“Actually, it has,” Lord Howland said, inserting himself into their group. “The lady is promised to me. Is that not so, Lady Mallory?”
She met Adam’s gaze, the truth of Howland’s statement plain in her ocean-hued eyes. “Thank you for asking, but Lord Howland is right. The next dance is his.”
“So, be off with you, Gresham,” Howland said with a toothy smile. “I’ve already had to battle Faversham tonight for the lady’s favours. Don’t need you sniffing around her as well.”
“I’m not sniffing around anyone, and I’ll thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head,” Adam retorted. “There may be a great many canines in residence here at Braebourne, but Lady Mallory isn’t one of them.”
“Well, of course, she ain’t,” Howland blustered. “Never meant to imply such a thing. Lady Mallory, surely you don’t think that I would ever—”
“No, I know you would not,” she said, her eyes glinting as she shot Adam a look.
He gazed back, refusing to glance away. Crowding out the other men, including Howland, who was still sputtering over his remark, Adam stepped close to her. “I shall return once the next dance is done,” he murmured into her ear. “So don’t make any further promises to anyone but me.”
Her lips parted, surprise plain on her face.
Adam turned, Howland still mouthing assurances about Mallory’s beauty, grace and style. Cousin Wilhelmina began playing the next song soon after as couples paired up once again for the dance.
Rather than seek out a new partner, Adam went to the far side of the room. Taking up a spot with a good view of the dancing, he leaned his shoulder against the carved marble surround of the room’s massive fireplace. He couldn’t help but smile when he noticed Henry, and one of the other dogs—Handel, he thought—sleeping nearby on a comfortable bit of rug.
Quietly patient, Adam waited. As he did, Howland botched a step that made Mallory leap back to save her toes. Her gaze found Adam’s, and she hid a rueful grin before continuing the dance.
Finally, the tune ended, the dancers drawing to a halt once more. Straightening away from the mantel, Adam sauntered toward Mallory.
“Howland,” he said. “I believe it’s your turn now to go away. So, shoo.”
Howland ruffled up but offered no further challenge. Making Mallory a gracious bow, he turned his back on Adam and left the makeshift dance floor.
“I don’t think Lord Howland is terribly pleased with you at the moment,” Mallory said. “And here I thought the two of you were friends. Don’t you socialize with him at your club?”
“Quite frequently. Which is why I know he’ll bluster and glare at me for a day or two, then, like this weather we’re having, his mood will clear and all will be well again.”
She shook her head. “Men. I shall never understand the species even if I do have six brothers.”
“Men are easy to fathom. It’s women who are the true mystery.” Pausing, he cocked his head to one side. “But listen, if I am not mistaken, your cousin is practicing the opening strains to a waltz.”
“That’s not likely, considering she thinks the waltz is a scheme being perpetrated by the French in order to erode the moral fibre of the English population.”
Adam smiled. “Someone must have talked her into loosening her strictures.”
He watched as Mallory glanced toward her brother Leo, who was grinning like Lucifer himself, as he whispered something into Ella Marsden’s ear. The girl’s cheeks fired up, as if she’d been shoved into a kiln before a giggle flowed from her lips.
Mallory rolled her eyes heavenward. “Yes, let’s guess who.”
Before they had a chance to discuss the matter further, Cousin Wilhelmina played an opening flourish that signalled the beginning of a new set.
Taking Mallory into his arms, Adam swept her into the dance.
To his intense gratification, her cousin was indeed playing a waltz, which afforded him the opportunity to hold Mallory far closer than he would have been able to do otherwise. That’s why the new dance, which had only recently been imported from France, was causing such a stir. Pulling her another inch closer, he whirled her in a tight circle that drew an exhilarated gasp from her lips.
“Delightful, is it not?” he said.
She nodded and followed his lead, her skirts billowing outward in a coppery swirl, her aquamarine eyes alive with undisguised pleasure.
Adam guided her into one graceful turn after the next as they moved across the floor amid the rest of the dancers. But he was barely aware of the others, all his thoughts, all his emotions focused on the beautiful, wonderful woman in his arms.
Gazing again into her eyes, he saw a happiness rising on Mallory’s countenance that he hadn’t glimpsed in such a very long time. She might think she could no longer enjoy herself, but with each new day she came a step closer to breaking free of the sorrow that had imprisoned her for so many dark months. She might still grieve in the days and weeks to come, but she would find happiness as well.
Wanting to give her that happiness and more, he spun her faster, guiding her into a series of quick, thrilling turns that made his pulse beat faster. And suddenly she smiled, laughter bursting from her throat with a sound of carefree abandon that made his own heart sing.
The old Mallory was back. Now, he only had to find the means to keep her here.
CHAPTER 9
Mallory was still humming the melody of the waltz under her breath as she crawled between the cool linen sheets on her bed. A single candle burned in a holder on her bedside table, Penny having snuffed out the rest before departing for the evening. Plumping the pillows, Mallory settled back against the feathery mounds, the mattress enveloping her in a pleasant softness as she sank backward. Curled in the shadows at the foot of the bed lay Charlemagne, the black cat regarding her through observant green eyes.
“It was lovely tonight,” she murmured to the animal. “I would never have dreamed a dance could be so intoxicating.”
Her first waltz.
No wonder it was all the rage among the most daring of the fashionable set. No wonder as well how scandalous many found it, especially the older generation, who believed there was entirely too much indiscreet touching involved. That was why she was glad Adam had been her partner. She would have been self-conscious with someone else. But with Adam, she’d been able to relax, confident and secure in his embrace.
Closing her eyes, she let herself remember, reliving the sensation of whirling across the floor held in his powerful arms. In those few brief moments, she’d felt as though she were flying, her feet quick and light enough to skip across the clouds.
Heavenly.
Charlemagne inched closer, curling himself tight against her ankles where he lay atop the thin summer coverlet. His gentle purrs drifted to her ears, lulling her to sleep. Still dreaming of waltzing in Adam’s embrace, slumber carried her away…
She spun in a dizzying circle, the air sweet in her lungs, the grass soft beneath her slippered feet. Adam was whirling her, leading her to the strains of the most beautiful music. He murmured in her ear, his warm breath sending a shiver over her skin as he said something that made her laugh.
It felt good to laugh. So good. So right. And yet it shouldn’t, though she couldn’t precisely remember why.
The music played on, growing louder with deep bass notes that were jarring rather than harmonious. They pounded, the earth trembling beneath her feet. An acrid scent burned the lining of her nostrils, as an odd, warm wetness seeped into the satin of her dancing slippers. The shoes were white and pretty like her gown, but suddenly she wasn’t on a dance floor anymore.
Opening her eyes, she stared and found not white, but red, her shoes drenched in sticky scarlet. And rather than new spring grass, she stood in a rough field, the earth torn asunder in deep troughs and gouges. And everywhere there were bodies, so many bodies, draped in red wool and awash with blood the colour of claret wine. Moans rose up around her, mixing with the rumble of cannon fi
re.
Mallory.
Somehow, she heard her name from amid the chaos, smoke obscuring her vision as she hurried forward.
Mallory.
I’m coming, she called, though she didn’t know to whom she spoke, only that she had to find him and soon.
Hands reached out to her as she walked, plucking at her skirts, begging for her aid, her comfort. But she couldn’t stop, she had to find him now, before it was too late.
Mallory.
She rushed faster, searching every crumpled body, peering at every devastated face. Her dress turned red as she went, her hands stained with blood that she couldn’t seem to wipe away no matter how hard she tried.
And then, finally, he was there, slumped in the mud with his back half-turned toward the sky, his uniform ripped and blackened. She ran to him, tears of joy streaming over her cheeks as she sank to her knees at his side.
He was here, he was hers and she had found him.
Shaking him, she waited for him to wake, to call her name one more time. Without thought, she reached out and pulled him onto his back so he would see it was she.
Michael, she said, meeting his beautiful grey eyes.
Only then did she notice how they stared in a way that no longer saw. Only in that moment did her gaze move lower and stop, widening in shock at the bloody hole that once had been his chest. Horror rolled through her, burning her throat as she screamed and screamed and screamed.
On a shuddering gasp, Mallory sat bolt upright in bed, her heart thundering like the booming cannons that had been in her dream. Clammy sweat beaded her forehead, her skin flushed hot and cold as shivers racked her body. Nothing seemed quite real, flashes of the nightmare still playing in her head while she huddled beneath the rumpled sheets.
Gradually, she became aware of the bedside candle, burned down to a guttering nub in its silver holder. And the shadowy outline of Charlemagne, who now lay on the far corner of the bed, safe from her restless movements while she’d been asleep.
He blinked at her and gave a quiet meow.
Something inside her crumbled at his gentle entreaty, breath hitching inside her lungs as she struggled against the overwhelming rush of despair.
Curling herself against her drawn-up knees, she began to cry.
The rain stopped during the night, dawn bringing with it a return of warm golden sunshine and clear blue skies. The ground, however, was still wet, the fields turned easily to mud by both foot and hoof.
For this reason, Adam dispatched his valet with a note for Mallory rather than make the assumption that she would meet him at the stables at the usual time. After yesterday’s interruption of their morning rides, they’d made no new plans. Although she had told him in a glad voice when they’d parted last night that she looked forward to seeing him on the morrow.
Freshly bathed and shaven, he was fastening the silver buttons on his grey waistcoat when his valet returned.
“I left the note, your lordship,” the servant said with polite precision. “However, Lady Mallory’s maid informs me that her mistress is still abed and wishes not to be disturbed.”
Adam paused, stifling the scowl that rose to his forehead. Instead, he gave a quick, two-fisted tug to the hem of his waistcoat, then reached out for the dark blue coat that matched his trousers. “Thank you, Finley. That will be all for now.”
With a familiar grimace of disapproval at not being allowed to help his master don the coat, the servant gathered up Adam’s cold shaving water and a pair of damp towels, then withdrew.
It wasn’t until the other man closed the door behind him, that Adam allowed his emotions to show, a heavy frown settling across his brow.
Still abed is she?
He wondered at the news, since over the past two weeks she’d become a dedicated early riser. Then again, he reasoned, as he shrugged into the tight-fitted coat and adjusted the cuffs, maybe she was just tired. What with last night’s dancing and the late hour at which everyone had retired to bed, it was entirely understandable. And based on her buoyant mood, there should be no reason for a return of her melancholy humour. And yet…
Deciding he was overthinking the issue, and that she just wanted an extra couple of hours of rest, he left his room and went to the library. Once there, he contented himself with a cup of coffee while he waited for breakfast to be served.
To no one’s great surprise, including his own, Mallory did not attend the morning meal. At its conclusion, he decided to join the gentlemen for a few rounds of target practice, as the ground was too wet for actual hunting. He and Cade took two rounds apiece before Edward rallied at the last and succeeded in beating them both.
They were all in a fine humour by the time they returned to the house, ready for a libation and something to satisfy their hunger. Now afternoon, he expected to find Mallory awake and downstairs with the ladies. His mouth drew into a line when he saw she was not.
“Have you seen Mallory?” he asked in a low aside to Claire not long after he entered the drawing room.
The duchess nodded. “Her maid sent down her excuses only a few minutes past. A headache she says. Ava and I went to look in on her, but she’s sleeping, and the drapes are still drawn.”
He scowled. As a rule, Mallory didn’t get headaches, not unless she was ill with a cold or the ague. She could be laid low with a summer ailment, he supposed. Then again, it didn’t seem likely given her energetic dancing last night. His natural instinct was to look in on her himself; but if she really was unwell, he supposed he ought to let her rest instead.
And so he decided to wait and hope that her health improved again soon. But nuncheon passed, then dinner, with no sign of Mallory.
“How is she?” he asked the dowager duchess once everyone had assembled in the drawing room after dinner.
Ava Byron set her flower-covered Meissen teacup back onto its saucer. “Much the same as earlier. She says her head pains her, but…”
“But?” he prompted.
Ava sighed. “But I fear it may be her heart again, since her spirits seem sadly blue devilled. I don’t understand, when only last night she was laughing and dancing in this very room. She hasn’t done either since the major was killed, and it warmed me to see her enjoying herself again.” Reaching over, she gave his hand a quick squeeze. “You’ve done her so much good since you arrived, Adam.”
“Apparently not enough if her spirits are flagging again.”
“Don’t worry. I am sure she shall rally by tomorrow and be back among us all.”
But Mallory did not rally and spent the next day in her room. He went to see her in the morning and again that afternoon, but found the way to her bedchamber firmly barred by her maid.
“I am sorry, your lordship,” Penny told him in a low, stern voice. “But Lady Mallory is indisposed and cannot be disturbed. I will let her know you stopped by.”
He sent her his most charming smile. “Come now, surely a quick visit won’t do any harm? Ten minutes. Five, if you insist. I only want to make sure she is all right.”
“She is resting and will be fine,” she said, refusing to meet his gaze. “I will tell her you called.” In clear dismissal, she shut the door with a decisive click.
He considered marching inside regardless—after all, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t done so before—but even as he started reaching for the knob, he stopped. If he forced his way inside now, he would only cause a scene, one that might prove troublesome for both Mallory and himself. He would wait to see if she put in an appearance at dinner and, if not, he would decide then what to do.
Mallory tossed on her bed, kicking back the covers in the overly warm room. She’d heard the clock strike two not long ago, and yet she could not sleep. Or rather she was afraid to sleep, worried what dreams might arrive once she closed her eyes. Ever since the old nightmare had returned two nights ago, she’d been sunk in misery, and worse than that—guilt.
Guilt for enjoying herself.
Guilt for forgetting Michael.
She hadn’t been lying when she’d complained of a headache. Her head had throbbed from crying, lack of sleep, and despondency. And so she’d hidden herself away again, unable to face anyone, not even Adam. Maybe most particularly Adam since she knew she would never be able to hide the truth from him. He saw through her far too easily.
Needing a distraction, she reached for the book on her bedside table. But she had trouble concentrating, the words swimming in and out of her thoughts. She was about to start over from the beginning when the soft click of her door opening and closing brought her head up.
“Penny? Is that you?” she called, peering into the shadows beyond her bed.
A long beat of silence followed before she heard a soft footfall. “Don’t be alarmed,” said a low, silvery voice. “It’s only me.”
The book in her lap slid to the floor with a thud that made her jump. “Adam?”
He stepped into the pool of candlelight that surrounded her bed, revealing himself fully. Despite the hour, he was still attired in his evening clothes—or the majority of them anyway since he’d already removed his coat and loosened his cravat.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, giving a hasty tug at the sheets to pull them high.
“I saw your light and thought I would see how you are doing.”
“At two o’clock in the morning?”
He leaned one shoulder against the carved walnut post at the foot of her bed and crossed his arms. “Seemed as good a time as any, better actually considering the fact that your gatekeeper isn’t on duty.”
She didn’t pretend to misunderstand his reference to Penny. “No, she’s asleep, along with everyone else in the house. Which is where you ought to be too. In your room. Asleep.”
“You’re not, asleep that is. How are you by the way? Any better? Claire and your mother said you’ve had a headache.”
She stared down at the summer-weight counterpane, plucking absently at the material. “I have.”
Wicked Delights Of A Bridal Bed Page 10
