When he finally forced himself to lift his mouth from hers, she was pliant in his arms, her gaze unfocussed and her breath ragged. Pleased with himself, he turned her around and giving her a little pat on the rear, murmured, “Good night, my dear. Sleep well.”
Chapter 7
As if chased by demons, Nell fled up the stairs to her rooms. And fled, she admitted, as she hurled herself through the door of her suite and shut the door behind her, was the only word for it. Heart banging painfully in her breast she stared at the door, searching frantically for a key, a lock. There was none. But even, she thought wildly, if she could have physically kept him away from her, nothing on this Earth was going to keep him from her mind—the memory of that long, sweetly seductive kiss seared like a brand into her brain.
Hardly aware of Becky bustling around in the background Nell prepared for bed and, despite her heightened senses, kept her thoughts away from what would not happen tonight. She felt a sham as she slipped on the fine lace and silk gown and with Becky’s warm wishes ringing in her ears climbed into the big bed.
Alone in the dark room she lay there remembering that kiss. She was not, she reminded herself, a complete innocent. She was nine and twenty and she had been engaged once upon a time. She and Aubrey had been engaged only for a few months before her accident, but there had been the occasional stolen embrace and kiss in the garden or secluded nook, so it wasn’t as if she’d never been kissed by a man not related to her. Remembering those few fumbling embraces with Aubrey, she snorted. Good heavens, Aubrey’s kisses compared to Julian’s were akin to comparing water to champagne. There was no comparison! Worse, she’d have sworn at the time that she was madly in love with Aubrey. So why, she wondered uneasily, did the kiss of a man she did not know, had not wanted to marry, was not even certain she liked, make her entire body feel as if she had been brushed by fire? Nell found no answers before she fell into a restless sleep.
In the morning, dreading the next sure-to-be-awkward meeting with her husband, she joined him in the breakfast room. To her relief he was the perfect gentleman, neither by word nor deed revealing that anything was amiss in the new marriage.
Not that anything was amiss, Nell reminded herself stoutly. To her relief, Julian made no further attempts to deepen their intimacy. As he was an entertaining companion, ever ready with a droll story or unobtrusively seeing to her comfort, she relaxed in his presence, finding that time spent with him passed most agreeably. So agreeably in fact that she looked forward to being with him and was, perhaps, not at all averse to another kiss…
By unspoken agreement, she and Julian met each morning for breakfast and together decided upon the plans for the day. They spent most days riding and enjoying the beautiful countryside of Surrey. It delighted Nell to discover that her new husband shared a love of horses and on those long, leisurely rides they whiled away hours at a time discussing horses, and their breeding and care. Some afternoons were passed strolling through the extensive gardens that sprawled out in all directions from the mansion, the roses still blooming despite the increasing chill of autumn. They even shared a picnic on an especially fine day near the lake that had been built on the grounds of the mansion. Evenings were quiet and ended early as each sought out their own rooms and amusements, but as the days sped by, Nell lingered later and later in the dining room, laughing and chatting with Julian.
Julian chafed at the constraints put upon him by Nell, and acting the role of an avuncular companion, when every instinct he possessed sent a decidedly different message, was no easy task. Yet keeping his baser demands tightly leashed had its reward—at week’s end as they prepared to leave for Wyndham Manor Nell treated him in a relaxed, confiding manner that had him torn between laughter and despair. There’d been no time prior to the wedding for even simple conversation. This week though, they had learned much about each other, and it had been good for both of them, the early awkwardness having mostly dissipated. Except for being denied her bed, Julian was, if not satisfied, at least, for the time being, resigned to the situation.
Nell was not sorry to leave Talcott’s mansion. She had too much time on her hands, too much time to think about her husband and, to her astonishment, she found that she was looking forward to finally seeing her new home and taking up the reins as mistress.
The pleasant weather held: no storms bedeviled them or slowed them down and the journey to Wyndham Manor, not far from Dawlish and the Devonshire coast, was accomplished without incident. Nell fidgeted that last hour on the road, eager to escape the confines of the coach, eager to reach their destination, but as the coach finally swung down the long driveway lined with oaks, she experienced an unexpected attack of nervousness.
In a matter of days she had gone from being plain Miss Anslowe to being the Countess of Wyndham, and the enormity of her changed position suddenly assailed her. She glanced across at Julian, just able to discern his handsome features in the deepening twilight, and as their eyes met, her heart gave a small, uneven jump at the half-glimpsed expression in his. The situation, she realized, had changed between them. They were no longer on neutral ground, but on his, and would that, she wondered, change his treatment of her? Would he prove to be a tyrant in his own home? She had no reason to think that overnight he would become a different man than the one she had known these past several days, but doubts lingered and uneasiness stirred. What did she really know of him? A week, even a week as private as the one they had just spent, was not so very long. Perhaps he was a great actor? Hiding his true nature behind a polite smile, a courteous manner? She knew she was being silly but she could not entirely still the anxiety that churned in her breast.
Yet once the coach pulled to a stop and Julian helped her down from the coach in front of an ivy-covered, Elizabethan-style house her hand clung tightly to his. He had been her one constant in a changing world and whatever the future might hold, at this moment she was grateful for his presence as she faced her new world.
The house was huge and ablaze with light. In the gathering darkness of the autumn night, the yellow rays shone out from behind the many mullioned windows welcoming her, beckoning her closer. Nell’s feet had barely touched the ground before the tall front doors were swung wide and more warm light spilled out, drawing her inside the house.
To Nell’s discomfort, it seemed that all of the servants, from the punctilious butler, Dibble, down to the lowliest, simpering scullery maid, stood in the lofty, gray-and white-marble foyer waiting to greet her. Stiffening her spine and smiling warmly she greeted each of them, wondering if she’d ever remember half their names and positions, but as the moments passed and she moved on down the line of bobbing servants, she relaxed. To be sure, she was stared at with curiosity by some, studied covertly by others, but on the whole she felt welcomed and more at ease than she had expected.
After whisking away her cloak and gloves, Dibble showed them to a small salon where a light repast awaited them; a fire danced on the marble hearth. Nell enjoyed her meal, thinking that she would have to ask Cook how she managed to make such a light and flavorful hot chicken mousse. The informal meal ended with, among other offerings, a pistachio cream that fairly melted in her mouth.
Pushing aside her empty dish, she glanced around the charming room of green and cream silk. “You have a lovely home, my lord.”
Julian smiled. “It is also your home now. Would you like to see more of it?”
When she hesitated, he added with a twinkle in his eyes, “Dibble, I’m sure, is most anxious to show it off for you.”
Nell shot him a saucy look. “Well, never let it be said that I disappointed your butler. Ring for him, if you please.”
Crossing to a velvet rope pull, Julian said, “He is also your butler, my dear.”
Nell made a face. “I keep forgetting.”
Well, that, Julian thought, as he rang for Dibble, certainly puts me in my place.
Dibble appeared instantly and when Julian explained the situation, the butler bowed low and s
aid that it would be his pleasure to show her ladyship around the mansion. Amusement lurking in his eyes, Julian followed and watched Nell’s expressive face as she was led from one stately parlor to the next. Seeing her eyes glaze over as Dibble proudly led her into yet another grand suite of rooms, Julian took pity on her and decided to bring a halt to the procession.
Taking Nell’s hand in one of his, he smiled down at her and said, “It is a trifle overwhelming, is it not?” Glancing at Dibble he added, “I don’t think that her ladyship needs to see any more this evening. This is her home now and she will have a lifetime to become familiar with it. It has been a long journey and I’m sure she would like nothing more than to retire to her rooms.” To Nell he murmured, “Becky will no doubt be waiting for you.” Dropping a kiss on the top of her hands, he said, “If you will excuse me, there are things I must see to—I shall see you in the morning.”
Nell flashed Julian a grateful smile and followed Dibble up the wide marble staircase. Throwing wide the doors to her apartments with a flourish, Dibble murmured, “Your rooms, my ladyship. If you require anything, please ring and I shall see that it is taken care of for you.”
Thanking him, Nell stepped inside the suite of rooms and shut the door behind her. Glancing around the large, ornately decorated sitting room done in shades of pink and gold, she leaned limply back against the door.
Well, here she was. Home. It felt strange to think of this huge, rambling place as home, but she might as well get used to it, she reminded herself, because that’s what it was: her home from now on. Pushing away from the door and walking toward a set of double doors that led, she supposed, to the bedchamber, she wondered how long it would take for this place to really feel like home and not just someone else’s house that she was visiting.
Becky was busy unpacking when Nell walked into the bedchamber. Seeing her mistress, a wide smile crossed her face. “Oh, your ladyship, did you ever see such a place?”
Nell laughed. “Yes, but I never expected to live in one.” Catching sight of the huge pink silk-hung bed on the dais on the far side of the room, she blinked. Good heavens! It looked like an explosion of strawberry blancmange! Resolutely ignoring the bed, Nell wandered around her suite, peeking inside the dressing room, which was almost as large as her dearly familiar sitting room back at Meadowlea. Opening another set of doors, she found herself staring into her husband’s room. Feeling like a snoop, she quickly shut the doors.
Turning to Becky, she asked, “Have you had a chance to get settled? Are the other servants treating you well?”
“Oh, yes, miss—your ladyship! Everyone has been so kind.” Her expression awed, she added, “Only think—they have four scullery maids. Can you imagine?”
Nell smiled and made some light comment. Life at Wyndham Hall was going to be different than at Meadowlea, but Nell didn’t see that it would be that much different. Running a household, even one the size of the earl’s, gave her few qualms…being a wife did. She eyed the bed. Her husband had been more than considerate and she knew that most…many men confronted by a recalcitrant bride would not have hesitated in exerting their conjugal rights. But now that they were here in his home, amongst his people, would he continue to be so forbearing? She frowned. And would she mind if he was not? A little shiver of anticipation slid down her spine at the idea of Julian in her bed, kissing her as he had that first night, touching her, her touching him…
Cheeks flushed, her body tingling in a way foreign to her, she jerked her thoughts away from that path.
A sudden commotion from the direction of the dressing room caught Becky’s attention and she said, “That will be your bath, your ladyship. I ordered it before I came upstairs.”
Sometime later, after a warm, luxurious bath and tired from the journey, Nell approached the bed. Brushing aside the bed curtains, she gingerly climbed up onto the mattress, discovering that while the bed might look like an explosion of strawberries, it was most comfortable.
She’d thought that she might have trouble sleeping in the huge, unfamiliar room, but no sooner did her head hit the pillow than she fell asleep. She slept deeply for several hours, but insidiously, like a viper uncoiling from beneath a rock, the nightmare crept into her slumber.
The horror of the nightmare unfolded slowly in stark detail. The same smoke-stained gray dungeon again, the same shadowy figure of the man who practiced such terrible, savage cruelty on the weeping, pleading woman. A different woman tonight, Nell noted with one part of her brain. This one older, her hair dark, not blond, but like the others her body was slim and smooth until that first flash of the blade…Nell thrashed amongst the sheets, moaning piteously, her head flinging from side to side as visions of brutality and ugliness swept across her brain. And the blood…Dear God, the blood…Fear, tasting bitter and foul, filled her mouth, and when the glittering blade slashed down for that final time, she jerked upright. Eyes wide and blind she screamed and screamed again, unable to stop.
At the sound of that first scream, Julian shot out of bed, prepared for battle yet confused and startled. A second scream sent a cascade of ice crashing through his body and immediately identifying the location of the terrified shriek, heedless of his nakedness, he paused only long enough to grab the knife that was never far from him and rushed through the door that divided their quarters.
Inky blackness met him but guided by the memory of the bed’s location and the fearful sounds coming from Nell, he raced to the dais. Flinging back the bed curtains, he made out the white-clad form of his wife as she screamed once more and then began to cry in soft, low gulps.
“Oh, please,” she begged in broken tones. “Please no more. No more. Please.”
Realizing that she was in the grip of a nightmare, Julian pushed his knife under the pillow and climbed into the bed beside her. “Shush, Nell. You’re safe. It is a nightmare, darling. No one can hurt you—I won’t let them.”
He reached out, intending to draw her into his arms, but at that first touch of his hand on her shoulder, she shrieked and fought him. Her fingernails bit into his cheek and she writhed like a wild thing, clawing at him, fighting frantically to escape.
Aware that she was still in the grip of the nightmare, he removed his hands from her, saying loudly, sharply, “Nell, wake up! It is a nightmare. Wake up.”
His voice penetrated through the fog of terror that surrounded her and she froze. She blinked, shuddered and awoke. “J-J-Julian? Is that y-y-you?”
Moving from the bed, he lit a candle. Coming back to the side of her bed, he sat down. “Are you all right?” he asked quietly, his eyes moving over her, noting the streaks of tears, the pale features and the shudders that still racked her body.
More and more awake with every passing second, Nell nodded and scrubbed her cheeks. Forcing a smile, she glanced at him. “Yes. I am now.” Conscious of the gloriously masculine body sitting only inches away from her, her gaze flitted away. “I woke you,” she mumbled. “I’m sorry.”
Julian shrugged. “That was quite a nightmare you had—indeed, I thought you were being murdered at the very least.”
“Someone was,” she said thickly. “Someone always is.”
“What do you mean?” he asked, frowning. “Always? You have nightmares frequently?”
She nodded, then shook her head, adding, “Not exactly. More frequently of late, but for a long time…” She stared off into space.
“But for a long time…” he prodded gently.
She glanced back at him, her breath catching in her throat at his sheer physical beauty. His thick black hair was tousled and tumbled across his forehead as the candlelight flickered over him, highlighting and yet shadowing parts of the patrician face, the scrape on his cheek where her fingers had marked him, the broad shoulders and the long, elegantly muscular legs. Unbearably aware of him, aware of the slightest breath he took she tore her gaze away from him again. But the image of his body, his naked body, would not leave her mind. She risked a glance at his cheek and mumb
led, “I’m sorry I scratched you. I didn’t mean to—I thought…” She swallowed. “I thought you were him.”
“You didn’t hurt me—I’ve suffered far worse in a fall from my horse.” She nodded, but he sensed that her thoughts were far away. He touched her lightly on the shoulder and she jumped, looking at him. He smiled but there was concern in his green eyes. “The man? In your nightmare? Do you want to tell me about it?”
She bit her lip and looked down at her tightly clasped fingers. “I didn’t used to have them,” she began. “But after I fell over the cliff, w-w-when I was crippled, ever since then, they come.” She took a deep, shuddery breath. “Sometimes, not for months and then…T-T-They’re always the same…” She frowned. “Well, in the first one a man was murdered…and not in the dungeon, but after that one, it is always women and always in the same place.”
“The dungeon?” Julian asked, leaning forward, his eyes fixed intently on her.
She nodded. “I don’t recognize it as anyplace I’ve ever been, but I recognize it from the nightmares. The size, the color of the stones, the chains on the walls, the bloodstains…” She swallowed. “The man, the creature hurting those poor women, is always in the shadows. It is the same man, but I never see his face, but I know he’s the same one—there could not be two such depraved monsters in the world.” Tears slid down her cheeks and she choked back a sob. “It’s inhuman what he does to them in that awful place. And no matter how they plead, cry and beg, he never stops.” Her voice shook. “He enjoys hurting them. Revels in it, the power he has over them.”
She sobbed softly and with no more thought than to comfort her, Julian pulled her into his arms. Leaning back against the pillows of her bed, he cuddled her next to him, his lips brushing her hair. “Shhh,” he murmured. “You’re safe now. He can’t hurt you.”
Her cheek lying against his warm chest, she said, “But he hurts them and I cannot stop him. I can only watch and despair.”
Scandal Becomes Her Page 11
