Lost in Temptation (Regency Chase Family Series, Book 1)

by Royal, Lauren

  "It might hurt," he blurted out. "But just a little. And only the first time. I…I thought you should know."

  Taking the second pan out, she froze. "Just a little? Are you sure?"

  "I'm sure," he said. "In Spain, I slept with—oh, never mind. I'm sure. I'm sorry I even told you, because it's truly nothing to concern yourself with." He held the bottle up to a candle. There was only a tiny bit left in it. Looking like he wished there were more, he drained it and set it down. "Do you believe me? Please say you believe me."

  "I believe you." She did. He'd never lied to her before. Teased her and misled her, perhaps, but never lied.

  "Are we finished? Can you sleep now?"

  "I think so." She put the second pan on the table and slid the mitts off. "Let's have some biscuits first, though. Two each. You've earned them."

  And then she let him have three.

  THIRTY

  TRISTAN COULD scarcely believe he was a married man.

  The wedding had been a simple affair, held in the old family chapel, witnessed not only by Alexandra's siblings and three female cousins, but the effigies of her ancestors dating back to the fourteenth century. When the minister asked if anyone present could show just cause why he and Alexandra should not be lawfully joined together, Tristan had half expected a five-hundred-year-old marble statue to pop up, sword and shield in hand, and take exception.

  After all, it took a lot of nerve for a disgraced man to wed a lovely, proper Chase daughter.

  He'd practically held his breath until the ceremony was over, until they'd shared a kiss that was decorous and chaste but set his blood on fire nonetheless. And then he still didn't quite believe she was his wife. And he couldn't decide whether their marriage was a dream come true, or—under the circumstances—a nightmare gone bad.

  The wedding breakfast—which was actually a luncheon—had been a haze of delicious food mixed with feminine chatter and laughter. Alexandra, he'd been unable to help noticing, had spent a lot of time looking at him and very little time eating her meal. The latter wasn't all that surprising. His own stomach felt a bit sour from worry paired with exhaustion.

  And anticipation.

  His gaze kept drifting to the low, square neckline of Alexandra's simple wedding dress. She looked beautiful in the white lace, but he could barely wait to untie the pale blue satin sash and get her out of it.

  Tonight he'd make her his.

  That truth didn't quite hit him until they were in the barouche he'd borrowed from Griffin, making their way toward Hawkridge and hoping to arrive before dark.

  It was a warm day with no threat of rain, so they'd left the top down to enjoy the setting sun. It was fortunate there were only two of them traveling, since Alexandra's luggage took up all the remaining room. In fact, Tristan couldn't even stretch his legs out. But with her seated beside him, snuggled against him, that seemed but a minor inconvenience.

  She yawned, daintily covering her mouth with a gloved hand.

  He took it to draw off the glove. "You're sleepy," he said, keeping his voice low so Griffin's coachman couldn't hear.

  She swallowed nervously as he slipped the silk from her fingers. "I was up most of the night." With her free hand, she motioned toward a covered basket perched carefully on top of her other belongings. "I made coriander biscuits for your staff."

  Removing her second glove, he stifled a smile. Such a gesture was all but unheard of, but so very Alexandra. "They're certain to be surprised."

  "Pleasantly surprised, I hope."

  "I have no doubt." He pressed a kiss to her bare palm. Carefully, because his bottom lip was still tender where Griffin had bashed him in the teeth. But he'd have endured any pain to hear the rough hitch of her breath.

  Smiling into her palm, he kissed it again. "I wish I'd known you were baking. I would have kept you company."

  "Griffin did, instead," she told him, obviously struggling to appear unaffected. "He was rather cheerful for a bloody and bruised man."

  He nodded, completely understanding. "In an odd way, it felt good to fight."

  "Odd is an apt description. How can hurting each other feel good?"

  "I cannot explain it. You'd have to be a man to understand." He kissed her palm once more, then flicked it gently with his tongue, smiling to himself when he felt her shiver.

  Recovering her composure, she slanted him a curious glance. "He said he hit you first."

  His smile spread into a grin so wide it hurt. "But I got the better of him, didn't I?"

  "You look rather the worse for wear yourself." She ran gentle fingers over his bruised jaw and across his sore lip, then blinked and snatched her hand away, apparently surprised to find herself touching him so boldly in public. "But the black eye Griffin woke up with this morning was more colorful."

  "He was suffering from the headache this morning, too, I do believe."

  "That was because he drank most of a bottle of Madeira." Her smile was the fond smile of a sister. "Why did he hit you?"

  "Because I told him to."

  She blinked up at him. "Whyever would you do that?"

  "Another thing you'd have to be a man to understand."

  Shaking her head, she looked back toward the road. Her hair, which had been covered by a lace veil for the ceremony, was very simply dressed. Several strands had blown loose. Sweeping the baby hairs off her neck, he leaned closer to kiss her nape.

  She shivered again, not hiding it this time. He laid a hand on her cheek to turn her face toward him and brushed his lips across hers.

  "The coachman," she whispered.

  "He's not watching." But he wished they'd taken a closed carriage. This ride was beginning to seem like the longest of his life.

  "He has only to turn his head."

  "We're allowed to kiss. We're married."

  She blushed and looked down. "Yes, we are," she said, twisting the wide gold band on her finger. "I didn't expect you'd have a ring on such short notice."

  "On the way back from London, I stopped at Hawkridge to pick it up."

  "It fits me perfectly." She rubbed the plain surface, burnished from years of wear. "Is it old?"

  "Very. A family heirloom," he said, reaching to gently pull it off. "There are names and dates inside." He handed it to her so she could see.

  "So many!" She held it up to the setting sun, squinting at the tiny, engraved letters. "Henry and Elizabeth, 1579. James and Sarah, 1615. William and Anne, 1645. Randal and Lily, 1677." She looked up at him, her eyes shining. "And more. So many generations."

  Such a long, noble line whose reputation he'd destroyed. And now, Alexandra's and her family's, too.

  He wouldn't think about that, he decided as his gaze drifted to her lips. Maybe tomorrow he would think about those things, but not now. He wanted her, and she wanted him. Before reality intruded, the least he could do was give her a lovely wedding night to remember.

  The wedding night she deserved.

  He would be kind and gentle, and he would do his best to put her at ease. Perhaps this marriage was ill fated, but they would both have tonight.

  When she clenched the ring in her fist, he smiled. "I'll have our names and year added the next time we're in London. You don't mind that it's old?"

  "Sweet heaven, no." She slipped it back on her finger possessively. "I cannot imagine a more wonderful ring."

  Knowing how she valued tradition, he'd hoped she'd feel that way. But he hadn't been sure. "I'm glad," he told her, pleased.

  She leaned her head on his shoulder. "Do you suppose all the other wearers were happy?"

  He shrugged. "I haven't the faintest idea."

  "I think they were," she said decisively. "And we will be, too," she added through a yawn.

  He wished he could be so confident.

  He wasn't at all sure that she'd adjust well to his isolated life. That she wouldn't come to resent him. That she'd retain her calm assurance without society's stamp of approval.

  That he wouldn't unkno
wingly do her harm.

  That, in the long run, he wouldn't lose her.

  Her family would always be there for her, and she could eventually decide to run back into their comforting arms. There she could make a different life for herself, perhaps including a discreet affair or two. Husbands and wives who lived apart were all too common among the aristocracy.

  Her head felt heavy against his sore shoulder. He reached up to stroke her hair, welcoming the dull ache, because it meant that she was his, at least for now. Because, frightened as he was, he couldn't bring himself to be sorry they'd married. Not now—not with the sun sinking quickly and their wedding night just over the horizon.

  "Tris?" she murmured sleepily.

  "Hmm?"

  "I love you."

  His stomach clenched. His fingers tangled in her tresses and stilled. Not I think I'm in love with you, but I love you. Three simple words said with a quiet conviction he would never, ever have. Such deep emotion was beyond him.

  She fell asleep waiting for the response he couldn't give.

  THIRTY-ONE

  "WE'RE ALMOST home," Alexandra heard softly in her ear.

  She startled awake, lifting her head to look around. The road they were on followed the Thames, and as they turned off it and started up a wide drive, Hawkridge Hall came into view. Although it wasn't a castle like Cainewood, the symmetrical H-shaped building looked large and imposing, three stories of red brick.

  The very sight of it brought the truth crashing down. She'd spent the past day in a haze of disbelief, but now her new home loomed before her. A new place. A new situation…one that had cost her family their reputation.

  Tris squeezed her hand as they approached. "What do you think?"

  Sweet heaven, she loved him. She swallowed hard, resolving to tuck the negative thoughts away—at least for tonight. It was her wedding night. How long had she dreamed of this night with Tris, never daring to hope it might actually happen?

  Besides, she was going to prove he was innocent—so her sisters' reputations would be saved.

  "Very impressive," she replied with a smile. She was not taking her happiness at the expense of her family. Not in the long run, anyway. She just needed a week or two to set everything to rights. "Is the house very old?"

  "Seventeenth century, down to the furniture." He smiled at her puzzled expression. "You'll see when we get inside."

  As they skirted the stone figure of a river god in the center of the circular drive, the arched front door opened. Servants poured out onto the two sets of stone steps, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and welcome.

  Alexandra watched as they arranged themselves carefully, men along the left and women on the right. "They knew we were coming?"

  "I told them yesterday, when I stopped by to get your ring and my wedding clothes. I suspect they've been in a frenzy since then, getting the house all ready for a new mistress."

  She disengaged her hand to reach forward and grab her basket. "I hope they'll like me."

  "They'll love you." He turned her face toward him and pressed a kiss to her lips, quick but heartfelt. "They won't be able to help themselves."

  Seeing grins spread on several of the staff's faces, she blushed wildly. And wished he'd said he wouldn't be able to help loving her. She'd have to give him time. Though she was determined to knock down that wall around him, it was looking like she'd have to do it brick by brick.

  Another project for the coming weeks.

  Directly in front of the door and all those smiling faces, the carriage rolled to a halt. A footman rushed to help Alexandra down. "Welcome to Hawkridge Hall, my lady."

  "Thank you,…?"

  "John," Tris provided as he climbed out behind her. "Uncle Harold called all the footmen John."

  "Well, that's just plain silly." Here, finally, she felt in her element. She knew how to handle a household staff. She reached into her basket. "Would you care for a coriander biscuit? And pray, what is your given name?"

  "Ernest," the man said, looking at the biscuit in his gloved hand as though he'd never seen one before. "Thank you, my lady."

  "Thank you, Ernest." She started up the wide stone steps, where the butler waited, looking very stiff and serious.

  Tris came up beside her, taking her arm. "This is Hastings," he said by way of introduction. "I couldn't run this place without him."

  Gray-haired Hastings was older than Boniface and not nearly as pretty. But hearing Tris's praise, his stern features relaxed, revealing a pleasant face with brown eyes. "Welcome, my lady."

  "Why, thank you, Hastings." She smiled, handing him a biscuit before heading for the first of a half-dozen footmen lined up beside him, all dressed in blue livery. "And your name is?"

  "Will. Welcome, my lady."

  "I'm so pleased to be here, Will." She handed him a biscuit and moved on. "And you are…?"

  "Ted. Welcome to Hawkridge Hall."

  She reached for another biscuit. "Thank you, Ted."

  "John," the next man said. When she gave him a dubious glance along with his biscuit, he added, "It truly is John, my lady. My father was John, and his father before him."

  "A fine name," she assured him. "So long as it belongs to you."

  It turned out there were two Johns among the footmen. After Alexandra met the rest of the butler's staff and a complete set of outdoor servants, another man stepped out of the house. Dressed like a perfect gentleman, he was tall and big boned. He had a wide nose, full lips, and skin the color of a moonless night.

  "My valet," Tris said quietly, obviously noting her surprise.

  Though she'd never spoken with a black man before, she went up to him unhesitatingly. "Would you care for a coriander biscuit, Mr….?"

  "Vincent. Just Vincent. I have no second name." His deep voice and musical accent made her think of palm trees swaying on a beach. "Welcome to Hawkridge Hall, my lady. My master is bound to be in better spirits with you here."

  "I hope so," she told him, mentally filing the interesting tidbit that Tris's valet thought he'd been in poor spirits of late. "Thank you."

  Vincent smiled, displaying a mouth full of large, white teeth. He was impeccably groomed and well mannered, and she liked him very much. But although it was common for servants to call their employers master and mistress, his use of the term, coupled with his lack of a surname, made her wonder if he was a slave.

  She turned to Tris, unable to picture him as a man who would own another. With a cryptic smile, he took her arm to cross her over to the women's side.

  Her questions would have to wait for later.

  "My indispensable housekeeper," he said. "Mrs. Oliver."

  A short, slight older woman with pink cheeks and sparkling chocolate eyes, Mrs. Oliver bobbed Alexandra a curtsy. "If you don't mind me saying so, my lady, we're so pleased that Lord Hawkridge has wed."

  "He was lonely," Alexandra said softly.

  Mrs. Oliver darted Tris a glance. "Yes."

  "Thank you for taking such good care of him."

  She beamed. "I expect you'll do that now."

  "I'm going to try my best." Alexandra handed Mrs. Oliver a biscuit and moved on.

  Although the housemaids had all been called Mary, only one bore that actual name. There were so many that Alexandra despaired of remembering them all as she worked her way down the line, smiling and exchanging pleasantries.

  A middle-aged maid named Peggy bobbed a curtsy as she accepted a biscuit. "Will you be needing a lady's maid, my lady?"

  She looked kind and friendly, with pale green eyes and a mop of slightly graying brown curls beneath her starched cap. Alexandra returned her smile. "Why, yes, as a matter of fact. I shared my maid with my two sisters." She looked to Mrs. Oliver for approval, and when the older woman nodded, turned back to Peggy. "Would you like the position?"

  "I should be honored, my lady. I served the last Lady Hawkridge. I'm very good with hair."

  "I'm very pleased to hear that," Alexandra assured her and move
d on to meet everyone else.

  When the introductions were finally complete, she handed her basket to the cook, a plump woman in her forties with a button of a nose and pale blond hair pulled back in a severe bun. "Will you all share the rest, Mrs. Pawley? And I hope you won't mind me invading your kitchen now and again. I do adore making sweets."

  Mrs. Pawley's merry blue eyes looked surprised, but she quickly hid that with a smile. "I do adore eating sweets, my lady."

  "Then we should get along famously," Alexandra said.

  Tris took her by the hand. "Shall I show you the house?"

  She'd forgotten to replace her gloves, and her fingers tingled in his, reminding her of what was to come tonight. The servants hurried past them, returning to their tasks as she stepped into her new home for the first time.

  The entry led straight into the great hall, a beautiful rectangular room with a floor of black and white marble squares. Above Alexandra's head, a large octagonal opening in the ceiling was railed all around, so those standing above could see down to where she stood. It lent a height and grandeur to the room that made it that much more impressive.

  Before she could say as much, though, a huge dog came bounding down the stairs. It slid across the marble floor, jarring their hands apart as it rammed straight into Tris.

  "Oof!" he said with a laugh. "This is Rex. Rex, your new mistress. Shake."

  Fawn colored with a black mask and ears, Rex obediently raised the most enormous paw Alexandra had ever seen. She shook it, wondering if it were her imagination or if the canine looked mistrustful. "He must be twice my weight! You never said you had a dog."

  "He's not my dog. He came with the house."

  Rex was trotting happy circles around him. "He seems to have adopted you. Did your uncle name him, then?"

  "Yes. But it's not as though he had a choice. According to family lore, there has always been a mastiff named Rex at Hawkridge Hall."