by Ruth Kaufman
Disgust curdled in his stomach as it did whenever he thought of his peculiar arrangement.
Now he had another unusual agreement with another woman, his wife. To touch Lady Anne now that he was married would be a desecration of his vows, not to mention a betrayal of Joanna’s trust. But if he didn’t follow through, and if Warwick couldn’t help him, he’d lose his house and his father’s fortune, the cornerstone of his family’s future. He’d fail the goal he’d pursued all of his adult life. Unless he could convince Lady Anne to let him find another way to regain his house.
He needed more time at Bedford Castle or he’d fail Warwick as well.
Stomach churning, Adrian knocked on the door. Seconds later, it opened.
“Lady Anne awaits you,” her plump servant, Pamping, said with a bow.
Adrian gritted his teeth as he followed the short, bald man inside. He knew the way to each room with his eyes closed. Pamping insisted on leading him to Lady Anne each week, which made Adrian seethe. He didn’t need reminding that the house was no longer his.
“Ah, my Adrian.” She reclined on the bed, her velvet robe tied loosely. The harsh morning light fell through the windows onto her. “Wherever have you been? Come to me.”
She opened the robe.
He closed the door as the servant bowed and left them, then crossed to the bed. “Lady Anne, I need to tell you something. I can’t continue this liaison.”
“Whyever not?” She toyed with her belt, her eyes narrowing.
Days ago, he’d relieved Joanna of her robe. Before disaster struck. He blinked, remembering again the look of confusion on Joanna’s face.
Focus. There was no way to prepare Lady Anne for his news.
“I have married.”
Lady Anne flew off the bed with the speed of a young woman.
“What?” she shrieked. She clutched her robe closed, as if to deny him the supposed pleasure of viewing her body. Adrian didn’t recoil from her stale breath. “Why didn’t you tell me? Is that what you’ve been off doing all these weeks, fornicating with your bride?”
Lady Anne looked so angry that for a moment Adrian believed she’d hit him.
“Who is she?” She waved her hand in the air as if wiping it clean of her own thoughts. “You think you can break our agreement by marrying? You can’t. Not if you still want this house. Which I know you do. So come to bed. Now. Or I’ll leave the house to a convent, and you’ll never set foot in here again.” She rubbed against him. “You want your house and I want you. Nothing has changed.”
Adrian swallowed. He watched his dreams tumble away and was powerless to stop them.
“Everything has changed. We can’t continue. I will remain true to my vows and to my wife.” No matter the cost. For they’re all I have left to be proud of. “Let’s agree upon some other way for me to acquire the house. Perhaps there are repairs you need done?”
She laughed. “What of your wrist? It might amuse me to see the proud Sir Adrian Bedford debasing himself with manual labor.”
The irony would’ve made him smile if he had less at stake. Repairing his own home was degrading while having sex with her to earn it wasn’t?
“My wrist improves each day.” He rubbed the scars, a constant reminder of what war could do to a man. “Please, Lady Anne, let us find another way.”
Adrian cringed at the wheedling tone in his voice. So much for the proud Sir Adrian Bedford. But he was willing to do a little groveling for his house.
And he’d never have to touch Lady Anne again.
“No,” she said, wagging her finger at him. “We made a deal. With no provisions for alteration. You’d best forget this house and go back to your bride. Is she worth all you have lost?” she hissed. “You’ll be sorry you crossed me, I’ll see to it. I may be old, but I can still wreak havoc.”
“Name your price. I’ll buy the house from you.”
“Ha. Even if you could afford to pay, which I know you can’t, I’d never sell my house to you. Not now.” She drew her robe tighter and rose to her full height. She tied her sash belt with finality. “Leave. Don’t come back until you’re ready to return to my bed. I will not give you up.”
Worse and worse, Adrian thought as he left his house for what could very well be the last time. He looked over his shoulder at the familiar façade to make sure every brick, every mullioned window was implanted in his memory. His dreams crumbled at his feet, years of effort obliterated by a single conversation. For a moment, he allowed himself the luxury of mourning his loss.
Ending his visits to Lady Anne was the right choice. He’d rebuild his dreams. There had to be another way.
Lady Anne had threatened trouble. Finding out whom he had married wouldn’t be difficult. If she went to Joanna and told her they’d been lovers, and why, Joanna would be devastated. And what if Lady Anne cancelled her commission for the new windows, which he knew Joanna needed to achieve her own goals?
Adrian had to outthink and outsmart Lady Anne.
He shuddered. He felt sullied by his past, haunted by the sacrifices he’d had to make. How could he go to Joanna, so fresh, so lovely? Could he ever cleanse himself of his mistakes and his secrets to be worthy of her?
Not a very auspicious way to begin his role as husband. If he didn’t make things right with her, his marriage would be over before it started.
And he’d hate himself forever.
Chapter 10
To complete the restoration of her reputation, Joanna spent every waking moment finishing windows her clients had commissioned, so she focused on her designs, the painting and firing of her glass. When she looked up, a week had gone by.
“A week. We’ve been married for seven days and he hasn’t come to me since that first night,” Joanna confessed to Margery, who’d stopped by Adrian’s rooms to tell Joanna of a possible new client. “He’s gone with me to visit clients to make sure William and John don’t try to harm me or my business again. Then he leaves. I’ve tried to concentrate on my windows. But it’s not easy. The expressions on the faces I paint all come out confused. I have to force myself to think serene thoughts to get them right.”
Margery’s own expression had given her away when Joanna let her in, as though she’d forgotten how sad and unwelcoming Adrian’s rooms were. To her credit, Margery hadn’t said a disparaging word about Joanna’s new home.
No, not a home. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
Each woman sat on a plain wooden chair without even a cushion for comfort, drinking watered wine. A musty odor lingered in the air despite Joanna’s best efforts to eradicate it with a thorough cleaning and dried herbs.
“Seven nights,” she repeated. Lying alone in Adrian’s bed. Worrying.
Under the terms of the agreement Joanna already despised, she couldn’t ask why he stayed away or where he went. Asking him what was taking so long to return to her bed, why he was no longer anxious to produce an heir, would also be too personal, because he’d said he would come to her at his convenience. She’d fooled herself into thinking she’d seen desire in his gaze. That he’d care about her.
“Adrian still hasn’t spoken about his behavior on the night you wed?” Margery asked. “I’ve done some investigating. Men don’t often leave in the middle, never to return.”
Embarrassment washed over Joanna anew. “I must’ve done something so awful he couldn’t bear to stay and can’t bear to face me now. He left to spare me discomfort. What other explanation could there be?”
Margery set down her cup of wine and paced the narrow room. “You don’t think he has another woman?”
They gasped in unison.
“Oh, Joanna, you know I speak before I think. He wouldn’t have married you if there was someone else…”
Joanna couldn’t breathe. She wanted to vomit. Surely Adrian wouldn’t break his vows. Could she trust him that far? Was another woman the reason for their agreement forbidding personal conversation?
“Perhaps he has preferred another all along but coul
dn’t marry her for some reason,” she whispered, because despair clogged her throat.
His kisses and caresses had thrilled her. She hadn’t known she could experience anything like the marvelous fullness of him inside her. She hadn’t known she could be so drawn to a man, especially in such a short time. What should she have done to show him how she felt?
“You haven’t asked what’s bothering him?”
How could she tell her sister that their marriage agreement prohibited her from asking such questions? The more she thought about it, the sillier the dictate seemed. If only she’d had more time to make her decision before signing, more time to negotiate the unusual terms.
“It’s almost as though he is two people. Before, he was courteous, charming, and helpful. Now, when he is here, he’s distant, unapproachable, even bordering on sullen.” She took a sip of wine to erase the bitter taste in her mouth. “He disappears for long stretches of time, not returning ’til almost dawn.”
“Does he drink? Remember Uncle Frederick, how he used to behave strangely after drinking all that ale?” Margery returned to her chair and picked up her cup.
“I haven’t seen him drink much of anything since we wed. Who knows what he does when we’re apart? I feel like a fool waiting for him night after night but I can’t help myself,” Joanna confessed.
How could I have known I’d miss him so? The desire to touch him, to taste his kiss, to be with the Adrian she thought she’d married never left her.
Now that Margery was seated again, Joanna started pacing. “I was worried this might happen. Thoughts of him follow me throughout the day. I must focus on work to stay on schedule.” She turned and started in the other direction. “Yet in other respects, my work has improved. My muse is free again, since Adrian helped mend my relationships with the clients William had John try to sway against me.”
“I don’t think you’ve heard the last of them,” Margery said. “But we were speaking of Adrian. Joanna, you must find the courage to talk to him, or you’ll suffer in silence until…if…he’s ready to explain.” Margery took in the sparsely decorated room. She shook her head. “You’re obviously besotted. You’ll lose yourself if you go too far. But desire for your husband is a good thing.”
“Not if he doesn’t desire me in return. I can’t believe we’re talking about these things but, Margery, there are moments when his presence is with me so strongly I stop what I am doing, close my eyes, and enjoy it. I didn’t know I could feel this way about a man.”
“I wish I could find a man who made me feel that way.” Margery said, wistfulness coloring her tone.
“On the other hand, each minute this remains unresolved is painful, right here,” Joanna said, pointing to her chest. “Each time I think on it, the pain returns anew and spreads. How can I trust him, with so many secrets between us? When he kissed me, touched me…. I don’t have the words to explain how wonderful I felt.”
“Do you love him?” She paused in the midst of pouring more watered wine.
“Love?” Joanna scoffed. “How can you even ask? Love, if it exists, is a spell that destroys those who succumb.”
“Just because Father fell in love with my mother after yours died….”
“Love consumed him. As you said, he went too far. He rarely worked. Anything she wanted, at any time, was hers. No matter what he had to do to fulfill her requests. If Father hadn’t had me to assist him, he’d have run the entire workshop into the ground to please her. We would’ve starved.
“All for something you can’t see, can’t hold, can’t eat. All for love,” Joanna said, hearing the rancor in her voice. But words continued to spill forth. “Do you recall how devastated Father was when your mother died? He was so consumed with grief. People use love as an excuse to avoid responsibilities, to focus their energies on hedonistic pursuits. Love makes people completely happy or completely miserable. I’ve never seen any other type. Have you? I can’t be that vulnerable. I can’t allow anyone to have that much control over me.”
Not even Adrian.
She needed this reminder why a marriage of convenience was a good thing.
“Love can make people stronger, make them better because they have another person’s support. Knowing a man cared enough for me to worry about me, to want to be with me, to make love to me would give my life more meaning,” Margery said. “A man who would hold me in his arms all night long…”
“Love makes you vulnerable. Father doted on your mother. He couldn’t stop himself. The best marriages are based on companionship, mutual support and compromise. That I have, and that’s all I need.”
Even as Joanna said the words, she knew she wanted more from Adrian. She did want him to care for her. She wanted to be more important to him than anything else. As he was becoming to her, in spite of his behavior on their wedding night. In spite of her will to remain immune.
What if she was already lost?
“Are you sure you aren’t saying these things to protect yourself? Because Adrian hasn’t told you how he feels about you?”
Hasn’t and never will. She took a large sip of wine to keep from telling Margery the truth of their marriage.
“Perhaps no one is meant to be too happy,” Margery said. “Concentrate on the good, and pray that the rest will resolve itself with time,” she advised. “Where is he now?”
“I wish I knew.”
“Joanna.”
Adrian’s deep voice woke her. Feeling groggy, she sat up. She must’ve fallen asleep at the small table she’d squeezed into her room. The square piece of glass she’d been painting teetered on the table’s edge. Joanna rescued it with a small push from behind.
Where was Adrian? She squinted, but couldn’t see him in the dim candlelight. She was imagining things. He wasn’t there.
Another troubled night. She sighed and stretched, straining to see if Adrian was in the room. No, just wishful thinking.
But he stepped into the candle glow, his shirt untucked and flowing over his hose. Her heart raced. The first time in seven nights he’d come to her. He paused, as if uncertain how to proceed. Flickering light danced over his face, highlighting his strong cheekbones.
His presence reassured her. She didn’t need an explanation of his strange behavior, she needed him. If he made love to her, it would prove he still valued their marriage. Now, he’d surely take her now.
She raised her face, hoping for his kiss. She didn’t try to hide the passion in her eyes. He might harbor secrets, but she didn’t. They were married. She was ready to fulfill her part of their agreement. It was long past time.
He raised his hand and lifted her chin, sending his warmth through her.
Yes, yes, kiss me.
“You have charcoal all over you.” He selected a rag from the pile on the table and gently wiped her face.
Joanna’s heart sank. She wouldn’t let her disappointment show. She had agreed to this, hadn’t she?
“Up late again?” Adrian asked, moving a step closer.
She relished having him so near. The heat of his body encompassed her, sending shivers down her spine. He awoke a sensual nature she hadn’t known she had.
She smiled. Despite their separate rooms, despite the odd hours he kept, he’d noticed her late night sessions.
“And what keeps you awake?” She leaned toward him, making it easier for him to reach her. If this was all the contact she was going to get, she’d make the most of it. Ah, he smelled so clean, so enticing. So Adrian. If only she could tell him how much she wanted him or ask if he felt the same. No. She wouldn’t break their agreement. Even though the reason was honorable, she didn’t want to risk losing a fragment of his trust. She’d promised to uphold the rules, no matter how difficult that was to do.
Adrian admired the lovely face of his bride as he wiped charcoal smudges from her smooth skin. Her parted lips were so tempting, the curling hair he longed to touch so soft against his hands. The need in her eyes fed his own. That gave him hope. He feared their
aborted lovemaking had crushed her interest.
Just being near her, in her delicate nightgown was enough to make him hard.
There was so much he wished he could tell Joanna, but he didn’t dare. Only time could earn trust.
One more thing he didn’t have.
How could he tell her he had visions like his grandmother, who was burned at the stake? That he was afraid to come to her because to have a vision in her presence, as he almost had on their wedding night, would be worst of all? He couldn’t bear to see the desire and trust in her eyes turn to horror as a vision assaulted him.
Even if he dared trust her, he couldn’t place the burden of knowledge upon her. For she’d have to struggle with her conscience as his father once did. As Andrew did now. If he was taken and she knew his secret, she might be tortured until she told. Or she too might be arrested and punished with him.
How could he watch her suffer because of him? The sights, sounds and smells of his grandmother at the stake flashed before his eyes. She’d burned. He’d been spared. Grandmother had kept his secret and he must honor her memory.
Far better for them both that Joanna know nothing. Then she couldn’t testify against him if forced, or, God forbid, do so voluntarily. What could be worse than if she turned him in as his father had his grandmother?
Far better to trust no one. For when a relationship falls apart, your friend becomes your enemy.
Joanna had returned to her painting, fine black lines on green glass forming an arm and part of a shoulder. Glass-painting remained a safe, neutral topic that would give him the chance to spend time with her and talk. He found himself wanting to know more about the beauty she created. About such an important part of her life.
He looked over her shoulder. He couldn’t help himself. He needed to be close to her.
“It’s part of St. Mary Magdalene,” she said. Her brush moved from the paint pot to the glass in a slow, soothing rhythm.
“You’re very good.”
“My father taught me everything I know,” she replied.
