Julia London 4 Book Bundle (10 page)

He was a goddamned fool.

Adrian’s lungs were burning; he was being chased through the trees, along the stream where he had fished for trout as a boy. Phillip was close behind, firing that German gun above his head. Frantic, Adrian ducked behind a tree, and peered back. But it was Benedict he saw now, and terrified, he whirled away from the tree and struggled to run—but he could not move his limbs.

Suddenly his eyes flew open. After a brief, clouded moment of terror, he realized he had fallen asleep, propped awkwardly against the squabs. God, he was bathed in sweat again. He extracted a handkerchief from his breast pocket, and as he wiped his brow he realized the post chaise was slowing. Lilliana, he noticed, was pasted to the window, and he struggled to see over her shoulder.

Longbridge.

Nestled on the banks of a river, the eighteenth-century mansion was exactly as Adrian remembered—an ornate estate to which he had no real connection, no sense of belonging. As the chaise coasted around the long circular drive, Lilliana turned a beguiling grin to him, her pale green eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. “It’s
beautiful!
” He nodded and shifted his gaze to the house, feeling a bad humor that had no basis in anything.

Mr. Brent Maximilian, Adrian’s longtime butler, was the first to greet Lord and Lady Albright, bowing respectfully as Adrian helped Lilliana from the chaise. “A pleasure to have you home, my lord,” he intoned.

“Thank you, Max. I trust your journey from London was uneventful?”

“Quite, my lord. I believe you will find everything in order.”

“Madam, allow me to introduce Maximilian, otherwise known as Max,” he said to Lilliana.

The poor girl was so excited, she actually curtsied to his butler. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Maximilian,” she said, and smiled brightly.

The usually fussy Max looked a little surprised—no doubt he had expected a woman of a more sophisticated countenance. “The pleasure is undoubtedly mine, my lady. I hope you shall find all at Longbridge to your satisfaction.”

“Oh! I am quite certain I shall! It’s so very lovely, don’t you think?” she chirped. Max inclined his head as he stole a fretful glance at Adrian from the corner of his eye. Hardly in a mood to entertain curious looks from his butler, Adrian grasped Lilliana’s elbow before she could speak further, and swiftly led her to the row of servants who had filed out to meet them in the early twilight. Much to his surprise and annoyance, Lilliana stopped to speak to every one of the twenty-two staff gathered, beaming as if she was being presented at court.

By the time he had managed to pull her inside, she was positively glowing with exuberance. As she pulled off her bonnet in the foyer, she gasped at the opulent surroundings. “Oooo, this is positively
wonderful!
” she exclaimed, and did a slow pirouette beneath the dome above the entry, painted with some scene from the Greek tragedies. Indifferent to all of it, Adrian removed his gloves and tossed them to a footman standing nearby in the black and gold livery of Albright. “This
is just
as I imagined it, you know! Caroline and I knew you would be surrounded by splendor!”

He had no earthly idea what she meant by that, and simply smiled as he glanced over his shoulder at Max. “Have a bath drawn for her ladyship and a light supper brought to her rooms.”

“Yes, my lord,” Max drawled. “My lady? If you will follow me?” he asked, and gestured toward a huge curving staircase spiraling upward beneath old portraits and coats of armor and one massive crystal chandelier. “This way, if you please.” As they trailed up the stairs with a footman carrying her bags close behind, Adrian
heard his wife ask
Mr. Maximilian
if his name was Greek, if he had any family, and if he had been at Longbridge for very long. Remarkably, Max answered her questions with a lilt in his voice Adrian was quite certain he had never heard from the fastidious man. If the Princess of the Grange had that effect on his butler, then he could only surmise Max had been without the company of a woman for far too long.

Lilliana’s cheeks were beginning to hurt from the smile she forced to her lips so that Mr. Maximilian would not see how very mortified she was. Dear Lord, what had she
done
? She had been so ecstatically happy when they had left Kealing, so anxious to begin her life of adventure with the most magnificent man alive, she had feared she might very well float away. Naturally, she had assumed he would be happy.

If he was, he had a peculiar way of showing it.

From the moment they had begun the trip to Longbridge, she had tried to engage him in conversation. She could not say that he did not oblige her, because he did, and was exceedingly polite about it. But he didn’t really
respond
to her. His answers were short, or he responded with questions of his own, forcing her to talk of herself. He revealed nothing of what he really thought about anything.

As the drive to Longbridge was the first time they had been alone for more than a few minutes since he had appeared at the Grange, that botched attempt at conversation had made her extremely self-conscious. She tried to take solace in the passing scenery, pointing out interesting things as they rushed by. Adrian looked up every time she asked, nodded politely without really seeing anything, then returned to his reading. Of a
French
book. That made her just as self-conscious, and unfortunately, the more nervous she became, the more she talked.

Things hardly improved over a late luncheon. He
made her eat a meat pie at a quaint little inn, and even ordered her a pint of ale to wash it down. Lilliana had never tasted ale in her life, but after a few sips the bitter drink was going down rather smoothly—so smoothly that she hesitantly requested a second one. “Whatever you would like, Lilliana, you need only ask,” Adrian had said, and she was left with the strange feeling that she could have whatever she liked as long as she stopped talking.

As Mr. Maximilian directed the footman to stoke the fire in the large hearth, she told herself that she was experiencing wedding nerves, nothing more. But the nervousness had grown to terrifying proportions the more miles they covered. Her husband was not even remotely interested in the things she found fascinating; she could not find a topic that interested him, and she could not read French.

Well, what in God’s name had she expected? He was a man of the world and it was little wonder he found her conversation boring. She had
nothing
to compare to his vast experience, nothing to capture his superior attention. And here she was, acting as if she was somehow
surprised
that she hardly knew the man she had married. She angrily reminded herself that it would take some time to grow comfortable in each other’s company. Nonetheless, for the first time in a week a faint hint of doubt crept into her conscience, unwelcome and unsettling.

“I shall have some bread and cheese sent up, if that pleases you, my lady,” she heard the diminutive butler say. “And some wine.”

Wine. Yes, she would very much like some wine. A barrel of it. “Yes, please,” she said.

“I shall leave you now. Lucy will attend you tonight. I have taken the liberty of engaging a lady’s maid for you, Mrs. Polly Dismuke. She shall attend you first thing in the morning,” he said, and with an efficient bow, left her with a tiny young chambermaid who was already laying out her nightclothes.

“They’ve brought the water for your bath, Lady Albright,” Lucy said, and motioned toward a door near the far wall.

That name registered somewhere in her brain, and Lilliana felt dangerously close to fainting. It had sounded so terribly important when she and Caroline had laughingly practiced it, but now it sounded almost ominous. Lord help her, she was his
wife!
She could almost hear her mother’s anxious voice as she had delicately explained what to expect tonight. It would happen
here
, in this room. But she hardly knew him! The thought of his powerful body coupled with hers made her knees shake, and she stumbled toward the door Lucy had indicated. The girl looked curiously at her; Lilliana hastily tilted her chin up, determined she would not see what a coward she was, but oh God, she
was
a coward!

The hot bath did nothing to soothe her. How in heaven’s name would she lie with him? Would he at last speak to her, or would he approach it with the same damned patience he had shown her all day long? She changed into the silk night rail and dressing gown her mother had bought from Mrs. Peavey, who had brought it all the way from London. She was hardly aware of Lucy braiding her hair; she hardly remembered getting
married
, she thought, a little hysterically, and when Lucy announced she was done, she only barely managed to drag herself into the main suite again.

Some food and wine had been brought up. Lucy poured a glass for her, and with a final, curious glance at her, she took her leave. The moment the door shut, Lilliana began to pace anxiously. No matter how wonderful she thought him, the vision of the impending invasion unnerved her so badly that Lilliana suddenly lunged for the wineglass, quickly downing half the contents. Blast it all, but it did nothing to ease her tension—if anything, it made it soar. Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, she commanded herself to stop being so childish. She was a grown woman, for heaven’s sake! She would endure this!

More wine.

“Ah, the wine has come.”

She hadn’t heard him enter, and started so violently that she spilled a bit of wine onto the table. Quickly, she put the glass down and swiped at the spilled wine before turning to face him. He strolled into the room wearing a black velvet dressing gown that swept the carpet. He looked quite imposing, and she thought for a moment that he looked even taller in bare feet, perhaps as much as two or three inches above six feet. And terribly virile. Lord God,
terribly
virile. He perused her, too, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, then lifted his gaze to hers as he shoved a hand through his hair. “Well. It seems you’ve been hiding beautiful hair beneath your bonnets,” he remarked.

She blushed furiously. “Thank you,” she said, and unconsciously smoothed an errant strand from her temple.

He advanced farther into the room, now looking at anything but her. “Max has outdone himself, hasn’t he? The last time I saw this room, it was quite bare.”

At that, insane questions popped into her head. When had he been in this room? And with
whom
? They said he was a scoundrel, and it was a well-known fact around the parish that Adrian Spence did not keep company with reputable women.

With a convulsive shiver, she swallowed again.

He paused in his perusal of the room and slanted a look at her. “Naturally, you may do as you wish to it,” he offered.

“No, my lord,” she managed to choke, and felt herself color, impossibly, even more. “I, uh, I think it is quite lovely.”

The Adonis moved slowly toward her. “As we are quite married now, I think it time you called me Adrian.”

Hadn’t she? That she had not actually voiced her husband’s Christian name aloud astounded her, and she
frantically attempted to recall everything she had said over the last few days.

“Please don’t feel any need on my account. You may call me whatever you like—assuming it is acceptable to Polite Society.”

He was teasing her now. And gaining ground. Lilliana forced her breath as he came to stand in front of her. His hazel eyes swept her face, her neck, and lingered on her bosom. She might as well have been standing naked in front of him, so pointed was his gaze. And it didn’t help that the room was suddenly
stifling.
When he lifted his hand and placed it gently against her cheek, everything in Lilliana froze with fear. Focusing on the lapels of his robe, she took what seemed like giant gulps of air to steady herself.

“Why don’t you eat something? You will feel better,” he suggested. But no, thank you, nothing was going to make her feel better. Adrian grasped her hand. “You are making me feel a bit like an ogre, madam, looking as horrified as all that.” Before she could respond, he pulled her around the little table and helped her into a chair. “Relax,” he whispered into her ear, and patted her arm before placing some bread and cheese on a small wooden platter. “Eat,” he said, motioning to the food, and sat himself across from her.

Yes, she should eat something. But she reached for the wine instead, taking another good, long sip that warmed her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. Adrian watched her beneath long, thick lashes as he munched on a thick slice of bread. When she finished the glass, he wordlessly refilled it.

“I didn’t know you cared for wine,” he remarked as she reached for the glass.

“Neither did I,” she mumbled hoarsely.

The briefest hint of a smile grazed his lips. “Perhaps it is that particular vintage. If I know Max, it has fermented for all of two weeks now.”

Lilliana smiled in spite of herself and risked a look at him. His robe was open at the neck, and she glimpsed a
bit of the crisp hair that covered his chest. His sandy brown hair was all curl, his jaw impossibly square. She took another generous sip of wine as she watched his broad hands tear the bread. Such strong hands, she thought, and suddenly imagined them engaged in a variety of activities. Like dueling. Or gambling. Or on a woman. That thought caused her traitorous cheeks to flame. Just how many women had his hands touched? And more importantly, exactly
how
had his hands touched them?

Again he lifted a single, quizzical brow. Lilliana hastily took another sip of wine. “You have hardly touched your food,” he remarked.

“I am really not very hungry,” she admitted.

“I see,” he said, and unfortunately, she rather imagined he did. The burn in her cheeks spread to her neck; she quickly dropped her gaze to her platter. “Perhaps we should retire.”

Oh God, it was
time!
She had imagined this moment would be a bit more tender, perhaps a bit of wooing on his part. Exactly where she had come up with that idea escaped her—certainly it was nothing her mother had said. Well, there was nothing to be done for it. As her mother had drilled into her several times the last week, a woman submitted to her husband without complaint. Nonetheless, she felt every fiber tense as he stood and walked around the table to stand behind her. She swallowed a gasp when he put his hands on her shoulders and lightly massaged them. What was
this
?