Wicked Delights Of A Bridal Bed

by Tracy Anne Warren

  His heart gave a sharp squeeze since that’s exactly what he had been doing—although perhaps not deliberately. The words had just sort of rolled off his tongue with unconscious ease. But rather than admit the truth and confess to feelings he knew she wasn’t yet ready to hear, he sent her an insouciant grin.

  “Don’t be absurd,” he said, letting his eyelids slant low to conceal his expression. “I am only trying to divert your attention from this plaguing rainstorm and the disappointment of our being trapped inside today. Is it working?”

  He sensed, rather than saw, her smile. “Yes, my lord, I believe it is.”

  Having steadied his emotions, he met her gaze once again. “Good, since I was sorely put out that we were forced to cancel our usual morning ride.”

  “As was I,” she agreed in soft tones. “Our rides have become the highlight of my days lately.”

  His heart gave another heavy beat. “Mine as well.” Realizing he was rapidly sliding back into dangerous territory, he redirected the conversation. “Which is another reason why I decided to stop by your rooms this morning.”

  “Oh?” She cocked her head, the movement causing a thick length of her dark hair to slide forward over one shoulder.

  He couldn’t help but notice the way the strands curved over her breast, then lower to gather in a silky pool in her lap. He flexed his fingers again, yearning to touch.

  “I didn’t want you spending the day alone and putting in an appearance at meals only,” he said, quietly clearing his throat.

  “As you can tell, I have been far from alone this morning.”

  “Not by design though,” he pointed out, “or am I mistaken?”

  “They all quite took me by surprise, even if their companionship has turned out to be most pleasant.”

  “And after your sisters-in-law finish breakfast and depart, what were you planning to do then?” He paused, silence falling between them. “Precisely as I thought,” he continued. “You’re going to sit in your room and watch the gloomy weather.”

  “Of course I am not,” she denied.

  “Then you’re going to sit in some other room and watch the gloomy weather.”

  She made a face. “Ha-ha, very funny.”

  “It might be if it weren’t the truth. Which is why I wanted to invite you to join me in the library for a game of chess. Or cards, if you would prefer. Jack isn’t the only one in the Byron family who has an affinity for knowing when to hold a hand or toss it aside.”

  “Thank you for the compliment,” she said with a tip of her head. “And, if you’d asked me an hour ago, I would have said yes.”

  He lifted an inquiring eyebrow. “But?”

  A rueful sigh escaped her lips. “I don’t know how it happened, but they’ve cozened me into joining them all in the drawing room today. We’re to have rainy-day fun and games.”

  He couldn’t help but grin at her alarmed expression. “Maybe it won’t be so bad.”

  “Why is it I can never think of a useful excuse to escape?”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t. Maybe it’s time you started joining in again. But only for this afternoon, if it proves not to be to your liking.”

  A slight frown creased the smooth skin of her forehead.

  “And if Claire and your mother set up card tables, as I suspect they will,” he went on, “you and I can play, after all. I stake an early claim to have you as my partner.”

  Her gaze warmed. “To that I shall gladly consent.”

  “Excellent.” Grinning, he caught her hand and raised it to his lips.

  He meant to brush a quick kiss over the top, but instead turned her hand over at the last moment and buried his mouth against the satiny flesh of her palm. Instantly, he knew he’d made a mistake, his eyelids sinking down, as the honeyed scent of her skin swam like a drug in his head. Need coursed through him, an intensity of longing that was growing harder to control by the day.

  If she hadn’t still been in a fragile state, if she weren’t only just beginning to emerge from the shattering pain of her mourning, he knew he would have done far more than kiss her hand. How easy it would be to tug her across the brief space that separated them. What bliss to pull her onto his lap and kiss her until neither of them could breathe.

  She wasn’t even dressed, not really, seated here across from him in nothing more than her night rail and dressing gown. How easy it would be to tunnel his hand underneath, to reach beneath those thin skirts and explore all the delicious flesh they concealed.

  Damnation, she’s driving me mad.

  As though her palm had suddenly turned hot as a fireplace poker, he released her. Turning his head, he stared out at the storm, using the seconds to collect his senses.

  “Adam?” she questioned, clearly puzzled.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if this storm goes on into the night,” he said, his voice sounding strained even to his own ears. “Hopefully it will be over by tomorrow, and the sun will be shining again.”

  “I certainly hope it is.”

  He slid the gold chain of his watch fob between his fingers. “I suppose I ought to return you to the ladies now. They’re probably about to send out an emissary.”

  “I doubt that since they know I’m completely safe with you.”

  Safe with me, are you?

  She made him sound like one of Esme’s tame pussycats, who spent their days lounging in idle splendour on all the best chairs in the house. If she were privy to his thoughts, she wouldn’t be nearly so complaisant. Still, he supposed her virtue was in no imminent danger from him—for now anyway.

  “Nevertheless,” he remarked, “you’re in your dressing gown. What would the other guests think if they found us together?”

  Her eyes widened with sudden self-consciousness, her hands reaching up to check the buttons at her neck and smooth back her tresses. “Oh, you’re right. Only imagine the reaction if Claire’s parents happened along, especially with my hair down. I suppose I ought to have pinned it up before I came out here, but it’s just so irritatingly heavy and long. Remember how Claire cut hers two Seasons ago? Mayhap I ought to follow her example and crop it off as short as a boy’s. After all, La Marsden was all the rage at the time.”

  “No,” he choked out, making no effort to conceal his outrage.

  She stilled, her gaze locking with his. “Don’t you like cropped locks on women?”

  “No, I do not,” he said again, hard and uncompromising. “And you are never to cut your hair, do you hear me? The very idea is an affront. Swear to me you won’t.”

  “Well, I hardly think it would be all that dire—”

  “Swear, Mallory. I will have your word. Your hair is far too beautiful to ever consider cutting it.”

  She stared at him for a significant moment, then shrugged. “All right, if it means so much to you. I reserve the right, though, to trim the ends every once in a while. An occasional session with the shears makes it healthier and much easier to manage.”

  Relaxing, he shot her a smile. “An inch or two won’t hurt, I expect.” He climbed to his feet, knowing he should leave before he said or did something he regretted. “Allow me to escort you back.”

  “No need. I believe I know the way to my own bedchamber.”

  He nearly insisted, then decided to relent and bowed instead. “And so you do. I shall see you soon for whatever entertainment their Graces have in store.”

  “I cannot wait,” she replied with a sad resignation in her voice.

  He smiled. “It’s just cards, Mal. But if matters become too overwhelming, we’ll sneak off to the library for chess or to the orangery for a stroll.”

  “I may hold you to that, my lord.”

  “And I may try to make you.” Sending her another smile, he forced himself to turn and walk away.

  Mallory watched Adam stride down the hall, knowing she ought to follow his example and make her way back to her bedroom and the impromptu breakfast party still taking place inside.

  Instead,
she settled deeper against the window-seat cushions and gazed out at the steadily falling rain. As she did, she thought about her conversation with Adam, relieved to know he would be with her today, ready to lend a sturdy shoulder should she find herself in need of one.

  He’d been so good to her since his arrival, putting up with her moods and tempers and tears. But then Adam had always been good to her. He was good for her as well, forcing her to emerge from the worst of her gloom, even if his methods might offend and infuriate her at times. And as much as she loved her family—and heaven knew she did—it was Adam to whom she turned, Adam in whom she found comfort and the ability to confide.

  Perhaps it was because he was like family, and yet not family, that made her feel so at ease in his company. That and the fact that out of all her friends, he was one of the dearest. It was true that weeks, even months, might sometimes pass when she would not see him, the two of them exchanging only the occasional letter or small gift. And yet he was never far away. She had only to send word, and he would be there as fast as horses could run. She had but to ask, and he was ready to offer his aid, his counsel and his friendship.

  There were even times such as this past year when she hadn’t needed to ask him anything at all. He’d just known what she required, whether it be solitude or a little judicious nudge in the right direction. The pain of Michael’s death was still with her, hovering always in the background. Yet, since Adam had come to Braebourne, she didn’t feel quite so numb any longer. For the first time in over a year, she could actually make her mouth turn up in a smile—even if the emotion behind it wasn’t always entirely genuine.

  She supposed some might say she was leaning too much on Adam, that she was taking advantage of him when he was neither her relation nor her beau. But he didn’t seem to mind. He’d sought her out, after all. Inviting her to ride and walk with him, to sit by his side at dinner, and to have private early-morning tête-à-têtes that would have scandalized a girl in possession of more delicate sensibilities.

  She paused at the thought, her lips tingling at the memory of his brazen kiss that day on their hill, a kiss she couldn’t seem to put out of her mind.

  She’d been right, of course, that he’d done it to shock her from her emotional stupor rather than out of any true desire for her. He was a rake, after all, and knew all the best ways to seduce a woman if he chose. But obviously he didn’t choose, at least not with her, since he’d made absolutely no effort to repeat the interlude this week and more, despite any number of opportunities.

  Not that she wanted him to, because she didn’t.

  Still, he’d had the most peculiar expression on his face this morning. If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought he really did want to kiss her—that he’d been dying to do so, in point of fact.

  But she was just being absurd. Adam didn’t feel that way about her, nor she for him. How could she when her heart belonged to Michael?

  Grimacing against the sudden jab of pain, she curled a fist against her chest. As she did, she caught the sound of feminine laughter drifting from her bedchamber.

  She needed to get back, she reminded herself, needed to bathe and dress and find some way to go on with what was sure to be a very long day.

  Fixing a purposely cheerful smile on her face, she stood and marched along the corridor. Greetings rang out as she entered her room, all the women volubly happy to see her. To her surprise, another family member had joined them—her brother Jack, who was relaxing in casual splendour on the sofa, his arm curled snugly around his wife.

  “I came to find Grace and discovered a party going on instead,” he told her. “Where’s Adam, by the way? I hear the pair of you went off to talk.”

  Her brows drew tight. “We did, then he continued on his way.”

  Jack studied her for a long moment before nodding. “Do you want this last crumpet? None of these heartless wenches would let me eat it until you returned.”

  Grace gave him a nudge with her elbow. “Heartless wenches indeed.”

  He chuckled and bussed Grace on the lips despite the impropriety.

  “So, about that crumpet?” he asked Mallory.

  “It’s all yours,” she told him.

  Taking a seat, she listened to everyone talk as the last of breakfast continued.

  CHAPTER 8

  A few hours later, Mallory rose from the card table, she and Adam victorious in the game of whist they’d just finished playing. They’d been partnered against her brother, Drake, and her friend, Jessica Milbank, who’d spent her time trying to flirt with Drake rather than paying attention to which suit she ought to lay down.

  For Drake’s part, Mallory had been able to tell by the stiff set of his mouth that he’d been both exasperated by Jessica’s poor play and uncomfortable at having to fend off her undisguised advances.

  Mallory had always considered Jessica a lovely person at heart, but with her third Season now past, she was obviously growing anxious in her quest to find a husband. Though why she’d decided to throw her cap at Drake was anyone’s guess.

  All of Society, and most particularly the Byron family, knew he had no interest in taking a wife. And from what Mallory had overheard, he had little reason to change his mind given the mistress he kept in Town. Apparently, she gave him complete freedom, never complaining about his odd hours, his unpredictable, often distracted moods, or the obsessive nature of his mathematical and scientific endeavours.

  Had she asked, Mallory could have told Jessica she didn’t have a chance with Drake, especially after Jessica committed the unpardonable sin—in Drake’s eyes anyway—of admitting that she’d never heard of Sir Isaac Newton, gravity or the laws of physics.

  And she’d driven the nail even deeper when she’d laughed outright at the idea of people ever being able to harness the power of electricity for any practical purposes, such as the creation of artificial light. “Only a madman would try doing something so incredibly dangerous,” she’d stated as a bolt of lightning from the storm flashed in the sky. “And for what, when we already have candles?”

  Twin arcs of lightning had flashed in Drake’s eyes at that heresy, and for a moment Mallory thought he was going to fling down his cards and leave the table. Too much of a gentleman, though, he’d held his temper and finished the game. The instant it was over, however, he’d stalked across the room, where he stood now having a drink.

  Still oblivious, Jessica had followed.

  Adam chuckled low in his throat. “She reminds me of a puppy who doesn’t know when to quit.”

  “Hush,” Mallory scolded. “Jessica is a very nice person.”

  “Indeed she is,” he said in a far more serious tone. “I have always found Miss Milbank to be a most pleasant young lady, as well as an excellent dancer. However, she and Drake go together nearly as well as oil and water.”

  “I was thinking eggs and anchovies—a really foul combination, do you not agree?”

  He laughed, tossing back his head in a way that drew a few gazes. But his outburst was forgotten an instant later as a roar went up from a table at the other end of the drawing room. Glancing over, she saw Claire chortling as she scraped a small pile of winnings to her side of the table, Jack clearly surprised, while Edward and Quentin both looked on with amused approbation.

  “Claire must have taken a game from Jack,” Mallory said. “I think she’s one of the only people in the family who enjoys playing against him, given the fact he always wins.”

  “Not always. It would appear he has found a worthy opponent in our new duchess.” He glanced back at Mallory. “If you’ve had enough of cards for now, would you care for a beverage?”

  “A glass of lemonade would not go amiss.”

  Executing a clipped bow, he departed to procure her drink.

  Espying a sofa in the far corner of the room that offered an enticing measure of privacy, Mallory strolled that way.

  She’d just taken a seat and was straightening the skirt of her pale rose afternoon dr
ess when Lady Damson appeared, dropping down beside her.

  “At last!” Daphne declared, as she leaned over to give Mallory a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’ve been longing to visit with you for ages, but we never seem to have a chance.”

  “Hallo, Daphne. How are you today?”

  “Fat,” she said, patting her exceptionally trim stomach. “Your brother and sister-in-law serve the most delicious fare. If I’m not careful, Harold will decide I’ve grown too wide and toss me out.”

  “I rather doubt that,” Mallory said, glancing toward the innocuous, bespectacled Lord Damson, where he stood talking with Lord Edgewater and Mr Hughes. As if noticing he was under scrutiny, he turned his head and gazed over, his eyes alighting on his wife.

  Surreptitiously, he waggled his fingers at her. Daphne waggled hers back.

  “I don’t believe you have anything to worry about,” Mallory said. “He clearly dotes on you.”

  Daphne giggled. “He does, does he not? Foolish old thing. But that’s marriage for you. If only you and the major had been able to tie the knot before—” She broke off, eyes wide with distress over her remark. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to…you know…upset you.”

  Mallory drew a breath and forced a smile. “It’s quite all right. Michael is dead, and there’s no reason to gloss over the fact. And you’re right that it would have been lovely if we’d been able to marry before he died.”

  But he’d wanted to wait until he returned from the fighting before they wed. He’d wanted to beat Boney, then come home and resign his commission for good, so they could start their family. Instead, there’d been no marriage, and, as for the Little General, he was still waging war across the Continent. Why couldn’t Michael have been a little less altruistic? Why couldn’t he have put her needs first for once instead of England’s?

  Frowning over the disloyal thought, she returned her attention to Daphne.

  Reaching over, the other young woman patted the top of her hand. “You poor dear, everyone knows how deeply you’ve grieved his loss. It’s most admirable of you, but I have to say that I’m relieved to see you out and about today. Not that I blame you for not joining in more before. No, no one could blame you, no one at all.”