tara’s heart melted at the tender tone of his words.
Adrian held her for several moments and then turned her about to face him. Tara examined the intricate knot of fabric at his collar. A cravat, they called it here. The elaborate twists and knots must have taken him a long time to perfect.
He lifted her chin to meet his gaze. Their eyes locked with silent understanding.
“Tara, my sweet.” His lips brushed her brow and wandered lazily down her cheekbone. “About last night, forgive me, I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
Tara nodded, dipping her gaze to observe his jacket lapel. “I honestly don’t know what came over me.” Her words came out in a jumbled rush. She colored and looked away from his penetrating gaze as she murmured. “I’m sorry, too. I should not have kicked you like that.”
“And you’ve been scourging yourself all day over it.” He mused.
Tara nodded, fingering the intricate buttons on his moss green jacket. They were made of silver and had the face of the Green Man carved upon them. How lovely and unusual. The craftsmanship was stunning. They must be worth a fortune at an antique dealer, her mind noted with absent fascination.
“’Tis best forgotten on both accounts. We shall start anew, My Lady Dillon, would you like to dine out this evening? I thought dinner at Mallory’s would be the thing, then the theater. Shakespeare’s
A Midsummer's Night
Dream
is on the billet tonight.”
As Tara gazed up into his face, she found the dove gray pools were aglow with laughter. Amusement was the one response she hadn’t anticipated.
The coach pulled up at Seafield House the following afternoon just as the sun was dipping into the sea. The spacious square great house that had been built nearly fifty years ago held a strategic position overlooking the southern shore of Bantry Bay. Glengarra Castle, the Dillon’s holding, was thirteen miles across the bay, situated on the northern shore, down the peninsula, unobservable to the naked eye.
Lady Fiona had arrived earlier with her companion, Lady Blakely. Tara and Adrian’s trunks were taken up to their rooms immediately. After serving them tea and seed cakes near a roaring fire in the salon, Lady Anne White made the suggestion that Adrian and his lady might wish to retreat and refresh themselves before dinner.
As the long coach ride from Cork had been cold and damp, Tara was grateful for the chance to rest in her chamber before having to deal with a formal dinner amid strangers. Upon reaching the opulent chamber assigned to her, she was delighted to find Lady Anne had ordered a hot bath upon their arrival and the water boys were just filling the porcelain tub when she entered. Such precise attention to her guest’s comfort was awe inspiring, yet Lady Anne was gracious and demure to a fault. Perhaps Lady Fiona's disappointment in Tara was not unfounded. She had much to learn about running a large household and being a proper wife to Viscount Dillon.
As Tara savored the steaming water warming her bones and pondering the peculiarities of the aristocrats, the door opened unexpectedly. She shrank down, covering her breasts with her arms crossed, wishing for mounds of bubbles to conceal her. They didn’t have bubble bath in this century, either. “Ever considered knocking, Milord?”
“And spoil the surprise, and miss the delightful blush creeping up your lovely neck?” Adrian smiled at the sight of her squirming in the tub. He quickly began to remove his jacket and untie his cravat.
“What do you think you are doing?”
“Joining you.” He smirked, unbuttoning the sleeves of his linen shirt.
Tara sucked in her lower lip, feeling her breath evaporate as his intentions registered fully in her mind. She wasn’t ready for this, not yet. Hadn’t they just discovered that fact the night before last?
“Oh, now, none of that, my sweet girl.” He chided, sitting on the bed to remove his boots. “I locked the door, no one will disturb us.” One boot dropped with a dull thud, then the other echoed in the spacious chamber.
His breeches fell to the floor then his linen underwear. Tara shrank against the tub back, pulling her knees to her chest. “There isn’t enough room for both of us.”
The tall, lean body slowly sauntered to the side of the copper tub as he ignored her flustered face. Viscount Dillon stood regally before her, confident, completely at ease with his nakedness as well as Tara’s. Unlike her, he made no attempt to hide the intimate parts of his body from her startled view.
Just stay calm, don’t let him get you flustered,
Tara told herself, although it was already too late. Her gaze lowered from the smirking grin. Tara let out a slow breath to release the tension within her. He was truly magnificent to gaze upon. Trim, yet with well defined muscles that bulged in all the right places, complete with the proverbial six pack abs and contoured biceps and pecs, the perfect Chippendale male dancer. He’d look great wearing a kilt. He looked pretty damned sexy standing there without one, too.
“Well, my lady wife, do you approve?”
Tara gulped in air with a sputter as she realized at last that she had been holding her breath for some time. She didn’t think her complexion could take on any more color than it already had, but she was wrong. “I’m finished.” Tara croaked, looking to escape the inevitable. “And I’m exhausted.” She added as a last line of defense.
“As you will.” He didn’t seem disappointed in the least by her rebuff.
So why was she feeling suddenly bereft? She really was tired, and nervous regarding her appearance at dinner tonight. Still, the feeling of loss at not being pursued by this luscious male was a little infuriating. She hurriedly rinsed the soap from her shoulders and reached for the towel before standing up.