In the Garden of Disgrace (15 page)

“Moments ago I was Adrian. And a marriage
that doesn’t start with at least a little lust is not worth the
effort. Turn around and I’ll do your buttons,” he said, his voice
becoming matter-of-fact.

“Can’t we be friends for now?” she
questioned the wall.

Adrian fastened the last button, then lifted
her hair and placed a warm kiss on the nape of her neck. Her skin
quivered at the contact, and she realized the passion of minutes
before lay dormant beneath a veneer of calm, ready to be rekindled
at the least provocation.

“I don’t think so,” he said on a groan,
proving her theory. He turned her to face him. “After tonight I
begin to look forward to our nuptials with great anticipation.”

“I think you should go home now, my lord,”
she said wearily.

Adrian reached up and cupped her jaw in his
hand, rubbing his thumb over her cheekbone. “Are you angry with
me?”

“I thought you were the one who was
angry.”

His eyelids drooped. “Angry,
worried…jealous. Tonight you’ve brought out in me another emotion
that has completely eclipsed the others. Unfortunately, I’ve been
left hanging, and I fear I’m in for a bit of pain.” He moved away
from her, but he walked rather stiffly.

“My lord?”

He laughed. “It’s nothing an hour or so in
the saddle won’t cure.” At the door he glanced back at her. “I want
you to think about tonight, Jillian. Please, for both our sakes
behave yourself.” On that bit of advice Adrian left.

Jillian clamped her lips together in
frustration. Why did he have to ruin everything by being
dictatorial? And why must she be weak, her heart beginning to want
what her head knew she shouldn’t? She wouldn’t mind those times
when they kissed and touched, if he did not insist on making their
lovemaking into something it was not.

She knew her views were unnatural. Women
coveted what the earl offered. A young lady spent her youth trying
to attract a mate, holding her body aloof while she was at it,
because she believed it was in her best interests. Perhaps it
was.

But Jillian was afraid—oh, so afraid.

*****

Adrian ate the last bite of his coddled egg
and downed it with a gulp of ale. The dining room at Sutherfield
was empty save for himself, and he assumed everyone had already
eaten since it was no longer early.

It was unusually quiet this morning. Though
breakfast had been laid on the sideboard, he had not seen a
servant. And he was surprised to find the food had been allowed to
cool. Adrian had heard a commotion in the hall when he began his
meal a short while before but then things grew silent again.

He supposed he should feel grateful for the
solitude, as he needed the time to think. Not that he hadn’t spent
most of the preceding night flailing about in his bed, attempting
to quell unwanted thoughts.

Lady Jillian Fitzgerald, bless her sweet,
contradictory soul, was the greatest challenge of his life. She
kept him off balance but her unpredictability was one of her
attractions. He could not understand, however, why she vehemently
opposed marriage, not just to him it would seem, but to anyone.
Most women in her position would be praising the Almighty for
saving them from a spinster’s fate.

It wasn’t that he considered himself the
best catch around. And he could see why she might resent the notion
that somehow she needed to be “saved.” But he would have been
pleased if she had approached his offer with something less than
disgust.

The earl smiled to himself, for he did know
one thing after last night in Miss Prudence Milford’s
parlor—Jillian was not disgusted by the physical side of a
relationship.

For Adrian the prospect of awakening the
lady’s latent sexuality was a fascinating proposition, one that
intrigued and excited him more with each passing day.
Unfortunately, every time he tried to seduce her he found himself
caught in the moment, unable to control his own rampaging
desires.

Jillian did not seem to think passion was
reason enough to enter a union. But Adrian could think of none
better—at least it should be part of the relationship. The
practical interests of the aristocracy when considering marriage
left him cold.

The difficult part was that he could not see
how he had made any progress in convincing Jillian a marriage
between them was for the best. A restless night and a solitary
breakfast had brought him no closer to a solution.

Adrian pushed back his chair with the
intention of searching for Simon, when the dining room door burst
open and the man himself appeared on the threshold.

“Simon, I was just coming to look for
you.”

The marquess stared at him wildly. “It’s
time,” he said in an agitated voice.

“Time?”

“Cassandra began her confinement about two
hours ago. I’ve sent for the doctor but he’s not here yet.”

That would explain why Adrian had not seen
anyone today. The household was preoccupied.

Aloud, the earl said, “Is she in
danger?”

“The midwife says no. Says everything is
happening as it should. But damned if I know what that means.
Cassandra’s beginning to be uncomfortable and I can’t do a thing
for her.”

“Lord, you look awful,” the earl said,
feeling the other man’s tension. “Sit down and calm yourself. You
won’t be any help to your wife if you lose control.”

Simon took the seat but he perched on the
edge of the chair, hands visibly shaking.

“You know, Simon, we all arrive the same way
and most everyone lives to tell the tale.” Adrian clapped him
awkwardly on the shoulder. “Try to hold up—tonight you will be a
father.”

The marquess nodded absently. “Do me a
favor?”

“Anything.”

“Escort Jillian here and Aunt Prudence,
naturally, if she wishes to come. I’ll feel better with some family
around me and so will Cassandra. I’ve sent word to her father. My
mother is in Bath and not due back until tomorrow.”

“I’ll depart straightaway.”

Ten minutes later he left Sutherfield.

Jillian was in the garden when the earl
galloped down the drive. He learned this at the front door and,
rather than going inside, trotted around to the back of the
house.

The lady glanced up at his approach, and
instantly he saw reserve enter her eyes. Still, he detected
something different about the way she looked at him—as if she were
only now really seeing him. For some reason that gladdened the
earl.

“My lord,” she greeted cordially—another
thing that pleased him. “You are here earlier than usual.”

“I’ve some news.”

“Oh?”

“It’s Cassandra’s time. Simon asked that you
and Pru come to Sutherfield. I think he needs the moral
support.”

Jillian put down the basket of flowers she
carried, her manner becoming businesslike. “I must get ready.” She
turned away and then spun back around. “Wait a minute. Aunt Pru’s
carriage is broken. She can’t go. She doesn’t ride. I’ll meet you
in the stable in thirty minutes.” Over her shoulder as she ran,
“Have them give you some refreshment in the kitchen.”

Adrian smiled at her retreating back. She
was the sort of female who could be counted on when she was needed,
and he found that a reassuring quality in a woman who often kept
him guessing. She would make a fine wife.

He did as she asked him and wandered into
the kitchen, sitting at the table while he enjoyed an ale,
upsetting Cook who clearly could not get used to his presence in
her domain. He watched the clock and, twenty minutes after Jillian
had gone inside, he headed for the stable.

She was there before him, having her horse
saddled—with a sidesaddle. He glanced quickly at her but she did
not return his look. Her closed expression told him he would be
making a mistake to mention saddles or anything pertaining to
saddles.

They began their journey in silence. Jillian
rode confidently, handling Raven with as much ease as when she rode
bareback. She had donned a habit, as surprising as the saddle, for
she rarely wore clothing designated for certain activities or times
of the day. The habit was outmoded—though not a fashion
connoisseur, even he could see that—but the sleek rose-colored gown
set off her figure and coloring perfectly. That, too, he refrained
from mentioning.

At last she spoke.

“When did Cassandra begin her confinement?”
she asked.

“This morning about two hours before I left
Sutherfield to come for you.”

“How is Simon holding up?”

“He’s unnerved. Wants to do something but
doesn’t know what. He thought your presence might be helpful—to
keep him company while he paces if nothing else.”

She nodded. “Simon is several years older
than I, yet we’ve always been close. Cassandra and I get along
nicely as well. She’s not judgmental which is necessary if one is
to accept me.”

Adrian looked at her sharply, but she
continued to stare straight ahead at the road in front of them.
Something he couldn’t define tugged at his heart when he heard the
wistful words. He did not sense self-pity in her attitude, though.
Rather, he perceived self-acknowledgment.

“I think you underestimate your appeal,” he
said, meaning every word.

“Things are done a certain way, my lord.
There is rarely room for the individual. I don’t consider myself
unique enough to pull it off.”

“Yet you seem determined to try.”

Finally she turned to look at him, but she
changed the subject. “I’m very angry at you, you know—”

“It’s about last night, isn’t it,” he said,
interrupting. “I let the moment get out of hand. I apologize.”

Jillian brought her gaze back to her hands
and she stared at them as she held her reins. “No, it’s not about
last night. We are both to blame for that.”

What a refreshingly honest answer, Adrian
thought.

“What is it then?” he asked aloud.

“I had my life planned before I met you. I
had come to accept my lot and had learned to be happy with it. But
you have me so confused I don’t know what is up and what is down. I
hate feeling like that.”

“Perhaps you had decided on the wrong
things. Perhaps when you made your decisions, you didn’t know what
you really wanted or that you might have other options. And why
should you be upset if changing those plans is for the better?”

“Is it?—for the better, I mean.”

“You are asking me for an unbiased view on
something about which I am very biased.”

“What about Aunt Prudence? I fear she may be
lonely.”

The talk had reached the point where Adrian
was beginning to feel hopeful. “If she is lonely she can live with
us.”

“You mean that?” Jillian asked, her gaze
darting back and forth over his features, clearly trying to assess
his sincerity.

“Absolutely. I like Auntie Pru. Of course,
we will have to hide the brandy, but that’s a small price to pay
for such a sweet lady’s company,” Adrian said, keeping his face
straight.

He knew she still watched him, although he
was now the one who examined the road ahead. After a moment he
heard her laugh.

Adrian felt the satisfaction rise in his
chest. He didn’t know when obligation turned to tenderness, but
gradually over the weeks he had come to realize marrying Jillian
offered more than a salve to his conscience. He wanted to marry
her. He wanted to face an anxious day when she brought his child
into the world.

Now there was an idea until this moment he
had never entertained. He went quiet after that, pondering the
strange twist of fate that had brought love into his life.

Jillian seemed to have no need to talk,
either. He was aware of her now as he had never been before. Not
her body—that had always intrigued him—but what she thought, what
she felt.

They finished the ride to Sutherfield in
companionable silence, reaching their destination in the middle of
the afternoon.

The butler ushered Jillian and Adrian into
the house as the sound of an agonized wail echoed from the floor
above them.

“My God, what was that?” Adrian
breathed.

The sound was repeated, this time a long
drawn out cry of pain that caused them to stall in the entry.
Immediately, Simon materialized in the doorway to the drawing room,
his face haggard, his appearance disheveled.

“Thank God you are here!” he said. “This is
the worst afternoon of my life. The screams have been going on for
more than an hour.”

Jillian ran to his side and hugged him. “I’m
sorry. I know this must be terrible for you.”

He buried his face in his sister’s hair. “I
feel so helpless. There’s nothing I can do for her.”

Adrian found those cries distressing, also.
“Since you can’t do anything, Simon, perhaps we should ply you with
liquor at the local inn. That is how a lot of men handle this
situation when the stress becomes too difficult.”

The marquess looked at him and shook his
head. “Cassandra can’t leave. Why should I? Her task is more
difficult than the waiting. I’ve tried to enter her room to make
certain she is all right, but they won’t let me near her.” He
turned tortured eyes on Jillian. “Will you check for me?”

“Of course, Simon,” she said, although
Adrian had the distinct impression going upstairs was the last
thing she wanted to do.”

“Stay with her if she wants you, Jillian,
please.”

Another cry rent the air and Adrian saw her
flinch, but she nodded at her brother and turned to the stairs.

*****

Jillian knocked on the door, about as eager
as a doomed man on a scaffold. Though not afraid for herself, she
found the discomfort of others difficult to tolerate. And the
anguish emanating from this room left her feeling
faint-hearted.