The Earl's Enticement (Castle Bride Series) (26 page)

Adaira rushed on. “Yet, I cannot recall a single instance when his inflexible adherence to social propriety and decorum for a woman of quality has been relaxed so much as a feather’s worth.”

Egads, she sounded as pompous as Roark. No, as the Roark she’d first met.

Fisting her hands, she recovered, taking a calmer approach.

“In that regard, when has he shown me the slightest leniency? It’s as if he has a point to prove, and I’m the means by which he intends to demonstrate it.”

“You misjudge the man, Addy. You’ve been set against him from the onset.” Mother peered at her, probing into her soul with her intelligent gaze. She murmured, “I don’t understand why you disdain every single man.”

Not every man. Not anymore.

The urge to burst into tears overwhelmed Adaira again. She was able to pretend her earlier outburst was a result of last night’s trauma and Brayan’s death. While those contributed to her uncharacteristic bout of sobbing, the thought of being sent away in disgrace from the one man who’d ever touched her wounded heart was what turned her into a caterwauling disaster.

It was of no matter. The noose was knotted. No sense in delaying the inevitable. Squaring her shoulders, Adaira lifted her chin. She raised her hand to the door once more, at the precise moment it opened.

Caught off balance, she pitched forward into Roark’s arms.

CHAPTER 27

Adaira’s nose pressed into Roark’s solid chest. He gripped her shoulders, steadying her. Well, this wasn’t the entrance she wanted to make, to be sure.

Why does he have to smell so good
?

“I beg your pardon.” She shifted to move from his grasp. The fichu hung askew off one shoulder. She sent a self-conscious glance to Mother gliding by. Were her lips twitching?

Roark’s hands continued to gently cup Adaira’s shoulders. His penetrating gaze held hers. “Are you well?”

Concern and something deeper simmered in his eyes. She returned his regard trying to read his mind. His focus sank to her chest. Shame sluiced through her, heating her face. Averting her gaze, Adaira stepped from his clasp.

She nodded as she adjusted the fichu. “I’m well, my lord. And you?”

Her parents conversed softly on the other side of the room, but the handsome man before her held her attention.

Through half lowered lashes, she cast him a surreptitious glance. He looked splendid. Nothing like the fierce demon crouched over her in the coach house.

In fact, if she didn’t know the sorry state he’d been in last evening, she’d be hard pressed to believe he’d come close to dying mere hours ago. Except for a scratch along his left jaw, Roark appeared the picture of health.

Today he wore a deep blue jacket with a striped waistcoat in shades of blue and gray. His buff pantaloons were tucked into gleaming Hessians. Certainly not the pair from yesterday. Had the lake debacle truly only been yesterday? His dark hair was brushed into the latest fashion, and a sapphire pin graced the impossibly complicated folds of his snowy neckcloth.

Adaira took a few steps farther into the room. Father, with Mother at his side, stood before slightly ajar French windows framed by heavy burgundy drapes. He didn’t appear angry or upset. In fact, a cheerful smile tilted his mouth. If she wasn’t mistaken, his eyes glinted merrily. It was difficult to be certain with the sunlight illumining him.

The smell of ink, leather bound books, sandalwood, and barely a hint of tobacco lingered in the altogether masculine room. Several paintings, mostly sporting hunting scenes, dominated the wall behind an immense black walnut desk. One side of the room boasted a full, but tidy, bookshelf complete with stuffed pheasants and quails on the topmost shelf.

Her attention was drawn to another wall. A pair of ornate swords, a shield with the Clarendon family crest, several small daggers, and a rather large, wicked-looking whip had been attractively arranged against the paneled backdrop.

Roark approached her from behind. “If you’ll have a seat.”

He indicated a striped hunter green, maroon, and beige settee. “Lady Ferguson, please make yourself comfortable, as well. May I get you ladies anything to drink? Ratafia?”

“No, thank you.” Adaira sank onto the settee and made a pretense of arranging her skirt.

“I’m fine as well, my lord.” Mother settled beside Adaira, poised and seemingly at ease.

How can Mother appear so calm? Adaira placed her hand on her rioting middle. It felt like camels and goats and frogs and all manner of animals were doing their worst to her stomach, heart, and lungs.

“Lass, it’s happy I am to see ye looking so bonnie.” Father bent to kiss the crown of her head. Taking two long strides, he lowered himself into one of the brocade armchairs facing the settee. His large form dwarfed the chair.

Adaira scrutinized Roark’s face before running her gaze over the rest of him. How could she have thought him a trow? A glass of umber-colored liquid in one hand, he rifled through a short stack of papers atop his desk.

Perusing one, he set it aside. After tossing back the contents of the glass, he raised his eyes and smiled. “Thank you, ladies, for your promptness.”

Adaira canted her head but didn’t speak. She’d the uncanny feeling everyone in the room knew something she didn’t. Had he decided to press charges, now that she’d proven she couldn’t ever be a proper lady? She squeezed her hands together, the nails biting into the soft flesh of her palms.

No, she wouldn’t believe that of him. Not after the kisses they’d shared.

With a final glance at the documents on his desk, Roark came around to the front. Resting his hips against the edge, he crossed his ankles, folded his arms across his wonderfully muscled chest, and smiled again.

He does have nice teeth
.

“I’m sure you want to know why I’ve asked you here.”

“
No, not especially.”

“Adaira, hush,” Mother admonished, though not unkindly.

Bother, I said that aloud.

Roark grinned unabashedly. Humor danced in his beautiful eyes. Now she knew how he’d felt muttering his thoughts for the world to hear. He seemed rather more chipper today than she’d expected. Didn’t he have a vicious headache?

Meshing her lips together, Adaira determined not to speak her thoughts again. The man already read her mind half the time. She’d not be helping him by blurting them aloud.

She covertly eyed him. The lout was still smiling. Must he be so cheerful? She edged her gaze to the empty glass.

Cognac? Whisky? This early in the day?

How much had he imbibed? Perchance that was why he’d a constant smile plastered on his face. Or was he that pleased to be rid of her? The gazelles flitting about her ribs bumped to a halt.

“But, before we get to the matter, I’m afraid I have a confession to make, Adaira.”

The menagerie started cavorting again.

“Indeed?” Why, she sounded quite poised despite the elephants turning somersaults in her middle.

He nodded once before angling upright. He moved to sit in the chair beside Father. “Yes, I’ve misled you, although it wasn’t intentional.”

Was he referring to their kisses? Surely he hadn’t mentioned that indiscretion to her parents. She had no featherbrained expectations their kisses meant anything more than shared passion. Roark was most skilled in the kissing department. She’d been curious, that was all.

She’d simply been experimenting.

Liar.

Adaira straightened her spine. He couldn’t have told her parents about their kisses. Father wouldn’t be sitting calmly. He’d be shaking Roark senseless.

“How so, my lord?” Adaira asked coolly. She was becoming quite accomplished at this playacting. Mayhap, she’d make a fine lady after all.

Shooting her father an unreadable look, Roark raked a hand through his hair. He winced. “Ouch. Forgot about that knot.”

He gave her a rakish smile. “I gave you my word Fionn would only breed with horses of your choosing. Because of the fire last night, I’ve been lax with the horseflesh, and today he—”

Was he blushing? He had to know she’d seen horses mate. A smile curved her mouth. “Yes? He. . .?”

He gave her a sheepish smile. “Tenacity is in season.”

“Ah.” She stared at him. She’d already decided the mare was a prime specimen. “The other matter?”

The smile faded from his face. “I know the events of last night are difficult for you to discuss, but. . .”

“My lord, let me save you a great deal of discomfort.” Adaira folded her hands in her lap. After veering each of her parents a quick look, she took a bracing breath.

“I followed you into the carriage house after I thought I saw someone lurking there. However, due to the flames and the breeze flitting shadows about, I was unsure. When I entered the building, as you know, I found you alone.”

“Lass I told ye to return to the house.” Father frowned at her, censure in his tone.

“Yes, I know, and I’m sorry I didn’t obey. But I simply couldn’t leave until I knew Roark wasn’t in danger.” She crossed her arms, then remembered it was unladylike to do so and uncrossed them. Drat, she’d addressed Roark by his first name too.

“Anyhow, Brayan followed me in. He was deep in his cups.” She wasn’t about to divulge the fervent kissing taking place before Brayan’s appearance.

“You hit your head on the barouche when he punched you. It knocked you unconscious. Brayan tried to force himself on me, but I smashed a whisky bottle over his head.”

Last night she’d assured her frantic mother and equally worried father that Brayan hadn’t had his way with her. It took some convincing too. They’d difficulty believing she’d been able to overpower someone Brayan’s size.

“Then someone heaved a lantern through one of the windows. The last thing I remember is trying to get you,” she tossed a look to Roark, then her parents, “out of the building.”

Adaira sagged against the settee, her dress fisted in one hand. “There, that’s the whole of it.”

Do your worst, my lord.

“You weren’t. . .” Roark paused. “Unlike the other time, you were left untouched?”

The gravelly timbre of his voice rang with deep concern. Almost as if he truly cared and speaking of it was difficult for him.

Adaira stifled a groan.

“Other time?” One of Mother’s hands clutched her throat, the other Adaira’s forearm. Horror shown in the gaze she speared to her husband. “What other time?”

Leaping from his chair, outrage lining his craggy face, Father looked ready to throttle Roark. “What’s he talking about, lass?”

Adaira threw Roark an accusing glare and lifted a trembling hand to her forehead. The onset of a headache pinched behind her eyes and forehead. What a blessing it would be if the floor would open and swallow her.

“I’m sorry, Adaira, I assumed they knew.” Roark’s voice rose in righteous irritation. “They’re your parents, for God’s sake! They’ve a right to know.”

“My lord, I’m trying very hard to maintain me temper. Ye’d best be explaining.” Father rarely got angry, but when he did, the outcome was most unpleasant for the target of his wrath.

Monkeys must be riding the rhinoceroses gallivanting around Adaira’s insides. Queasiness rose and fell in undulating waves as a dread induced sweat dampened pretty much all of her.

Splendid. Now, she could add perspiring like a lathered horse to her list of ladylike attributes.

Roark met Father’s gaze head on, not the least intimidated. Or, if he was, he hid it superbly. “No, Sir Hugh,” Roark leveled her an unreadable look. “That’s your daughter’s place.”

Bugger it to Hades and back. She pressed her palms against her middle.
Stop, will you?

With a sigh of resignation, Adaira closed her eyes, silently seeking the strength to voice what she’d been loath to entertain in her thoughts for so long. In the briefest manner possible, she told the sordid tale.

“You see,” she said, staring blindly at the floor, “I blamed myself. If I hadn’t been sneaking from the keep, he’d never have had the opportunity.”

“How could you keep this from us?” Mother gathered Adaira in her arms, weeping softly into Adaira’s hair. “For four years. Oh, how you must have suffered,
chérie
.”

Her compassion sparked answering tears, and Adaira found some release from the burden she’d carried alone for so long.

Father stomped back-and-forth before the settee, muttering under his breath. “It’s a good thing he fled Craiglocky. If I ever find the
bastert
, I’ll kill him.”

Adaira jumped when he slammed his fist into his palm.

“That won’t be necessary. Brayan broke Godwin’s neck.” Roark delivered the news, though his voice sounded every bit as irate as Father’s.

Mother’s startled, “What?” was muffled by Father’s, “What the bloody hell do ye mean, Brayan broke his neck?”

“How do you know that? You were unconscious.” Adaira stared hard at Roark.

“I was half-conscious for a few moments before blacking out altogether. I heard Brayan’s confession.”

A fierce scowl on his face, his breathing labored and ragged, Father fisted and unfisted his hands. “Well?”

Roark could do the telling. Since she couldn’t bear to relive the horror again, Adaira let her mind wander.

Visions of the priory she’d seen when visiting Tante Floressa as a child crept from the corner of her mind. What was its name? The white stone walls surrounding the abbey had been rather charming. As were the flower and vegetable gardens. And there’d been lovely singing. Adaira wasn’t gifted with a singing voice. Maybe she could attend the livestock in the stables. Surely they had a horse or cow or two.

“Adaira, you said someone threw a burning lantern into the building?”

Roark’s sudden change in subject jerked her out of her reverie, dragging her back to the present. Her head throbbed full on now. The instant they were through here, she was crawling into bed and burying her head under a pillow until the carriage arrived to haul her away.

She pressed a hand to her forehead. “Yes, the window at the back.”

Roark joined her father in pacing the room. He paused in front of her. “I don’t suppose you saw who threw it?”

Raising her gaze, she stared at him dumbfounded.

It was dark outside. And it was at the rear of the building. And I had my head buried in my knees crying my heart out
.

He gave a curt nod. “No, I thought as much.”

Roark had read her mind again. Or had she spoken out loud?

Heaving a gusty sigh, he plowed his hand through his chestnut hair. He winced again. The once neatly combed strands were disheveled, and a few flopped across his brow. “Well, let’s be seated and get to the matter I wanted to discuss.”

“Are you serious?” Adaira spread her hands, her voice raising an octave.

“This wasn’t what you wanted to discuss? What else is there? I’ve had to relive every atrocious thing that has ever happened to me, and you tell me there’s more?” She hurled the last words at him. Gone were the tender thoughts she’d entertained of him upon entering the room. She itched to box his ears, insensitive cur.

Fearing she was about to dissolve into a blubbering puddle, she leapt to her feet, then stomped to the window. She gazed out, wishing she could escape. Several guests mingled in the gardens she’d seen from her bedchamber. They strolled the well-tended paths or sat on benches arranged beneath flower-laden arbors.