Wicked Delights of a Bridal Bed (21 page)

She’d heard rumors of the late earl’s profligate nature—gambling, drinking, loose women and all manner of other unsavory activities—but she’d never imagined something like this. With Adam’s reluctance to show her the house still fresh in her mind, a new thought occurred. “But surely you don’t mean that all the rooms are like this?”

“That’s exactly what I mean.” Adam peeled himself away from the wall and strolled forward. “If it wasn’t nailed down or glued in place, my dear old papa made sure it was converted into coin. Sometimes he didn’t even bother with that, bartering items instead for whatever it was he wanted at the time. Years ago, one of the servants told me he got drunk and traded all of the bed linens for a dozen eggs. Apparently, he’d already sold off the chickens, and he was hungry. You’d have thought he could at least have held out for more. Two dozen eggs perhaps and a slab of bacon.”

Crossing to a window, he gazed out. “Then, too, he gambled away a significant portion of the family heir-looms. I believe the silver service that had been a gift from Queen Elizabeth herself was lost in a game of lanterloo to a merchant, who melted it down for specie. All the family portraits went as well, including the one of my mother painted just after her marriage. But she was dead by that time, so I suppose he saw no harm.”

“No harm! But that’s monstrous.”

“Yes,” Adam said in a flat, cold voice. “That’s exactly what he was.” Suddenly he sighed and turned to face her. “I should never have brought you here. I ought to have taken you straight back to Braebourne and left you in your brother’s care until I had an opportunity to set the house to rights. But I suppose I was too selfish to be without you even that long.”

Her heart beat at a faster pace, a hand she hadn’t even realized she lifted, pressed against her chest.

“If you want to go now, I’ll understand,” he continued, not quite meeting her gaze. “But lest you imagine you’ll be sleeping on the floor, you won’t. As soon as I knew we were to be wed, I had the countess’s chambers completely refurbished. There’s everything you could possibly need, but if there’s anything you don’t like, you have only to toss it out and start over.”

“Adam—”

“There’s enough new furniture in the dining room and in one of the small salons that I believe you won’t be wholly uncomfortable,” he went on. “I even had a writing desk installed so you could keep up your correspondence with your family.”

Pausing, he raked his fingers through his hair. “It’s nothing to what you’re used to, I know, and admittedly a frightful mess, but I’ve been putting all my energy into seeing to the estate. Rebuilding the tenant cottages, unblocking neglected streams, dredging ditches, repairing roads and making sure we’ll be able to plant a crop in the fields come this spring.

“As for the house, the outside was nearly as derelict as this room, but I’ve about brought it back to life. I thought I’d tackle the outside first, then concentrate on the interior. I was a bachelor, so what did I care so long as I had a bed and a place to eat a meal? Then we married, and there wasn’t time to do it all.”

Pausing again, he stared at the floor. “I thought if you saw your bedchamber first, the rest might not come as such a dreadful shock. But I won’t blame you in the least if you want to go. Shall I send for the coach again? Have Penny repack your belongings? Or will you stay the night? You can set off at first light, and I can—”

“What you can do is stop talking nonsense,” she interrupted, crossing the distance between them. “I’m not going anywhere. This is my home now, regardless of its condition at present.”

His gaze flew up to meet hers.

“From what you’ve told me, we shall be perfectly comfortable,” she said, reaching out to slip her arms around his waist. “I assume the bed is more than a straw pallet tossed on the floor?”

His eyebrows drew together. “The bedstead is made of cherrywood and has a big mattress stuffed with goose feathers.”

“And the dining room has a table and chairs rather than a few shipping crates on which we would need to perch?”

His mouth drew up in a slant. “Indeed, I believe a full complement of chairs was brought inside with the table.”

“You’ve bought china and silverware and linens?”

He slipped his arms around her and tugged her closer. “We could eat with our fingers, but only if you wish. Otherwise, we’ll have to do with the cutlery at hand.”

“And the salon has a couch, perhaps a tea table so we can enjoy a cup before bedtime? Or perhaps something stronger in your case?”

“I don’t need anything stronger, not if I have you. I’ve discovered that you are my very favorite nightcap.”

She laughed and snuggled against him. “Then it sounds as if we have only to settle in. As for the rest of the house, it shall be like a blank canvas to a painter. You did say I would have a free hand?”

“As free as you like. You have my leave to buy anything and everything you want.”

“I’d be careful if I were you, or I just might take you up on that offer.”

Grinning, he dropped a kiss on her mouth. “I shall count upon it. In fact, I’ve already asked for some sample books to be sent from London. A few ideas to get you started.”

She beamed back at him. “I cannot wait. I knew marrying you would be an adventure.”

“An adventure, hmm? I’m not sure how I should take that.”

“As a compliment, that’s how. Now, why do we not go see the bedroom you’ve furnished for me? I’m dying to get a glimpse at the decoration.”

“I hope you like it. I did my best with the colors and such.”

She tightened her hold. “I’ll love it. I already know that I shall.”

Smiling, he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, claiming a slow, sweet kiss that made her toes arch against the insides of her half boots.

“I’m going to love trying out the bed tonight,” he said. “We’ll see just how soft the goose feathers are.”

“And how tightly the ropes have been strung.”

He tossed back his head on a laugh. “We’ll make them sing, just wait and see.”

Chapter 20

T
o Adam’s express pleasure and relief, Mallory adored her new rooms, exclaiming over the elegant Chippendale furnishings made of satinwood and maple, the pale cream walls and apricot draperies. She loved the plush divan and chairs in her sitting room, the pieces upholstered in muted gold damask that gave the room an extra richness—or so she informed him.

With his hands thrust inside his pockets, he’d watched as she flitted around the rooms, pausing to admire various pieces here and there, including the rosewood writing desk he’d selected for her. Smiling, he enjoyed the expression of delight on her face as she pulled open the drawers to discover supplies of ink, pens and sheets of crisp stationery that bore the crest of her new title as his countess.

After suggesting that Penny retire to her room to unpack her own belongings, Mallory surprised him by locking the door. Going to the bed, she’d lain back against the vanilla satin coverlet and stretched out a hand toward him. Seeing no reason to resist her invitation, he let her pull him into her embrace, losing no time as they proceeded to christen the bed in the most glorious of fashions.

And so began their residence at Gresham Park, the days rolling easily from one to the other over the next three weeks.

In the mornings, Adam rose early to ride his stallion, Eric, around the estate, the horse having been brought from Braebourne after the wedding together with Mallory’s mare, Pansy. On his outings, he visited various tenants to discuss their concerns as well as to oversee the improvements he was making to the land.

Sometimes Mallory joined him on his rides, both of them getting to know their neighbors and the local tenantry, so that soon they were being greeted with friendly hellos and waves as they passed. Having been raised to believe in the virtues of ministering to the sick and the poor, Mallory carried on the tradition at Gresham Park.

With Cook’s smiling participation, Mallory saw to it that baskets of food were delivered to those in need. She also secured the assistance of the village doctor, making certain the ill and elderly were receiving the care they required. One old woman, who’d lived on Gresham land her whole life, told Adam that his new lady was nothing less than an angel sent among them. With complete seriousness, Adam agreed.

After sharing nuncheon together, he and Mallory usually parted again for much of the afternoon. During those hours he would retreat to his office to review the estate accounts, answer correspondence and take care of other sundry business. Often, he was joined by his new steward, who’d come highly recommended by Edward. Already, the man was proving his worth in terms of enthusiasm, honesty and a progressive turn of mind. Despite some initial reluctance to hire a steward at all, Adam found himself glad of the extra assistance.

As for Mallory, he was vastly pleased to see how effortlessly she’d taken over running the household. If he hadn’t known better, he might have imagined she’d been doing it for years, stepping into the role of mistress of the house with nary a problem or complaint.

In fact, based on the cheerful smiles and happy comments from the servants, he knew they all but worshipped her. Particularly after she hired a butler, Brooke, and a housekeeper, Mrs. Daylily, both of whom immediately set just the right tone in the servants’ hall.

Mallory had told Adam over dinner one evening that she planned to take on even more staff—housemaids, footmen, a cook’s assistant, and an extra scullery maid or two since there would be additional mouths to feed once all the new staff were in place. Having lived frugally these past several years, he hadn’t considered the necessity of hiring additional staff. But he trusted Mallory, and if she thought there was a need for servants, then he decided to leave it all in her clearly capable hands.

There was one other new occupant as well, Charlemagne, the cat, who arrived about a week after Adam and Mallory. He’d looked none too pleased at having been shut inside a wicker hamper for the long coach ride from Braebourne. Emerging with a mutinous gleam in his eyes, he’d thumped his tail warningly. But he calmed the instant Mallory lifted him into her arms, starting to purr when he realized who he was with.

Adam supposed he purred too in his own way when Mallory held him. He certainly couldn’t resist her touch, longing for her when they were apart, wanting everything from her when they were together.

And therein lay the only bleak spot in their otherwise excellent marriage. She still didn’t love him, at least not the way he wished.

Even so, he couldn’t help the way his heart brightened with hope whenever she interrupted his work to share some news that simply couldn’t wait. Or when she laughed and teased him as she indulged in a bit of flirtatious conversation. And, of course, there were the nights.

Long, dark hours spent in her sweet arms, sheathed in her soft warmth, knowing that no matter how many times he took her, how many times he slept by her side, it would never be enough.

Only in those quiet moments of intimacy did he feel fully himself. Only then did he give himself permission to show her his love, letting passion express what he knew he dare not say aloud.

Of course he thought of telling her at least a dozen times a day. “Mallory, I love you,” he would say, as he took her in his arms. “I’ve always loved you.”

In his fantasies, her face came alive, happiness bursting from her as she kissed him until neither of them could think.

But then he would imagine a different outcome, her expression animated not by pleasure, but by dismay, surprise that turned to pity and guilty regret over the fact that she didn’t return his affection.

And so, he said nothing.

He supposed he was being a coward, but everything was so good between them, he didn’t want to risk ruining it. They were happy together; it was selfish of him to want more.

Or was it?

Glancing up now from his work, Adam reached out to scratch the cat’s velvety black head. Charlemagne blinked his green eyes from where he lay on one side of Adam’s desk before glancing longingly toward the doorway. Mallory was inspecting the attics today and had banished the feline from the top floor, much to the animal’s displeasure.

“She’ll be finished soon, my fine sir,” Adam told the cat. “Then you can snuggle with her to your heart’s content.”

If only he could be as certain as Charlemagne that he was loved, he would be content. Yet content or not, he would never stop saying the words—at least to himself.

Mallory, I love you.

Drawing a deep breath, Adam reapplied himself to the investment statements he’d received from Pendragon, going over the activity and recommendations for future acquisitions.

Ten minutes later, he’d finally managed to focus his thoughts on his work when a light tap came at the door.

“Am I interrupting?” Mallory asked in a quiet tone. “I can come back later if you wish.”

Glancing up, he smiled and laid down his pen. “No, not at all. Come in. Charlemagne and I have been wondering how you were faring in your search of the attics. Was it as dismal as I assume?”

How could it not be?
he mused, considering the fact that his father must surely have looted the place of anything valuable years ago. The one time Adam had ventured up to the top story after coming into his title, he’d found nothing but an assortment of broken furniture and worthless odds and ends. Sour memories had crowded in upon him at the sight, and he’d left without doing much more than glance around. He hadn’t been up there since. But Mallory had wanted to see what might remain before having the servants clear out the lot as trash.

“Who knows?” she’d told him. “There might be a fine old piece of furniture or two that we can still use.”

Rather than point out the futility of such a hope, he’d let her do as she wished.

And so this morning, he’d idled in her dressing room for a few extra minutes as Penny helped Mallory don her shabbiest gown. Mallory next wrapped a clean kerchief around her head, then tied a voluminous apron she’d borrowed from Cook around her waist. Sending her on her way with a grin and a warm kiss, he’d gone downstairs while Mallory ascended the stairs to the attics. As he knew, having seen the servants gathered in the hallway, she’d taken a pair of housemaids and a strong footman with her to help in the effort.

He smiled again now as she strolled forward, finding her absolutely adorable in her cleaning attire. A few wild brunette tendrils had escaped her scarf and were peeking out from under the material, her formerly white apron smudged with dust and grime.

Seeing her, Charlemagne leapt to his feet and arched his back in an obvious bid for attention. Leaning down, Mallory stroked a hand over the grateful feline, his adoring purrs filling the air.

“It is rather dismal upstairs,” she said in answer to Adam’s initial question. “The attics are a horrible mess and in immediate need of cleaning, which I’ve set the maids to tackling. I shouldn’t wonder if it’s been twenty years since the rooms were touched.”

“Probably more, considering my mother would have been the last one to bother. You’ve a bit of dirt just there, by the way.”

Automatically, she reached up a hand to locate the spot. “Do I? Where?”

“On the side of your nose.” Slipping his fingers inside his pocket, he withdrew a handkerchief. “Here, allow me.”

Doing as he asked, she bent at the waist so he could wipe the spot. When the smudge was gone, he tugged her near to steal a kiss, finding her lips as smooth and moist as petals. Her eyes were gleaming with a lambent light by the time he let her go.

“So,” he said, grinning as he relaxed back in his chair, “did you manage to find anything worth keeping, or is it all junk?”

“Most of it is junk, but there’s something I do want to show you. I had one of the footmen leave it in the hall. Stay here, and I’ll bring it in.”

Hurrying back across the room, she disappeared for a moment before returning with what looked to be a painting in tow. The front of the canvas was turned away from him so he couldn’t see the image.

“One of the maids found this hidden behind some boxes stacked in a very dark corner. I wondered if it might be a relative of yours since I couldn’t help but notice a resemblance.” Turning the painting around, she revealed the work.

Air whooshed out of his lungs in a gust, his heart thumping hard beneath his breastbone, as he stared at the girl in the portrait.

“Do you recognize her?” Mallory asked.

Gazing raptly at the painting, he nodded. “Yes,” he said in a thick voice. “It’s Delia. It’s my sister. My God, I thought he’d sold it.”

Or else destroyed it, just as the old bastard had destroyed her.

“Your father, you mean?”

Throat tight, he nodded.

“She was beautiful. And young,” Mallory observed. “How old was she when this was painted?”

“Fifteen,” he said, somehow managing to find his voice again. “I remember the summer it was done.”

The last summer
, as he thought of it now. Those final months before he’d left for university, little knowing the fate that awaited them all the next year.

Silently, he studied her pert features—gentle brown eyes, rounded chin and small, soft mouth that were fixed forever in an innocent, unsuspecting smile rendered in brushstrokes and oil.

Seeing her again made him realize how dull his memory of her countenance had grown over the years. How could he have forgotten for so much as an instant?

If only I’d never left her
, he thought.
If only I’d had an inkling what he might do, I’d have taken her away before it was too late.

“Where shall we hang it?” Mallory said, her tone deliberately cheerful, as if she were aware of his ruminations. “I thought the drawing room might be an excellent location. Or we could work on rebuilding the family portrait gallery, starting with Delia.”

For a moment he stared. “You wouldn’t mind?”

“Mind? Mind what?” She looked confused.

“Displaying her portrait in the gallery. Considering how she died, I wouldn’t blame you if you’d rather choose a less obvious location. I could keep her portrait here in my study, for instance.”

Mallory’s lips drew into a line. “But why would I object? If you want to hang her painting here, then by all means you should do so. But if you’re placing the canvas here in your study merely to hide her away, then I couldn’t disagree more. Surely you’re not ashamed of showing Delia’s painting?”

“Of course I’m not,” he said vehemently as he shot to his feet.

With obvious care, she set down the painting. “Then why would you imagine I might be? No matter the circumstances of her death, she’s still your sister, whom I know you loved.”

Pacing to the window, he stared out, arms folded across his chest.

Mallory followed, halting quietly at his side. After a moment, she laid a hand on his arm. “Tell me about her. Tell me what happened.”

“You know what happened,” he said, biting off the words.

She shook her head. “I know how she died. I don’t know why.”

“And you don’t want to know. Leave it alone, Mal.”

Jesu, why did I say anything?
he cursed to himself.
Why didn’t I just keep my mouth shut?

All he would have to have done was tell Mallory that he wanted Delia’s portrait hung here in his study. She would have accepted his wishes and left it at that. Now she was curious. Now she wanted to know more, to know everything, all the lurid details he’d never revealed to another living soul. He hadn’t even told Jack Byron, and Jack knew more about him than anyone else.

Except Mallory.

She knew him—or at least as much of him as he had shown her over the years.

Could he reveal this secret?

Should he?

And if he did, what would she think?

Plainly deciding to ignore his verbal dismissal, she slid her arms around her waist, then tipped her head back to meet his gaze. “Tell me, Adam,” she insisted. “Delia looks so young and lovely in her portrait. Why would a girl with her whole future ahead of her become so despondent that she would take her own life?”