“Oh, no. I am certain if you think it worth the trip then it must be. Particularly if the vistas are pleasant. A picnic sounds an especially delightful idea. Perhaps Mrs Grimm can be persuaded to include a few of those delicious biscuits she sent up with tea yesterday, after we first arrived.”
“I am certain she can be convinced to include a batch, since they are already an especial favourite of yours. How does roast chicken sound as an accompaniment?”
“Delectable.”
He stopped again, pulled her close. “What about a kiss? Would you enjoy that as well, here with the wind whipping at our backs?”
Violet looped an arm around his waist, hugged him closer. “That sounds delectable too.”
His mouth was on hers, taking her lips in a slow simmering kiss that quickly heated their passions. She closed her eyes and gave herself over to the crushing pleasure, letting the world around her melt away.
∗ ∗ ∗
Their honeymoon week flashed by on hummingbirds’ wings, a brief span of time both magical and intense. Each day an adventure. Each night a magnificent delight.
The outing to Corfe Castle proved a great success. Violet roamed the grounds with Adrian at her side, soaking up the history and the atmosphere without being compelled to reveal the true depths of her enjoyment. They lunched on a grassy knoll beneath the shade of a small oak tree. A gentle, luffing breeze cooled the air to a pleasant degree while they dined on tender roast chicken, succulent morsels of fruit, sweetmeats and Mrs Grimm’s delicious biscuits.
Afterward, Adrian stretched his long frame across the picnic blanket, nestled his head onto Violet’s lap and fell asleep. She sat utterly content, watching him while dreams filled his mind. Occasionally, she would stroke a few locks of his thick, black hair. Fingering the ends that curled ever so slightly in the warm, humid coastal air. Slowly, he awakened, a look of slumberous desire glinting in his eyes. Her heart gave an answering leap as he drew her to him. Then he captured her lips in a fiery joining that would surely have caught the castle keep on fire had it not already fallen to ruin long ago.
The days to follow were wonderful, occupied by long walks and quiet conversations. Horatio accompanied them quite often. His manners and his health improved daily as he gained weight and began to trust. Violet was still his favourite, but he loved Adrian too; the dog’s long skinny tail flashing a happy salute every time the duke drew near.
Violet and Adrian indulged themselves in two additional day excursions. One to see the spectacular, fossil-rich shale beds that formed the steep dark cliffs of Kimmeridge Bay. The other to the small village of Lulworth for a look at another castle, and the beautiful Lulworth Cove with its odd rock formations and impressive stone arch.
Little doubt, Jeannette would have yawned her way through every minute of their provincial sightseeing. But Violet adored it, grateful Adrian did not know her sister well enough to realize what Jeannette’s real opinion would have been. Still, she was forever on her guard with him and the servants.
Night was the one time she felt truly free to be herself. She revelled in the dark quiet hours when Adrian came to her, came into her, allowing her to pour forth all the love and passion waiting inside. When they made love, he made love with her, with Violet. Every touch, her touch. Every kiss, her kiss. Each emotion, real and honest. Each cry of pleasure and delight cleaved from her body, drawn from her soul.
The only strain on an otherwise perfect union were the times when he would call out her sister’s name, leaving a lump in her chest, an ache in her heart that she was helpless to dispel. She had chosen her path. Assumed her twin’s identity. Now she must live with the consequences, be they joyful or filled with pain.
She wanted to tell him. Sometimes she had to bite her lip to keep the truth from tumbling out. In only a few days’ time, she had come to know him as she had never thought she might. To understand him, at least in part. She knew he would be viciously hurt, violently angry, utterly betrayed if she told him the truth. He turned to her now in the night, held her in her sleep. She didn’t think she could bear a day when he might turn away. When he might reject her, leave her.
So she kept her silence and her lies to herself. And tried to gather as much happiness as she could.
∗ ∗ ∗
“Take off your shoes.” Adrian shucked his boots and stockings, his bare feet sinking into the warm, soft sand. His attire was casual. A white linen shirt and plain waistcoat, and an old pair of black trousers he’d rolled up to his knees.
His wife crossed her arms, hugged them to her chest, her pretty pink skirts blowing in the warm afternoon breeze. “No, thank you. I am fine exactly as I am.”
“You will only ruin them. They will be clogged with sand before you walk ten feet. Off with the shoes, Duchess.”
She arched a proud brow. “That is right. I am a duchess and as such do not cavort around barefoot in public.”
“Ah, but therein lies the speciousness of your argument. There is no public here; we are completely alone. As a duke, and your husband, I decree bare footedness to be perfectly proper attire for today’s adventure.”
“Bare footedness indeed,” she repeated scornfully, shaking her head. Moments later, though, she did as commanded, rolling her stockings into two neat balls that she stuffed into her abandoned footwear.
Adrian extended his hand.
She took it, let him lead her forward.
The day was sunny and warm, the warmest they had had all week. A sandpiper with its stubby brown and white body raced ahead of the incoming surf, long toothpick legs flashing fast. The bird turned to chase a receding ocean wave. He paused, quickly thrusting his narrow beak into the wet sand in search of a moist sea worm or small crustacean. Adrian smiled when the bird raced and the wave chased, the two beginning their curious dance all over again.
He turned his head to look at Jeannette, walking in silent contentment beside him despite her protestations against coming here. Odd that, he thought. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d caught her gazing out upon the sea over the past several days, noticeable pleasure alive in her eyes as she studied the rolling waves and the beauty of the winding shoreline.
In spite of her obvious enjoyment, she expressed no interest in exploring the beach. She would be hot, she’d say. She would get dirty. She would ruin her attire. Yet he sensed her protestations were half-hearted at best. That underneath them she longed to indulge her senses, to break free of the restraints she had imposed upon herself and simply explore.
At first, he’d worried she would be hopelessly bored without Society and its constant diversions. He’d experienced a few uncomfortable moments, doubting his decision to bury the two of them here in the country with nothing more exciting to do than tour the local sights. Yet she hadn’t seemed bored at all. Quite the contrary. She’d had fun, he knew she had, her enjoyment in no way feigned. His own certainly hadn’t been. He couldn’t recall a better week, sorry their time here was nearly over.
She’d surprised him. Her moods were mercurial, hard to pin down, ranging from gentle to haughty, playful to prickly. He never knew what to expect of her. Strange, but at times she almost seemed like two women. The outgoing belle-of-the-ball he’d courted in London; the woman who loved parties and people, and took far too many pains with her appearance. And the shy innocent. The girl who put herself in harm’s way to rescue a stray dog. Who seemed utterly content to hold hands and share a quiet evening of lazy talk. Who kissed him with such sweet, eager abandon he thought his heart might burst from the sheer glory of it.
Which woman would she be today?
“Let’s wade,” he urged suddenly. Grabbing her hand, he dragged her behind him and plunged them both into rushing waves.
“Oh, my dress. Look what you’ve done. It is quite ruined, you fiend.” Her pink muslin gown swirled in the receding wave, wet sand clinging in a wide swathe along the bottom of the material as the water drained away.
“Don’t fret. I’ll buy yo
u another. Watch out, here comes the next wave.” The sea roared in, drenching them both up to the knees.
She pulled away, waded up onto dry land. Her sodden skirt was wet and heavy, and clung to her calves. She leaned over, squeezed as much water as she could from the hem. “Now what am I to do?” she demanded, holding her arms out to her sides to display her sad predicament.
“Take it off.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Take it off, the dress. Keep your petticoat on and tuck the skirt up between your legs so you can play in the waves.”
Colour stained her cheeks. “Adrian, I couldn’t.”
He stooped over to pick up a seashell, tossed it back when he found half of it eroded away. “Of course you can. No one will see you.”
“What about the servants? Or the local villagers? Or sailors out there on the sea?” She motioned a hand toward the open water. “Who knows who might happen by.”
“The servants won’t come looking for us down here. The nearest village is two miles away, so there won’t be any locals venturing in our direction. And as for sailors…” He raised a hand to shield his eyes, scanning the distant horizon. “Not a single boat in sight. Unless a Navy frigate cruises past and her captain has a very fine telescope, I believe your modesty has naught to fear.”
“Does the Navy often sail in these waters?”
“Not so much since the war. Turn around. I’ll help with the buttons.”
A long moment passed before she acquiesced. “You are making me over into a complete wanton, you know that,” she grumbled, presenting her back to him.
“Good,” he murmured, leaning over to kiss her neck.
“So long as you are my wanton and no one else’s.”
“There could be no one else. No one but you.”
Their eyes met and held for a long, speaking moment. His heart tightened like a fist inside his chest, his throat squeezing closed as if he had swallowed wrong.
Mine, he thought. She is all mine.
And he would maim any man who tried to take her from him. The fierce rush of possessiveness surprised him, alarmed him, the emotion entirely foreign to his nature. He’d thought it didn’t matter, her purity, her fidelity. But he found that now, after barely a week of marriage, it did.
Just as she mattered, in a way he had not thought she would.
Was he falling in love with her? The notion jarred him.
No, he decided as he forced his suddenly unsteady fingers to keep working at her buttons. That sort of emotion was impossible. He wanted her. He had no doubt of that. He’d taken her every night and most mornings since they’d arrived. Waking her in the black velvet darkness just before dawn. He loved hearing her sweet sighs ring in his ears as pale light seeped in from behind the bedroom curtains while birds trilled a chorus in the trees outside to welcome the new day.
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 smouldering. 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.
The Husband Trap Page 11
