Pirate Hunter's Mistress (The Virginia Brides) (6 page)

“I trust your room is to your liking, my lady.”

“Oh, yes, my room is quite nice.” It was better than nice but she decided not to make too much over it. She must stop acting like a bumpkin whenever he as much as looked at her or touched her. Perhaps she’d do well to adopt a worldly air with her sophisticated husband. She didn’t want him to think she was too provincial. “It shall do quite well,” she told him with a blasé flutter of her pink and white silk fan.

The large ornate clock in the vestibule chimed the hour, breaking into their conversation. Arden smiled apologetically at her. “I hadn’t realized it was so late. You must be tired. I’ll escort you to your room.”

She wasn’t tired at all, but Marlee didn’t dare object, especially not when Simon and Barbara rose and wandered toward the stairway. “I believe the long journey has undone the ladies,” Simon observed and threw an assessing glance at Arden.

“Yes, I believe we all need a good rest,” Lark noted grimly but smiled pleasantly when they reached Marlee’s chamber door. “I’ll send Mrs. Mort to help you prepare for bed.” Before she could respond, Lark planted a very proper kiss on Marlee’s hand and made his way down the long hallway toward the other end of the house.

Simon exhaled audibly and led Barbara to her own door before politely bowing and withdrawing to a room farther down the hall. No sooner had Marlee closed her door than Barbara tapped upon it. She rushed into the room and twirled, her satin skirt resembling a summer peach. “Oh, Marlee,” she gushed with such enthusiasm and prettiness that Marlee instantly knew what she was about to say. “I’m in love, quite head over heels about Simon! Isn’t he the most handsome man you’ve ever seen?”

Simon was handsome but not as handsome as Arden. “Yes,” Marlee agreed. “I believe he is an honest and decent man. I wonder why he and Richard are friends.” That comment slipped out without Marlee’s awareness and when she realized what she’d said, she amended, “I’m certain Lord Arden has a great many good qualities. I must watch what I say about my husband. He is a stranger to me.”

“Lord Arden is taken with you, Marlee. I can see the way he looks at you.”

Marlee hadn’t noticed. She couldn’t hope that his compliments and smiles could hold anything more than politeness. Yet he’d told her she looked beautiful and his smile had been more than warm, his eyes more than bright. But she wouldn’t put too much stock in such things. No doubt he’d looked that way at other women before her. Still she longed to believe that he might find her the smallest bit attractive.

“My lady,” came Mrs. Mort’s voice from the doorway. “Are you ready to undress?”

The old lady began undoing the back of Marlee’s gown and soon she was properly attired in her white lace night rail, her hair loosened and hanging to her waist. After Mrs. Mort left to ready Barbara’s night clothes, Barbara kissed Marlee on the cheek and smiled encouragingly. “I know your wedding night will be wonderful.” Then she swiftly departed and Marlee was left alone, standing in the center of the room—waiting.

Her wedding night. She’d forgotten that fact in all the hubbub of her arrival, her first meeting with Arden. But now a clammy fear clutched her heart. How would she deal with Arden when he came to her to claim his husbandly rights? What would it be like to lie in his arms, to taste his kisses, to be completely possessed by such a rogue? Her head swam with the seductive images revolving in her brain and she moaned aloud. She was so inexperienced, not woman enough for such a worldly man. But then she clutched the bedpost to steady herself as a frightening thought assailed her. What would she do if he didn’t come to her?

She’d barely had time to dwell upon such a possibility when a knock sounded on her door and Arden’s voice came through the door panel. “My lady, ‘tis your husband.”

Husband. He’d said husband. Marlee’s heart pounded like a dozen steeds rushing through the countryside. “Come in, my lord,” she called in a small, tight voice.

The door opened. Arden waited in the doorway, still wearing his formal black evening attire. For a few seconds he looked at her, really looked at her. His gaze was bold and streaked appraisingly up and down her slender form where the night rail hugged her curves. The transparent material did little to disguise her womanly attributes in the waning candlelight, but Marlee was unaware of the seductive picture she presented.

When he moved toward her, her breath caught in her throat. With a few strides, his powerful body separated the gap between them, almost as if a magnet drew him to her.

He’s come to claim me! her mind cried and she was suddenly more than eager to experience his kiss, his arms around her. Gazing up at him with trepidation on her face, the uncertainty of her own inexperience gnawed at her. She doubted she’d be able to make this man happy and she wanted to make him happy. Sometimes he looked at her with such sadness that she knew a terrible torment ate away at him. But now there was another emotion on his face, something so heart-stirringly primitive that she shivered with fear and anticipation of the unknown.

She made a formal curtsy. “My lord.”

He gently took her by her arms and pulled her up. “Don’t curtsy to me. I want no homage from you, Marlee.”

“What —what do you want?” She could barely speak, barely breathe.

“You know what I want, you know.”

His mouth, burning with the heat of a hundred suns, descended upon hers. Her lips opened to him, drinking in the moistness of the warm assault like a dewy rosebud after a rainstorm, opening and blossoming beneath the golden rays. The blood streamed through her veins with quicksilver speed, beating out a wild, sweet cadence in every nerve of her being. He pressed her against him, the obvious bulge in his trousers a blatant signal of his desire. He wants me, he wants me, he wants me, her heart joyfully sang.

“Ah, Marlee,” he breathed beneath her lips and broke the kiss. “You’re so lovely, so enchanting. So—sweet.” His voice suddenly sounded like a tortured growl. Marlee could feel his heated gaze upon her though her eyes were closed. She opened them to find herself staring into orbs so black that they resembled the heavens on a dark night, a night without a pinpoint of light in the velvet firmament. His expression was blank, utterly devoid of emotion.

A shiver, not from desire or passion, slid down her back when suddenly he grinned at her. “Forgive me, my dear, but I fear your charms have undone me for the moment. I shall leave you to your rest.” He kissed her forehead and released her.

Luckily Marlee grabbed onto the bedpost for support or she’d have fallen like a rag doll at his feet. Dimly she wondered what she’d done to cause him to act this way. One second he was kissing her like he truly wanted her, and then he was pushing her away without the least hint of regret. What had she done? What hadn’t she done? She didn’t know, just didn’t know how to please a man like Richard Arden. “My—my lord—what?” She also didn’t know what to ask.

He didn’t bother turning around to look at her as he made his way to the door. “Sleep well, my lady. I shall see you in the morning.” His strong hand pulled open the door and closed it with a resounding thud behind him.

She waited by the bed for what seemed an eternity. Her mind whirled with images of the passion she’d seen on his face, the memory of the kiss which so completely destroyed her senses. Never had she imagined a kiss could be filled with so much fire and longing, and now she felt unfulfilled and bereft. She had wanted Arden to keep kissing her, to hold her in his arms forever. She had wanted him to love her, to make her his wife—and now he was gone. He’d left her confused, humiliated, and disappointed. But soon her disappointment gave way to something else—something akin to anger.

“The bloody bounder!” she hissed under her breath. Regaining the use of her legs, she went to the dressing table and grabbing a thick, silver hairbrush within her slender hand, she hurled it with uncharacteristic force against the oaken door. “Play games with me, will you! How dare you, Lord Richard Arden! How dare you stir my passions and then run away like the cowardly rogue you are. I’ll not have it. I’ll just not have it!”

But Marlee wasn’t certain what she would have. She only knew as she plopped herself on her bed and gritted her teeth that she wouldn’t allow Richard Arden to use her. He’d come to her to make her his wife, and then left her before performing his husbandly duty. Was he playing some sort of perverse game with her? Was he dangling before her the fleshly pleasures which awaited her in his arms if she signed the document of her own volition? And if she did sign, would he willingly bed her? Did he believe he could make her a slave to her own base desires?

Yes. She was inexperienced but something wild and hot had flared between them and she wouldn’t deny what she’d felt for him. Yet if Arden thought to tantalize her with his kiss as a way of bringing her to heel, he was mistaken. Oh, she’d sign the document and be done with it, but all in her own good time. First, her husband must learn a lesson about women—about her. That kiss had taught Marlee a great deal about herself, and she knew that with Arden as a lover, she’d enjoy marriage very much. But if he thought to make her a slave to passion, he was mistaken.

“Before I’m through with you, my dear husband,” she whispered to the ornately scrolled ceiling, “you’ll beg me to love you. Then we’ll see who is slave to whom.” And with that, she blew out the candle and plotted how to tame a rogue.

The following morning Mrs. Mort appeared at Marlee’s door with a small silver tray, filled with a freshly baked cinnamon muffin and a cup of hot tea. As Marlee ate, the old lady pulled a gray and white day dress from the wardrobe and laid it across Marlee’s bed. “I hope the gown meets with your approval, my lady,” Mrs. Mort said and smoothed down the wrinkles in the bodice.

Marlee assured her it did, unused to being addressed so formally and knowing it would do little good to ask the housekeeper to address her any other way. After Marlee finished eating, Mrs. Mort proceeded to brush Marlee’s hair into a becoming bun atop her head, but Marlee’s mind wasn’t on her hair or her gown at the moment. She wondered about her husband and what would be his reaction to her after their burning kiss last night. Her face still felt warm just to think about how she’d responded to him.

“Have you seen my husband this morning?” she casually questioned the housekeeper after she’d changed into her dress. For just a second Mrs. Mort stopped working her fingers on the buttons at the back of the gown before dutifully continuing with her chore.

“You mean himself, Lord Arden,” the old woman ground out through clenched teeth.

Who else did the woman think she meant? Sometimes Marlee wondered if Mrs. Mort might be addled. She’d met her only the previous day and had immediately liked her, but there was something malevolent in the woman’s attitude whenever Arden was near or whenever Marlee mentioned him. Marlee puzzled over this, sensing something wasn’t right but couldn’t discern what might be wrong. “Of course I mean Lord Arden,” Marlee said with a smile. “I wondered if he’d eaten yet.”

“Aye, he has and off he went.”

“Do you know where he’s gone?” Marlee felt slightly disappointed to discover Richard wasn’t in the house and that she might not see him that morning.

“No idea, my lady,” Mrs. Mort replied stiffly and shook out Marlee’s skirts. “His lordship tells me nothing, and I don’t want to know what he’s about.” She hobbled over toward the table where the tray was set and gingerly picked it up. “Now if you’re finished with me, Lady Arden, I have to help Miss Barbara dress, then see to me chores in the kitchen.”

“Mrs. Mort, will you be free sometime this afternoon?”

“What have you in mind, my lady?” The large green eyes settled tiredly upon Marlee, almost as if she expected another task to be doled out to her.

“I’d like your assistance in interviewing people from the village. The manor needs a competent staff of servants, and I trust you’ll help me choose the best qualified people. Do you think you might know anyone who’d be interested in working here? If so, I’d appreciate your sending word to them.” Marlee could tell her words eased the old lady’s fears and her burdens when a large grateful smile spread across the woman’s lined and weary face.

“Oh, my, that would be grand!” she exclaimed in breathless surprise. “Aye, I know just the people who would welcome the chance to work. I’ll send word with me nephew who lives in the village. He always comes on a Wednesday to see how I’m faring. In fact, my lady, he would be a good stable lad, if you’d consider hiring him. ‘Tis been a long time since the stables were cleaned out, and I know other members of me family who’d like to work here—and would do you proud—if you’d consider taking them on, that is.”

Marlee laughed at Mrs. Mort’s enthusiasm. This was the first time she’d seen the old woman really smile. “I’ll be happy to interview all of them.”

Half an hour later, Marlee threw on her white shawl and headed downstairs. Arden Manor was such a dark, dingy house with little natural light allowed inside because of the heavy drapes on all of the windows. She could visualize how the house would look, how elegant and grand it would be, once she finished redoing it. And it would be so nice to have her husband’s involvement in the refurbishments. She couldn’t help giggling to herself to imagine her swarthy and broad-shouldered husband surrounded by mountains of colored fabrics and tapestries as he dutifully helped her in the choosing. In fact she realized that attaining Richard’s help in the redecorating was the first step in taming him—and that was a project she truly relished.