He could not help but continue the mental comparison between them. He lived in the basement of a grand country house, held only a few personal possessions to his name, and his life was dedicated to the comfort and pleasure of others. But her life was a happy balance of country leisure and the cultivation of her mind. The house she lived in would be filled with fine furniture and lovely portraits, her library would be well stocked, and classical sculptures no doubt graced the corridors of her townhouse. Her life was enviable.
“If we have no jokes to tell, perhaps we could become better acquainted?” Venetia suggested. “Would you tell me about yourself?”
“What do you wish to know?” He did not see this line of inquiry lasting very long. His life was completely uninteresting.
“Oh, start at the beginning, as all good stories must.” Her tone was teasing, but it was sweet rather than cruel.
“The beginning?” Adrian leaned back, rubbing his shoulders against the soft cushions of the wingback chair, and he stroked his chin as though deep in thought. This earned another giggle from his fair charge.
“I was born in Northumberland, in a town called Blanchard.”
“Oh, I believe I have heard of it. That is south of Hexam, is it not?”
“Yes, about nine miles. Are you familiar with the town?”
“No, not really, only that it is close to Hexam.”
“Very well, then—I shall treat you to a history of the town.”
She grew quiet, and he chuckled, sensing her disappointment. “I promise to make it mildly interesting.”
“Only mildly? Dear me.” She was smiling again. Lord, he adored her smile. It made him feel like he was out in the gardens on a spring day, the sun warming his face.
“Minx,” he teased, then stopped short. He had crossed a line. That was an endearment meant for a teasing town wench. She chucked a pillow at him, and he caught it, grinning again.
“Well, go on,” she urged, not at all bothered by him calling her a minx.
“Right,” he said, clearing his throat. “Blanchard is a rather neatly arranged town. It’s square, like the barracks of a foreign army instead of a meandering set of streets. The cottages are all made of gray and yellow stone, and they form disciplined lines around the village square, which is shaped a bit like the letter L. Most of the townsfolk are miners and their families.”
“Miners? Like for silver?” Venetia’s eyes widened with curiosity.
“Nothing so romantic as that. They mine for lead. Most of the houses were built a century ago, and the village itself is very old. Twelfth century, in fact. The village square used to be the location of an old abbey.”
“The abbey isn’t there now?”
“No, sadly not. You see, Blanchard lies deep in a valley near the river Derwent, surrounded by bleak moorlands. Local legends say the seclusion of these moors prompted the Scots to visit during their raids across the border in 1327.”
Venetia’s eyes brightened. “Now we are discovering some intrigue. What happened in 1327?”
“Well, the monks were so relieved to have been delivered from those brutal Highland raiders that they rang the abbey bells in celebration, but the bells tolled so loudly in the valley that the Scots heard, turned around, and came back, sacking the abbey.”
“How dreadful!”
“It is, rather. We do not even know what the abbey looked like. Only rubble was left after the raiders left, and eventually that was used for other structures, until the foundation was the only thing left. It now makes up Blanchard’s village square. But Blanchard was not yet done with the Scots or their legends.” Adrian had to admit he was rather enjoying this discussion. He tossed the pillow playfully back at Venetia. She ducked with a giggle.
“More Scots? Pray, tell me.”
“Blanchard was the home, at least for a time, of General Benjamin Forster, who led an unsuccessful Jacobite uprising in 1715. He escaped after he was captured at Preston, and he hid in Blanchard in a priest hole behind the fireplace in his home. The hole is still there today. And some say that Forster’s sister, Dorothy, haunts the area around the fireplace.”
“A ghost?”
“Yes. She is said to appear to visitors, asking them to take a message to Benjamin, who fled to France.”
“What message?”
“I don’t believe anyone knows. I believe most who have seen her simply run away before she can elaborate.”
Venetia laughed. “I suppose I would run away too. One never knows what a ghost intends. Some can be pleasant, others quite frightening.”
Adrian leaned forward and propped his arms on his knees. “You’ve seen a ghost?”
“Oh yes. At our old country house in the Lake District. We lived in Wetheral, in Cumbria.”
“You don’t live there any longer?”
Her happiness began to melt away. “No, we don’t. My father, the late Earl of Latham, passed away last year. My cousin is now Lord Latham, and he sold our country estate, Latham House. We were forced to live with him in our London townhouse.”
“Why? Were you in need of money?” He realized too late that the question was inappropriate. “I’m sorry, please do not answer that.”
“No, I don’t mind,” she assured him. “I have no need of money, but my cousin is . . . well, Gran calls him a wastrel. He prefers games of chance to other pastimes and came into the earldom with a large number of debts. The sale of the Latham country house paid them off, and he lined his pockets very well, but . . .” Her tone softened as her voice trailed off.
“But it cost you your home.”
She sighed and wiped the sadness from her expression with false cheeriness. “That house had a fair number of ghosts, like the shrieking bride.”
“The shrieking bride?” Adrian chuckled.
“Oh yes. And she did shriek too. She would chase you down the long picture gallery, wailing something dreadful, her eyes glowing red. I was very scared of her as a child. One night she chased me, and I don’t know why but I turned about and shouted at her to be quiet. She simply vanished, and I have not seen her since.”
“A sensible ghost! How thoughtful.”
This time Venetia’s answering smile was genuine, not forced. “But you distracted me. Tell me about you, please.”
“I have not lived a life worth discussing, I fear.”
“I don’t believe that. All lives hold something of interest in them.”
He glanced her way, saw her determined curiosity. He could not avoid the discussion, which only served to irritate him. “My mother was unwed, and my birth was of a scandalous nature. There, does that prove interesting enough?”
He didn’t mean for his words to come out so harshly, but they did. There was so much inside him that still churned with anger and pain at what his father had done to his mother and to him.
Venetia’s gaze was so beautiful and yet so solemn. “Your birth is not your fault, and I’m sure it isn’t that scandalous.”
Her attempt to placate him only irritated him further. How could she understand what he was trying to tell her?
“My lady, I am the bastard son of a duke who refuses to claim me. That is the definition of scandalous.”
Venetia tilted her head, studying him. He didn’t like to be the object of her scrutiny, at least not in this fashion.
“I’m deeply sorry for teasing you. I cannot imagine the anxiety that must create. Would you forgive me?”
Adrian stared at the floor, trying to burn holes in the oriental carpets. “I should not have lost my temper, my lady. It is I who should be begging forgiveness from you.”
“Not at all. You are entitled to your anger. I am the one who is sorry. Come, let us be friends again.”
He stared at the small elegant hand she offered. “I . . .”
“Please?”
He could not deny those dark eyes anything. He stood and took her hand in his, shaking it gently in new friendship. Then he remembered that he had brought food.
“I’ve completely forgotten your lunch.” He nodded toward the tray when Venetia did not release his hand immediately. He pulled away from her, slowly, their fingertips lingering together.
“I suppose I am a little hungry. Will you join me?” She sat up in bed as he brought the tray to her and laid it down on the blue satin counterpane.
“I shouldn’t, my lady.”
“Venetia, please. I must insist.”
“Venetia.” Adrian caressed her name as he spoke it.
“See? That wasn’t hard, was it?” she teased him again. “Now, eat, please, or I will feel rude. If my grandmother wishes for you to be a companion and not a servant, then I will treat you as a companion, which means you will eat with me.”
Seeing as he could not argue, Adrian stole one of the smaller plates from the tray and took a bit of food for himself.
“I am trying to find something terribly embarrassing to tell you about me, something that would put us on even ground.” Venetia bit into a strawberry as she said this, and Adrian was drawn to the sight of her luscious lips.
“You do not need to put us on even ground. It was my mistake to burden you with the nature of my birth.”
“I have it!” she exclaimed, her eyes alight with mischief. “My dreadful secret is that I am four and twenty and have yet to be kissed.”
Adrian nearly dropped his plate onto the floor.
“Dreadful, isn’t it? My first two seasons were quite disappointing. My father had so convinced me that dancing, balls, and all the things other girls dream of weren’t important. He wanted me to be educated, to be focused on understanding our country estate, the wealth he’d invested and how best to manage it. After that, balls seemed so silly. My father allowed me to attend only a handful of dances, where the ladies always outnumbered the men. It was rather distressing to wait forever to be asked onto the floor by a gentleman. And since I am not the prettiest of the ladies, I was overlooked when it came to amorous adventures.”
“You’re teasing,” Adrian said. “You must’ve had at least a dozen men mad for you and at least a dozen kisses stolen.”
She chuckled at his expression, which he knew must have looked quite stunned.
“It’s true! I swear it. By my third season, well, I’m sure you know how much a man makes of a woman who is firmly on the shelf. I was entirely uninteresting by then, even to the fortune hunters. My father appeared to be in good health, and before his death my dowry was considerable, though not overly attractive. Now I have inherited most of his money, and my wretched cousin Patrick inherited only the title. He thinks he can marry me off to some awful man of his choosing who will give him part of my inheritance.”
Adrian stared at her. “That is why your grandmother wishes you married?”
“Yes, exactly. But I want to choose who I marry. Not be forced into it by my scheming cousin or my well-meaning grandmother. Yet I am running short on time.” She sighed and pushed away her tray on the bed. “I simply don’t know the first thing about men.” She was quiet a long moment, and then her gaze slid to him, a gleam in her dark eyes. “Adrian, would you teach me?”
“Teach you?”
“Yes. Teach me about men.”
For the second time in her presence, Adrian choked and had to retrieve a cup of tea, only to trip and fall to the floor.
“I need to know about men. Their habits, their desires, courtship, attraction—even about kisses.”
5
Venetia’s heart raced as she watched the dashing footman recover himself. She thought she had nearly killed him as he choked and tripped trying to reach the tea tray nearby. She giggled as he regained his control. She hadn’t meant to catch him off guard like that.
“Well? Will you teach me? I am sure I can compensate you in some way . . . If you would tell me what you might wish for. Consider yourself a tutor, and I your willing pupil.”
Adrian now stood by the window, leaning against the frame, arms crossed, his gaze turned upon the gardens below. The silence between them was heavy, and Venetia turned her focus to the lean, trim lines of his body, which looked so dashing in the black-and-gold livery. He inspired such a dangerous longing within her for things she’d never felt before.
“Even if I wished to accept such an offer, it is out of the question. I would lose my position here for fraternizing with one of the guests.” She swore she heard regret in his voice, as though he wished he could tutor her and that only their social standing prevented it.
Venetia had expected that response, but she hadn’t expected to feel so disappointed by it. Although that hardly seemed a strong enough word for what she felt.
“Adrian, no one would know. You see how easily I sent Phoebe away. There is no one here to witness anything we speak of or do.”
He faced her then, a wild look in his amber eyes as he stalked toward the bed. He braced one hand above her head on the headboard and leaned down.
“What you ask of me is dangerous. I am a passionate man, a man who enjoys the company of women, and if you let me have a single kiss, I’ll want more. Neither of us can allow that.”
Venetia swallowed, her eyes wide as she stared at that sensual mouth of his, which was still handsome even when turned down in a fierce scowl.
“Please, I can trust no one else with this. But I trust you.”
“How can you trust me? You do not know me,” he growled. “What if I was some wild libertine?”
“Are you?”
“No, but . . . bloody hell, woman.” He leaned down with his free hand and cupped her chin. In a blinding flash, his mouth covered hers. Venetia whimpered at the hot touch of his lips against hers. She parted her lips in a gasp, and his tongue slid into her mouth. A bolt of heat shot through her, and the excitement she felt was almost unbearable. Never in her life had she felt like this. Never. It was frightening and exciting and confusing.
Adrian groaned as his hand moved from her chin to cradle the back of her head. She reached up to catch his cravat and curled her fingers in the cloth. The need to touch him, to be closer in any way she could, was overpowering. His mouth was as ravenous as hers. These wild new sensations caused by that single kiss left her reeling and dizzy. If she hadn’t had hold of his neckcloth, she might have swayed.
His taste was delicious, with a hint of fruit and tea, and the feel of his tongue playing with her own was erotic in a way she never could have imagined. Venetia tried to wrestle her body free of the blankets to better touch him, to better press herself against him, but her ankle twinged and she pulled back from him to gasp in pain.
Their faces were still close, their breaths hard and eyes half-closed. Adrian’s hand was still tangled in her hair, and he gently massaged her scalp while she held his neckcloth. For a minute they simply stared into each other’s eyes, both undone by that kiss.
Venetia didn’t want to break the spell of that moment, but like all good things, it was certain to end. Adrian straightened and released her, his fingers threading through the strands of her hair as he pulled them free.
“I . . .” Again he was speechless, and this time so was she. Her first kiss. What a wonderous thing it had turned out to be.
“I’m very sorry,” Adrian finally said. “I shouldn’t have—”
“I wanted you to, and I thank you for it.” She needed him to understand the gift he had given her. That kiss had been one born of desire and not out of an intent to court her for her money. It had been a true kiss, and no matter what happened later, who she married and settled upon, this kiss would always be special. She vowed to tuck this moment away in her heart and cherish it.
Adrian paced along the foot of her bed and scowled as he dragged his fingers through his hair. “I should not have done that.”
“Did you not enjoy it?” Venetia asked, trying not to sound worried.
“Of course I did. That isn’t the point. You are a lady, and I am . . . no one.” He turned to face her. “I will speak to Lady Devon. This arrangement will not work.” H
e started toward the door, but Venetia threw back the covers and tried to get out of bed. In her desperation to stop him, she forgot her ankle. The moment she put weight on it, she cried out and fell.
Adrian was there, catching her in his arms. She could feel the strength of his body as he held her, and it sent a thrill through her.
“I swear, before I met you, I was not so clumsy or so foolish,” Venetia said as she leaned gratefully against him.
A deep, amused chuckle rumbled through his chest, vibrating against her in a most wonderful way. “I don’t normally choke, but it seems you deprive me of air.”
She laughed and then let out a weary sigh.
“Tired?” he asked.
The gentle tone was back in his voice, one of concern and compassion. She wasn’t used to it—not from a man, at any rate.
“A little. You must think me very frail and delicate, but I swear to you I am a much hardier creature.”
“You’ve suffered an injury, and you were out for a long walk in the cold rain. That would make anyone tired.”
He lifted her up and placed her back on the bed. She caught his hand and held on to him before he could pull away.
“Please, do not speak to Lady Devon. You have been so wonderful, and I do wish to have you as a companion. If I promise not to ask for any more kisses, will you stay?”
Adrian looked at her for a long moment, and she could not read his expression.
“No more kisses. I can’t afford to lose my position. Due to my birth and my age, it would be difficult to find work elsewhere.”
“I understand.” And Venetia did. The last thing she wanted was for him to risk his livelihood to satisfy her curiosity, but she couldn’t get his kiss out of her mind, how it had made her feel so alive.
“Why don’t you sleep? I need to report downstairs and attend to some tasks. I will return in a few hours.”
“Thank you, Adrian.”
She released his hand, and he bowed as he exited the room. Venetia was tired, but as she lay back in bed and closed her eyes, she could only think about that magnificent kiss.
Tempting the Footman: The House of Devon Book 5 Page 5
