“Just watch for that old dragon, Lady Latham,” Sherman’s friend warned in jest as he knocked back the rest of his whiskey. “She would have no qualms about walloping you over the head with that cane of hers if she thought you were being too forward.” The gentlemen all chuckled at that.
The conversation soon turned to gambling, hunting, and other sports of leisure that Adrian had never had the means to indulge in. He saw that none of the men needed a second drink, so he hastily left. It was time to speak to Mr. Reeves about dinner. It would no doubt be an unpleasant discussion, but he would do anything for Lady Venetia now.
* * *
Venetia found herself strangely nervous as Phoebe finished styling her hair. She had changed for dinner, even though she was not going down with the other guests. She wore a deep-plum purple gown with a silver sash. Her hair was gathered in loose waves, and a ribbon had been threaded through her gold locks in a Grecian fashion.
“Would you say I look . . . attractive?” she asked the maid.
Phoebe arched a suspicious brow. “You have never asked me that before.”
“Well, do I?”
“You look lovely, as always, my lady.”
Venetia relaxed at her maid’s sincere tone. “It is silly to be nervous, isn’t it?”
“For dinner with a footman? I should certainly say so. He is the one who should be nervous.”
“Oh hush.” Venetia laughed at her maid’s dour, disapproving tut-tut as she touched up a few stray curls.
“You look fit for the prince himself. If that footman knows what’s good for him, he’ll be stunned, my lady.”
Venetia gazed at herself in the looking glass and for the first time did feel truly stunning.
“Do you wish me to help you to the upstairs library?”
“Oh, yes, please. I told Adrian I would meet him there. He still has so much to do.”
Phoebe gently helped her stand, and Venetia took a few cautious steps on her still-tender foot. She was feeling much better but didn’t want Adrian to know that. Her grandmother might force her back into the midst of the party, and she didn’t want that, not when she could spend more time with him.
They walked to the upstairs library. Venetia’s heart skipped a beat when she spied Adrian’s form standing by the reading table. His head rose at the rustle of her dress, and he was soon at her side, bowing as he offered her his arm. Venetia saw the stern look that Phoebe gave to Adrian before she reluctantly set Venetia free.
A great sense of peace settled on Venetia as he gently pulled her toward the reading table. Phoebe receded to the background; it was now just the two of them in the library.
“Tell me the truth. Was Mr. Reeves very mad at you?”
Adrian offered her a conspiratorial grin. “Mad enough. Lady Devon said I should do whatever I needed to please you, and I reminded him of that order, so he finally had to concede.”
“Oh dear, I imagine a butler would not like that.”
Adrian grinned. “No indeed. Mr. Reeves is a fair man, but the household has its rules, and he loves his rules. But he’s been a good man to me.” Adrian’s expression darkened. “I came here half-starved, desperate, and he took me in, despite my history.”
Venetia gave his arm a squeeze. “It’s so unfair to judge a child for his birth. You would be a worthy heir to any dukedom, but I don’t think I would’ve been a decent maid. Perhaps a housekeeper,” she mused.
Adrian chuckled. “Housekeeping is a complicated position. It requires a lot of clever thinking and careful planning, as well as management of many different personalities. I have no doubt you would be excellent at it.”
Venetia sat in the chair he pulled out for her. “What is life like downstairs? I am so rarely allowed downstairs, even in my own home.”
He poured her a glass of wine and then one for himself. “It’s busy at most times. Chaotic, even. We have very little time to be still. Someone is almost always underfoot or in your way. The kitchen is always hot, but it smells wonderful most of the time. Tonight it smells like nutmeg and roasted pheasant.”
“That does sound rather lovely.” Venetia sipped her wine. “Do you sleep upstairs or down?”
“Footmen sleep in the basement of the house, my lady. I share a room with another footman, Benjamin.”
Venetia asked a dozen more questions about Adrian’s life before she came back to the question that mattered most to her.
“Will you tell me about your mother?”
Adrian stared into the depths of his wine goblet, deep in thought.
“She was kind and beautiful. She was a country squire’s daughter who became a governess when her family fell on hard times. She was hired by the Duke of Stratford to see to his two children.”
“Your half sister and half brother, Viscount Bainbridge and Lady Mowbray?”
He paused a moment. “Yes. Their mother died a year after my mother came to work there. My mother said the duke was brokenhearted. He had been devoted to his duchess, but after her death he sought comfort in my mother’s bed. When she learned she was with child, he sent her north. He gave us money every month, but I gained employment at sixteen to support her should the duke stop sending money. It was better that I should be able to support us both, but I only ever managed odd jobs or occasional work in a tavern. There were plenty of apprenticeships, but they wish for boys to start young, around thirteen, and those contracts bind you to your master in indentured servitude. I couldn’t do that.”
Venetia wanted to touch Adrian, to ease some of his pain, but she dared not show such compassion lest he mistake it for pity. Men had their pride, and she would not wound his.
“Your mother sounds wonderful.”
“She was. She taught the local schoolchildren for eighteen years. She improved the lives of so many there.” His smile was impossibly soft and sad all at once. It was clear that he had loved her deeply, but even the good memories brought him pain. “Even the local gentry sent their children to her. I sometimes think that, had she been a man, she would have been destined for something wonderful, a career as an engineer or an architect. Fate is cruel to brilliant women.”
Venetia set her fork down as she looked at him. “You believe that women are capable of brilliance?”
“Capable? Certainly. If working downstairs has taught me anything, it’s that women are just as strong, just as clever and hardworking, if not more so, than many men.”
For a moment Venetia held her breath, suddenly unsure of herself.
“Adrian . . . if you were to marry, would you have an equal marriage?”
“An equal marriage?” Those amber eyes of his warmed her all over as she became the sole focus of his attention. “How do you mean?”
“How would you treat your wife?”
“With love and compassion, of course. But I expect you mean something more.”
“What of matters of the home? Of finance or career?”
“She would certainly be consulted on any decision I made. I see marriage as a partnership, and for it to work well, it requires trust and communication from both parties.”
“You would not subjugate her in any way?”
Adrian’s eyes softened, and he leaned forward across the table toward her. “I’ve seen homes run that way before. It’s as if the husband and wife live separate lives and are almost unaware of each other, merely residing in the same building. That is not a marriage I would care to have.”
Venetia placed her palm in his, and he curled his fingers around hers. His thumb moved in a soothing pattern over her inner wrist, and her pulse pounded in excitement beneath that caress.
“I was raised by a strong, loving woman,” Adrian continued. “The last thing I would do is crush a woman’s spirit by not giving her the freedom she deserves. A man and wife should rely on each other, and not just for support. A marriage should be a partnership of equals.” His voice was soft and held an unsung promise of what he would give the woman he would someday call his wife. It ma
de Venetia’s heart ache that she would not be that woman.
“That”—Venetia swallowed thickly—“is what I want in my marriage.”
“Then we shall find it for you.”
His promise created a wild stirring within her. They finished their wine and spoke of lighter subjects, with Adrian regaling her with humorous stories from downstairs. It was one of the most pleasant evenings she’d had in a long time. Adrian collected the dishes and set them on a tray, and it made her realize that in the last half hour she’d forgotten he was a footman. They had been simply two people engaging in a most absorbing discussion. Venetia got up and moved about the library, examining the towering shelves and reading the gilded titles on the spines.
Spying a collection of poems she recognized, she pulled the tome free from the shelf.
Adrian was close behind her, and the heat of his body against her back sent delicious shivers through her. She turned to face him, opening the book and holding it so that he could see only her eyes.
“Byron?” he chuckled. His lips slid into a lazy grin that made her knees weak.
“Fitting, I think,” she replied, still using the book to shield her face. Adrian’s eyes were warm with mischief as he placed one palm beside her head against the bookshelf and began to recite:
Fame, wisdom, love, and power were mine,
And health and youth possessed me;
My goblets blushed from every vine,
And lovely forms caressed me;
I sunned my heart in Beauty’s eyes,
And felt my soul grow tender;
All earth can give, or mortal prize,
Was mine of regal splendor.
“You know your Byron,” she teased. He slowly reached up and pulled the book away from her face, leaning close. She reveled in that moment when their faces almost touched, and she could see the glint of his eyes, the sensual quirk of his lips.
He stole a kiss. She moved toward him, needing to be closer. He cupped the back of her neck, his fingers holding her still as he deepened the kiss. She parted her lips eagerly for him, falling deeper into this wild, fluttering excitement that spread from her belly like a flock of butterflies taking flight.
“My God, you taste sweet,” he groaned as he trapped her against the shelf.
She moaned as he began to slide a hand underneath her skirts, but the sudden sound of voices stopped them.
They froze. Adrian’s hand still lay against her outer thigh, and her body trembled as they strained to better hear the approaching sounds. It was a pair of people, a man and a woman, who entered the library.
“This way. No one ever comes into a library.” The man chuckled, and the woman giggled in response.
“Here,” the woman said from close by. “Now, Monty, please. I need you.” The woman sounded desperate and breathless.
“Of course, Lady Percy.” Monty groaned, and there was the sound of clothing moving about, followed by another giggle from the woman.
Shocked by what they were about to hear, Venetia nearly gasped, but Adrian covered her mouth with his hand. Their eyes met, and he jerked his head toward the end of the bookcase, which had a patch of wall that was not lined with shelves. He waited to see if she understood.
She didn’t know what he intended, but she nodded. Adrian dropped his hand from her mouth and took her hand in his, pulling her toward the gap. He traced the wall, feeling for something, and then he grinned and pressed his thumb into the wall. It gave way, opening up into a dark passageway. He pulled her into the darkness with him.
Venetia didn’t speak as he closed the door behind them. They moved deeper into the tunnel, and shafts of light came through tiny pinpricks in the walls every now and then as they passed by other rooms. Venetia realized that these were tiny peepholes. Venetia and Adrian paused by one and took a moment to peer through it into a drawing room.
“Empty.” Adrian started to push against the wall, but the sound of someone entering the room made him freeze again.
“I say, who’s there?” a man demanded. He was a gray-haired gentleman, midsixties perhaps, and he carried a newspaper under his arm. He scanned the room with one eyebrow raised.
“Come out! I know you are here!”
Venetia held back a giggle, and Adrian covered her mouth again, his body pressed hard to hers in the narrow passageway. The giggle turned to a gasp as he raised her skirts. She threw her head back as his fingers explored the mass of her petticoats until he found the bare skin of her thigh above her stockings. He played with the ribbon of that stocking, and Venetia trembled with a wild, desperate hunger she had never felt before. She clutched at Adrian’s shoulders, digging her nails into him to keep him close as he moved his hand through the frothy layers of her undergarments. Then he was touching her in that secret, sensitive place between her thighs. Adrian brushed his fingers through the thatch of curls over her mound and pressed one finger into her sex. She squeaked in surprise, unable to help herself.
“There it is again!” the man in the drawing room muttered. “Bloody mice in the walls. Wait until Lord Devon hears.” The man’s mutterings softened as he ambled away from the room, but Venetia was barely aware of him. All she could do was feel Adrian exploring her body. His other hand was still over her mouth to keep her quiet as he introduced her to a pleasure so exquisite that she nearly wept from the sudden rush of a climax that swept her away like a high tide.
Her legs buckled, and she would have collapsed if Adrian hadn’t moved his hand from her mouth to hold her up. His fingers still thrust slowly in and out of her, drawing out the last little shocks of wonderment. Only then did he gently pull his hand out from under her skirts. In the dim light, she saw him slide his fingers between his lips and lick her essence clean.
She stared at him, her body quivering at his sensual wickedness.
She’d had no idea that a man could do anything like what Adrian had just done.
“You really are as wicked as Lord Byron,” was all she could whisper.
He laughed, a deep, husky sound that held a delightful wickedness to it.
“I suppose I am, but I won’t apologize. You are too tempting, my lady.”
“I wouldn’t dare ask you to, not when it was so wonderful.” She moved sideways so she could better see his eyes.
He cupped her face and gazed down at her with soft, sweet eyes. “Was that your first release?”
“Heavens, it was a release, wasn’t it? I thought for a moment I might die from it.” She leaned into him as he curled his arms around her, embracing her.
“Thank you for giving me that gift,” he whispered against her hair. There was such a reverence in his words that for a moment she felt like a goddess of old, bestowing gifts upon a mortal worshiper.
“You must be tired,” he said after a few minutes. “Let me take you back to your room so you may rest your ankle.”
Venetia wanted to protest, wanted to say she was his, but she was in fact quite tired.
“Will you come to my chamber tonight after everyone is asleep?” She needed him to be with her more than anything else.
“You wish me to?”
“Please. If you want to, that is. I don’t wish to ask anything of you that you would not give freely, or if it might get you into trouble.”
He was quiet a long moment and then nodded. “My wish is your wish. I will come to you tonight. I gladly accept the risks.”
8
Adrian was a damned scoundrel, he knew that, but he could not regret what he had done. He had only intended to give Lady Venetia a means of escape, but after that brief kiss in the library, his body had overtaken his rational thoughts.
Once he had her close to him in the dark, he could pretend he was someone worthy of her, someone who could seduce her and bring her to pleasure like any good lover would. She had come apart so beautifully, and to learn that it was her first time to feel that release? He was surely damned for enjoying that as much as he did.
After he left her, he returne
d to the library to retrieve their dinner tray. There was no sign of Monty or his lover. Adrian brought the dishes to the kitchen, and Mrs. Webster handed him a cup of tea and a few biscuits as he sat down at the servants’ table. Phillip was there, sewing a button onto a waistcoat for Lord William.
“How goes the lady watching?”
“Well enough. She is easy to please.”
“Is she?” Phillip asked in a polite tone, but his eyes suggested something more mischievous in the question, given that Adrian’s own words had foolishly opened the door for such a line of inquiry. He hadn’t meant that she was easy to pleasure, but simply that she was easy to be around, easy to get along with.
“Yes,” Adrian answered curtly, letting the other man know to be careful what he said. The rooms had ears, especially downstairs.
“Well, Mr. Reeves handled everything tonight at dinner with Benjamin and Edward.” Edward was one of the younger footmen, only recently hired. He was only seventeen, but he was a hard worker.
“Glad to hear the boy did well.”
“He did. Mr. Reeves puffed up with pride.”
Adrian laughed at this. The butler was always proud when Hartland’s servants made a good show performing their duties.
The two of them were quiet for a long moment before Phillip spoke again.
“Adrian, you will be careful, won’t you?”
“I will.”
“Good,” Phillip said with a sigh. “Because Hartland wouldn’t be the same without you.”
Adrian hadn’t considered that. “It’s nice to know I would be missed.”
“You would, so don’t let your heart run away with you,” Phillip warned. “It wouldn’t be fair to her, or you.”
“Right, well, I’m off to bed.” Adrian left his friend alone and headed to his small shared bedroom. The room was dark when he entered. Benjamin stirred from under his sheets.
Tempting the Footman: The House of Devon Book 5 Page 8
