The Husband Trap (15 page)

Of course he wanted her. It was their honeymoon, after all. Still, it troubled him. The intensity of his feelings. The consuming depths of his need. But it would pass, he was certain. Passion was an ephemeral thing, and his desire for her would wane in time. If only he didn’t want her so much. If only he didn’t want her right now.

As if to prove to himself that he could resist her, he yanked his shirt over his head, bared his chest to the sun. “I have a sudden fancy for a swim. Come on.”

“You didn’t say anything about a swim,” she squeaked.

“I’m saying it now. Come on, my dear. It will be fun.” He raced into the waves.

At length, she followed.

Adrian was by far the stronger swimmer, traveling farther and faster, out away from shore, where the waves were nothing more than a gentle rolling of the water. She stayed in closer to shore, floating on her back.

Decadent, that’s how she felt, the sun a warm kiss on her face and shoulders, her long hair floating behind her like a sleek cape. And shameless, clad in nothing but her undergarments. Drifting out in the open where anyone might happen upon her, despite Adrian’s assurances to the contrary. She felt happy too, she realized, in a way she’d never been before. She smiled, glad Adrian had lured her here, where she had so wanted to be.

Something plucked playfully at her hair. Her eyes sprang open, to find Adrian treading water next to her. His lips moved but she couldn’t hear what he said.

“What?” She bobbed upright.

“I said I thought you had fallen asleep.”

“No, just daydreaming. Did you enjoy your swim?”

He nodded. “Very much. Shall we go in closer now?”

At a relaxed pace, she swam beside him toward shore. By unspoken mutual consent, they stopped at the same moment, feet easily touching bottom. She faced him, watching salty droplets drip from his hair. Adrian slicked it back, muscled arms and broad shoulders flexing.

Her eyes moved to the puckered scar that rode high on his chest. The flesh was bone white and shaped like a guinea-sized starburst. She knew another scar—equally white, equally ragged—lay on his back.

She’d noticed the scars before. They were impossible to miss. Still, she had never asked him about them. She rarely touched them, not because they repelled her but because the damage and the story behind their cause struck her as intensely private.

She reached out, traced her fingertips over the small curve of wounded flesh, the skin unnaturally smooth and taut. “How horribly painful this must have been,” she murmured.

He stood, acquiescent beneath her touch. “Having a bayonet point thrust through your back is rarely pleasant.”

Her fingers paused. “I thought it was a bullet.”

“Is that the story making the rounds in the salons these days?” She nodded. “A bullet’s neater, I suppose,” he continued, “less gory for the ladies. Likely I should have let you keep your illusions.”

“No,” she told him fiercely, “I only want the truth.”

He caught her hand as her fingers began their tracing once more, pressed her palm flat against his chest. “I don’t know how much of the truth I ought to tell you.”

Dark shadows flickered inside his eyes. “War is a horrible, tragic business, not fit for discussion in polite company.”

She raised her other hand to his cheek. “I am not polite company. I am your wife. You may tell me anything.”

The shadows receded, a slow smile warming his lips. “Thank you, my dear. I shall keep that in mind.”

“You are not going to tell me.”

“Tell you what? About my wound? There is little enough to tell and likely you know most of it already. I was stabbed straight through with a French bayonet during the worst of the Siege of Badajoz. My wound was grievous enough, I was later informed, that the doctors quite gave me up for dead. By the grace of the Almighty, I pulled through. Once I had, my mother wrote to inform me that if I did not resign my commission at once and return home where I belonged, she planned to embark on the first ship available and drag me home herself. Hers was a threat even Wellington himself could not withstand.”

She doubted anyone could force Adrian to do anything he did not wish to do, not even his passionate whirlwind of a mother. Stories told how he’d saved an entire squadron of men by ordering a retreat, then holding the front lines with a chosen few until the rest could reach safety. He’d been stabbed for his heroism, decorated for his bravery.

She wrapped her arms around his waist. “Well, in this instance, I must agree with your mother. You were lucky to survive. Tempting fate again would not have been wise.”

He tipped up her chin with a finger. “So you are saying you would be sad if I had been killed?”

“I would never have known you, and for that I would have been quite sad indeed.”

His pupils dilated with sudden emotion. “As would I. How tragic never to have beheld a face as beguiling as yours. These splendid creamy cheeks…”

He leaned closer, kissed her right cheek, then her left.

“And this gorgeous chin…”

His lips pressed to her chin.

“This luscious neck…”

Her skin tingled as he dappled her throat with slow, sensuous brushes of his mouth.

“This delectable forehead…”

Her eyes closed and she sighed as he lavished his attention upon the spot.

“These glorious eyelids…”

She shuddered as he dusted butterfly kisses over her trembling lids.

“And of course your lips, the prettiest I have ever known.”

Languid and lush, he captured her mouth, tasting her as though she were a rare delicacy presented for his delectation. There was no hurry, only mutual enjoyment, mutual delight.

Violet curved herself more fully against his hard, heated length, her arms wrapped tight around him. Their clothes clung like a wet second skin, seawater lapping against their hips, all else forgotten as they drowned in the pleasure they were creating together.

His hands slipped beneath the waves to cup her buttocks.

Violet did the same to him, feeling his surprise as well as his appreciation.

Hot sun beat down upon her head, desire turning her body ripe and willing. Long minutes passed as they indulged in a healthy mating of lips and teeth and tongues. He broke the kiss, his eyes smoldering. He took her hand and led her from the water.

She didn’t say a word as they traversed the warm sand, drawing to a stop next to their discarded clothing. She expected him to hand her dress to her to put on so they might return to the house, up to the privacy of their bedroom. Instead, he tossed the garment over his arm, retrieved his shirt, then clasped her hand to lead her farther along the beach. Away from the house.

They halted near a rough, oddly shaped curve of rock that jutted toward the sea. It provided shelter on three of its sides, creating a perfect location for a clandestine meeting or a lovers’ tryst.

Inside the natural haven, Adrian shook out her dress, spread it flat over the sand. He did the same with his shirt, laying it just above the dress.

“Here?” she asked, gazing around her, out across the broad stretch of undulating blue waves, gulls riding high on the shifting air currents.

“Only if you want.” He held out a hand.

She shivered, amazed at her own daring. She placed her hand into his. “I want.”

He drew her down onto the makeshift pallet and began to love her with slow, deliberate care. The scents and sounds of the ocean surrounded them. The air played upon her skin, teasing and tantalizing in delicate, erotic strokes. Time slowed, inhibitions faded as Violet let him bare her flesh to the elements. Her hands roved over his body as if possessed, as if she were indeed some other woman. Not her sister but her own other self, a woman free of shyness and restrictions, able to express her feelings, her needs, without hesitation or regret.

And when he came into her, she gloried in the possession. She wished they could stay this way forever, only the two of them here in this place. Together and happy. Without demands or expectations, without obligations or duties or roles. Without anything but themselves and their passion. Here she could be fully herself with nothing to hide, no lies, no pretenses, only the raging depths of her love for him.

She closed her eyes and gave herself over to the moment, refusing to think about the difficulties that might come in the future. Then she couldn’t think at all as the demands of her body engulfed her in a long, unrelenting cascade of ecstasy.

When she climaxed, the wind stole her cries of repletion. The birds were the only witnesses to her movements as she clutched Adrian in fierce arms and entwined legs, holding on tight even after he had found his own release inside her.

Violet watched the passing scenery as the coach rolled away from the house. She wished she could don her spectacles so she might fully appreciate its beauty before it faded from sight. After a week of viewing the world through a placid haze, she had adapted, or mostly adapted, to the limitations of her uncorrected vision. Still, those limitations proved quite vexing at times, such as now.

She sighed and rested a gloved hand on the seat between them.

He covered it with his own gloved palm, gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t be melancholy, my dear. We will return one of these days.”

“I know.” She forced a smile. “And I am not melancholy—or rather, I shall not let myself be. There is so much to look forward to, after all. We’re traveling home to Winterlea.”

His eyes warmed at the mention of his principal estate. “It will be good to be there again. I always miss it when I’ve been too long away. I hope you shall come to feel the same. Come to love it as I do, now that you are its duchess.”

Duchess.
The word shot a shudder of terror through her veins. How was she ever going to live up to the obligations her new status would require of her? Overseeing the domestic management of one of the grandest homes in all of England. She had been trained in housekeeping, of course, as any well-bred lady was expected to be. Yet never had she considered that one day she would be required to assume the weighty mantle of responsibility for an estate as vast as Winterlea.

She would simply have to put aside her qualms and adapt, she told herself. Perhaps if she looked upon it as a discpline to be mastered, it wouldn’t prove to be so very dreadful. Teaching herself Greek, after all, had not been easy at first, nor come instantaneously, but she had applied herself and become proficient over time. With an optimistic attitude and a bit of determination, learning to be Winterlea’s duchess could be the same.

Yet when they arrived three days later, weary from the journey and from being confined inside the coach for so long, she was no more ready to assume her duties than she had been when they’d left Dorset. Anxiety clutched a fist inside her stomach as the coach drove through the gates, down the mile-long corridor of giant oak trees that lined the entrance to the estate.

She had been to Adrian’s principal residence once before. Invited along with her parents, her brother and Jeannette late last spring, during her twin’s engagement. The grounds were extensive, covering over fifteen thousand acres that included within them: a park and vast woodlands; a deep, natural lake stocked with over twenty different species of fish; several bridged waterways and an orchard, which at the time had been ablaze with color and fragrance from hundreds of blossoming trees.

A series of elegant formal gardens led up to, and around, the house; landscaping that could keep a person wandering quite happily for hours. She vividly recalled the beauty of the Elizabethan garden near the oldest section of the house, built in the 1580’s, if she remembered correctly. Columbine, cupid’s dart, foxglove, woodbine, all had raised their sweet flower faces to the sun. Horse chestnut and maple trees, unfurling new coats of leaves, provided areas of shade and shelter for later in the season.

The house itself was immense, more along the lines of a palace. It boasted four wings done in three separate architectural styles and numbered 145 rooms, not including the servants’ quarters found on the third story. The most recent and most major renovations to the house had been commissioned by the third Duke of Raeburn, beginning in 1763. His contribution had been the addition of the east and west wings, and the central facade of the U-shaped house, done in the Palladian style. Great stone steps led up to massive Ionic columns that held up a carved pedimented entryway.

The interior of the house was every bit as sumptuous as its exterior. The entrance hall glorious, with a central dome that cast natural sunlight down into the pink-marbled hallway before drawing the eye upward to witness a painting of an idyllic Venetian village scene by Robert Adams.

Only the finest furnishings and draperies were used. Each room containing at least one—and often two—well-tended fireplaces, capped by hand-carved marble mantels. Soft, hand-sewn Aubusson and Turkey carpets cushioned the floors. Antiques and priceless works of art, paintings, sculptures and friezes graced each and every corridor, hallway and room.

During her stay, Violet had been able to enjoy no more than a fraction of the beautiful art and architecture on display. As the new duchess, she would have ample time to study the objects at her leisure. If only the duties that went along with her new position didn’t make her gulp in an agony of terror.

As the coach continued onward, she reacquainted herself with the grandeur of the house and its grounds. Her eyes widened at the spectacle of the servants lined up in rows, four deep, before the entrance.

She took a steadying breath and forced herself not to tremble. Greeting the servants at the house in Dorset had gone well. This would be no different, she assured herself.

Adrian assisted her from the coach. Horatio, who had been riding with them, leapt out immediately after, tail wagging with pleased enthusiasm as soon as his large paws hit the ground. Robert, the footman, came forward to take him in hand.

Adrian tucked Violet’s arm into the crook of his, then led her forward. She scanned the mass of expectant faces. Oh, dear, there were so many of them. A hundred at least. This wasn’t anything like Dorset!