The Husband Trap (6 page)

Half an hour later Violet sat in front of a small, mirrored dressing table in a cheerful green-and-white-striped bedchamber. Her long hair was neatly brushed and had been left to trail down her back, its heavy weight tied away from her face by a plain white ribbon. Her nightgown was white as well. But if the seamstress had meant the garment to be virginal, the woman was in even more profound need of eyeglasses than she was herself.

Made of a diaphanous silk, the sleeveless gown hung to her ankles but concealed little on its way down. The bodice was the most revealing of all, formed of a delicate Irish lace that clung to her bare breasts, soft and transparent as early-morning light. Violet couldn’t believe Jeannette had purchased such a scandalous garment or that their mother had let her.

Instant mortification was her first reaction when her maid, Agnes, held the gown up for her to slip on and Violet realized she could see through the material to the maidservant standing on the other side. She nearly refused to put it on. Then common sense reasserted itself. If she balked at donning the night rail, her missish reaction might cast undue attention upon her. She knew the way servants liked to gossip. Curious, they might begin to notice other little things about her. Things that would distinguish her from her sister, and before she knew it, her secret would be revealed.

Luckily Agnes was new. Adrian’s staff would be new to her as well, and she to them. Still, everyone needed to believe she was Jeannette, from his majordomo to his newest, youngest tenant. And making a fuss on her wedding night by refusing to wear the nightgown she had supposedly chosen herself was not the best way to begin.

So while Agnes waited, ready to assist her into the embarrassing night rail, Violet put aside her objections and obediently raised her arms. Once dressed—if one could call it that—she sat and let Agnes brush and arrange her hair. A few minutes later, the maid let herself out of the room, the door giving a soft fatalistic click at her back.

Violet began to pace. How could she allow Adrian to see her this way? What would he think? Might he not be as scandalized as she? Surely even a lightskirt would refuse to be seen in such a garment. Then again, she didn’t know much about lightskirts. Perhaps when such women were with men they wore no clothing at all. Flaming color scalded her cheeks, burning there at the shocking idea. Violet paced faster.

At least the outfit came with a robe, she thought. Not that the outer garment—cut from the same revealing material as the nightgown—was all that much of an improvement. But at least it had long sleeves and buttons. Then a new thought occurred to her. More than one nightgown must have been packed for Jeannette. Maybe one of the others was more modestly sewn. A nice opaque cotton lawn like the sort she was used to wearing to bed.

A quick search of the trunk, though, dashed her hopes, the nightgowns she discovered inside every bit as bad as the one she was presently wearing. And in one particular case, worse—made with more lace, less silk, and dyed a shade of red the devil himself would have blushed to see.

Tugging the robe more tightly around her body, Violet glanced around the room. Her eyes settled uneasily upon the large tester bed that stood to her right, covers folded down in invitation. Should she climb in and wait for Adrian there? Would such an action seem too forward? Or should she sit on the small sofa near the fireplace, try for a casual pose? Neither choice seemed satisfactory. Who did she think she was, after all, Caro Lamb to Adrian’s Lord Byron?

Normally she would have read a book until she grew sleepy. But she had left her copy of the novel she was reading on her nightstand at home, half finished. What a shame. Likely she would never find out how the story ended—another very entertaining tale told by the clever author Jane Austen. It was a foregone conclusion that Jeannette would care nothing for the book. In all likelihood, her sister would lose Violet’s copy somewhere between Portsmouth and Rome, a convenient prop she would carry with her, then absentmindedly leave behind on a table or a coach seat.

Violet trod forward and back, forward and back across the pliant wool rug under her slippered feet. What had she done? How would she ever be able to keep up this charade? Would Adrian know tonight when he saw her that she was a fraud? When he kissed her? Would he sense she was not the woman he believed he had wed? Would he realize she was not Jeannette?

That was her true fear. The real reason she trembled even now. She wasn’t so much afraid of what Adrian would do with her tonight in the bed—although that was a definite consideration—but more she trembled for fear of what he might find out.

A light rap sounded upon a connecting door she had failed to notice earlier. It opened on silent hinges and Adrian stepped through.

Her time of solitary reflection was at an end.

Breath caught in her throat as she watched him shut the door then turn her way. Dressed in a long robe of dark brown velvet, whose color nearly matched his eyes, he stood tall and powerful, magnificent as a Greek statue. His thick, short black hair was freshly brushed, and damp on the ends from washing. His face newly shaven for the third time that day. Just looking at him made her ache, he was so painfully handsome.

She lowered her gaze toward the floor and was startled to see his feet were bare. Long and well shaped with neatly trimmed nails, a few fine black hairs sprinkled across the tops and on his big toes, his were the first adult male feet she had ever viewed. Not even her brother and father walked around barefoot, always clad in stockings or slippers or shoes. Seeing Adrian’s feet, so masculine, so naked, sparked a fluttery sense of awareness inside her, together with a peculiar sensation of intimacy.

She swallowed hard and linked her hands before her. Then crossed her arms over her breasts a moment later, remembering the scanty state of her attire. She shifted uncomfortably and prayed he wouldn’t notice the gown’s indecent thinness.

“Jeannette,” he said, holding out a hand. “Come here.”

His tone was soft, gentle, the sort a man might use to coax a timid wild creature. Did he know she was frightened? Was her innate shyness about to give away her secrets? She doubted the real Jeannette would be this hesitant. Then again, she didn’t know how her sister would behave alone with a man for the first time.

Would tonight have been Jeannette’s first time? Violet shied away from the dishonorable thought but she couldn’t help it. Especially in light of her twin’s request earlier today, asking that she intercept notes from a certain individual named Kaye. If Kaye was indeed a man—and Violet would bet a year’s allowance he was—she knew this was not the first secret flirtation in which Jeannette had engaged.

Putting her suspicions aside, she stepped close, laid her small cool hand into his large warm one.

He raised her palm to his lips, pressed a kiss into it, then upon the inside of her wrist as he had once before that day. “You are trembling,” he said.

“Yes,” she admitted, hearing the catch in her voice as she said the word. Her eyes focused on the vee of skin exposed above the collar of his robe, and the few dark hairs that peeked out where the lapels met. Was there more of that same hair hidden lower beneath the robe? What else did he have hidden under there? She flushed at the thought.
Oh, my.

“There is no need to be so nervous. Everything will be fine.” He paused and caressed her hand, dropping a leisurely kiss upon her knuckles that did nothing to lessen her trembling. Having him this close made her weak, shivery. He smelled so delicious, of bayberry and something else, something darkly male and uniquely him. Her toes curled inside her slippers.

“I wondered if there might be something you would like to tell me,” he continued.

She frowned, puzzled. “No. I…I don’t know what you could mean.”

“Come now, you must have an idea. Isn’t that the real reason for all this innocent shyness of yours? These unexpected attacks of bridal nerves you’ve suffered throughout the day?”

Panic squeezed sharply in her chest at his words. Oh, Lord, so he did know. But how? And for how long? And if he did, why wait? Why the charade, pretending to accept her as his wife? Why this intimate interlude between them now?

Had he decided to take his revenge upon her tonight? To punish her in some physical manner? Had he—oh, heavens, what a thought—decided to taunt her, then take her in place of her twin? Discard her come morning, to be sent home in ruin and disgrace?

Such a dishonorable plan as that did not seem in Adrian’s nature, no matter how angry he might be. If he knew for certain who she was, wouldn’t he simply confront her in a forthright manner instead of playing games, like a great cat toying with a shy mouse? Perhaps he was not positive in his suspicions and merely waited for her to offer up an admission of her guilt voluntarily.

He cupped her cheek in one hand, settled his lips over hers in gentle possession and persuasion. She whimpered, reached up to steady herself by clasping her hand around his wrist, solid and strong beneath her touch.

When he broke away, he pulled back only enough to speak, his breath fanning sweet warmth against her face, his eyes locked with her own. “You might as well be honest,” he warned, low and silky. “I am willing to forgive whatever indiscretions there may have been in the past so long as you reveal them to me now.”

“I-indiscretions?” She felt her eyes widen.

“Do not try to convince me you are untouched. I’ve heard talk, disturbing talk, and I will have the truth from you tonight, madam. One way or the other, I will know the truth. Whether it comes from your pretty lips, or I have to wait and find out when I take you to that bed. I would, however, prefer to hear it from you.”

She nearly sagged with relief. He thought she wasn’t a virgin—or rather, he thought Jeannette was not. Adrian still did not realize who she actually was. For now her true identity was safe.

But the sensation of relief was short-lived as his hand lowered, easing gently around her neck, his thumb teasing across her collarbone. “Tell me,” he repeated. His tone brooked no defiance.

“H-honestly, your Grace, there is nothing to tell. There have been no indiscretions, whatever you may have heard.” None that she, Violet, had committed anyway.

He didn’t believe her. She could read it in his eyes.

“There has been no one,” she stated, trying to don a mantle of affronted pride and hurt the way Jeannette would have done. “I don’t know who could have spread such vicious lies about me. I don’t know how you could believe such blatant falsehoods.”

He raised a brow. “So, you persist in this act, do you? Insist in the purity of your maidenly innocence?”

She stood her ground, swallowed her trepidation. “Yes.”

“Don’t think you can fool me with tricks,” he said with a fierce scowl. “They won’t succeed and I’ll know what you’ve done. Now, one last chance. I promise I won’t be angry so long as you are truthful.”

She stiffened her shoulders, though she felt more like slinking away. “I have been truthful. I swear to you, your Grace, there is no one. No man has ever touched me. Only you.”

His eyes hardened. “Very well. We shall have to resort to the direct approach, I see. Let us begin.”

Adrian reached out, and without further niceties freed the buttons on her robe, slipping them loose, one after another after another. She kept her head high as she stood acquiescent beneath his touch, forcing herself not to quiver. He stripped her robe aside, flung it carelessly to the floor. She stared just beyond his shoulder as he raked his eyes over her body and the nearly transparent gown, shamed by what she knew he must be seeing.

Adrian sucked in a harsh breath at the ripe beauty he’d uncovered, desire striking him a blow that settled hard between his thighs. Dear Lord, she looked like fair temptation herself. A sensual spirit brought to life. White lace hugged her breasts like an exotic second skin. Round pink nipples peeked out from beneath to tease and attract. The diaphanous skirt below, a misty veil that flowed over belly and hip, across long curvaceous legs, over the enticing, half-hidden vee of golden curls that lay between.

Seeing her so splendidly and effectively displayed only fueled his ire. Increased his need to rip through the false act she insisted on portraying. Innocent? Hah, she was no more innocent than he.

He hadn’t planned to confront her. What was done was done. Women were human, he had counseled himself, subject to the same carnal cravings as men. They could make mistakes. Fall prey to temptations of the flesh, inside or outside the sanctity of marriage.

Yet as he had sat downstairs, sipping his brandy, left to his own idle reflections, he kept remembering her reticence throughout the day. Her quiet reserve over dinner. The shy, half-anxious glances she had thrown him. Her subdued conversation. The obvious case of bridal jitters that sprang to life when he had reminded her he would be joining her for the night. That was when his irritation developed, growing, together with his dark suspicions.

What if there was an underlying reason for her shy behavior? An ulterior motive for her uncharacteristic timidity? A reason she felt she must prove her innocence? True, it could simply be guilt; a well-bred woman was supposed to come to her marriage bed a virgin. She might be embarrassed. Then again, mayhap it was something more, something infamous.

Was she pregnant?

The idea made him half sick. He certainly didn’t want some other man’s bastard whelp for his heir. He could always refuse to touch her, of course. Wait a few months to make certain she was not with child. But if he did that there would be talk. Word would leak out of their estrangement no matter how he might try to conceal it. Then, of course, there was basic math. Anyone could figure out the meaning of a healthy, robust baby born after only six or seven months of marriage.

And in the end, no matter what, she would still be his wife. If he discovered she had proved him false, he would have to divorce her. Drag the whole sordid affair out before the courts, his peers, the world.

No, he would find out the truth for himself tonight. The full truth. Then he would take whatever steps were necessary.