[Samuel Barbara] The Black Angel(Book4You) (33 page)

Laden with little gifts, and more than a little drunk, Tynan and Gabriel arrived at Hartwood quite late to find the house mostly abed. A brace of candles burned in the music room, and someone kept watch in one of the upstairs bedrooms that faced the road, but aside from the young footman who gave them entrance, everyone else seemed to have retired.

It was Cassandra, looking pale and haunted, who emerged from the music room. "Spenser! Are you mad? You might have been killed making that trip in the dark!" She saw Gabriel behind him and cried out. "What were you thinking?"

Gabriel only stood there, blinking in the warmth. "I spent too many years never knowing how any of you were. I had to come."

Tynan put aside his parcels. "Where is my wife?"

"Asleep. And I'd advise you to let her continue. She's exhausted."

"Is that right? When I need your advice, I'll ask it." He walked toward the stairs. "Will you take me to her, or must I rouse some weary servant?"

"Oh, you'll respect the weariness of the servants but not the lady?" Cassandra didn't bother to hide her hostility, and Tynan narrowed his eyes, remembering how she'd glared at him from the very first moment. He recognized that this was her true face—she did not like him.

And therefore there was no point in attempting to placate her. "My wife"—he emphasized the word subtly—"will not mind it."

With a twitch of her skirts, she huffed and picked up a brace of candles. "This way."

"How is Phoebe?"

"She is in no danger of death."

"But?"

"The rest we will not know for some time."

"I'm sorry."

"So am I," she said harshly, and stopped, gesturing toward a staircase that wound into the stone tower. "Second door to the left. Beware the ghosts."

And leaving him to make his way in dark, she took the candles and moved back the way she'd come. Undaunted, Tynan carefully made his way up the circular stairs. It was indeed very dark, and very cold, but he'd not shed his coat, and the wall gave guidance. The stairs opened into a short passageway, and here there was enough light coming through the window at one end for him to make his way to the second door.

He scratched, but there was no answer, and he entered quietly. A fire burned in the grate, casting soft red illumination into the room, and from an embrasure set with a double set of mullioned windows, the softness of cloudy night came in. The bed was an enormous four-poster hung with brocaded drapes, and he thought of the night he'd first made love to her, in a medieval room much like this one. It seemed a very long time ago.

She slept on her belly, her hair and the top half of her face the only things showing, and he resisted the urge to kiss her. Instead, he disrobed quietly, and shivering, slid under the down-filled counterpane, moving across the cold expanse of bed to the warm island of her body, and very gently took her into his arms. Without waking, she flowed into his embrace, sighed heavily and settled hard on his shoulder.

With an odd sense of relief, he too fell asleep, holding her close to his heart.

Adriana awakened with a snug sense of well-being. Tynan's body cradled hers from behind, his long arms looped around her, his knees tucked into the crook of her own. His breath, steady and deep, brushed her nape.

Then she realized where she was—in her bed at Hartwood Hall, in her nightrail, buried under the heavy feather counterpane. He, quite obviously, was naked.

In gentle wonder she turned, and Tynan, still deep in sleep, let her go, pulling the cover over his bare shoulder and burying his face into the pillow. The sight of him, so beautiful, in her bed when she had not expected him, gave her a wild sense of gratitude.

Have I fallen in love with him?

Had she? She probed the spot in her chest that held him, and found it deep and wide and soft, pleasure and joy and… what? Her gaze caught on his slightly crooked, aggressive nose, such a refreshing flaw amid the graceful lines of cheekbones and jaw and eyebrows. From that broad forehead sprung his thick hair, dark but touched with those hints of copper when the light was upon it. His hand lay on the pillow next to him, and she reached up with her own, touching his fingers and palm lightly, letting the emotion pour through her—love.

Love that made her lean close and press a kiss to his brow, gently. Love that rested easy in the cradle of her heart. Love that made her wish to travel to his wild Irish world and see what he'd seen through his boyhood. Love that made her want to bear children that had his eyes.

Love that made her wish to be the one holding his hand when he died, or having him hold hers while she slipped away. If he had a mistress… it stung, that thought, and she scowled.

"Such a sour face," he said, touching her cheek.

"When you discover you want another woman, can you promise to make it several and never just a single one?"

He gave her a quizzical smile. "What?"

"I think I can bear the idea of several women, but I'm afraid a single mistress will make me a terrible shrew."

Rising up to his elbow, he looked down on her. "How many shall I have, then? Is twenty too many?"

"You're teasing me."

"I am." Idly, he untied the laces of her nightrail and put his hand flat between her breasts. "Why would I take a mistress when I have a wife who so suits my passions?"

"For now I do. But we're new lovers."

He lowered his lashes. "Will you have lovers, too, Riana?"

"No."

"Then I will not take them, either." He met her eyes soberly. "We'll be faithful, one to the other."

It pierced her. "Are we to remain married, then?"

"Aye," he said roughly, and she caught a hidden worry, quickly erased, before he kissed her. "Aye, that suits me."

She breathed in the scent of his hair, closing her eyes. There was pipe smoke in the length, and a hint of port. "How did you get here?"

"Gabriel and I came together, late. He was in a state, worrying, so I brought him." He straightened. "About our agreement, now. When all is settled with your brother, I will wish to return to Ireland." He paused. "There are things we will discuss then. And you may choose to stay here or come with me then."

"I'll go with you, of course."

"You may not," he said.

Perplexed, she touched his chest. "What is it?"

"Let's wait till the trial is done, shall we?" He lifted a rueful brow and pushed his hair from his face. "How is Phoebe?"

Frowning thoughtfully, she didn't answer immediately. "You've frightened me now, Tynan."

His mouth showed no hint of humor, and his hand strayed, brushing over her jaw. "I meant to."

She thought suddenly of him the first night they'd made love, sitting alone in the dark with his head in his hands. "Is it about your brother?"

"Partly." He took a breath. "Now, you have to trust me. It will be better to wait. And I do not mean to appear callous, but can you leave Phoebe safely in the care of the others, just for this day and night?"

"The ball."

He nodded. "If you must stay, I will make our excuses, but it would be very good for my cause to go. And it will not hurt your brother's cause any, either."

"I understand. There is little that can be done for Phoebe today. We'll not know what damage there is until she is able to walk again, and that will be many weeks yet."

"All right. Then let's be on with the day." With his usual energy, he leaped up, shivering in the cold, and reached for his trousers. Adriana rolled to her side to watch him, smiling at the long smooth line of his back, the working of muscles in his shoulders.

"Can you spare even a few moments, sir?"

He bent over and kissed her, his hair falling around her face. "You're a lusty wench."

"So they say."

He chuckled. "We'll celebrate tonight."

The dress had arrived while they were at Hartwood, and when Adriana went upstairs, she found Fiona simply standing before the creation with her hands folded reverently over her apron. The maid looked at her with misty eyes. "My lady, this is a queen's dress!"

Adriana blinked in awe. It lay across the dark coverlet on her bed like something fashioned from the wings of fairies or dragonflies. Letting go of a breath of approval, she moved across the room to put a palm on it. "I cannot wear this," she said with some sorrow.

"What? You must! They'll all swoon in envy, they will."

Which was exactly the problem. The fabric was one shade from her own skin tone, and it was shimmering, diaphanous—a froth of nothing in so innocent a hue. She closed her eyes. "I cannot."

With her mouth set, she whirled, stomped to her door and went to find Tynan. She came upon him in the drawing room, frowning over a letter that he hastily folded up when she appeared. "Tynan, the dress will not do."

"Is there some mistake?"

"No. It's too wicked. It's terrible. I cannot appear in such a dress."

His smile broke, devastating and knowing. "It is meant to be utterly wicked, Riana."

"You do not know what they will say."

"Oh, but I do," he said softly.

"What you think it was to be and what it actually has become are—"

Reasonably, he said, "Have your maid help you put it on. We'll decide."

Adriana sighed and waved a hand. "Whatever you say. You will see."

Tynan's smile faded as she bustled out, and he took the letter again from his jacket. It came from his steward, who warned him of raids that had been made on neighboring counties, Protestants against Catholics, and the law all on the Protestant's side. A young man, hotheaded and outraged, had been beaten to death. He'd left a wife and small child.

The raids, warned the steward, were coming closer. He feared what would happen when they got to the glassworks.

Tynan pinched the bridge of his nose, torn in two directions. Tonight he hoped to cinch his aspirations toward a House seat. Julian's trial would begin Tuesday. If all went very well, he could depart London by Friday next.

But some presentiment of danger warned him that he could not leave it so long. What if the raids progressed before he was able to make the long journey? It took several days even in good weather and no storms to block his ferry crossing from Holyhead to Dublin.

And if there was such unrest, he would be very unwise to take Adriana with him, as he had planned. Which would mean leaving his confession even longer. Tension drew up his shoulders and he shifted to loosen them.

He heard her step outside the door and carefully tucked away the letter. Time enough tomorrow to decide. He turned, hands clasped behind his back, and waited for her to appear.

She strode in, as if to weight her form with a man's sturdy walk. But nothing could have marred the perfect marriage of that dress to that form. She halted, nostrils flaring. "You see? It is impossible."

"Au contraire," he whispered. The gown was made in some light, airy way of such fine fabric that it appeared to float over her body, curving itself around her lush breasts, swirling around her belly and hips. She looked like a goddess. No man would be able to think clearly while she walked a room in that dress, which was exactly what he'd hoped.