The Sleeping Beauty

by Jacqueline Navin

  Jareth’s glance was full of the aristocratic arrogance he usually avoided. The duke had chosen a wayward governess as his wife, defying all custom and duty, because of love. He was truly an egalitarian, but one would have thought him the purest snob for the look he aimed down his finely pointed nose.

  “You seem to be doing a damn poor job of keeping her content, Mannion. She looked like she needed some cheering up. She appeared to me to be quite troubled today, which is not a sight one sees on a bride’s wedding day very often.”

  Adam looked neither agitated nor cowed by Jareth’s set-down. His smile remained in place and he didn’t even blink. “If the bride needs cheering, I believe it is my job to see to it. With all due respect, your grace.” That last was said without a trace of sarcasm, and yet it throbbed with challenge.

  “Not if you are the cause of her poor spirit,” countered Jareth.

  “If I am or am not, I don’t see how that is any of your concern.”

  Desperate, Helena leaped when she saw Chloe approaching. “Here is your wife, your grace!” she announced anxiously, hoping the diversion would serve to stop these two from snarling at each other like mongrels lusting after the same bone.

  “Mon amie, you look absolutely divine.” The brunette linked her arm through her husband’s and beamed at them all. Chloe had an infectious smile, and the sheer power of it brought down the tension a bit. “Doesn’t she look fabulous, Jareth?”

  The duke’s eyes were still cold and still fastened on Adam, but his voice was soft and so full of his abiding fondness for his wife it made Helena want to weep with envy. “Of course she does, darling. Helena looks wonderful, as she always does.”

  Chloe looked at him approvingly, and that was when Helena understood that the duchess knew exactly what was going on between her husband and the bridegroom. Not for the first time, Helena felt a swell of affection for the woman, but it wasn’t, for once, followed by the sting of traumatic memory. The two of them exchanged knowing smiles, and Chloe led her husband away with some excuse.

  Helena was left staring at hers.

  Adam showed his annoyance now. It didn’t detract from how handsome he was today. Their wedding day, a day so bittersweet her throat ached from the tightness in it.

  God, she had better not bawl like an ill-bred chit!

  “I’m getting fatigued,” Adam said. “I think it is time we retire.”

  “Go ahead,” she said, making to walk past him.

  He grabbed her arm, halting her. “Together.”

  Helena’s eyes shot wide-open. “T-together?”

  He inclined his head in a short nod. She swallowed.

  He couldn’t mean…Surely he didn’t want to…he wasn’t planning on bedding her. Was he?

  “Take your leave of the guests and your father. I’ll wait for you on the stairs.”

  She did take her leave, then fled to her room. This was too much—it was impossible!

  She hadn’t thought this would be part of it all. He only wanted money. He had his whores for amusement. Why would he want to do this?

  Did he think she wished it?

  The idea brought a scathing flush from the roots of her hair to the tips of her curled toes. Good God—the kiss! Had he thought she was a wanton because of how she had given herself in the kiss?

  The fact that she had responded so enthusiastically had shaken her until she had realized that it was only shock that had caused her to go limp in his arms and allow him those unspeakable liberties. Any lady of breeding would have reacted so.

  She mustn’t forget Adam was common.

  If he had kissed her like that, what would it be like to have his big hands touch her, his hard, lean body over her…entering her….

  She made a short, high sound of panic and buried her face in her hands. She knew what to expect from a husband in that regard. Her mother had told her, preparing her from a very early age.

  A wicked husband may tempt you to give in to the baser urges a woman of higher social class trains herself to avoid.

  Oh, yes, she could well imagine Adam Mannion tempting her.

  There will be excruciating pain. You must bear it bravely and resist any attempts on his part to ease this suffering. It is a mark of breeding to hold the act of lovemaking in contempt.

  She couldn’t let Adam touch her.

  Her flesh shivered; darting spasms of excitement rippled through her. Pleasure. She imagined Adam’s bird of paradise found great pleasure in that chiseled mouth, those long fingers, that tall, broad-shouldered form….

  A soft knock ripped a startled yelp from her. She faced the paneled door, her hands clasped in front of her mouth as her brain flew over one insane plan after another. The only thing she could think of was to leap to the door and shoot the bolt home.

  Too late. The knob turned and the door opened slowly.

  “Helena?”

  His voice was soft. So appealing, that raspy baritone.

  All of a sudden she was in motion. She was across the room in a flash, flinging herself against the door. Because he wasn’t expecting it, he was knocked back.

  The door shut and she slid the bolt.

  Panting, she waited in the silence.

  “Helena?”

  The softness was gone. Anger made his tone sharp. “Open this door, Helena.”

  “Go away.”

  “Don’t make me do something we’ll both regret.”

  “You can’t break it. It’s solid maple and as thick as the length of my hand.”

  “I can make a racket to bring whoever is left downstairs flying up here to see what is the matter. I know how you hate gossip, so I’m giving you plenty of warning before I commence.”

  “Go ahead. I doubt it will do your reputation much good to have it around that you were reduced to pounding on your bridal chamber door.”

  There was a short silence, then, “Damn you. Open this door this minute or I’ll—”

  “You’ll what?” When she heard the strength in her words, she realized she was gloating a little. She gave a quick laugh. “Huff and puff and blow the door in?”

  “Fine. Have it your way.”

  She folded her arms across her chest, and even though he couldn’t see her, she struck a defiant stance. “I intend to.”

  “You are behaving like a spoiled brat.”

  “Then you will have no trouble imagining me sticking my tongue out at you. Now go away.”

  “Maybe I’ll just do that. I’ve had enough of this mulish behavior. I ought to go to the library. I might spend my time more fruitfully perusing Shakespeare’s The Taming of the Shrew to pick up a few bits of advice about handling a recalcitrant wife.”

  Her mouth pursed tight at the insult. “Oh, really? I only wish I had a book to read. I fancy I would rather enjoy a comedy. Perhaps A Midsummer Night’s Dream. I think the tale of that presumptuous braggart, Bottom, transformed to an ass would amuse me tonight.”

  She could imagine Adam gnashing his teeth. “After The Taming of the Shrew I will probably go directly on to Othello. I have no doubt the tale of man driven to strangling his wife would give me ease.”

  She nibbled her bottom lip frantically. Her forte was classical music, not classic literature. She had read Shakespeare, Milton, Spenser, Ovid and Homer, but she didn’t have a great facility with remembering them well enough to find ready fodder for a rejoinder.

  “Helena?” he said at her long pause. His tone had lost its edgy sharpness.

  “What?”

  His sigh carried all the way through the maple door, which was indeed as thick as the length of her hand. “Very well. Take the time you need tonight. I’ll see you in the morning, when we shall discuss this like grown-ups.”

  She hadn’t expected this. Forgiveness? A flash of anger died before it was fully born. Why should he forgive her?

  What a ridiculous question. There was no doubt that locking herself away from him was the right thing to do for her sanity, but no one would argue it was the c
orrect thing for a wife to do.

  Not on a wedding night. Wedding nights were made for consummation.

  Just the word fluttering through her mind drained her legs of strength.

  She laid her cheek against the cool wood. “Good night.”

  But he was already gone.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Adam did not go to the library and consult the brash Petruchio for advice on how to tame a wife. He didn’t read Othello to vicariously purge himself of the need to throttle Helena. He went to bed, climbed in, then tossed and turned and cursed and groused until the watery dawn trickled through the windows.

  He dozed, woke to a pounding headache, rose and washed. He had to hurry, because he didn’t want to miss Helena at breakfast.

  Although he was admittedly worried she wouldn’t appear, he had a feeling she would be loath to admit her cowardice by hiding today. As it happened, he was correct. She came into the dining room a half hour after his arrival.

  He was on his third cup of coffee and finding the thick brew Maddie made for his iron stomach not especially helpful today.

  “Just a chocolate,” Helena said to the footman.

  “Not eating?” Adam inquired.

  “I am not hungry.”

  She was wan and frail looking this morning. It annoyed him. “Right. We wouldn’t want anyone to think you too healthy. It would ruin that beautiful martyr look you so arduously cultivate.”

  “I would ask what you mean by that, but as I don’t care, I shan’t waste my breath.”

  Her hot chocolate arrived, and Adam smoldered while she blew on it as she stirred.

  His rage was growing. “Is this some perverse punishment you have planned? You are going to starve yourself right in front of my very eyes just to drive me insane. You know it drives me insane, don’t you, to see you wasting away? What I don’t understand, exactly, is what the devil I’ve done to be punished for.”

  “As difficult as it may be for you to grasp, my every thought and action is not geared toward you, favorably or unfavorably.” She looked up at him and he saw the gray cast to her skin. So she hadn’t slept any more than he had. “What you do is utterly your concern and none of mine. You married me for my fortune, and it is my understanding that you now have what you want. I do not understand why you are complaining.”

  Now he understood. That comment about what he did not being her concern jogged his memory. It wasn’t too difficult to figure out from there what was bothering her. “I didn’t ask her here, you know.”

  The jerk of Helena’s head as she glanced away confirmed his suspicion.

  He threw his napkin down on the table and rose. “I told her to leave before you came in.”

  “That must have been wretched for her. I heard her professing her tender feelings for you and the wonderful plans she had to make use of your fortunate windfall of funds.”

  “You can’t believe I’d do that.”

  Helena gave him an obstinate look. “Why? Because your sterling character speaks for itself in matters of moral fortitude?”

  He stopped and blinked.

  A flash of something passed across her face. She seemed to realize she had gone too far.

  She had.

  He tried to find something to say, but his throat was locked up tight and he doubted he could have managed to say anything without it coming out like sandpaper on stones.

  So, that was what she thought of him.

  Without making a retort, he spun on his heel and went out, stopping only for his redingote before heading to the stables.

  Helena wrestled with a sour feeling until she called John Footman to fetch her some cooked oats or porridge. Despite her resolve not to pay a whit of attention to anything he said, Adam’s snarling about martyrs and her unhealthy looks had bruised her pride. Again.

  Adam had a problem. He had to find a way to make love to Helena.

  Under the terms of the contract he had signed with Lord Rathford he had to bed the girl before he was allowed to leave. His first two months of “duty” would be up the following week, and he’d be free to return to London.

  Just the thought of normal people without shrouds of secrets weighing them down, and houses full of light and free of cobwebs, made him feel better. He wanted away from this place, and away from the mysterious, maddening Helena Rathford.

  Helena Mannion. His wife. Once he bedded her.

  That was the trick. But how?

  Cain found him out by the paddock, where Adam was getting a pretty mare with a white star on her forehead ready to be taken through her paces. He hadn’t found Kepper about and was feeling fairly lonely until the hound showed up.

  “I’m not used to this,” he explained to Cain after giving him a thorough rub behind the ears. The dog liked that so much, he flopped on his side and rolled over, all the better to provide access to his belly.

  “I need people. No offense, but conversation needs to be reciprocated.”

  Uncannily, the dog barked.

  Adam smiled. “That doesn’t count.”

  The dog barked again and leaped to all fours. He was alerting him, Adam realized, and turned to see who was coming.

  “Hello,” a gentleman said with an easy smile.

  Adam straightened and gave the man a narrow look. He was leading in a horse, a good-quality one. Dressed in a well-cut suit, he was tall and narrow with a high brow from which an M-shaped hairline sprouted mouse-brown hair that was caught straight back into a queue. “Hello.” Adam’s voice held no welcome. In fact, it was nearly challenging.

  “Is Helena or Lord Rathford about?”

  “Inside.”

  The man tossed Adam the reins of his horse. A shiny copper piece followed. “Rub him down for me, and water and oats, too. That’s a good man.”

  With a jaunty gate, the man began to saunter up to the house.

  Adam frowned at the coin he had caught. “Hey!” he called.

  The man turned and Adam shot the copper back at him. Ducking, the man didn’t even try to catch it. As a result it hit him in the arm.

  Rubbing it as if it stung, he looked cross. “Blast and confound you! How dare you accost me in this fashion? If you want more, you’ll not get it now.”

  “If you want your horse tended, you had better do it yourself. Cain and I don’t have time.”

  “What is your name!” the man demanded.

  “Adam Mannion. What is yours?”

  “I, sir, am Howard Balfourt, Baronet, and you have just insulted a peer of the realm.” His arrogant delivery stalled and he looked a bit stricken all of a sudden. “Wait a jolt. Did you say Mannion? Are you…? Drat it, man, you’re the one she’s married, ain’t you?”

  “And who might you be?”

  “Her cousin.” The man was disconcerted, obviously trying hard to figure out what he was supposed to do now—be apologetic or continue to act insulted. Adam decided to take pity on him. He certainly didn’t need to fight another front today.

  “You weren’t at the wedding. We’ve never met.”

  “Yes, well, couldn’t get away.” Apparently, he’d made up his mind, for he smoothed his hair and said, “Bloody bad form, eh, chap? Too bad to be starting out this way. Didn’t know who you were.” He gathered his redingote more closely around him. “Blast, it’s deuced cold up here.”

  He hadn’t exactly apologized, a fact Adam noted but didn’t take exception to. “I must be used to it. I hardly notice it anymore.”

  “London’s awash with rain. Dreadful,” he groused. “Will you take me to your new wife, then? I am looking forward to seeing Helena. Imagine her getting married.”

  “She’s inside,” Adam said tightly, jerking his head toward the house.

  “Right. I’ll, ah, I’ll just leave my horse here. When the stableman comes back, can you tell him to, ah…” He was hinting to Adam, hoping he’d offer to take care of the horse.

  “I’ll tell him,” Adam said curtly. Howard made his way into the house. Cain barked aft
er him, one sharp, tight yip.

  Adam stared hard at the man’s expensively clad back. “Right. I don’t like him, either.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Dinner that night was an exercise in the absurd.

  Howard stared at Adam, then stared at Helena, then stared back at Adam again. Helena stared at her plate. Lord Rathford drank so much he was snoring by the second course. Adam, disgusted with the lot of them, attacked his food.

  In between the intermittent and feeble attempts at conversation, the tinkling of their silverware was the only sound in the room.

  Howard tried one more time to lighten the dour atmosphere. “Oh, listen to this one. This chap I know sallied off down to Bath just to see old Prinny, and when he got there, he realized it is Brighton Beach where the Regent goes!”

  Chortles and laughter hit the paneled walls and fell dead.

  Helena smiled. “He must have been quite vexed,” she said mildly.

  Disappointed, Howard cleared his throat and took up his fork. With careful precision, he placed a delicate bite into his mouth without his lips ever touching the tines. After mincing the morsel with rapid movements of his jaw, he paused. “I daresay he nearly strangled his post chaise driver. Deuced funny, though.”

  Adam raised his eyebrows and shoved a forkful of the braised hare into his mouth. He knew Howard’s type. Howard was the kind of man who slept, ate and breathed society. Gossip was as much a part of everyday routine as dressing. Strict observance was made to every detail of others’ appearance and deportment—of course, more substantive qualities like strength of character or kindness were irrelevant—and flaws were relentlessly criticized. To avoid being the object of ridicule oneself, behaving like a snide, overconfident snob was required.

  Nothing personal, of course, but Adam happened to despise this particular type.

  “So, coz,” Howard said, rolling his large eyes toward Helena, “the house looks dreadful.”

  Helena stiffened. “It is difficult to find servants.”