Trust Me (21 page)

Anne frowned. “Well,
if you knew I had a bath this morning, why did you send for another.”

“I didn’t, my lady.”

“No?”

“Lord Ruel ordered it.”

“He did?”

“He says I am to make
sure you soak in that water for at least a quarter hour. And he says afterwards
you are to have a glass of claret and some fruit and cheese.” Nellie’s voice
was stiff as though with hurt. Anne knew how much her servant resented Jon’s
infringement upon what Nellie saw as her sole province, the care and feeding of
her lady.

It was a little
embarrassing for Anne, for his orders seemed too much like the concerns of a
husband who had put his wife to hard use the night before. She untied her
wrapper, removed it and slipped into the bath.

The water felt a
touch too hot at first but then the heat sank into her aching body and bliss
washed over her. Overcome by languor, she lay back against the tub and then,
through half-closed eyes, she watched her abigail sit on the stool.

“I had begun to
wonder when you would awaken.”

“I didn’t know I
would sleep so long.”

“I was afraid you
were becoming ill.”

“I am fine, Nellie.”
Anne smiled wanly. “Completely, fine.”

“My lady, it is all fine
and well to sleep the whole day following a late visit from your lord.” The
faintest edge in Nellie’s voice told of her disapproval. She’d already hinted
that she believed Jon to be an insensitive husband.

Anne laughed softly.
“We’re certainly keeping town hours now.”

“Well, I do hope you
won’t make a habit of this.”

“Hmm.” Anne rolled
her head on the tub’s edge.

“It is not your way
to be idle.” Nellie wrung the washcloth and droplets drizzled back into the
tub. “At least, it was not before the accident. It is time you began to get
back to your former self. Your former habits.”

The servant’s words
came to Anne as though they’d drifted on the air. She barely paid enough
attention to comprehend them, she let her eyes close completely. Her nose
itched and she raised a hand to scratch it.

“My lady!”

Chapter Eleven

Anne jumped and
popped her eyes open. “What?”

Nellie’s eyes were
huge. “Your wrist.”

Anne glanced at her
wrist. The faint red marks puzzled her for a moment. Then realization crashed
over her. The burns from when she had struggled against her bindings last night
whilst Jon had plunged in and out of her so savagely. She’d struggled against
them because she had enjoyed the sensation of being helpless.

It had been a secret.
Something she’d shared only with Jon.

Anne’s face flamed
hotly.

That secret had felt
so delicious but now seemed shameful. She plunged her wrist back into the bath.
She wanted to sink beneath the water and hide her whole self.

“My lady—”

Her cheeks were
scalding now but she wouldn’t hang her head. “Hush, Nellie, it doesn’t concern
you.”

“Oh, but I feel so
badly that Her Grace is not here.”

“What has my mother
to do with anything?”

“She could school you
in the things you need to know.” Now Nellie’s face flamed. “About a gentleman.”

“What can my mother
teach me about gentlemen?”

“How to manage
their-their…” Nellie suddenly sounded like a strangled cat. She coughed and
cleared her throat. “How to tame a gentleman to marriage.”

“Hush, Nellie.”

“But Lord Ruel, he
is-is not…”

“Lord Ruel is not
what?”

“He is not… well,
er,” Nellie sounded as though a fishbone had become lodged in her throat. “It
is well known that he is a libertine of the worst order.”

“He has lived a life
surely no worse than any other single nobleman.”

Nellie’s brows drew
together. “Oh my lady, if you only knew some of the things I have heard about
him since coming to this house. And about his grandfather. They are a family of
satyrs. But-but this…” She motioned at Anne’s hand. “
This
I never guessed at. This is unnatural, my lady.”

“Careful, Nellie.”
Anne cut into the other woman’s tirade with a sharp tone.

Nellie stared at her,
open-mouthed.

Anne fixed her with a
stern look. “He is my lord now and yours.”

Nellie clasped her
hands in her lap, bowed her head and closed her eyes. “Yes, of course, my
lady.”

Remorse pricked Anne.
Nellie had been with her since her lonely childhood in Ireland. For so long,
this woman had been the only person Anne trusted. She attempted to soften her
tone. “Don’t fret yourself.”

 
Nellie looked up and opened her eyes. “The
Earl of Ruel is a wicked man. You took a risk when you wed him. A wicked risk.”

Anne sucked in her
breath. Only a long-term retainer such as Nellie would ever have dared say such
a thing. But her rash words came from true concern. Anne released her breath.
She must be tolerant and placate her devoted servant’s worries. She laughed
softly. “Nellie, please, listen to yourself.”

“I’ll not take back
my words. I fear his influence. He has had such power over you since Whitecross
Hall.”

Anne’s temper
flashed. “Nellie, please, I am done here. Bring my clothes.”

Nellie bit her lip
and nodded. Her eyes appeared glassy. She backed away and hurried to the
armoire. “What will you be wearing tonight?”

“I told you, the
black ball and gold-lace gown— oh, and the black shift and stockings.” Jon had
been very clear about what she must wear under her gown.

“Oh no, my lady,”
Nellie said, turning to face her. “Not that.”

“Yes, that.” Anne
stood and stepped out of the tub. She quickly towelled herself off.

Once Anne was dressed
in the undergarments, Nellie made a clucking sound. “It just isn’t done, my
lady. A satin shift?” The servant shook her head. “And black as a raven’s wing
at midnight.”

Anne’s head was
beginning to pound, ever so slightly. She frowned and slid her hands over her
stomach. Then she went into her chamber and sat at her dressing table. “No one
shall see it. I cannot think it matters.” She met her servant’s gaze in the
mirror. “Please arrange my hair.”

Nellie pursed her
lips then picked up the curling iron and began her work. She worked quietly,
which was not her habit.

“You do that so well,
Nellie. I wonder what I shall do without you when you go home to be with your
mother.”

Nellie stopped
fussing with Anne’s hair. “My lady, what makes you say such a thing? Why, I
shall never leave you.”

“But your mother is
growing older. Doesn’t she need you?”

“My younger sister
tends her just fine.”

“Yet you said your
sister was out walking with that farmer.”

“She is always ‘out
walking’ with someone. It never amounts to anything. I never said it would
amount to anything.” Nellie’s voice rose, sounding defensive.

Anne checked her hair
in the mirror. It was perfect. Nellie never did less than perfect work. She
stood and looked down, smoothing her chemise.

“It is sinful, that’s
what it is.”

Anne looked up.
“Sinful?”

“A black shift, black
stockings and garters. Why, it puts me in mind of an opera dancer, it does.”

Anne laughed softly.
“What would you know about opera dancers?”

“It is what I imagine
about them, my lady. This is not a becoming look for a lady, a countess. It is
so very…sensual.”

Anne had rather liked
the look of her black legs against the short hem of the shift. She couldn’t
have said why a moment earlier. However, now that Nellie had suggested it, the
look was rather sensual.

Carnal.

“It’s wicked!” Nellie
hissed as she took a step back.

Wicked.

Yes, wicked…

“Oh my lady, do not
grin like that.”

Anne jerked her gaze
back to her abigail. “What?”

“I feel I do not know
you when you get that look in your eye… that grin.”

“Don’t be silly.”
Anne wanted to be alone. Just being in the shift made her blood heat.

“Oh, Lord Ruel—he is
corrupt as sin itself and you—you are letting him turn you just as depraved.”

The sensual pleasure
she’d taken in the wicked underclothing evaporated and her head began—again,
ever so slightly—to pound. She pressed her fingers to her temples. “That’s
enough, Nellie. Bring my gown.”

She watched Nellie go
to the wardrobe with a sense of dread. She’d sent her out on an errand earlier
in the day when the dressmaker’s assistant had brought the gown. Nellie’s sharp
intake of breath told all.

Nellie came out,
holding the garment’s bodice up to the lamps. Black jets sparkled with fiery
colours. The older woman placed her hand inside the front. “There’s not enough
here to contain all of you, my lady.”

Anne felt her eyes
widen and her jaw drop as she saw the truth of her abigail’s words. Jon had
definitely had them alter the pattern.

He wanted to display
her body.

Perversely, the
thought excited her.

Aroused her so much,
she was beginning to become wet. The pulse between her legs was beginning to
throb hotly.

She inhaled deeply
and forced a more dignified expression.

“I am a mature woman,
Nellie, widowed and remarried. It is fashionable.” The evenness of her voice
surprised her. Made her almost believe her own words. The gown was
fashionable—so fashionable that it was scandalous.

Nellie’s mouth
dropped open. “This is not your style, my lady. You would never be caught dead
in a garment like this.”

What Nellie said was
the absolute truth and yet…

Be what I want.

Jon’s command echoed
in her mind.

Yes, she wanted to
give him what he wanted. She wanted to be what he wanted. In this way, at
least.

Her body was Jon’s to
display as he willed. However, she didn’t want every evening’s toilet to become
a battle. She dug her nails into her hands at her sides. Nellie had been with
her since her childhood. She would have been utterly alone without her. She
must remember that.

”Nellie,” she said in
a cool, polite tone. “I am ready to dress. Assist me.”

The older woman’s
expression hardened. “Yes, Lady Ruel.”

“Nellie, please, you
must understand. I am not a girl any longer.”

Nellie said nothing. She
would not look Anne in the eyes but stood there with the formal, impersonal
stance of a lower
 
servant.

Red, raw-edged pain
throbbed in Anne’s head. Not a very auspicious start for this evening. She
glanced at the gown in her servant’s arms. The jets seemed to sparkle with far
more gaudily than they had earlier. Her stomach began to cramp as her
nervousness mounted. “Place the gown on the bed and leave me.”

“Yes, Lady Ruel,”
Nellie said, holding the gown away as if it would contaminate her with its wickedness,
and laid it across the bed.

 
“Leave me. Now.”

****

Anne found Jon in
their sitting room, already dressed in his black evening clothes, seated on the
divan, reading a newspaper.

“Jon?”

He looked up, his
gaze sharpening. “You’re ashen. Are you ill?”

She placed her
fingers to her temples and nodded. “My head aches. I cannot go. We shall have
to make our excuses.”

He motioned for her
to come to him. She did.

He scooted back and
parted his legs wide. Then he patted the cushion between his legs. She sat
there, balanced somewhat precariously on the small section of the chaise
lounge. She placed her arms on his thighs to steady herself. He shifted, his
powerful muscles rippling beneath the fine nap of velvet, and he adjusted their
bodies until her bottom rested more securely and was pressed snug against his
loins.

He touched her
shoulders, caressing her. At his light touch, her painful neck instantly eased.
Warmth spread through her. Relaxing her. Lulling her. With a low moan, she
closed her eyes. “Please, may we cancel? I simply want to sleep.”

“You must face the
world sooner or later.”

“I would wish to face
it wearing something far less flashy.”

“What good would it
do to dress like a mouse and hide in the corners?”

“It would do me a lot
of good.”

“Our At Home turned
out to be just fine. What are you so afraid of?”

“Maria and Cherry
will be there. They shall speak to others about the accident and say such
dreadful things.”

“Do you believe that
if you act like a frightened hare, they won’t talk then? Make no mistake, they
will say what they will.”

“Aye. ‘There’s the
Spanish merchant’s daughter, still marred by his filthy taint of commerce. She
was with Cranfield when he died. She’s touched in the head. She was always
knotty-headed, and it only made her worse.’”

He tightened his
hands on her waist. “You
are
knotty
headed. It’s one of your charms.”

“They will say ‘Last
summer, she drank too much at supper and made a cake of herself over Ruel.’”

He chuckled. “I’m afraid
that’s true as well.” He leant closer and nipped her earlobe.

She winced at the
sudden, sharp bite. A shiver racked her.

“Don’t you want them
to see the rest of the story? That I was so charmed by you that I would not
rest until I wed you?” He shifted and retrieved a flat box from the table
beside the chaise. “That I have become so besotted with you, I would see you
draped in diamonds.”

“Diamonds?” she asked
dumbly.

He flipped the lid
open. Inside, laying on black velvet, a diamond necklace and matching earbobs
sparkled with fiery intensity.

“I don’t need
diamonds.”

“All ladies need
diamonds. You most of all.” He lifted the necklace from the case.

It looked so
very-very—substantial.

“I have never bought
diamonds for any lady before.“ He placed it about her neck, resting it over the
other necklace that signified his ownership of her. The diamonds lay against
her collarbone and the sapphire pendant dropped directly beneath the newer
necklace, as if it were attached to the string of glittering rocks.

“They are
lovely—breathtaking.”

“They pale in
comparison to you.” His hand rested on her breastbone, just touching the swell
of her bosom. “There now, you’re ready to face any number of cackling old
crones.”

“My stomach still
feels like it is a sack of hissing, snarling cats.”

“Good girl, you
should always be so honest with me.”

“It is not always
easy to be honest all the time.”