Robyn Carr Restoration Box Set

by Robyn Carr

  Chad smiled. It was the first derogatory remark he had heard about his intended. “Then you don’t find much about her to admire?”

  “Certainly not! I daresay you might refuse her on sight.”

  “I think not, Gwen. I wouldn’t want to disappoint the maid.”

  “I would question that as well. She doesn’t carry herself as a maiden would. My guess is she’s been mounted aplenty.”

  “She’s only sixteen years old, Gwen.”

  “That means nothing,” Gwen replied with a shrug. Chad ran his eyes over her slowly, meeting her gaze again with a mocking in his eyes. Gwen felt the gibe, for it had meant little in her youth, as Chad would know.

  “Well, I shall put your suspicions to rest, madam,” Chad told her with a slight bow. “My intended bride has been examined by the physicians and is a virgin.”

  “I suppose it’s possible,” she said contritely. “After all, I did say she was an ugly little thing.”

  “I thank you for your honest opinion, madam, and I will offer you some advice. Do not decry my lady again, here or outside my home. She will be my wife, and in time, a countess.”

  “Why,” she said, taken somewhat aback. “Certainly.”

  Chad turned his gaze away from her for a moment, as surprised as she was at his own words. He had acquired, if anything, a hatred for this one who would sew him into bondage. How strange that acting the gallant husband came so naturally, unconsciously. And defending a maiden he didn’t know and already didn’t like to his previous mistress was even more shocking. He tried to shrug it off, but he faced Gwen a little dumbly.

  “About that other matter. The name of this actor?”

  “His name is Allen Potter Shaw, but I can’t see—”

  “Do you know where he was sent?”

  “I didn’t pursue the matter that far and I fail to see how it could interest you.”

  He smiled. “Nothing could interest me more, Gwen. If I ever see the opportunity I shall lend the man some advice about women. One in particular.”

  “I have no doubt he now regrets his impetuous interest in me,” she said smugly. “Poor fellow.”

  “I have no doubts either, my dear.” He reached out and touched one of her diamond earrings.

  She laughed softly, thinking his play to be an affectionate gesture. “But men are all such creatures of bondage. Slaves to their own lust. They can’t seem to control their actions even when the price far exceeds their purse. Do you find it so, my love?”

  “Not at all, Gwen.”

  “You are fortunate,” she murmured, her eyes rich with passion.

  “Neither that, Gwen. Wise perhaps, but never fortunate. There are women who use men and men who use women. We are each one of one. But when we two are wont to meet, you might wish to hope for fortunate circumstances. I am not so kind as your Lord Graystone...nor so foolish as Mr. Shaw.”

  He gave her earring a slight tug, his eyes laughing at her, and then turned on his heel and left the garden, never once looking back in her direction.

  FOUR

  When Chelynne woke she found that her body was no longer her own. She was rousted and handled by maids and tiring women the moment her eyes opened. Like a lifeless doll she was dressed, coiffed, painted, and led to a place where she was to breakfast with her aunt and other female houseguests of the earl.

  Her mind was certainly not on the food or the conversation. She was still off somewhere on a grassy field, luxuriating in the warmth of a lover’s embrace. Several times she missed an attempt made at conversation with her and more often she answered dully, sounding foolish to these older women. But they derived much pleasure from her mood. A young bride, especially the bride of Chadwick Hawthorne, was expected to be off on some romantic cloud.

  Chelynne recalled later that her aunt had bullied her way into the conversation, trying to monopolize it with trifles about her son. There were many planned activities before and after the wedding and Eleanor made several lame pleas to these other women, hoping that she would find either a wealthy maid to marry to her son or a noble to take him in tow and become interested in him.

  “Will his lordship be riding to the hounds?” Eleanor had asked one of the visiting countesses.

  “I suppose,” was her idle reply.

  “I don’t know if Harry will participate,” Eleanor sighed. “But perhaps his lordship could...that is, if his lordship invited him it would be a good time for them to become better acquainted.”

  The countess sighed. “Can he stay astride, madam?”

  “Of course!”

  “When my lord husband rides to the hounds, he hunts. Conversation is for idle times, of which there are far too few.” The countess then turned her attention to the other ladies and Eleanor’s bumbling attempt was lost, but not forgotten. In just two short days she was well known for her passionate interest in her son, whom nobody seemed to like, and her lack of interest in her niece’s wedding.

  Chelynne’s room was a conglomeration of servants, scattered clothing and countless articles to be used in preparing her for the ball. The confused atmosphere did little to give her nerves a sense of ease. She once stole away from the bedlam for a moment of peace at the window. As she looked below into the gardens she caught sight of Chad. He paused there, raising one leg and resting his foot on a marble bench and pulling aside his coat with a hand on his hip. He made a different picture now, garbed in the rich dress of the elite. His tight-fitting breeches and waistcoat were brightly colored and an abundance of lace could be seen at his neck and wrists. Buckled shoes and periwig did not seem to suit him as boots and windblown hair did, but there was no mistaking him. He was a fine figure of a man. Even in this attire there was nothing foppish about him. He wore even lace and wig with a strong masculine flavor.

  Chelynne was not allowed the peaceful daydreams brought by the sight of him. She was pulled away from the window and the ministrations of grooming were applied to her again. Many years of training had gone into the making of a gentlewoman who would aptly fit into the class of nobility. Chelynne had been served, pampered, and waited on by her own women since birth. Being bathed was nothing new to her. Having her body clothed and her hair fashioned by hands other than her own was routine. But what she went through that day stripped away the last vestige of her pride. Not one portion of her body was overlooked. A large pumice was rubbed along her arms and legs until every last trace of body hair was removed. She was bathed and oiled and massaged, and then the same procedure was repeated. Her hair was washed, dried, and shined with a long piece of silk, and a hot iron was used to make tight ringlets around her face.

  When at last it was time to complete her hairdressing for the ball there was a great deal of commotion, everyone attending her seeming to have a different opinion. But this once Chelynne was insistent. She wished to have the long heavy masses pulled tightly away from her face and crowning the top of her head with thick curls. She was small beside Chad and would have the elaborate style give her height.

  A gown of pale blue was chosen for this first affair. It was sewn with many tiny silver studs, twinkling and shimmering. One blue sapphire in the center of a silver blossom adorned her throat while two tiny sapphire buds touched her ears. A blue ribbon was woven through her curls and, to catch the candlelight and delicately glitter, little silver stones were buried beneath the locks. The gown hugged her youthful figure, letting her full breasts rise and her small waist tempt any man to touch.

  She eyed her own appearance with satisfaction, slightly agog at her own striking beauty. She had dressed formally before but never had there been this lift in her heart, this eagerness to please a lover. It was in fact the first time she had ever dressed for a man...and the difference delighted her.

  Slightly breathless, she turned and murmured to Stella softly. “Do you think he will find me attractive?”

  “Unless he is blind, dear heart,” Stella answered proudly.

  Outside her window she could see the torches in th
e garden being lit. The moon was full and round and the night was beautiful. With pages holding up her train, she took slow careful steps down the stairs. The servants she passed bowed and smiled, their eyes lighting up in appreciation. The moment she had lived for was here. All the poise and charm that had been bred into her would be put to the true test. She was afraid it would all be useless to her now. She had never wanted to please more, but she was frightened half to death. She paused as she reached the ballroom doors and sucked in her breath. She gave a tiny nod of determination to the butler and the doors swung open to admit her.

  She had seen this room before, but never had it filled her with fairylike wonder. The elegantly garbed ladies and gentlemen who lingered along the walls, becoming reacquainted with friends, looked her way. There were great tables of food ready to be tasted; impressively uniformed servants picked their way among the guests to replace empty glasses with full ones. In the middle of this tumult stood Chad and his father, waiting for her arrival. They were chatting with one of the women she had met at breakfast, a recent widow of admirable beauty. The woman between them saw her first and stopped her conversation to stare. Then, as if by magic, a hush fell over the room as the earl and Chad looked in her direction. Her eyes were fixed on her betrothed and he stared at her in dumb wonder.

  His shocked expression sent her thoughts sailing. He recognized her at once, that much was obvious. Was he pleased? Angry? She smiled at him, an intimate smile she had practiced, but he was barely shaken out of his dismay. The earl made a move to receive her and take her to Chad, but Chad caught the movement and held up an arm across his father and pressed on ahead of him. Breaths were held as he approached her, and when he neared she lifted warm brown eyes to him for the merest instant and then dropped into a deep curtsy, holding her gown back with her hands.

  When she rose his hand was extended to her and she placed hers trustingly in it. After placing a kiss on its back he held it high above their heads and led her into the ballroom, presenting her to the guests. He raised the other hand to the orchestra that stood ready; the first note was struck, and Chelynne and Chad led the dance. They touched with only fingertips and eyes, yet her entire being was filled with his presence. She glided as he would have her, dipped when she should, every movement unconscious, spontaneous. She was aware of nothing but him.

  With another wave of his arm, those who stood and watched joined the dance and she was swept away in a dream, his light touch burning her. She paid no heed to his direction and would not have argued if she had been more aware. They came to pause near the glass and iron door leading from this grand ballroom to the gardens. A handy and almost invisible footman opened the doors automatically, closing them softly behind the young couple.

  The brisk night air brought Chelynne out of her state and into full awareness. She took a deep breath and turned to face him. “Did I keep you waiting long?”

  “It was worth the wait.” He ran his eyes over her slowly. “You played me false, madam.”

  “It was not my intention, my lord. I tried to explain but you would not hear.”

  “You didn’t try very soon,” he admonished.

  “It was your reluctance for your bride,” she confessed. “I couldn’t resist...Was I so wrong?”

  He laughed a little awkwardly, never taking his eyes off her. “So, you’ve managed to learn a little of me without my knowing. Beware, madam, from now you will know only what I choose to tell you.”

  “Then you are angry,” she said softly. “I was afraid you would be.”

  He lifted her chin with a finger so he might study again the face. Tight-lipped indeed! Gwendolen had so badly slandered her beauty that the act could only have been wrought from jealousy. He saw in the moonlight a pale oval face with a slight flush on high cheekbones. The lips were thin but well shaped and parted now in a half smile that begged to be covered and tasted. Though small of stature she was hardly thin. Her breasts rose and fell temptingly with her breath and her waist was tiny. As he immediately judged, it was the perfect size for his hands. As if performing a special test, he touched his thumbs and forefingers together around her waist. Then sliding them lower, he found firm and tender hips and felt there the promise of a wonderful ride. This would be no easy battle. He wanted her at once.

  “You’ll find, love, that I am angry in the best of times. I give you fair warning.”

  “Will you be a difficult man to live with?” she asked coquettishly, her little head tilted up.

  “Of a certain, my lady.”

  His expression was cold, that smoky quality gone now from his eyes as they became again that hard, impassive flint. Worried, she turned from him and took a few steps into the garden. She had not thought to bear witness to his reluctance so soon. From his earliest actions she had been filled with hope.

  “See here, Chelynne. I’ve no wish to spoil your fun.”

  “But you discourage me so,” she murmured. “You did not seem to be a hateful man when first we met.”

  He laughed huskily. “Have a care, love. You do me no honor when you pout. I am not as hateful as that.”

  “And you are no callow youth,” she said in confusion. She turned to him again, her brown eyes twinkling with the light of the torches. “Indeed, you are much older than I. Old enough to be my—”

  “Hold!” he said laughing. “Not quite so old as that, my dear. I am now three and thirty and not yet tottering about with a cane. I can assure you of a few more good years before I wither away.”

  “Why then have you never married? Is it not meet that you should give thought to a family?”

  He looked directly over the top of her head and she noticed that his jaw set firmly and his temple pulsated. “It’s a matter I should have liked to pursue on my own.”

  “Then you will not give this a chance,” she said softly.

  “Don’t worry yourself needlessly, my lady,” he said matter-of-factly, with a slight formal bow to keep it distant. She was looking up at him with earnest brown eyes, loving and soft, but he would not meet her gaze. “The contracts are made and I shall not prove too difficult.”

  “Yes,” she murmured, though she knew well enough that there was still time to refuse this commitment. She was afraid to tell him that, however. What if he grabbed at the chance to be free of her? She couldn’t bear even to think about that; a young heart is too hopeful. “But if they were not prepared?”

  “It would make little difference.” He shrugged. “The earl would bring yet another to replace you.”

  “He is that determined to see you wed?”

  “It is the very breath in him,” Chad sighed.

  “Why then have you not brought a woman of your choice for his approval? Why do you not give him aid and seek to please him?”

  “You quibble too much for a woman having naught to say of what I do or why. I think you’ll have the difficult nature in this marriage.”

  She laughed softly and he looked down at her. “Of a certain, my lord.” His eyes were glued to her face. She could see them cloud over, taking on that warm and moist quality that meant victory to her, however small. “Is there something you find fault with, my lord?”

  That beguiling smile in the darkness did strange things to him. He had such a mixture of emotions, the simultaneous urge to strike her and take her into his arms and kiss her lovingly. But her loveliness eliminated the urge to mark her. Still, bred into him was an instinct for danger, and faced with this gentle beauty he felt as trapped as a cornered animal. “I am too old, Chelynne, to appreciate youth as your husband should.” His smile was mocking, almost cruel. “Your patience will be sorely tested.” He noticed the emotion that swiftly passed across her features. He was pleased to see it was very close to fear. “And what of me?” he asked sarcastically. “Does the manor have fault? Is there enough wealth here to suit you? Have I some unsightly twitch I must curb?”

  It was as if she hadn’t even noticed the harsh sneering of his voice. She laughed softly. “An
d would you change one thing to suit me better?”

  “Never!”

  ‘“Tis well,” she sighed. “I found no flaws but for the stubborn streak. It should prove most burdensome.”

  He stepped nearer, wondering how she could stand so calmly, speak so softly when faced with his hostility. She should want to claw at his face or slap him, but there she stood, her lips parted in that delicious half smile and her eyes shining with adoration. He could not gather his good sense, so overpowering was the urge to taste that sweet mouth again. He crushed her to him suddenly, roughly, insistent enough to hurt her. He wished she would be less tractable, strain against him at least and not allow his advances, but she did not. Rather, she complied, molding to him, seemingly pleased with the harshness. Yet she responded and encouraged him softly, her small arms slipping around him gently to hold him ever nearer. She turned the cruelty of his touch to tenderness so easily that he was barely aware of the transition.

  “Here now, son. There’s time enough for that.”

  The couple broke apart reluctantly to catch the earl on the garden path. “I thought perhaps you would need some persuasion to join us again,” he chuckled. He turned and was gone, thinking that brief interruption would prompt them to cool their ardor and return to the party.

  “Tis not your kiss I find fault with,” Chelynne said warmly.

  “Be assured, madam. You will find my faults soon enough.” He reached into his sleeve and pulled out a handkerchief for her. “I might have smudged your paint. Pray put yourself together so that we can join our guests.”

  She looked up at him and laughed softly. It was for this very reason that she had not allowed her attendants to apply the lip paint. “I wear no paint, my lord.”

  He looked at her again, taking a moment to digest this. Her appearance and, indeed, her taste, were simply and naturally hers. One short tussle with Gwen usually left them both marked. He shrugged, looked her over again, and presented his arm.