by Deborah Hale
One glance at her gown confirmed that. The pale blue muslin was spattered in several places, including one bright yellow blotch on the bodice.
“What do you expect me to do?” Hadrian gripped the child firmly under the arms to keep from dropping him. “Tie him down?”
“No.” She heaved an exasperated sigh. “I expect you to hold him on your knee while I spoon food into his mouth. You claim such excessive concern for his welfare, I should think you’d want to make certain he is properly nourished.”
“Of course I do.” Hadrian resented any suggestion to the contrary.
Marching past her into the parlor, he sank onto a chair. Holding his nephew in a secure grip, he looked the child in the eye and spoke in a firm tone. “Now sit still and eat up your supper like a good lad.”
With that, he perched the child on his knees to face Lady Artemis.
She flung herself on to a chair opposite them and picked up a bowl of soft-boiled eggs. “There was no need to frighten him by taking that tone.”
“I don’t hear him wailing, do you? I reckon it would take more than a sharp word from me to give this young master a fright. He doesn’t seem to be afraid of anything.” Hadrian could not help taking pride in that. “If you ask me, it wouldn’t hurt him to learn a bit of caution and to mind his elders.”
She hadn’t asked his opinion on child-rearing. Hadrian sensed her unspoken thought. But she could not deny their young nephew was tucking into his supper now, eating all his egg before starting on a dish of stewed fowl.
“Lee will have plenty of time to learn all that,” she insisted. “At this age, surely it is more important for him to be happy and know he is loved.”
Those hardly sounded like the words of a woman who’d used the child to snare a wealthy husband. Much as Hadrian wanted to despise her as a fortune hunter, reason suggested otherwise. After all, she could not possibly have anticipated his return to England. It was daft to suppose she’d cared for the lad all these months in the hope that such an opportunity might present itself.
If not that, what had made her keep a child she could easily have cast off after her sister’s death? “Did your uncles approve of you raising an illegitimate child?”
“Hardly. They wanted me to give him to one of our tenants to raise or—” Jamming her lips together to stop the indignant flow of words, she thrust the spoon into her nephew’s mouth.
“Or what?” The words popped out before Hadrian could contain them.
Curiosity betrayed a level of interest he did not want to feel. But he reminded himself it was his flesh and blood they were discussing. He had a right to know.
Lady Artemis did not seem inclined to answer. Instead she busied herself wiping the child’s mouth before taking up a bowl of milk pudding.
After the boy had swallowed several large spoonfuls, she murmured, “If I’d insisted on keeping Lee, Uncle Henry would have cast us out of Bramberley.”
Having avoided looking at Hadrian all the while she fed their nephew, she suddenly glanced up, impaling him with her blue-violet gaze. “That is why I agreed to marry you, Mr. Northmore—because I had no better choice. I would have wed the devil to keep from losing Lee.”
She sounded sincere, all the more because her remark was so unflattering. Yet Hadrian sensed she was not telling him everything. While she finished feeding his nephew, he found himself drinking in her delicate beauty. Hard as he tried to divert his thoughts, he could not help wondering whether her dark hair would be as soft to touch as he imagined. She was not tempting in the blatant way of some women. Yet everything about her seemed to whisper a subtle challenge that no ordinary man had a hope of making her his.
“There.” She set aside the empty pudding bowl. “Now I must put Lee to bed.”
With a mixture of relief and regret, Hadrian handed the child back to her. It had been a perilous pleasure holding the wee lad on his knee. Not to mention gazing at his tempting bride. “While you’re doing that, I will order our dinner.”
Lady Artemis bobbed a nod and bore the child off to her bedchamber.
He did not owe her an apology, Hadrian insisted to himself once she’d gone. The woman had deliberately misled him. He would challenge any man in his situation not to believe she must be after his money. But if she was entirely in the wrong and he was not the least to blame, why did he feel a nagging need to make amends? Refusing to examine his motives too closely, he ordered the best dinner the inn could provide.
When it had arrived, he knocked on her door, prompting a loud squall from his nephew.
An instant later, the door jerked open to reveal a disheveled Lady Artemis. “He had just nodded off, finally. What do you want?”
“I didn’t mean to wake him.” Hadrian gestured toward the table, spread with an array of covered dishes. “I thought you’d want to eat.”
“I will once I get him settled. Heaven knows when that will be now.” Casting a glance at Hadrian’s face and another at the table, she moderated her tone. “Thank you for ordering the food. Do not feel obliged to wait for me.”
She shut the door before he could reply. A moment later, the child quieted.
Returning to the table, Hadrian poured himself a glass of wine. He would wait for her—a little while at least. Surely the lad would not take long to nod off.
The first glass of wine tasted so pleasant, Hadrian followed it with a second. He hoped the drink might help him forget this was his wedding night. Instead, it made him forget everything else. Thoughts he had no business thinking ran rampant through his mind, unfettered by his usual strict control. His eyelids began to feel heavy.
Surely Mr. Northmore must have finished eating and gone to bed by now. Hungry as she was, Artemis had no inclination to dine alone with her new husband. What if he raised the subject of her deception again?
She told herself she did not care if that man had a bad opinion of her. She was satisfied her actions had been justified. Yet she could not help wondering what her honorable Dearing ancestors would think of her intentionally deceiving Mr. Northmore. She did not need him stirring up the stew of shame that roiled in her belly.
The thought of stew made her mouth water. Perhaps if she had something to eat, her stomach would settle. Gingerly, Artemis rose from the bed and crept to the door. She eased it open, cringing when the hinges gave a faint squeal. But Lee did not stir at the noise. All was still in the parlor as well. Breathing a sigh of relief, she tiptoed in and closed the door softly behind her.
A squeak of alarm rose in her throat when she glanced toward the table and saw Hadrian Northmore sitting there. It died away again when she noticed he was leaning back in the chair with his eyes closed and his head tilted to one side. A wine bottle stood half-empty beside his clean dinner plate. He must have taken a drink or two while waiting for her to join him, and fallen asleep. Clearly he had not exaggerated when he said a Northmore could sleep anywhere. Artemis envied him that ability.
Just then her stomach gave a great yawning growl. As quietly as she had slipped away from her nephew, Artemis now approached his uncle. Sliding onto the empty chair opposite him, she carefully lifted the cover off the nearest dish. It released a whiff of warm, moist air that smelled good enough to eat.
Artemis inhaled greedily. Pigeon pie—one of her favorites! How long had it been since she’d had a taste of it—Lord and Lady Kingsfold’s wedding breakfast, perhaps? She helped herself to a generous wedge and ate it as quietly as she could, relishing every bite. Then, thirsty from eating the pie, she drank a glass of wine.
While Mr. Northmore slumped in his chair, his breath coming in slow, deep waves, Artemis consumed a hearty meal. She kept a wary eye on him as she ate and drank, hoping he would not wake before she had finished. But as he continued to sleep, her wariness gradually changed to something else.
How could she have thought his dark, powerful features unappealing when she’d first glimpsed them? She now found his proud, jutting chin, fierce Roman nose and sweeping raven b
rows far too attractive for her peace of mind. With his piercing gray eyes closed and the stern line of his mouth relaxed in sleep, she caught a glimpse of a very different man than the one she’d clashed with these past few days.
Catching herself gaping at him, she forced her attention back to her plate, only to discover it was empty and she could not eat another bite. Artemis congratulated herself on managing to get a good supper without having to make awkward conversation with her new husband. Then she rose from her chair and prepared to steal away to bed.
But something stopped her.
Perhaps it was Hadrian Northmore’s air of innocent tranquility. Or perhaps it was the unlikely sense that this powerful man needed her, if only for the trivial task of waking him. Left to his own devices, he might sleep all night in that chair, to wake in the morning stiff and starving. It was partly her fault he’d fallen asleep there. If she had not delayed, hoping he would dine without her, he’d be in bed now, resting comfortably on a full stomach.
Artemis stifled a groan. Though she knew what she must do, she was not happy about it. Hadrian Northmore struck her as the kind of man who would be very gruff when woken from a sound sleep, even if it was for his own good.
“Mr. Northmore,” she whispered, hesitant to touch him. “Wake up!”
Her words had no effect. His eyes remained shut, though they seemed to move restlessly behind his closed lids. Some tension crept back into his loose limbs. His lips moved, but no words came out.
“Hadrian!” She spoke louder and tried his given name, hoping it might better penetrate his slumber. “Come now, it’s time to wake up.”
Still he gave no sign of having heard her.
Caution urged Artemis to keep her distance, but something stronger drew her toward him. She grasped his shoulder and shook it. At the same time, she brought her lips close to his ear and spoke in an urgent whisper. “Hadrian, please, you must wake up!”
His head rolled on to the shoulder where her hand rested, trapping it against his face. Before she could pull away, he made a subtle movement, caressing her hand with his cheek. The warm, rugged friction was such an unexpected and pleasant sensation, Artemis could not summon the will to do anything but soak it in with every nerve.
Then he turned his head farther, searching out her fingers with his lips. He did not press the usual sort of kiss upon them that a gentleman might when bowing over a lady’s hand. Instead, with slightly parted lips and the velvet flick of his tongue, he bestowed a languid caress over each one, sending ripples of desire through her flesh.
As she hovered near him, her mouth flooded with hot moisture, as it had when she smelled the pigeon pie. The secret crevice between her legs moistened, too, hungry for something she could not name.
Then his arms stirred, twining around her with gentle but irresistible strength, easing her onto his lap to be kissed and fondled. When his lips closed over hers, a cascade of sensations overwhelmed her, leaving her dazed and yielding. His mouth tasted of wine. Yet the primal, rhythmic caress of his tongue made her light-headed and prey to raw urges she had always kept under tight control.
Before she could rally the will to restrain them, he reached up to touch her breast, rubbing in slow circles, then gently kneading. That morning in church, the casual brush of his hand had unsettled her. That had been nothing compared to this. Sparks of fierce, sweet fire crackled through her, making her breath and pulse race.
She raised her hand with the vague intention of pushing him away, but when her fingers came in contact with his powerful shoulder, they clung to it instead. How could she, who flinched from the most casual contact with strangers, welcome such intimate attentions from a man she neither liked nor respected and certainly did not love?
The intense, foreign urges he awakened in her body baffled and disturbed her. If she gave in to them, they would only make her vulnerable to a man she dared not give any more power over her.
“Hadrian.” A woman’s voice reached him through the heavy haze of sleep. “It’s time to wake up.”
Her soft hand rested upon his shoulder. “Hadrian, please! You must wake up!”
It had been so long since he’d held a woman in his arms, sating his senses on her warm, fragrant softness. He pressed his cheek against her fingers. Then he nibbled them with his lips and tongue as if feasting on morsels of the most delicate, delicious tropical fruit. Kissing her fingers was such a sweet, wanton pleasure that he could not wait to taste her lips!
He reached up to enfold her and draw her closer. She slipped into his embrace with only the briefest hesitation, filling arms that had been empty for far too long. When he kissed her, she tasted like a banquet, mingling many delectable flavors with one that was altogether hers. The moist, yielding warmth of her mouth roused his long-suppressed desire. He cupped her breast and began to fondle the firm, gently rounded flesh through the bodice of her gown.
“Margaret,” he whispered.
The word seemed to act like an evil incantation, turning the willing woman in his arms into a fierce, writhing tigress.
“Let me go, damn you!” The palm of her hand struck his cheek a stinging blow that shocked Hadrian fully awake.
His eyelids flew open, followed by his mouth, when he encountered the blazing amethyst glare of Lady Artemis Dearing.
“What in Go—? Bloody he—!” He bit off a spew of curses.
The taste of her kiss still lingered on his tongue and the desire it had ignited in his loins would not be quenched.
Artemis strained to break free of his arms at the very instant Hadrian let her go. Stumbling backward, she slammed against the wall, making the window rattle and the candle flame in the wall sconce dance wildly.
“I thought we agreed,” she gasped. “This arrangement between us was to be a marriage in name only.”
Shock and fright gripped her delicate features, calling forth all manner of protective urges in him. He glimpsed something else he could not so readily identify. Was it disgust…or longing?
Hadrian struggled to master his astonishment at the situation in which he found himself. He could not bear to have his cool, disapproving bride see him at the mercy of so many conflicting emotions beyond his control.
“I do not recall us ever having a proper discussion of the matter.” It took every crumb of poise he could muster to pretend he had not been stimulated by the tempting taste of her favors he’d just stolen.
Lady Artemis pressed her back to the wall, with the enticing result of lifting her slender, perfectly shaped breasts. Hadrian’s hand tingled with the memory of fondling them and itched with the urge to do it again.
“If that was what you wanted…” she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, as if she had just spat out something revolting “…you should have made your expectations clear from the beginning.”
Her obvious aversion vexed and puzzled him in equal measure. He could have sworn she’d come to him willingly and responded to his kiss. Or had that only been wishful dreaming?
“Would it have changed your answer to my proposal, if I had?” He was still not convinced she had no designs on his fortune. Would she have bartered for a rich husband with the usual currency of such unscrupulous women?
Lady Artemis gave his question careful thought before answering, her kissable lips drawn in a tight, suspicious line. “No, I suppose it would not.”
“Then what is there to fret about?” Hadrian sought to make light of their highly charged encounter. “You were mistaken if you thought I meant to…claim my marital rights just now. I was in the middle of a dream when you tried to wake me.”
When she cast him a doubtful look, he continued. “Surely you’ve heard of people walking and talking in their sleep. Why not kissing?”
“So it was all a mistake and you have no desire to consummate our marriage?” It was clear she felt sullied by the touch of a man so far beneath her and the common, carnal desires he had provoked.
“Not unless you do. I am always happy to oblige
a lady.”
She pulled herself up to her full willowy height and spoke in a tone of scathing disdain. “That will not be necessary.”
“Please yourself.” He affected a careless shrug. “But just so you know, it is not such a terrible ordeal—being bedded by a man who is patient and knows what he’s about. You might enjoy the experience if you give it a try.”
Her pretty mouth puckered in distaste, but her eyes darted restlessly. “I doubt that very much.”
He could not let such an insult pass unchallenged. “Any woman I’ve ever taken to my bed has declared herself well pleased with my attentions.”
Lady Artemis gave a derisive sniff. “I suppose some women will say anything if they are well enough paid.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Hadrian snapped, stung by the contempt he heard in her voice. “And you are a fine one to talk of what a woman will do for money.”
She ignored that jibe, but inched closer to the door, clearly eager to escape from him. “You have had many paramours, then? If you wish to gratify your desires in future, I suggest you find some such strumpet who will be eager to oblige you.”
“With pleasure,” Hadrian lied—rather convincingly he thought, given the vexing desire she had roused in him.
When Artemis spun around to wrench open the door, his smarting pride made him call out, “Do let me know if you change your mind.”
She did not bother to glance back at him, but hurled her contemptuous retort over her shoulder. “You would have to wait a good deal longer than eight months for that!”
Hadrian Northmore certainly would have to wait more than eight months for her to come begging him to take her into his bed. The infuriating man would have to wait for hell to freeze! As Artemis marched away with her head high, only the fear of waking Lee kept her from slamming the door behind her.
