The Husband Trap (11 page)

Introductions complete, Horatio made to follow them as she and Adrian started toward the stairs. She turned back, her heart pained when she realized she could not bring him inside. At least not in his present unkempt condition.

“Would one of you see to my dog?” she asked the servants. “He is in need of a bath and a good meal. Then a walk afterward.”

A long moment of silence commenced as all eyes turned to the canine behemoth standing next to the duchess. Each of them calculated the odds of their success in dealing with the beast.

Then Robert stepped forward. A wiry, earnest young man with hazel eyes and close-cropped brown hair. “I’ll see to him, your Grace. I like dogs. We had four big ’uns when I was growing up. Though not as big as him.” He nodded toward Horatio. “Him and me will do, though.”

“Thank you, Robert.”

The footman stepped forward, taking Horatio’s collar in hand. The dog stood, unmoving, obviously reluctant to be parted from her.

She leaned down, smoothed a hand over the dog’s ears. “Go with Robert. You have nothing to fear. You will be cleaned and fed and rested, and I shall see you in the morning.”

Horatio whimpered as if he understood every word she said, unhappy at being separated from his savior. Another long moment passed, then tail down, he acquiesced, let Robert lead him away.

She drew herself up, suddenly aware of what she’d just done. Gushing again over the animal. Had Adrian noticed her rather un-Jeannette-like behavior? She raised her eyes, found him waiting, watching, no outward sign of suspicion on his face.

She raised her chin. “I should like the same,” she announced. “A bath and dinner as soon as it might be arranged. I feel quite travel-weary.”

Mrs. Grimm swung forward, all business, quick despite her wide hips. “Of course, your Grace. All will be to your liking. Allow me to show you to your rooms.”

The housekeeper ascended the stairs. The duke and duchess followed.

Violet had her bath, then let Agnes assist her into a gown suitable for a quiet, at-home meal. The dress was comfortable, a spotted muslin in pale yellow with an overskirt of sea green that her maid declared made her eyes sparkle like jewels.

She joined Adrian, finding him splendidly attired and looking quite elegant in his black evening clothes, worn in spite of the country setting. They shared a few moments of desultory conversation in the parlor before proceeding into the dining room.

Mrs. Grimm had gone out of her way preparing the evening meal, Violet noticed, as one sumptuous course after another was presented for their delectation. Tender roast squab with raspberry sauce. Chicken and mushrooms in a delicate puff pastry. Roast beef and creamed baby leeks. Braised whitefish with lemon, capers and dill. Each successive course was served with a lengthy selection of accompaniments, including a cheese herb soufflé and stuffed baby eggplants. There were salads, relishes and breads as well. And for dessert Mrs. Grimm had chosen wisely, presenting a simple selection of cheeses and fresh fruit.

Unlike the evening before, Violet ate with a hearty appetite. Consuming more than she usually did mainly because she was so hungry, but also, in part, as an effort to show her appreciation for the culinary effort and skill put forth for her and Adrian’s pleasure. She did her best to sample a selection of as many dishes as she could comfortably manage, finding them all equally delicious.

“Wherever did you find Mrs. Grimm?” she inquired, accepting an after-dinner cup of coffee in a delicate china cup. “She is an exceptional cook.”

Adrian ate a piece of Stilton cheddar and a wafer-thin slice of pear. “Actually, she found me,” he explained after he swallowed. “When I purchased this property about four years ago, the Grimms came with it. A fortuitous event, I have always believed.”

“I’m curious, why did you buy this house? It’s not in a likely location for a vacation residence.”

He arched a brow, ate another bite of pear. “Likely for some, unlikely for others. Truth be told, location is precisely the reason I bought it. I suppose there’s no harm in telling you, now that the war is over. I used to do some work, confidential work, for the War Office. Owning a house that looks straight out over the Channel toward France offers several distinct advantages. The beach is private and very isolated. It makes for an unparalleled rendezvous point on quiet, moonless nights.”

Violet felt her eyes widen. Was he saying he’d been a spy? How extraordinary, she thought, her mind filling with images of secret messages and clandestine meetings. British spies coming and going by way of Adrian’s beach, probably bearing news vital to the war effort. Adrian’s mother was French. Likely he spoke the language like a native. What a perfect choice he must have been. A trusted, respected ex-officer. An aristocrat who just happened to own a house on the seashore.

She was still digesting the intriguing revelation when he abruptly changed the subject.

“Are you certain I cannot interest you in a bite of this delicious dessert?” he asked.

“No, no, I have eaten far too much tonight as it is. If I consume any more, I fear I will be unable to lift myself out of this chair.”

“Don’t worry. If you find yourself stuck, I will come round and help heave you out.”

“Heave me out? Are you implying I am fat, your Grace?”

“Heavens, no. If anything, you could do with an extra bit of flesh on your bones, comely as they are.”

The relaxed atmosphere, the enjoyable meal and the role she was performing combined to make her bold. “So you would not mind if I increased my girth?” She waited, finding herself suddenly anxious to see how he would reply.

“If you got as round and wide as our esteemed cook, it would simply provide me with more of your beauty to admire.” He smiled, lips curving with slow warmth.

Her own curved in reply, pulse quickening in an unsteady beat. “Be careful,” she murmured. “You know it would only give me reason to shop for an entirely new wardrobe.”

Adrian tossed back his head, roared with laughter.

Coffee consumed, plates cleared, candles snuffed, the evening progressed until soon it was time for bed. They parted at the base of the main staircase, Violet too shy to inquire when or if he might join her. Forcing aside a blush, she retreated up the stairs.

Agnes dressed her in yet another of the scandalous nightgowns. Pink this time, with a scallop-shell hem and no lace, just diaphanously thin. She waited in the sitting room that adjoined her bedchamber, perched on a settee covered in watered apricot silk. Ordinarily she would have found the color charming. Enjoyed the ambience of the room decorated in soothing tones of peach and cream. Tonight her mind was preoccupied with other matters.

Would he come? Did she want him to?

She was still struggling to find an answer when Adrian arrived half an hour later, dressed in the same robe he had worn the night before.

A memory swept upon her. How rich the texture of the brown velvet beneath her hands. How warm and sleek his skin to her touch after he had removed the garment.

She lowered her eyes and held her breath as he drew near.

“Would you care for a game of cards?” he inquired.

Her gaze flew upward. Surely she had heard him wrong? “Cards?”

“Hmm.” He held up the deck in his hand. “It is early yet. I thought you might enjoy the diversion.”

“You wish to play cards,” she repeated, nonplussed.

“Mmm-hmm. Your choice. Hearts or two-handed whist?”

“I…I…Hearts, I suppose.”

“Excellent choice.” He removed a vase of flowers from a round cherrywood tea table that stood near the unlighted fireplace, set the arrangement high on the mantel. He drew up a pair of side chairs, took a seat and began to shuffle the cards. “Come on,” he urged when she failed to move from the settee.

Utterly confused, she masked the unexpected twinge of disappointment that swept through her. Then rose and accepted the seat across from him. She picked up her hand, blinked in dismay at the card’s blurry appearance.

Her spectacles. How could she have forgotten she would need them? He had caught her completely out. If she squinted a little, though, she believed, she could just make out the numbers. At least she had no trouble distinguishing the colors, red from black. She only prayed she didn’t mix up the suits.

“Anything wrong?” He lifted a single dark eyebrow.

“No, simply studying my cards.”
Studying them hard,
she thought.

Somehow she managed to compensate, the game falling into an odd rhythm, of sorts. Although he won the first two hands, she trounced him on the third, relaxing enough to forget most of her difficulties as she chuckled over a very droll story he told concerning a wagonload of apples and a farmer trying to escort his hungry pigs to market.

“My game,” she declared, grinning in triumph as she spread her cards faceup on the table.

“So it is.” Adrian tossed down his hand, tallied the points. “By my calculation, you’re twenty points ahead. I demand another chance at victory.”

“Very well.”

“A drink first, however. What would you care for, my dear?”

“Thank you, nothing for me.”

“You must have a little something. Drinking alone is never any good.”

“Well, all right, if you insist.”

Adrian disappeared through the connecting door that joined her suite to his. He returned in a short while carrying a pair of bowl-shaped snifters. He set one in front of her.

She eyed the amber liquid with suspicion. “What is that?”

“Brandy.” He sipped from his glass, then resumed his seat.

“I have never had brandy. I am not in the habit of drinking hard spirits, you know.”

“I did not think you were. But it seemed to me you might enjoy indulging in a little experimentation.”

He was right. Jeannette would enjoy just such a thing. She was always ripe to try the unusual or the forbidden. Violet raised the glass, gave it a tentative sniff. The scent was sweet yet tangy.

“You are not trying to get me drunk, are you?” she asked.

“There is barely a splash in that glass. Hardly enough to get drunk on. Besides, what use would I have for plying you with liquor?”

“To help you win the next game, perhaps.”

Adrian laughed, flashing her a devastating grin. He drank another swallow of his brandy, then set his glass aside and began shuffling the cards.

She sniffed at her glass and swirled the alcohol, watching it run in rivulets inside the snifter. Her twin would try it, she knew. And she was supposed to be her twin, after all. She was also a married woman now. What could be the harm, as he said, in a little experimentation?

She took a drink and choked, her throat burning as if a fierce hand had wrapped around it and squeezed. She sputtered and coughed, fighting to catch her breath.

Adrian reached out, rubbed his palm over her back. “There now, not so much at once.”

“That is vile,” she gasped as soon as she could speak, coughing a few more times. “Why on earth do you drink it?”

“It’s not so bad. You merely have to acquire a taste for it. Takes practice.”

“Hah. Well, I believe I will leave the practicing to you.”

He arranged the cards he had dealt for himself, pierced her with an eye of mock condemnation. “I will have you know that is some of the finest brandy to be found anywhere. Liberated from Napoleon’s own cellars.”

“All I can conclude, then, is that you and the Emperor have atrocious taste.”

Adrian smiled, drew a card to start the next game.

Violet won the first round and extended her lead. Adrian claimed the next two, placing him a few points ahead. As a kind of challenge to herself, and to Adrian, she took a small sip of her brandy. The liquor spread like a comfortable fire inside her, warming her blood, relaxing her muscles. She still didn’t like the taste, but perhaps the stuff was not as bad as she had originally thought. She swallowed another tiny sip before setting it aside.

Her turn, she took the top card off the deck.

“What did you draw? You look like a cat who has been in the cream.”

“I’ll never tell,” she taunted.

He drew a card, discarded a four of clubs. Reaching out, he covered the hand she had left on the table, toyed with her fingers. Her skin tingled where he touched her.

She swallowed and tried to concentrate on the play. She picked a card, ended up discarding one she should have kept. “I believe you are trying to distract me.”

“Really,” he drawled. “Is it working?”

“Not a bit.”

But it was. Her play began to suffer despite her best attempts to ignore his overtures.

He found her hand again the next time she set it on the table and tugged it slowly upward to press a kiss into her palm. Instead of pulling away, her fingers moved as if of their own accord. She stroked the supple, clean-shaven skin of his chin and cheek. He nuzzled against her, drawing one of her fingers into his mouth.

Her breath caught, knees turning gooey when he swirled his tongue around the digit. His eyes locked upon her own and held her mesmerized. Helpless, she let him do the same with her next finger. And the next. She shivered as he pressed warm kisses onto her palm in between. The sensations were devastating. As if he were touching her intimately, not just her hand but everywhere, all at once.

Bewitched and breathless, she felt her whole body tingle. The cards in her other hand tumbled to the table, forgotten.

“Shall we finish the game?” he asked, voice husky. He ran the tip of his tongue across her palm, ended by planting a drawing kiss against the inside of her wrist. Her fingers quivered and convulsed.

“What game?” she sighed.

“Come here.”

Chapter Seven