The woman shook her hand while her mouth tried hard to work, opening and closing a few times, before her name came forth. “Lady Germaine.”
“A pleasure, Lady Germaine. Are you having a good time?”
“Indeed, yes.” The woman finally seemed to recover. “Yes, I am.”
“The duchess is such a wonderful hostess.”
“Oh. I thought…that is—”
“Yes, most people assumed there would be hard feelings between us, but I can assure you, I am as charmed by her grace as anyone.”
Was this her, laughing freely, chatting with strangers, making jokes of the rumors circulating about her?
Thawing by degrees, Lady Germaine relaxed back in her chair. “She is a dear, and she and the duke are so happy. And now you have been recently married.”
“Yes.” The glow of joy burned bright on Helena’s cheeks. “My husband has just been abducted by the men.”
Lady Germaine laughed. “I saw him. He’s very handsome, and so attentive to you. How nice that you’ve found someone at last…. Oh! I’m sorry, my dear.”
“Please don’t be. I couldn’t agree with you more.”
The conversation progressed easily. Some of the braver, or more curious, guests ventured closer. Biting back her nervousness, Helena looked each one in the eye as Lady Germaine made the introduction. Before long, she realized she was all right. She was holding her own, and the knowledge of that made her confidence swell.
Then her eye caught a familiar face and she felt a jolt of pleasure go through her. Adam.
He was speaking to someone, a woman. Helena couldn’t see her face, but she could see her husband’s. He had his head tilted forward in that way he had, making it seem he was intent on every word. The woman laughed at something, laying her hand on his arm, and Adam broke out in one of those grins, eyes crinkling, whole face transformed.
The woman tossed her head in a gesture Helena marked as flirtatious. And Adam seemed to gobble it up. At least he wasn’t in any hurry to leave. A slow, hard burn worked its way up from Helena’s chest to her throat. Heat replaced the light, airy feeling of only moments ago. She kept a surreptitious eye on her husband, noting how he greeted another young woman who came up to him. As she was presented, Adam gave a bow. So gallant. This was Adam—all devastating charm. And apparently he didn’t reserve it exclusively for her.
The magic was gone out of the evening in an instant. She stayed on, conversing lightly, pretending to listen to boring stories as the men and women who came to meet her gushed on and on—nervous talk as they seized this moment to get a close look at the elusive Lady Helena.
She made certain she won them over. If she concentrated on their conversation, she didn’t think so much about the bevy of ladies fluttering around her husband like a swarm of rabid moths before a single candle flame.
It was Jareth who came for her, extricating her with his usual grace and tact. But when he had her alone, the facade of pleasantness fell away abruptly. “Where is your husband, Helena?”
Helena felt as if she’d been punched. “He’s…here.”
“Go fetch him this instant. Do you want more talk?”
“I?” For the first time ever, she was angry with Jareth. “What do you suggest I do, race over and drag him away from his…his admirers?”
“I expect you to use the skills any lady of breeding is taught, and make certain that idiot doesn’t incur any more damage. The talk about him already is wild. Did you know he told the parson and his wife that he had been abducted as a child and raised by aborigines?”
“He meant it to amuse, not to be taken seriously.”
Jareth’s dark, elegant gaze was reproachful. “That sort of sport might be diverting for a man from Adam’s background, but we are trying to put to rights the shadows of the past, are we not?”
“What sort of sport is diverting for a man of my background?”
Jareth and Helena snapped their heads around in unison to face Adam. His tone was calm, his face deceptively mild, but Helena did not mistake the fire in his eyes for anything but fury.
Jareth, however, was not chagrined. “A man who doesn’t understand the delicacies of high ton, Mannion—”
Adam cut him off. “Oh, I didn’t realize this was to be a lecture. I abhor lectures. I am tired, in any event.” Helena gasped at his rudeness. Jareth’s chin came up, a sign of challenge.
Continuing in the same cordial tone, Adam said, “Come, Helena. It is time to go home.”
The undercurrent of tension was thickening by the moment. Jareth took a protective step in front of Helena. “Lady Helena is upset. Perhaps if we adjourn to a private parlor, we can—”
Adam interrupted a second time, looking directly at Helena. “Now, please. It is time we leave.”
Jareth stood indecisively for a moment. Laying a hand on his arm, Helena murmured, “It’s all right, Jareth. Thank you for inviting me. I’ve had a…it was a lovely ball.”
Stiffly, the duke accepted her good night.
It wasn’t until they were in the carriage that Adam exploded.
Chapter Thirty
“Can you kindly explain what the devil that was all about?” Adam demanded. “My God, I can’t understand why everyone insists on treating you like some fragile piece of porcelain. It’s ghoulish!”
“Jareth was quite rightly worried about gossip.” Helena looked at him with accusation in her eyes. “With you pandering to all of those little misses, he was concerned that it might make a bad situation for me.”
“Pandering?” He nearly choked. “Is that what he told you? Christ, he wants trouble between us in the worst way.”
“The trouble was with you, the way you fawned all over those girls. I—” She broke off, mortified by what she had said.
His expression changed all of a sudden. “You’re jealous!”
“I’m humiliated,” she said defensively. “My husband spent the entire evening chasing skirts in front of every curious gossipmonger in the shire.”
“Your husband,” he said quietly, no longer amused, “spent half of the party right at your side. The rest of the time I spent making the acquaintance of some gentlemen who share my love of hunting. When I returned from their company, I found you surrounded by the very members of society who intimidate you, and you had them in the palm of your hand. It was your moment, Helena, and I stayed away to let you have it.”
She sat in the silence he left, suddenly awkward. Her throat felt horribly dry. When she swallowed, it was with some difficulty. As far as dressing-downs went, that was as fine a one as she’d ever heard.
The distance between them lasted through the next several days. Adam was adamant he was not going to relent until he had an apology from Helena. Helena’s reasons for avoiding him were a mystery to him. It puzzled him, as she had never impressed him as the type to hold a meaningless grudge. On the third morning, John Footman came into the drawing room where Adam was going over his correspondence. “Sir, ah, if you would…it is the mistress.”
Those words, and the urgent tones in which they were spoken, brought Adam immediately to his feet.
Jack said, “Her room. Please hurry.”
Adam dashed past him, and Jack trotted behind, reporting what little facts he knew. “Kepper brought her in just now. She was outside, behaving as if she were sleepy, and saying strange things. She was weeping.”
Adam reached Helena’s room and burst in without bothering to knock. His wife sat slumped on the side of the bed. Her lips were blue and she was shivering violently. She looked up at him, the expression in her eyes ripping a chill through his taut body. “I’m cold,” she said in a small, thin voice. “My head hurts.”
“Hush. I’m here now, sweetheart.” He turned to the servant girl. “Find Mrs. Kent. Have her fetch a tonic for your mistress.” Kneeling before Helena, he took both of her hands in his and rubbed briskly. “What happened?”
“I don’t remember.” She blinked, as if just remembering someth
ing. “Adam, you are speaking to me. Does this mean you aren’t angry with me anymore?”
He silently cursed himself and his blasted pride. He had planned to teach her a lesson, had he? It seems he was the one receiving a lesson—in regret. “Oh, darling, no. I’m not angry.”
“I was just jealous.”
“It’s all right.” He took her shoes off and rubbed her cold feet. “Why were you outside without boots? It’s freezing outside!”
“I…I’m not sure. I don’t remember going outside. I just was there.” She frowned. “They were so beautiful.”
“Who?” He stripped off her stockings.
“Those girls.” She yawned sleepily, her head beginning to loll. He tore the counterpane off the bed and wrapped her snugly to still her shivering. As she was bundled, she mused wistfully, “I was once beautiful like that.”
“You are more beautiful than they.” He pushed her back on the bed, leaning over her with a hand braced on the pillow on either side of her head. “I don’t have a single idea why you would be jealous of them. They were silly and unpleasant. You are exciting and challenging and…and more woman than all of them put together.” The fervor of his voice surprised him. It did her, as well. Her eyes rounded, becoming large. The irises were a clear, startling cerulean blue for just one moment.
She smiled slowly, as content as a cat. “That is lovely. Thank you, Adam. I hope I remember that you said it.”
He kissed her nose. “If not, I shall remind you.”
“I think there is much we need to tell each other.” She yawned.
“Not tonight. Sleep, love.” He paused, then added in a voice rough with frustrated emotion, “Be well.”
When Helena awoke the following afternoon, she had only a vague sense of what had happened. She thought she must have been outside, which she confirmed when she saw her ruined shoes. Also, the sense of coldness—deep, penetrating cold, remained distinct.
There was a suspicion that Adam had been with her, shown her kindness. If this were true and their argument over with, then she was greatly relieved. But it was a thin victory in the face of the fact that she had, apparently, had another “spell.”
He came in to take tea with her late in the afternoon. “You seem better,” he said with forced cheer. He wasn’t so good of a liar as he supposed.
“I feel well.” This awkwardness that remained was so very frustrating when she wanted to curl up on his lap and have him hold her. She needed that reassurance so much.
“Cards?” he asked, bringing forth a deck from the inside pocket of his coat.
“You do not have to entertain me.”
“Tea or chocolate?” he offered, undaunted.
“Neither. I’m not hungry.”
His tone became infuriatingly patronizing. “Helena, we’ve discussed this. I won’t have you refusing to eat when you are upset. You need your strength—”
Without knowing that she was going to, she whipped the covers off the bed and leaped to her feet. “Stop it!” she screamed. “I can’t stand this…this coddling! I’m not a child. Or a lunatic.”
He came to her side, placing a solicitous arm around her shoulders. “Don’t get upset. Come back to bed.”
“I’m not getting in that bed!” She whirled on him, fury and pent-up terror mingling, making her wild. “You want to put me to bed, then do it as a man, not a nanny. I’m weary of this, Adam. I don’t—” She broke off with a sob.
His eyes stared at her, holding horror and fear. Oh God! Oh God, he thought her mad. He did. She could see it. “Helena,” he said gently. He held out his hands to her. They were large, broad of palm and blunt of finger. Callused hands, made so by his work to restore the barn. They were the hands of a man, and they had touched her and made her feel loved, cherished, beautiful. Now they reached for her again, not to caress, not to stir, but to tuck her into bed like an invalid.
She ran from the room, pausing at the door after he had barked her name like an irate governess. “Leave me alone!” she shouted, and ran down the hall.
A servant, a new one whose name she couldn’t recall just now, stopped and stared at her, and Helena groaned. Yes, mad Lady Helena, running about midday in her night rail, fleeing her husband, whose tender ministrations only the insane would refute.
She ran to the tower, up to her pianoforte. Restless, she sought her music as reflexively as her father sought the bottle. She reached the schoolroom and crossed it in long, angry strides. Her gaze caught on the beautiful dolls lined on the shelves just as she was about to enter the maid’s chamber where her instrument was kept.
Stopping, her breath caught in her throat, she stared. Those dolls. Those damned, blank-faced, ghoulishly placid dolls. As a child, she’d loved them—she had wanted to play with them, but Mother never allowed it. They were too costly, her mother had admonished when Helena had cuddled one close and mussed its hair. Too precious.
And she, obedient, tractable child that she was, had placed them gently on the shelf and looked to her mother, waiting for the nod of quiet approval. She had fed off that grudging, silent praise like a suckling drinking poisoned milk, until she had become like those dolls. Precious, costly, not to be held. Not to be loved.
She took up one of the dolls, held it, looked at it. With all of her might, she flung it to the floor. The gorgeous china face smashed, showing the dark cavity of its hollow head.
They were empty. All empty inside.
She picked up another one and cast it down. Then another, not stopping until every last one was destroyed.
Chapter Thirty-One
Adam didn’t stay around after Helena went up to her tower. He needed to be alone as well. Heading for his rooms to change, he donned his well-worn boots and a pair of riding trousers. On his way out of the house, he overheard a pair of servants whispering none too subtly about her having one of her “spells.”
Not bothering to chastise them, he went to the tack room, selected a saddle and bridle, and fitted it to one of the Rathford stable horses, taking no note of the glare from his gelding. The animal hated to be ignored, considering himself far superior than his barnmates, but Adam made it a rule to take turns exercising the horses. He whistled sharply for Cain. Within moments, the exuberant dog came bounding around the side of the house and took up a trot behind the horse.
Heading out over the back meadows, they entered the woods, where the denuded bracken grew thick and the tree trunks clustered together like beggars huddling for warmth against the cold winds.
The land here was so utterly desolate, and yet it contained a primitive beauty that was beginning to feel comfortable, even welcoming. Adam hadn’t thought he’d ever want to live away from London. He’d hated the long summer months, when everyone fled the city for more restful climes, and the social season moved to country estates and the seaside resorts, especially Brighton, which the Prince Regent had made so popular. It wasn’t London—the seat of the ’Change, the hub of investment activity where he planned to make his mark—and so it hadn’t interested him very much.
To his surprise, this place had proved very different. It felt raw and wild, a challenge of some sort, as if there were untapped resources inside of him that rose up and met the savage beauty around him. He was rather obsessed with learning the lay of the wilderness in these parts, not missing a day of riding and exploring. His interest in the barn had resulted in his taking a major part in the refurbishing designs. He knew all the horses by name, their dispositions, their favorite treats and just how to scratch each one of them to elicit a nicker of sublime contentment.
His mild interest in hunting had blossomed into a full-fledged occupation. Next week, he was traveling to meet a man about buying some hounds. The growing circle of like-minded acquaintances in the neighborhood had welcomed him, already inundating him with plans for the fall season.
A brook ran along the path as it turned. He led his horse to the edge and let her have a drink. Cain sniffed, tail wagging excitedly, then began the
arduous canine task of marking territory. He snuffled around every tree and shrub, investigating thoroughly.
Adam watched him for a while, then tilted his head back to bask in the glory of the day. He could have been content but for the unease that sat with him. Worry about Helena felt like a weight on his shoulders, but he staved it off, wanting to avoid that Pandora’s box and just…relax for a moment.
Cain’s furious barking broke him out of his thoughts. The dog was out of sight, but the gruff barks emanated from deep in the brush. Swinging down from the mare, Adam walked along the loamy turf and called, “Cain. Come, boy.”
The dog only barked louder and more anxiously. Adam went toward the sounds. He stooped and swept aside a spiny branch, stepping into the undergrowth. “Get out of there. Come on.”
Cain stopped barking, and in a moment, Adam saw his mottled head poke up, ears cocked. Adam slapped his thigh and clicked his tongue. Cain crouched and began barking again, throwing his head back to give full vent.
With a resigned sigh, Adam entered the dense copse. Holding on to low-lying tree limbs for balance, he picked his way gingerly. Branches clawed at his clothes like condemned souls grasping for aid. They tore at his skin, leaving deep scratches on the back of one hand and his right cheekbone. He cursed out loud but didn’t turn back. Cain’s barking was urgent.
The dog better not be showing him a rabbit warren, Adam thought, and then stopped dead in his tracks.
The foot was the first thing to come into view. It was sticking out of a gorse bush, shoeless, its black wool stocking in shreds around a beefy leg ruined by purplish veins. The exposed flesh gleamed in the low light, drawing him against his will. He reacted violently when a prickly finger of berry vine dug a light trail along his neck.
Using a gloved hand, he shoved the bush aside, ruining the fine leather and not giving it a thought. Cain had quieted, and the silence was more unnerving than the barking had been. The dog’s bright eyes questioned him, his triangular head cocked to one side.
The Sleeping Beauty Page 21
