Wicked Delights of a Bridal Bed (3 page)

Perturbed, Mallory laid her hands on the arm of her chair. “I didn’t realize you took such a keen interest in fashion. Have you turned into a man milliner, Adam?”

Rather than taking offense, he tipped his head back on a laugh. “Not at all. I don’t give a rap about men’s attire. Now women, they are another matter entirely. I love dressing women.”

And undressing them,
she thought, fully aware of Adam’s reputation when it came to the fairer sex. No doubt he knew his way around a woman’s garments—and undergarments, come to think—with the skill of a master violinist playing a concerto.

Heat warmed her cheeks, and she found herself vaguely shocked by such musings. She swallowed, wondering if Adam had noticed. If he had, though, he gave no sign, his attention fixed on the pair of evening dresses Penny was holding up for his inspection.

Begrudgingly grateful for his interference, Mallory leaned back and let him choose.

Chapter 3

A
few minutes past six o’clock that evening, Adam stood bare-chested in front of the washstand mirror. With confident precision, he drew the sharp edge of a straight razor across his cheek, coming away with a coating of soap and black stubble. Rinsing the blade clean in a basin of warm water, he repeated the routine action. Generally, he ended up having to shave twice a day since his beard grew fast and heavy.

After years of living a hairbreadth away from penury, he’d grown used to performing his own ablutions without the aid of a valet. And although his recent increase in wealth had afforded him the luxury of hiring a man to care for his clothes and other personal belongings, he still preferred to bathe and dress himself without assistance. God knows he didn’t need anyone to hold his shirt and trousers for him. He could put them on himself, thank you very much.

Scraping away a last strip of whiskers, he rinsed the razor, dumped the water and poured fresh. Using both hands, he splashed his cheeks clean, then reached for a nearby towel. With his face presentable enough now for company, he took up a pair of silver-backed brushes and ran them through his hair, smoothing the dark, wayward strands into place. As he did, his thoughts turned to Mallory, her beautiful countenance alive within his mind’s eye.

I was hard on her
, he realized. But had he been too hard? Had he been insensitive and unsympathetic to her needs and her grief?

His heart gave a painful beat to remember her tears, her distress having nearly proved his undoing. For the last thing in the world he would ever wish to do was hurt Mallory.

He remembered his first sight of her today and his shock at seeing her looking so thin and hollow-eyed. Her blue-green gaze had been as lonely as a distant sea, her cheekbones sharp beneath skin as pale as alabaster, her raven-dark tresses arranged into a severe chignon that exactly matched her doleful mood. The need to protect had risen inside him in an instant, making him long to snatch her up in his arms and hold her close.

Instead, he’d forced himself to sit and talk, determined to do what was best for her even if that best might not be what she wished at the moment. Because mourning or no, everyone could see she needed a push. She’d been walled up inside her grief for far too many months now, allowed to retreat so that she was a shadow of her former vibrant self.

Quite obviously, continuing to leave her to her own devises wasn’t the answer. Nor was tiptoeing around and indulging her with kind words, attentive care and concern. What she needed was a bit of shaking up, a diversion that would draw her back into the life she used to lead. While it was true that nothing would ever be quite the same for her again, it didn’t mean that her life was over.

He understood about grief, knew firsthand what it meant to lose someone so dear that the hole left behind yawned as wide and endless as a chasm. But he’d learned to go on, and so would Mallory.

From what he’d observed though, she was too entrenched in her pain right now to break free on her own. She needed someone else to help her escape.

She needed him.

After all, when you loved someone, that’s what you did. You helped them.

And God knows, if there is anyone on this earth I love, it’s Mallory Byron.

Even now, he could remember the day, the very instant, he’d recognized his feelings for her. The way the awareness had reverberated through his muscles and veins as though he’d taken a jolt from one of Drake’s electricity machines.

“Come play a game, Adam
,” she’d entreated, her lilting voice filled with all the merry innocence of the sixteen-year-old schoolgirl she’d been then.

He hadn’t wanted to play. He’d been a grown man of six-and-twenty. What use did he have for children’s games? Especially since he’d stopped being a child long before his youth was even done. But somehow Mallory had drawn him in, she and her young female cousins and little brothers, the happy band frolicking with youthful abandon on the verdant grounds of Braebourne. The time of year hadn’t been all that different than it was now, late summer, with its moist ripples of sunshine and heat, droning insects and blossoming honeysuckle bushes releasing clouds of succulent perfume into the air.

Mere seconds after he’d begrudgingly agreed to Mallory’s scheme, the world went dark, the black cloth of the hoodman-blind thrust over his head. All of the participants squealed with excitement, hands spinning him in a circle before dancing backward to evade his pursuit. They laughed and prodded him as he turned and chased, their footsteps soft against the grassy lawn.

Then he caught someone, one of the older girls by the feel of her as she squirmed and struggled in his embrace. She was a delightful handful, her lithe young body brushing against his own in a most enticing way. Whirling her around, he held her fast, as he reached up to yank the hood from his head.

His gaze locked with Mallory’s, her aquamarine eyes gleaming more brilliantly than the sky. Air rushed from his lungs, then stilled completely when she leaned up and kissed him, laughing all the while. Her touch was nothing more than a peck, an affectionate brushing of lips. But that simple touch sent his world spinning around him, and improbable as it seemed, he knew in that moment that he loved her. Stunned and uncomfortable, he pulled away, making some excuse that took him quickly back into the house.

He waited for the emotion to fade, telling himself he couldn’t trust such irrational feelings. She was only sixteen, after all, far too young for him to consider in any adult sort of way. It was preposterous, mooning over a girl not even out of the schoolroom. And yet she was bright and sweet-natured and so unbearably lovely the sight of her made him ache.

Over the weeks to follow, he felt like some jaded roué coveting a tender young morsel and did his best to steer clear of her company. She was forbidden fruit, and he trembled with longing to pluck her from the vine. But he couldn’t have her, and not simply because of her youth and the disparity in their ages.

For a start, she was his best friend’s sister, the cherished daughter of a family he’d come in many ways to regard as his own. But as much as Jack and the other Byron brothers had welcomed him into their circle, he knew they’d take his head off if they so much as imagined he had designs on their little sister.

Yet even if that obstacle might have been overcome, and he waited a respectable amount of time for Mallory to come of age before courting her, she was still as far beyond his reach as the stars in the sky.

Galling as circumstances might be, he’d inherited a title that was all but worthless. His wastrel father had seen to that—gambling, drinking and whoring to the point where there’d been almost nothing left of the estate except a moldering house and lands so poorly utilized they barely provided the funds to pay the necessary taxes each year. His father would have sold those off as well if the entailment hadn’t kept him from liquidating every last nail and brick. Nonetheless, the old devil had done a masterful job stripping the estate of its pride and possessions, so that pitifully little remained by the time the reaper came to carry the earl off to his final reward.

Or eternal damnation more like,
Adam thought now, as he reached for his shirt and pulled it on over his head.

No, when it came to Mallory he’d had nothing to offer her back then, and he hadn’t been so idealistic as to imagine that love would make up for a life of want and privation. Of course, she would have had the large dowry Clybourne settled on her, enough money to keep them both in reasonable comfort and style. But he had too much pride to be branded a fortune hunter and too much respect for Mallory to ever want her to question whether it had been her he’d wanted or her money.

And so, he’d given her up before he’d ever had her, burying his love for her as deep as he could force it to go. Instead, he’d settled for her friendship, a pale substitute for his real desires but a small salve nevertheless.

Or at least it had been until she’d met Michael Hargreaves and fallen in love. He’d died a little the day she’d announced her engagement to the other man, knowing he’d lost her forever.

Or so he had thought.

Hargreaves had been a fine man, and he would never have wished him ill. When he’d heard news of the major’s death, he’d been saddened by the loss—especially for Mallory’s sake. But he’d also experienced a secret sense of relief, along with a tiny spark of hope that flickered back to life inside him.

Mallory was free again and could be his, as he’d never before allowed himself to imagine she might be. Not only was she a grown woman now, he was no longer one step shy of the poorhouse.

Roughly two years ago, he’d scraped together enough money to make a couple of investments with Rafe Pendragon, a man reputed to be a financial wizard. Jack had mentioned his own decision to give the man’s advice a try, and Adam had followed suit. Thank God he had, since the risk had more than paid off, garnering him what now amounted to a sizeable fortune.

With money to spare, he was finally starting to undertake the improvements to his estate that he’d always longed to make. Reclaiming the land was his first priority, large numbers of fallow acres having been allowed to turn wild over the past twenty years of disuse. Next, he planned to build new houses, repair many existing ones and give his tenants the means needed to profitably work the land. The rents alone would provide him with a good income, allowing him to concentrate the rest of his funds on repairing Gresham Park and seeing the grand old property returned to its former glory. Even more, he wanted to bring laughter and love back to a house that had known far too little of either. He wanted to bring Mallory there as his wife.

But first she would have to emerge from her grief, and while she did, he would have to continue being patient.

I’ve waited for her this long,
he mused with stoic resignation, as he reached for one of the starched linen cravats his valet had laid out for his use.
I can wait a while longer. If necessary, I would wait an eternity to have Mallory as my own.

Ignoring the ache of longing that settled in his chest and lower in his semiaroused groin, he turned to the mirror and began tying the cloth around his neck in an intricate knot.

Earlier, when he’d made his remark about ravishing Mallory on her bed, he hadn’t entirely been joking. Oh, what he wouldn’t give to have locked them alone inside her room so he could kiss and caress her until she couldn’t think of anyone or anything but him. Stripping that black dress off her body would have been both a privilege and a pleasure. Yet another desire that would unfortunately have to wait.

Admonishing himself for his wayward thoughts, he fixed a final knot in his cravat, then reached for his white waistcoat with its long row of mother-of-pearl buttons. A black evening jacket came next. Last he added a few extras—a pocket handkerchief, a gold watch he’d carried since his days at university and an onyx signet ring that had belonged to his grandfather.

After a last glance in the mirror, he left the room to join the assembled company for dinner.

Mallory slipped into the drawing room on silent feet, hoping none of the others would take notice of her arrival. Her luck held for exactly thirty seconds before her mother turned and caught sight of her.

With a smile on her elegant oval face, Ava, Dowager Duchess of Clybourne, glided across the room, the bronze silk of her evening gown complementing her trim figure and soft chestnut hair. Were it not for the few, fine strands of silver in her tresses and the faint lines that fanned out near the corners of her clear green eyes, one might have imagined her to be a much younger woman. Even her own children agreed that she didn’t look old enough to have borne all eight of them, the eldest of whom was now four-and-thirty years of age.

“Hallo, dear,” Ava greeted in a quiet voice before leaning over to dust a kiss against Mallory’s cheek. “I’m so glad you changed your mind about joining us tonight.”

Mallory gave a murmur of assent, but said nothing more.

“And don’t you look beautiful. That willow green gown is most becoming. I hope you won’t take it amiss, but it’s good to see you in something other than black.”

Mallory held her tongue again, deciding not to mention the fact that she’d had help from an unexpected source in choosing tonight’s attire. As if attuned to her thoughts, Adam turned from where he stood across the room in conversation with her brothers, Jack and Cade, and their friends, Niall Faversham and Lord Howland. A slight smile curved Adam’s mouth, his rich brown eyes warm with approval as they swept over her.

And why should he not approve,
she thought,
considering he’s the one who picked out my dress?
She shot him a look that drew a wider smile.

Glancing away, she focused her attention on her mother. Seconds later, they were joined by her sisters-in-law, Grace and Claire.

Claire smiled and leaned near. “I hope you’re not cross with me for saying something to Adam this afternoon,” she whispered.

Mallory gave a tiny shake of her head. “How can I be cross when I know you only mean well.”

Claire relaxed. “I do, truly. Now come and speak to Meg. She’s trapped on the sofa at present.”

Her other sister-in-law, Cade’s wife, was “trapped” because she was heavily pregnant with the couple’s second child. Despite being due to deliver late that month, Meg had insisted on coming to Braebourne for the country party. Mallory knew that Cade had initially worried about the journey south but had given up arguing without much protest. He was glad Meg would be surrounded by family during her confinement and labor.

Apparently aware of the attention she was receiving, Meg waved them over, her lake blue eyes alive with a tranquil happiness Mallory could only envy. Meg and Cade were so completely in love, their bond was plain to see. The same could be said for all of Mallory’s married brothers, each of them in turn doting on his wife with an open affection that was returned fully and without reservation.