Echoes in the Mist

by Echoes In the Mist (lit)

  "I see." For the life of him, Trenton couldn't think of another thing to say to her astonishing admission.

  "I will try to adapt," she continued, taking his silence to mean displeasure. "But remember, this marriage was your choice, not mine."

  Trenton's lips twitched. "I remember."

  The conversation was cut short as the carriage pulled up to the entranceway door and halted.

  Unorthodox to the last, Trenton waved away the footman and descended first, extending a hand to help his wife alight. Ariana placed her fingers in his.

  Even the fine material of her glove could not deflect the spark of electricity that passed between them, blazing through his blood to hers like wildfire. Stunned, Ariana froze in place, staring at their joined hands. Slowly, she turned her face to his.

  Trenton gave her a slow, dark smile. "Ah, misty angel, I'm beginning to share your preference for an uncluttered household. Already I'm eager for the privacy you were just describing." He brought her gloved hand to his lips, turning it over to kiss her trembling palm. "There are some aspects to this marriage that I promise you will find infinitely more pleasurable than you expect." He kissed her fingertips, one by one. "Infinitely."

  He released her hand and caught her by the waist, lifting her from the carriage and lowering her to the ground. For the briefest of instants he pressed her against him, his eyes twinkling wickedly at the soft flush that inadvertently stained her cheeks. "Your innocence is bewitching," he murmured. "You are bewitching."

  "The guests are arriving," she whispered inanely.

  He chuckled. "Very well. We'll act the dutiful bride and groom. But later, when I have you to myself, we are going to stoke the flames of this fire that rages between us." He brushed her chin with his thumb. "Tonight, misty angel."

  Totally dazed by the exchange and drowning in a deluge of unfamiliar sensations, it took Ariana a few minutes to realize that Trenton was guiding her, not into the house as she had expected, but along the path that led around Broddington's magnificent manor.

  "Where are we going?" she asked faintly.

  "To receive our guests." Ariana gave him a quizzical look. "But..." Her question ended in a soft gasp as she beheld the magical picture that unfolded before her. The conservatory doors were flung open, and countless servants were scurrying about, carrying trays of everything from cold lobster salad, roast duck, and meat pies to wine jelly, lemon cake, and coffee cream, and placing them on dozens of miniature tables scattered across the grounds as far as Ariana could see.

  "Does it please you?" Trenton asked brusquely.

  Ariana turned enchanted eyes to his. "It's beautiful! How did you ever manage to do all this?" He fought the pleasure her joy evoked. "I didn't. Dustin arranged it all, and the servants did the rest."

  She gave him a radiant smile. "Thank you."

  Another unwilling tug at his heart. "You're welcome."

  "Broddington is massive!" Ariana peeked into the conservatory. "Oh... how lovely! Geraniums, heliotrope, violets, poppies, honeysuckle..." She paused to catch her breath. "Goldenrod, heather, bluebells..."

  "You know the names of all those flowers?" Trenton asked in amazement.

  "Of course! I told you, I've spent most of my time in Winsham's gardens and stables. I adore the blossoms that thrive in summer, and the animals that emerge from their winter's sleep. And-"

  "White owls?" Trenton teased.

  Ariana flushed. "You remember."

  "I remember." He grinned as she flitted around, pausing to sniff a bud here

  and there. "Your ankle appears to have fully recovered."

  Ariana laughed. "It has." Curiously, she peaked through the inner conservatory door. "Where does this lead?"

  "Into the drawing room. It's designed so you can look out into the conservatory and enjoy its beauty, winter or summer. Beyond the drawing room is the library, and beyond that, the chapel."

  "Why wasn't our wedding ceremony held in the Broddington chapel, then?"

  "We designed it to seat two hundred people. There were over six hundred guests at the church today."

  "We?" She latched onto that reference at once, her eyes widening with interest. "Did you assist the architect in designing this house?"

  Trenton glanced about him, assessing the room with great pride. He'd forgotten just how magnificent Broddington was. "I am the architect," he responded simply. "Or, rather, one of them. My father is primarily responsible for the manor's exquisite detail. Dustin and I merely assisted him."

  "You're an architect." She looked both amazed and impressed. "But I thought you were a duke."

  A rumble of laughter exploded from Trenton's chest. "I am both, misty angel. Believe it or not, a man can be many things."

  "You're superbly talented."

  "My father was a genius." The words were out before Trenton realized he'd spoken them.

  Ariana reacted to the raw emotion in his voice. "I'm sure he was," she said carefully. Again, the urge to continue, to ask him all about his father, was nearly overpowering. She knew only that Richard Kingsley had died shortly after Vanessa, presumably from the shock of his son's reprehensible behavior. And Trenton's strangled tone and pained expression certainly concurred.

  Ariana's instincts did not. "Our guests will doubtlessly wonder where we are," she said, touching his arm.

  Instantly, Trenton's mask was back in place. "Doubtlessly," he agreed. As if on cue, the strings began to play, calling for the dancing to commence. Trenton offered Ariana his arm. "Come. I believe the first dance customarily belongs to the bride and groom."

  Ariana slid her fingers through his arm.

  "Brides are supposedly too nervous to eat." Dustin's teasing voice interrupted Ariana's last bite of lemon cake. She laughed. "You're right. And I'll certainly pay with a terribly upset stomach. But you see"-she leaned conspiratorially forward-"when I get nervous, I eat huge quantities of sweets."

  Dustin caught her elbow as she weaved a bit on her feet. "I see. And do you also drink huge quantities?"

  "What?"

  "How much punch have you had?"

  She considered the question. "I'm not certain. Perhaps four or five glasses. It's really quite tasty for fruit juice."

  Dustin looked utterly incredulous. "Fruit juice? Sweetheart, there are countless pints of French brandy and white wine in that 'fruit juice.' "

  "There are?" Ariana frowned. "Does this mean I'm foxed?"

  "Hopelessly."

  She laughed. "And you're the duke's brother."

  "That I am." He gave a formal bow. "And you're the duke's wife," he said with a twinkle.

  Ariana chewed her lip, glancing around to make certain they were alone. "Can you keep a secret?" she whispered at last.

  "I think so."

  She leaned closer. "I have no idea how to be a wife."

  Dustin couldn't help himself; he burst out laughing. "Ariana, I think you are going to be a very quick learner." He took her elbow. "Are you up for a dance?"

  She nodded, her face flushed from wine and excitement. "But only if you lead... Dustin. May I call you Dustin?"

  "Since we are now effectively brother and sister, I believe it is mandatory,” he replied, leading her into a waltz.

  "I've never drunk wine or brandy before, but I do enjoy them," she confessed.

  "I can tell." Dustin studied her delicate features objectively. The coloring, the inherent feminine charm: Yes, he could see Vanessa. But there was so much more here, not only beauty, but depth and character.

  And passion.

  Dustin felt a twinge of envy for the treasures Trenton had yet to discover.

  "May I borrow my bride, Dustin?' Trenton tapped his brother on the shoulder.

  Dustin blinked, surprised at the anger in Trenton's tone. The last time he had seen his brother he was dancing with the Dowager Duchess of Cantington, in seemingly high spirits. "Of course." Dustin stepped away, feeling the presence of the dark emotion that drove Trenton relentlessly, was always burie
d just beneath the surface. It emanated now like an ominous thunderstorm.

  Ariana felt it too, and was suddenly and entirely sober. "Will you be staying at Broddington?" she asked Dustin, anxiety clouding her lovely face.

  He was about to say no, when he met the pleading look in her eyes. He glanced back at Trenton, saw the antagonism, and knew he couldn't leave Ariana alone. Not with his brother in this foul, unpredictable humor.

  "For a day or two," he compromised, feeling Trenton bristle. "Then I must get back to Tyreham."

  Relief swept Ariana's fragile features. "Wonderful! Then we'll have a chance to get to know each other."

  "Tomorrow," Trenton interrupted. He took Ariana's arm. "It's time for us to take our leave."

  All the color drained from her face. "But the guests are still here."

  "The guests will be here for hours. It's perfectly acceptable for us to retire." He drew her to his side. "Come. Let's say our good-byes."

  Ariana cast a final glance at Dustin. She felt like a small lamb being led to slaughter, while being torn from an old friend rather than a new acquaintance.

  Dustin interceded to kiss Ariana's cheek. "I'll see you at breakfast," he promised. Turning to his brother, he extended his hand. "Congratulations, Trent. Be happy." He leaned closer, murmuring, "And for God's sake, be gentle."

  The tightening of Trenton's jaw indicated that he had heard.

  Whether he would comply was another thing entirely.

  Chapter Seven

  "Theresa, I think I'd like to try wearing my hair in a different style."

  The silver-handled brush paused for a moment, then continued its downward journey through Ariana's glowing auburn waves. "If you wish, my lady." Theresa regarded Ariana calmly in the dressing-room mirror. "We'll experiment tomorrow."

  Ariana whirled around, gazing up at Theresa with frightened eyes. "No. Why don’t we begin tonight?"

  Theresa patted her cheek gently. "I don't suppose your new husband would appreciate being kept waiting for hours while we dress your hair."

  Ariana swallowed. "I suppose not."

  Laying down the brush, Theresa took Ariana's hands and eased her to her feet, inspecting her like a mother hen would its chick. She smiled at the youthful picture her mistress made. In her pristine white cotton nightdress with the frilly trimmings down the front and at the neck and sleeves, with her turquoise eyes wide as saucers, she looked more like a child about to be tucked into bed than a bride awaiting her husband on their wedding night.

  Ariana ran her tongue over dry lips. "Will I do?" she whispered.

  Theresa clasped Ariana's cold fingers in hers. "To quote Sir Francis, `Virtue is like a rich stone, best plain set.' You are beautiful, both inside and out. You are also nervous, which is perfectly natural. But all will be well; I promise you." She gave Ariana a slow, infinitely knowing nod. "Yes, all will be as it should."

  Ariana let the reassuring prediction soak in like warm honey. Then, hesitantly, she peeked around to the bedchamber beyond. "He was so angry," she murmured, remembering Trenton's earlier behavior.

  "Anger is easier to admit than many of the emotions it conceals."

  "There is more to him than he allows the world to see," Ariana concurred instantly. Her expression unclouded, her small chin set. "I just know it."

  "Then follow your instincts, pet. And leave any foolish notions behind."

  Ariana pondered the advice, and slowly her anxiety began to wane. "You’re right." Impulsively, she hugged Theresa. "Thank you, my dear, dear friend."

  "Go," Theresa ordered, her voice choked. She kissed Ariana's brow and shooed her off. "The duke is on his way."

  With a determined expression, Ariana stood tall and marched through the connecting door.

  She had unpacked her things earlier that night, so it was not the first time she'd been in her new bedroom. Nevertheless, its enormous size and austere presence still unnerved her. Aside from a low wooden table and two straight-backed chairs clustered around the far wall housing the marble fireplace, the room was barren, almost completely devoid of furniture. The polished wooden floors stretched endlessly beneath a towering domed ceiling, with nothing below save a china basin and pitcher, a tiny nightstand...

  And, in the dead center of the room, a massive four-poster bed.

  Tentatively, Ariana walked over, brushing her fingers across the soft coverlet and cool linen. She noted that the bed had been turned down in preparation for sleep... or whatever preceded sleep.

  Ariana tried to imagine lying here with Trenton Kingsley. Her stomach lurched, and turning away, she wrapped her arms about herself for reassurance. It was probably best to keep her mind occupied with other things. She strolled about the room, noting its magnificent elegance and symmetry. The great sash windows were wide and multi-paned to allow the maximum amount of daylight in; the walls were intricately tiled... yet oddly and utterly bare of paintings or personal touches of any kind.

  Contemplating that unusual fact, Ariana's eyes drifted to the great gilded lighting fixture suspended from the ceiling, illuminating... the bed.

  She gulped and looked away. Was it just her nerves creating an illusion or had the bed really been designed as the focal point of the room?

  The click of the door latch shattered her thoughts, and she whirled about, her heart thudding in her chest.

  Trenton lounged formidably against the closed door, watching her with predatory intensity. In his black dressing robe he loomed, an ominous shadow in the dimly lit room, his shoulders massive, his features set in harsh, unfathomable lines.

  Ariana felt a chill go up her spine as his cobalt stare bore through her, then raked her slowly from head to toe. He spoke not a word but began moving purposefully toward her.

  "Would you care for a drink, Your Grace?" Totally unprepared for the impact of having a man... especially this man... in her bedchamber, Ariana blurted out the first thing that came to mind. Immediately, she wanted to kick herself for sounding such a ninny.

  Trenton came to an abrupt halt, his brows drawing together in a scowl that displayed neither mockery nor amusement but annoyance. "I'm not thirsty. And my name is not `Your Grace."'

  Ariana curled her fingers tightly into her palms to stop their trembling. "I’m sorry," she faltered. "I thought `Your Grace' was the proper form of address for a duke."

  "It is." His enigmatic gaze flickered briefly to her clenched fists. Then, wordlessly, he closed the distance to where she stood, lifting her chin with a strangely gentle forefinger. His scowl had vanished, in its place a look of tender understanding. "You're shaking."

  "I'm cold."

  "Broddington is well heated. Seldom in August do we need a fire for additional warmth." He glanced toward the unkindled marble fireplace. "Would you like me to light one?"

  "No," she whispered, willing her knees to stop knocking. "I just..."

  "Frightened, misty angel?" It was no taunt, but a question, uttered with the same sensitive insight he'd shown in the maze.

  And suddenly her answer was the same one she had given him then.

  "No." Ariana shook her head slowly from side to side.

  "Good. Because there is nothing here for you to fear. Nothing." Trenton stroked her cheek, slid his warm, strong hand beneath her heavy auburn mane to caress her nape.

  Ariana's breath came a bit faster, and she stared up at him, wide-eyed.

  "You're beautiful," he murmured, running the knuckles of his other hand along the slender column of her neck, down to the lacy yoke of her gown. His eyes followed the path his hand had taken, lingering on the spot where the curve of her breasts disappeared beneath the thin cotton material. "God, I can hardly wait to see how beautiful."

  Ariana knew what was going to happen the instant she felt his hand tighten around her nape, drawing her forward. She was astonished to find herself leaning toward him, raising up on her toes and lifting her face to meet his descending mouth.

  "That's it, sweetheart," he muttered thickly. "Let
the fire that burns between us take over."

  Ariana's eyes slid shut, her emotions suspended, waiting, her intuition alerting her to the fact that this moment would forever divide her life into before and after.

  Their lips touched, brushed, touched again. And then Trenton's mouth opened over hers in a soul-shattering kiss that dragged the breath from her lungs...and gave it back again, consuming her and pervading her all at once.

  How wonderful,

  her dazed mind proclaimed. How incredibly wonderful. With a soft, dreamy sigh Ariana gave herself up to the rapturous swirling feelings. She moved closer to her husband, gliding her hands up the elegant silk of his robe, resting them lightly over his rapidly escalating heartbeat.

  Trenton responded instantly, leading Ariana into a marvelous new world of sensual bliss dictated by the magic of his kiss. He molded her lips possessively beneath his, fitting and shaping them as perfectly as two interlocking pieces of a puzzle, his fists clenching in her hair.

  Hopelessly immersed in the kiss, Ariana was floating away on a silver-tipped cloud, oblivious to everything but sensation. She jerked back to reality, tensing with surprise when Trenton's tongue glided across her lips, seeking entry.

  "Y-Your Grace..." she began.

  "Shhh..." As if sensing her shock Trenton paused, soothing her with lazy brushes of his fingertips up and down her back, waiting until she relaxed in his arms once more. Then, with an almost imperceptible motion, he eased her closer, bringing her up against the hard wall of his chest.

  Ariana gasped aloud. Even through the thin fabric of her nightdress, the contact was electrifying, wildly erotic, shaking her down to her toes. She gripped the open edges of his robe, her breath unraveling on a soft exclamation of physical awakening.

  Trenton captured the sound, tangling his hands in her hair and easing his tongue into the warm, honeyed recesses of her mouth.