Hadrian (39 page)

What would those years have been like, if she’d spent them with a man who could see the benefits to be wrung from character traits others considered only flaws? A man who galloped headlong at problems rather than cowered before them?

“I fear for you, and I’m trying to be honest, Hadrian.”

“Another fine quality, and in the same spirit, you need to know I called on Lady Collins, but have little to show for it.”

Brave of him. Despite the morning sun, Avis felt a chill. “She turned you away?”

“She was all that was genuinely gracious, Avie. It was sad.”

“She has a bereaved air.” Another cautionary tale.

“She could not recall who all was with her son the day you were assaulted. Collins was in the habit of towing a gang about with him when he was between misdeeds at school. She’ll consult with her lady’s maid, who has perfect recall where her betters are concerned, and pass along whatever she finds.”

The day you were assaulted.
Hadrian’s reference was neither casual nor apologetic. His words confirmed there had been such a day, while everyone else in Avis’s life had assiduously, if silently, exhorted her to forget that.

“The baroness’s abigail is Tansy Bilford. She’s somewhat of a local legend for keeping journals of everything from snowfalls to first lambs. Her papa was known for the same propensity, and she’s been with Lady Collins forever.”

Hadrian fell silent, and Avis became aware of him physically—his citrus and clove scent, his heat, his sheer size on the bench right beside her.

“I’ve missed you,” she said, squeezing his hand. The admission was slight, compared to the realization that when Hadrian was with her, she felt settled somehow, less anxious.

Less alone, God help her. He was a good companion in a way Lily had never been.

“I meant to get here before today,” Hadrian said, reciprocating that gentle pressure on her fingers. “Without a steward of my own, I get pulled into estate matters at odd times. Have you made any progress determining who had access to your bedroom?”

“Lily and I were interrogating Mrs. Ellerby before you arrived. The two upstairs maids often work together, though, and unless they’re colluding against me, they cancel each other out.”

“Was that wise?”

“Was what wise?”

“Having that discussion with the housekeeper in Lily’s hearing? You need to know I’ve written to my former bishop, inquiring into the situation that drove Lily’s father from the pulpit.”

Avis unlinked their hands, though she knew Hadrian’s caution was well meant.

“Lily would eventually get wind that I’d questioned Mrs. Ellerby. I posed my queries as preparation for moving to the dower house, because I’ll have to choose staff carefully.”

He captured her hand again and brought her knuckles to his lips for a kiss.

“You’ll move to the dower house, when we’re in contemplation of marriage?”

She thought of little else besides his proposal, and his welfare. “I haven’t set a date, and I’m not sure I will. I cannot abide that I’d put you danger, not for anything.”

“Your safety is my concern, and I had another reason for calling, besides the pressing need to assure myself you were well and thriving. Have you heard from Fen, Avis?”

“I have, in yesterday’s post, and he included a sealed epistle to you, which struck me as odd in the extreme.” She fished in her pocket and passed him a small folded and sealed document.

“Why odd?”

“Why not use the king’s mail to correspond with you directly? I must assume he’s keeping his communications private for a reason, but I can’t fathom what it might be.”

“Neither can I.” Hadrian slit the seal with a penknife and glanced at the contents. “Well, then again…”

“What aren’t you telling me, Hadrian? You know I would not disclose a confidence.”

“So I have your confidence, but not your troth?” His tone was as close to bitter as she’d ever heard it.

“I hesitate to become your wife, not to hurt you, Hadrian, but because I am your friend and would see you spared more trouble.”

“You’re mistaken, but because you are my friend, and you will be my wife, you need to know Harold has run off with Lord James, eloped, as it were, and I’ve every reason to believe Harold and James are on their way here to assist in untangling our difficulties.”

Of all the topics to intrude on their discussion, this one was almost humorous. “You’re angry at Harold?”

“Scared for him,” Hadrian said, sounding like an irritated papa. “He isn’t safe here, though, not if he wants to spend much time with Finch. They are love-struck, to put it bluntly.”

Blunt indeed, but hardly news to Avis. “They’ve been great friends for years. You don’t like Lord James?”

Hadrian dropped his face to her shoulder, took a slow inhale, then rose and paced off a few steps, hands in his pockets.

“Relations between men are considered unnatural, felonious, sinful, and so forth, but I went to public school and university, Avie. Most men of privilege start their exploration of physical intimacies with other boys at school.”

“Delicately put, but I wasn’t asking about most men.” Though Harold certainly qualified as a man of privilege, as did Lord James.

“Therein lies the rub, for which no theology treatise or bishop’s sermon has an answer. Harold is my brother, my only family, and much like a father to me. It’s at once simpler and more complicated when the question involves him.”

Harold was also sailing back to England when Hadrian’s welfare was imperiled. “More complicated how, Hadrian?”

“Right and wrong shouldn’t depend on whether the act is committed by a schoolboy or a peer of the realm. If it’s a sin, it’s a sin.”

“You aren’t convinced it is.”

“Not a great wrong, in any case, not when I see how Finch frets over Harold’s happiness, and how Harold lights up when they’re together. They genuinely love each other, and Finch provides Harold things I—things nobody else can. I left the church to heed Harold’s summons, though I would have left the church any way, if the alternative was to renounce my beloved only brother.”

“That’s the simpler part, isn’t it?” She rose and threaded her arm through his. “You love your brother and want him to be happy, so you will learn to accept Lord James as Harold’s friend, while you assume responsibility for Landover to free your brother from danger.”

“Free him from having to choose between being loved and being safe. Have I shocked you? I know you care for Harold, but we’ve never overtly discussed this.”

Having to choose between being loved and being safe
. Hadrian had faced the same choice, and despite the threats contained in the recent notes, he’d chosen love.

Avis let that insight wash through her and leaned into the man who’d forsaken safety for her sake.

“One suspected some things about Harold, and I do not begrudge him his happiness any more than you do. Were you and I to marry—and I have not said we will—your brother and his friends would always be welcome in our home.”

He held her then, a sudden fierce embrace she hadn’t seen coming, and she realized how much he’d kept this anxiety from her. A man could be hanged for the kind of happiness Harold shared with his James, his title and lands stripped, his family ruined.

But Hadrian had only been worried for his brother.

Avis told herself again that Hadrian ought not to risk his safety by marrying her, but she clung to him as fiercely as he clung to her.

The visiting resumed as August slid toward September, but with less of an air of expectation and exploration. To the best of Hadrian’s ability, he comported himself as a man quietly enamored of his intended, and their deportment in public was exactly what would be expected of a prospective bride and groom.

Privately, however, Avis’s behavior took on a silent desperation that tore at Hadrian’s heart. She never went more than a few days without initiating lovemaking, usually when they stopped for tea after the day’s social obligations.

Today was no different.

Avis set her plate down and turned a gaze on Hadrian that he’d come to dread.

“I’ve missed you, Hadrian.”

He’d missed her too, though he hated to see her like this—needy, unsettled, yet somehow not emotionally present
to him
even as she sat across the tea service from him. He opened his arms, and she was straddling his lap, kissing him, devouring him with her mouth, and he could not hold his peace.

“Avie, stop.”

“You said you wouldn’t withhold favors.” She started on his cravat. “You promised me that.”

“I won’t withhold anything from you.” He put his hands on her shoulders, for once resenting her determination. “I
cannot
withhold anything from you, but for God’s sake, let me lock the door.”

Her hands fell away, and at least she blushed at her oversight. He did not assist her when she extricated herself from his lap. When had she’d grown so indifferent to the comforts of a wide, fluffy bed that she must come at him like this?

In bed, he could hold her, he could take his time, he could cherish her and shelter her in his arms while she slept. He wasn’t even back across the room before she was embracing him again, running her mouth over his throat and jaw before fisting her hands in his hair and angling his head for her kiss.

“I love your hair like this,” she muttered, “long enough to sink my hands—”

He turned her and backed her against his estate desk, feeling despair even as his body leapt at the contact with hers.

“Hadrian…I want…”

“I know what you want, but do you know
whom
you want, Avis? You’ve refused to choose a date for our wedding.”

He covered her mouth with his, lest he hear again that she hadn’t, in fact, agreed to marry him. The rational part of his mind looked down from the crown molding at a man too pathetic to protest when he was being used.

But used for what? Hadrian loved this woman, he wanted only to protect her and keep her safe, and what she wanted baffled him. He nursed the ache of that frustration like a precious flame on a cold, windy night, because the temptation to get Avis with child loomed with the allure of original sin.

He really should escort her to the stables, then immerse himself neck deep into the quarry pond until autumn arrived. What kept him in the room with her was the certain knowledge that she was no happier than he, that the entire situation had left her as miserable and desperate as she made him.

“We’re visiting the Davises tomorrow, aren’t we?” she asked, untying Hadrian’s cravat. “After the drapes are hung in the dower house?”

“We must talk, Avis.” Hadrian backed away, assisted her off the desk, and retied his cravat. When he was again presentable, he unlocked the door and led her to the sofa. “I’ve spoken with Vicar Chadwick, Avie.”

“About?”

“
I
have set a date. I told him we’ll be married the last Sunday of the month, in his church.”

“You
set a date
? We haven’t told anybody, haven’t planned a wedding breakfast.”

About which, neither of them cared. Hadrian had shocked Avis rather than pleased her.

“Everybody’s welcome.” Announcing the wedding date when there might not be a bride at the service seemed a detail.

“This is not wise, Hadrian. Before, I’d go months between notes. I’ve had three since we became engaged. I’m worried for you, though I’ve sensed you’ve grown weary of the entire business. Perhaps we should cry off.”

“I’ve wearied,” he agreed, kissing her knuckles, “of your unwillingness to admit we should be together. Of being used only to store up memories to warm your dotage, while your life passes you by. Of seeing you waste yourself on silly notions of what I deserve, when you care for me and I more than care for you.”

“You care too much, Hadrian. You aren’t thinking clearly. For weeks you’ve been trying to decipher from what quarter harm stalks us, and you have not succeeded. Perhaps if we simply need to admit that even given more time—”

She had given twelve years of her life to fear and regret. He wanted to give her safety, love, children.

Himself.

“I won’t argue with a lady.” He
should not
argue with a lady. “Landover is under my control, and you would be safe here, from notes, from gossip, from everything but your own stubbornness. All well and good for you to consign yourself to misery, but you’ve decided I don’t deserve to be happy, either.”

“You don’t know you’ll be safe if I marry you,” she said, while tears sheened her eyes, and she couldn’t hold his gaze.

He used one index finger to lift a tear from her cheek and bring it to his lips. “You, my love, are lying to yourself. You tell yourself that your heart isn’t breaking, that you’ll be relieved when I no longer darken your door. That I’ll be out of harm’s way, and that matters more than being happy or loved. Oh, and this little business of passion beneath the wide Cumbrian sky was mere frolic and merriment. Why can’t you trust that you will be safe as my wife, and I will be safe as your husband?”

He didn’t slam the door when he went to summon a footman. He even escorted Avis to the stables and gave her a leg up onto her horse. When the groom walked a cob off to a discreet distance, Hadrian set a hand on Avis’s boot.