“We must be quick, and do not muss my hair.” She sat on the edge of the bed and started to lift her skirts.
“Madam, please—” Adrian nearly reached out to pull her skirts back down, but he had tried that once before with another woman, and it had made it nearly impossible to pry the lusty creature off him. It was wiser to keep his distance.
“Don’t be silly. Come over here now,” she commanded.
Adrian held back a retort that he was not some stud put in a paddock to breed. To her, he was.
“I apologize, but I cannot. Lady Devon does not allow guests and staff to—”
“She would rather have her guests needs satisfied. Isn’t that correct?” Mrs. Hamill began to unfasten the buttons on the front of her gown. This was going to end badly, but he had to extricate himself.
“I’m happy to attend to any needs other than the ones your husband alone should see to.”
The woman hissed like an angry cat. She grabbed a silver-handled hairbrush off a table and hurled it at him. He ducked as it collided against the wall, and he nearly broke the key as he violently twisted it in the lock to get free. He stumbled into the corridor and slammed the door shut behind him, then took off running. He had to put as much distance between him and Mrs. Hamill as possible. Adrian skidded to a stop at the top of the servants’ stairs and leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes as he regained his breath.
“Adrian?” Mr. Reeves’s tone held a note of suspicion.
Christ, he thought. Never one bloody moment alone in this life.
He opened his eyes and faced the butler. “Sir?”
“Shouldn’t you be in the picture gallery with Benjamin?”
“I was called away to assist Mrs. Hamill with an errand.” Adrian wanted to tell Mr. Reeves about Mrs. Hamill, but he feared that it would only make matters worse because Mr. Reeves would actually believe him, and having to meet with Lady Devon to tell her about a guest’s attempt at seduction would be an uncomfortable discussion. They’d had to deal with this before. It wasn’t something Adrian liked, and he and Mr. Reeves usually kept the matter between the two of them when they felt they could.
“I believe Benjamin has it handled for now. Is there anything I can do here, Mr. Reeves?” He nodded down the stairs toward the kitchens.
“You may help prepare the dining room for the ladies’ luncheon,” Mr. Reeves said.
With an air of relief, Adrian retreated to the kitchens, where the aroma of roasted duck in orange marmalade welcomed him. He tried to push away thoughts of Mrs. Hamill and how she would no doubt seek out some kind of revenge. The question was, how and when would she strike?
* * *
Venetia watched the door of the long picture gallery, waiting for Mrs. Hamill and Adrian to return. Mrs. Hamill returned almost at once, but Adrian did not. Venetia tried to read the woman’s expression. Mrs. Hamill was a pretty woman, auburn-haired with pale-blue eyes, but she wasn’t the nicest of women. She was prone to gossip, at least according to Venetia’s grandmother. Just then, Mrs. Hamill’s lips were pinched into a tight pout, and her eyes grew hard as they swept the room. Venetia focused on the paintings, staying close to her grandmother and Lady Devon.
“What the devil is this one wearing?” Gwen pointed her cane at a portrait of a man from the 1620s. He wore breeches that stopped just above his knees and an ornate red velvet doublet. The breeches puffed out around his rather slender legs in a decidedly comical fashion.
“That is Sir Poncenby’s ancestor. I can’t recall his name. I have no idea why we even have this portrait, to be honest.”
“I mean, what is he on about with those ridiculous pants?” her grandmother asked. “Does he have pillows puffed inside there to protect his bony posterior when he sits down?”
Venetia stifled a giggle.
“I suppose the fashion was to appear like he was a Christmas turkey with two meaty thighs and bony little shins,” Gwen mused.
Lady Devon bit her lip to hide a smile. “The Poncenbys have always been most interested in the latest fashion trends, even ill-advised ones.”
“My dear,” Gwen said to Lady Devon, “I would suggest packing that painting up at once and sending it back to Sir Poncenby. I feel that no matter where I stand”—Gwen moved back and forth, still looking at the painting—“those puffy breeches quite follow me about.”
Lady Devon shared a twinkling gaze with Venetia. “I’ll speak to my husband about the matter when he returns from the hunt.”
Mrs. Hamill moved away from the main group of ladies to speak to Mrs. Leslie, her friend. The two tucked themselves into a corner and spoke in hushed tones. Venetia, being nearest to them, could make out parts of their conversation.
“Well?” Mrs. Leslie asked.
“He wouldn’t. I insisted, but—he left me.” Mrs. Hamill scowled at this.
“He refused you?”
“Yes.”
The two ladies lowered their voices more, but Venetia was positive she knew what had happened. Mrs. Hamill had propositioned Adrian, and he had refused her. A dozen emotions fluttered inside Venetia—worry, anger, and frustration being the strongest. The thought of that woman—any other woman—kissing Adrian made her stomach upset.
She had no right to feel so possessive of him, but she did, and she despised herself for it. Was she any different from Mrs. Hamill? No, she wasn’t. She was a selfish creature who had made Adrian come to her bed at great risk to his employment. She’d been so blinded by her newfound passions that she hadn’t thought clearly about how he would feel about it, but that was no excuse. She had taken advantage of him through her position as a lady, and upon reflection it was wrong—terribly wrong.
Lady Devon announced lunch, and the women all left the picture gallery. Her grandmother fell in step beside her.
“What’s the matter, my dear? You’ve gone quite pale. Is your ankle paining you?”
“It is,” she admitted, but in truth the swelling had gone down quite a bit. It wasn’t sharply painful like it had been. She was more troubled by a dull ache than anything else.
“Well, it will be good for you to sit and rest then,” Gwen said as they entered the dining hall.
Venetia nearly stumbled when she saw Adrian setting up trays of food on the sideboard table. Shame curled around her heart and gripped it so tightly that she struggled to breathe. He looked so perfect in his gold-and-black livery, his dark hair falling across his eyes as he settled the tray into place. When he finished, he moved discreetly out of the way and settled into his post in the corner. He didn’t look her way, yet she had the sense that he was aware of her, and that only made her guilt worse.
“Gran, I’m afraid I’m not feeling well. I think I shall lie down.”
“You would feel better if you ate,” Gwen said. “Ladies shouldn’t be afraid to eat. There would be a lot less of those silly fainting spells if they did.”
“I believe tight corsets play a part in that as well, Gran.”
“Don’t get me started on those. Ridiculous contraptions, wildly overused. You should have yours loosened immediately if you feel it might be to blame.”
Venetia kissed her grandmother’s cheek and made her excuses to Lady Devon before slipping out of the room. By the time she had reached the stairs, silly, childish tears coated her cheeks. She had been such a fool and an inconsiderate woman. She wouldn’t summon Adrian again, no matter how much the thought broke her heart.
* * *
Gwen lightly tapped her cane as she waited in the small line to collect her lunch, but her mind was far from food. Something was wrong with Venetia, and it was not her ankle. She’d been fine until . . . Well, until Mrs. Hamill had left the room with the dashing footman who’d been tending to Venetia. Was it simple jealousy? Her granddaughter was not usually prone to such things. But it was easy to see how one could be jealous over a fine young man like Adrian.
She prepared her plate and moved to the table. Adrian stepped up to pull her seat out for her,
and she crooked a finger at him so that he leaned down to her level.
“Could you see to Lady Venetia? She is ill, and I am most worried.”
A spark of concern lit Adrian’s eyes. He nodded and left immediately. When Gwen turned back to the table, she saw Mrs. Hamill watching her with a calculating gleam in her stare. Gwen stared back sternly. Mrs. Hamill flinched, and Gwen raised her chin in victory. There was no man or woman who hadn’t backed down when Gwen set that stare on them.
“Now, Lady Devon, when can we expect the rest of our party back from all that hunting nonsense?”
* * *
Adrian knocked on Venetia’s door. There was a moment of silence before she answered.
“Who is it?”
“Adrian, your ladyship. Lady Latham sent me to see if you are all right.”
The long silence that followed filled him with dread. He hadn’t liked how pale Venetia had been in the dining room, and he’d never been more relieved to receive Lady Latham’s orders to go and check on her.
“Please go away. I am quite fine.” Her voice was stilted, unnatural, which made his concern only deepen. Taking the risk of upsetting her, he opened the door.
Venetia sat in a chair by the unlit fireplace, wiping tears from her eyes. When he closed the door, she glanced up at him and then burst into tears again. Adrian rushed to her side and knelt by the chair, taking her hands in his.
“What’s the matter?”
She shook her head and refused to meet his eyes.
“Please, my love, tell me,” he begged. “You are destroying me with your tears.” He wiped at her eyes with his fingertips.
“I can’t,” she whispered.
“Are you in pain? Should I send for the doctor?”
She shook her head frantically. “No, no, it isn’t that.”
Adrian was overstepping his bounds, but he couldn’t bear to see her suffer. He lifted her up from the chair and took her place, then pulled her onto his lap so he could hold her in his arms. She was trembling.
“Venetia, tell me what’s wrong.”
She placed a hand on his chest. Her fingers splayed over the gold-and-black striped waistcoat of his uniform. Her breath hitched. “You must despise me—that’s all I can think.”
“What? Why would I?”
Tears clung to her thick dark-gold lashes. “I am no better than Mrs. Hamill,” she sniffled. “I ordered you to my bed and put your employment at risk.”
Comprehension dawned on him. He couldn’t help but smile, and when she noticed, her brow wrinkled in confusion.
“My lady.” His voice softened as warm emotions burrowed deep inside him. “You and Mrs. Hamill are not the same, certainly not to me. She tried to order me to bed her, but I refused, and I fear she’s quite furious with me. But that has nothing to do with you. What lies between us . . .” He paused, tongue-tied by this beautiful, compassionate woman. “What we have is special. I have never done this with any other houseguest. And I have never felt this way about any woman. I am willing—more than willing—to do anything with you, anything for you. Do you understand?”
Venetia was slow to nod, but her brown eyes, such a lovely rich color, were wide and a little stunned. That was good. It meant she finally understood the depth of his devotion.
“Are we mad, Adrian? To feel so deeply after only a few days?”
“If we are, then I shall seek no treatment for such madness.” He brushed his thumb along the delicate line of her jaw and down to her lips. Touching her was such a pleasure, he still couldn’t believe it. He wished he never had to stop.
“Now dry your eyes, love. You must return to the luncheon so that your grandmother does not worry anymore.”
“And you? What will you do?”
“I will resume my duties and avoid Mrs. Hamill and her hairbrushes.”
“Hairbrushes?” Venetia asked as she played with the folds of his neckcloth.
“She threw a hairbrush at my head when I refused her.”
“Oh heavens.” Venetia did not wish to laugh at Adrian’s plight, but she did, and soon her eyes were bright with joy again.
“I shall come to you tonight if you wish, and you can regale me with all the gossip I don’t hear while on duty.”
“And I promise not to throw any hairbrushes at you.” Venetia leaned in and kissed him.
He claimed her lips in return, wanting so much to carry her to bed, but he couldn’t be gone much longer. He was falling in love with this woman, and it was indeed like falling. He was out of control, and his heart was so full of her that he didn’t care what happened when he hit the ground. She was worth everything.
10
The rest of the week was uneventful. He had no more unwanted encounters with Mrs. Hamill, and he spent so much time in bliss with Venetia. Adrian could scarcely believe how easy it was to be with her, to be himself and not carry any shame of his past with him because she knew the truth and didn’t care. Although Mr. Sherman continued to pay court to Venetia during the day, Adrian was able to witness that she had no real interest in the man aside from his friendship. It was a small thing, but it gave Adrian hope, hope for what he was too afraid to voice aloud.
Whenever he had a spare moment, he sought her out, under the guise of bringing her tea or running an errand for her. It gave him a dozen small moments to touch her, to secretly kiss her, to whisper questions about her life and she of his. It hadn’t been easy to tell her so much about himself—he wasn’t used to sharing his life with anyone—but she never judged him or looked down upon him, as many people in her position often did.
Venetia had a brilliant mind for politics and economics, and her voracious love of reading was something that he shared. She was also playful, teasing him so much during a game of cards that he lost his focus and they both dissolved into laughter. In these moments, he forgot that he was a man from belowstairs rather than her equal, a gentleman.
And he had seen in the last few days how she had blossomed under his attentions. Her shyness had faded away, and he could see the humorous and clever woman her grandmother so clearly adored.
Adrian joined Venetia in bed each night, making love to her and sharing more stories of his life and she of hers until he felt he knew her better than anyone at Hartland. He also learned more of the intimidating Lady Latham and how she fiercely loved Venetia and had a soft heart beneath that fire-breathing exterior.
“Your grandmother really wants someone to thrash your cousin?”
They lay together in the predawn darkness, chuckling over what Venetia had just told him.
“Oh yes. Patrick is odious, and Gran is quite serious about someone putting him in his place.” Venetia’s tone turned more solemn. “Before we left for this party, he was positively frightening.”
A dark cloud of fury began to gather inside Adrian. “Did he hurt you?”
“Not really. He grabbed my arms and gave me a good shaking. I don’t know what he might have done to me if Gran hadn’t stepped in and used her cane like a fencing foil.” A faint smile hovered about Venetia’s lips. “After that, we knew we had to leave. I have no doubt that he has some wretched scheme to marry me off when we return.”
Adrian was quiet a long moment. He understood Venetia’s predicament. She had to marry quickly and couldn’t afford to choose her husband poorly. But the thought of a man marrying her, even a decent one like Peregrine Sherman, made Adrian’s stomach turn. For a moment he imagined himself carrying Venetia across the threshold of a small country cottage bedecked with flowers and sprawling ivy, a wedding bouquet grasped in her hands. She would be safe with him, safe in his world, far from her cousin. But that was a foolish dream that he couldn’t indulge in.
“I need to get up,” he sighed.
Venetia feathered kisses on his bare chest. “Perhaps you could stay another few minutes?” Venetia giggled as he rolled her beneath him. He parted her thighs and sank into her welcoming flesh, sharing a soft moan with her as he kissed her passionately. It
was so easy to love her, both with his heart and his body. He rode her slowly, enjoying the soft gasps and quickened breaths that escaped her as he claimed her. When he started to feel the rush of a climax, he tried to pull out of her.
“No, not yet.” She wrapped her legs tighter around his waist.
“But—”
“Adrian.” She spoke his name with an intensity that confused him. “Please . . .” She stroked the back of his neck, and he was lost to her plea. He continued to move within her, and she cried out so sweetly with her pleasure that the sound of it alone broke him of his restraint, and he joined her in that headlong rush of physical joy.
He collapsed upon her, breathing harshly, just barely stopping himself from crushing her as he buried his face in her neck.
The shock of what had just happened sank in. He’d released himself inside her. She could be with child soon—his child. The thought brought both agony and joy to him all at once.
“What have we done?” he whispered.
She stroked his hair, seemingly unconcerned. “Whatever comes, I have no regrets. Not with you.” She met his gaze, and he saw that she had made a decision about something, though he didn’t know what. He started to speak, but she covered his lips with hers, blanking all thoughts from his mind as he lost himself in her kiss.
“You had better go. I will see you tonight.”
She kissed him once more, and he tasted a promise there, but the meaning behind it eluded him.
He left the bed, dressed, and pressed one more quick kiss to her lips before he left the room. His keen eyes searched all the hallways, but he found no one watching. Only then did he feel safe to make the quick dash belowstairs. Once in the servants’ hall, he began his day, and he had only just finished his breakfast when Mr. Reeves came into the kitchens, grumbling.
“Bloody rain. It will keep them all indoors and in foul moods,” the butler muttered.
“It will,” Adrian agreed. “Best to have the drink carts filled and ready.”
Tempting the Footman: The House of Devon Book 5 Page 10
