[Samuel Barbara] The Black Angel(Book4You) (13 page)

"Who tends it when you're in the country?"

Adriana shrugged. "The servants do. Leander—that's our cousin—sees to it when he comes to London every year or two—he'll go roaring through with clippers and fresh soil and great fuss, then it's fine again until he returns the next time." She didn't add that she loved the place, that it reminded her most pointedly of Martinique, where Leander had fallen so madly in love with the science of botany. "And indeed, you'd find Martinique quite a splendor."

He inclined his head ever so slightly. "More flowers than England?"

"Thousands more!" She found herself lifting her nose, as if smelling them on the air. "At night, it smells of…" She shook her head. "There are no words for that scent in the night. As if all the finest perfumes had been spilled into the very wind."

The heavy lashes shaded his expression again, suddenly, and Adriana wondered what she'd said now.

But she'd spent too much time entirely on trying to read his every thought. Feigning a yawn, she tugged a blanket over her shoulder and settled back against the seat. "Oh!" she said blinking, "I believe I'm sleepy. You will forgive me if I nap a little?"

"Of course."

Tynan watched her lean back and close her eyes. He'd not seen her in this animated mood before, her eyes bright and alert, her expression filled with the light of intelligence. She'd drawn him into conversation, teased him lightly, been chastened when he teased her in return.

And every shade of emotion showed in her face, in her dancing eyes, on her mobile mouth.

That mouth. From beneath half-closed lids he allowed himself to admire that lush, fine mouth at leisure. The tips of his fingers tingled faintly, remembering the plump give, the resilient firmness of those lips last night. He remembered the heady eroticism of her breath soughing, moist and warm, over the heart of his palm, a hint of the pleasure to be found within that harbor.

Harbor. He sighed softly and made himself close his eyes entirely, though that was not the help he supposed it would be, since his imagination provided what his eyelids had blocked out. She had a mouth like a courtesan in the face of a saint—few men could resist the contradictions contained in such an arrangement. Few men could have resisted indulging the speculations he now entertained, speculations regarding the taste of that succulent lower lip, the flavor of that particular, exaggerated bow on the upper. Or fail to wonder what splendor lay within.

St. Bridget
! He thought of Aiden, who'd resisted female flesh every moment of his life on earth—not, as he'd often told Tynan, because he did not hunger for them, but because he wished to leave them in their innocence.

Tynan allowed himself one more glance at that ripe mouth of his bride. His brother had never seen a mouth like that of Adriana St. Ives.

He shifted restlessly, focusing his gaze beyond the coach. His brother would also laugh at him in this, for he longed to kiss her—no, kiss was far too mild a word for what he wished to do with that mouth—precisely because it was the one line she had drawn. Contrary, his mother would have said. Aiden was the good twin. He, Tynan, was the wild one, the heedless one, the one who took glee in breaking rules only for the delight of getting away with them. Aiden had made an art form of living within the strictures of both God and man.

Aiden, Aiden, Aiden
. His brother had been constantly in his thoughts this morning, and he couldn't think why. Soon after his brother died, memories of his twin had been so excruciating to Tynan that he had shut them off entirely. He went about his days like a man suddenly missing an arm or a foot. And then his mother sickened, and thoughts of her welfare pulled him out of himself.

Now, in the misty distance, he spied a gray church spire poking above some village square. Only the tower, ancient and graceful, showed. Tynan thought, irrelevantly, that Catholic hands had built that spire. Within, candles had burned for saints and the Latin was sung.

As his brother had sung it.

It was only natural, Tynan supposed, that he should find his mind lingering upon his lost sibling now that he'd landed in the midst of so many of them. He'd seen clearly the love that bound them, and was envious of it. His family was all gone now, and, with a peculiar sort of awareness, he realized he wished to begin building a new one. He wanted children. Children to run in wild packs over the Irish hills, heirs to learn his business and carry on his name; daughters to fuss over and marry off to strong Irish men. He wanted a family.

Across from him, Adriana had indeed fallen into a doze. Her mouth parted a little in sleep, and not gracefully. He thought she might snore if that hint of a rattle were any indication, and it gave him a stab of fondness.

Here was his wife, for better or worse, the woman who would get his children, but whom he would have to woo her to be a willing lover and then willing mother. He did not want the lives of those children poisoned by acrimony between the parents.

There was much work awaiting him in London. In his wild youth he'd spent much time there, cutting a swath through more women than he liked to remember; he hoped they remembered him kindly, kindly enough to assist him in healing the rift in his bride's heart, and assist him, too, in finding the prize he hoped to take back to Ireland: a seat in the House of Commons. It would require every shred of his wit, and all of his hale charm, and a woman—this woman—to guide him through the sometimes bewildering muddle of English social life.

And while he set about reestablishing his social circle, he'd take time to simply observe Adriana, discover her joys and sorrow, her weakness and her strengths. From knowledge alone came the prize of a woman's heart.

He'd won a good many hearts. Surely one more would be little enough to ask.

As he slid into a doze, his last thought was that he wanted this heart more than any other. And sleep overtook him before he could form surprise.

The journey took nearly three and a half hours, and by the time they arrived at the town house in Marylebone, Adriana was chilled through. It had not helped that after his initial willingness to chat, Tynan had been quite thoroughly asleep the rest of the way. Though, she thought darkly, climbing the stairs to her chamber on aching hips, she failed to see how he could have slept through the jolting last hour of the ride.

As if anticipating the state in which her sister would arrive, Cassandra had left orders for hot water to be brought up and a bath to be drawn immediately. Fiona, along with a handful of other servants and the bulk of their baggage, had not yet arrived. It would be at least another hour, certainly, and Fiona would be in worse shape than her mistress.

Adriana called for assistance from one of the cook's helpers in getting her gown off and the water poured. The trouble was, the girl could not seem to avoid staring. "Ye've very fine skin, milady."

Adriana nodded, and dismissed her. "Tell cook to send chocolate and tea and a big platter of cheeses to the drawing room in a quarter hour," she said. "And send someone to tell my husband, as well." Not that he'd need much refreshment after his restful journey, she thought.

She managed dressing by herself by donning a simple muslin. Not quite as muddy a shade as she wished, but one did work with what one had. Refreshed, she returned to the drawing room and found her brothers and Tynan already engrossed in a conversation—one that broke off abruptly as she entered.

"Telling secrets already?" she said lightly.

Julian rose quickly, and before he even spoke, she saw by his face that he'd come to a decision. "We were only waiting for you, Adriana," he said with rare formality. "I thought we might have tea first, but the day grows late. I'm bound to deliver you to Cassandra."

"And you?"

He let go of a quick, impatient sigh. "There's no point in delaying, Riana. I know you hoped for an evening or two, but I'd rather be done with it."

"Oh." She sank to the divan, her skirts whooshing out beside her. Fear burned under her ribs once again. "Gabriel, too?"

The brothers exchanged a glance. "I doubt he'll be retained."

"But you will?"

Julian clasped his hands behind him, inclined his head, as if they were only discussing a minor investment or the price of peas. "Undoubtedly," he said. "But it will go quickly. For all that I fled in terror of Malvern's mother, time has shown me the folly of that action. I'll surely be tried by the House of Lords, and which of them will condemn me for a duel?"

"It's such an uncommon pursuit in London, after all," Gabriel said dryly, stroking the little beard he'd grown on his dark chin, and winked. "Never seen the likes."

Adriana looked from one to the other, trying to put on a brave face. Plucking at a loose thread on her skirt, she managed a light reply. "I suppose if all else fails, Gabriel and I will simply be forced to rescue you. I believe I still have my sword in some trunk hereabouts."

Julian bent to kiss her head. His long, strangely powerful hand cupped the back of her head and he murmured, "I knew I could count on you."

Adriana smiled, but bent her head for a moment, attempting to marshal her defenses as Gabriel stood and Julian moved toward the door.

"Spenser," Gabriel said, "we'd like you to accompany us, if you would be so kind."

Adriana glanced up at her husband, and discovered a close, careful expression on his face as he looked at her. "Of course," he said smoothly, pushing away from his customary place against the mantel. Adriana saw that he'd washed and put on a fresh shirt, and his hair was brushed to gleaming, leaping life. Even in the rain-cool light of the drawing room, that hair shone.

"Coming?" he asked.

"Yes."

The carriage had been brought around, manned by two liveried footman, who handed Adriana into the coach. Tynan climbed in afterward, the only one among the three gentlemen who did not wear a hat, and settled next to her, as he should. Although she squeezed as tightly as she was able into the corner of the coach, there was no escaping the solid feel of his body along the length of her own.

And suddenly she remembered he had a kiss coming to him today. As if he'd spoken the threat aloud, she looked up at him, alarmed. "Will you be coming to Cassandra's… after?"

Mockingly, he smiled. "Do you wish for my company?"

"I'd like a report."

Gabriel reached across the small space and covered her hands with his own. "We'll be there, love." He winked. "All for one…"

Even Julian, a full-grown gentleman with worry on his brow, put his hand over theirs. "And one for all," they said in unison.

It might have been only a childhood game, but Adriana cared not at all. It cheered her. If the three of them acted together, they could not fail.

There were no other guests for supper at Cassandra's, for which Adriana was grateful. They took it in the cozy upstairs sitting room, surrounded with candelabra and a warm fire. The servants served the simple meal and left the wine on the table, and Cassandra dismissed them.

Adriana felt jumpy and restless, and managed only to pick through a few bites of food. Cassandra did her best to keep up a light patter of gossip and news, but it did not seem to help. Finally, she jumped up and paced to the long windows, going dark now.