The Madness of Viscount Atherbourne (Rescued from Ruin, Book One) (10 page)

She jerked in surprise and spun to face him.
“No!” she squeaked. Good heavens, her voice was high and a bit
loud. Cringing, she tried again. “I—I mean, no, my lord. Actually,
I find it quite beautiful. You have a lovely home.”

The familiar half-grin curved his wicked
mouth, and light flashed in his dark eyes. Dressed in a formal
black coat with a silver silk waistcoat and charcoal trousers,
Lucien resembled the dark angel she had previously labeled him. The
stark white cravat merely emphasized it. Gracious, he was a
handsome man. And with him standing so close, she was having
trouble keeping her thoughts together.

“It’s your home as well, now, my dear. So
perhaps you should say, ‘
We
have a lovely home.’”

Unsettled by the notion, she turned to stare
at a set of closed double doors just off the foyer. The parlor or
morning room, perhaps? “Yes, well. I suppose that is true. Though
it hardly feels that way.”

The butler, a stooped, wizened man of
terribly advanced years who shuffled slowly and spoke loudly,
returned to announce, “My lord, the servants are ready to be
presented to Lady Atherbourne. They are in the dining room.”

Lucien winced as the man’s overloud voice
echoed in the open space. “Very good, Billings.”

Billings, who had taken their gloves and her
cloak when they first arrived, nodded his snowy-white head and
shuffled toward the second set of doors off the entrance hall.

“Shall we, Lady Atherbourne?” Lucien
presented her with his arm, and together they entered a sumptuous
room dominated by an enormously long mahogany table, which was
flanked on either side by a dizzying number of chairs—easily two
dozen in all. The vermilion damask on the walls was relieved by the
soft white of the wainscoting and ornate moldings. A white marble
fireplace along the wall opposite the entrance was topped by a
lovely green landscape. The painting was English, but with the
soft, dreamy quality of the French style. A Turner, she
thought.

In front of the tall bank of windows at one
end of the room stood a long line of servants. Billings and a
sturdy, ruddy-faced woman who must be the housekeeper, judging from
her dress, stood nearest the entrance. Billings cleared his throat.
“My lady,” he croaked. “May I present to you the housekeeper, Mrs.
Garner.”

The woman beamed warmly, revealing a wide gap
between her two front teeth, and dipped a curtsy, her ring of keys
jangling against her waist. “Welcome to Wyatt House, my lady.
Whatever ye need, don’t hesitate to call on Mrs. Garner. We’re all
jes’ over the moon about Lord Atherbourne gettin’ himself married
up proper. Why, jes’ the other day, I was sayin’ to Cook, ye won’t
find a happier housekeeper in London than Mrs. Garner, I says.”

Momentarily flummoxed by the effusive
greeting, after a few seconds, Victoria answered with a quiet but
sincere, “Thank you for your kind welcome, Mrs. Garner.” To which
the housekeeper responded like an excited pup, her smile growing
wider and her keys once again clinking as she curtsied several more
times.

The responses of the remaining staff, though
less loquacious, were equally warm and courteous. Rattled by
memories of the disastrous wedding breakfast, as well as the
stresses of moving into a new home and—
oh, dear
heaven
—thoughts of the night to come, Victoria knew she was
unlikely to recall many of the staff’s names. Certainly, she would
remember Mrs. Garner—the woman repeated her own name enough times
to assure that. Perhaps she would ask the housekeeper to make a
list of the servants and their roles in the household, she thought
absently.

Simply coping with the devil’s own scandal
and arranging a rushed wedding had occupied all of Victoria’s
attention of late, so she’d had little time to consider the task
now before her: Becoming the Viscountess Atherbourne meant fully
managing the households of her husband’s various properties. While
she knew herself to be more than capable, having done the same for
the Blackmore properties since her mother’s death, it was bound to
take time and effort before she felt like the mistress, rather than
a stranger, in her new home.

As the last of the footmen bowed and
acknowledged Victoria with a final “my lady,” she felt the large,
strong hand of her husband take her elbow.

Not one but
several
tingles emanated
from where his palm gently cupped her arm, causing her to shiver.
How silly that she had once wished for such a thing. To be so
affected by a casual touch was most disconcerting, especially
considering a layer of fabric separated his skin from hers.

As though hearing her thoughts and wanting to
tease her, Lucien leaned close to her ear, his clean, spicy scent
surrounding her, and murmured, “Dismiss them, and I shall show you
to our chambers.”

Her stomach swooped and curled like a bird on
a sudden gust of wind. She felt her skin heat with a wretched flush
and her mouth grow dry. “But it is barely past noon, my lord,” she
whispered, refusing to look at either him or the servants.

He was silent for several seconds, his head
remaining bent intimately close to hers. She could almost feel him
willing her to do as he had demanded. Then his fingers flexed
slightly where they held her arm. He straightened to his full
imposing height, but did not release her.

“Billings!” he boomed loudly, causing
Victoria to jerk and glare up at him.
Really,
she thought.
Presumably, he raised his voice so the ancient butler could hear
him across the long expanse of the room, but the least he could do
was warn her.

“Yes, my lord?”

“Were Lady Atherbourne’s belongings delivered
this morning?”

“Yes, my lord. All of the trunks were
unloaded, and her ladyship’s effects have been unpacked and placed
in her chambers.”

Lucien turned his commanding gaze on the
housekeeper. “Mrs. Garner, Lady Atherbourne and I will take
luncheon and dinner in our rooms. You may leave the trays outside
the door. We are not to be disturbed until morning, is that
understood?”

Victoria’s eyes whipped back and forth
between Mrs. Garner’s raised brows and Lucien’s hard-edged profile.
Surely he did not just say what she thought he said. He could not
have simply …
announced
such a thing.

“In fact,” he continued, “deliver a bath to
our chamber no earlier than ten tomorrow morning, and delay
breakfast until half past.”

She felt embarrassment wash over her, buzzing
like angry bees in her ears and rushing through her veins, both hot
and cold at the same time. Several gasps and what was clearly a
smothered giggle could be heard from the line of maids and
footmen.

How dare he shame her like this? In front of
the entire staff, no less. Did he think the servants would believe
they were
playing chess
until half past tomorrow morning? Of
course not. The implication was obvious, and their reactions
suggested they had received the message. It was impossible to miss.
He had bloody well
shouted
it across the room.

After Colin’s drunken display that morning,
it was positively the last straw. She wanted to hit him right in
his ridiculously handsome face.

“Ah—Aye, my lord,” Mrs. Garner replied.

He nodded briskly. “Excellent. You all may
resume your usual duties.”

The entire line bobbed and bowed before
exiting. The moment the last of them left the room, Victoria jerked
her arm from Lucien’s grasp. In a low, fierce voice, she hissed,
“You, my lord, are despicable.”

He turned toward her slowly, even
nonchalantly, and arched one brow. “But you knew that already, my
sweet.”

“I have never been treated so in all my
life—”

“Yes, and what a long life it has been.
Twenty years, is it? Give yourself time, darling.”

“—and I will not be shamed in such a way
again. Especially before servants. Dear heavens, have you any idea
how quickly the gossip will spread—”

“Had it been up to you, our wedding night
might have waited until Michaelmas—”

“I am trying to
repair
the damage the
scandal has done, not set a new fire ablaze with servants bandying
it about that their mistress abides being treated as little more
than a common tr—”

Her tirade ended abruptly in a yelp as,
without warning, Lucien stooped, slid his arms beneath her thighs
and back, and scooped her up as easily as he would a sack of flour.
The motion was so smooth and seamless, before her mind could
process what had happened, her face was a dizzying two inches from
his, her arms clasped tightly about his strong, muscular neck as he
strode from the dining room back into the entrance hall.

“Lucien!” she squawked when she could breathe
again. “What in heaven’s name …?”

She hadn’t been carried since she was a
child. It was the oddest sensation of lightness and vulnerability,
which grew worse as he began to climb the stairs.

“As I was saying,” he stated casually, “now
that we’ve dismissed the servants, I will show you to our
chambers.”

“This is outrageous. Put me down at
once.”

“No.”

Vexed beyond all good sense, she slapped his
shoulder, likely hurting only her hand. “You cannot simply refuse
to release me.”

“I believe I just did.”

“I shall scream.”

He grinned sardonically and continued down a
long corridor. “But my dear, what
will
the servants
say?”

“You are mad, sir.”

Lucien stopped in front of the last door on
the left, jostling her a bit as he turned the knob and shouldered
his way inside. Momentarily speechless at the grandeur of the
chamber, she only dimly registered Lucien gently setting her on her
feet. In a country manor, this would be considered a generously
sized room; in a London residence, it was positively gargantuan.
Spanning nearly half the width of the house, it was quite
luxuriously appointed in shades of rich cream and light apple
green, delightfully accented with touches of washed crimson in the
leaf-patterned draperies and canopied bed coverings. A gilt-framed
mirror topped the large fireplace, currently lit with a low fire.
The dark mahogany bed dominated the center of the back wall, and a
row of tall windows spread like wings of light to each side. Fresh,
bright, and elegant, it would have made her envious if this were
not now her house, as well.

“Do you like it?” he asked, shockingly close
to her ear.

Her heart flipped and pounded with awareness.
She nodded, too breathless to speak.

“Let me show you the rest.”

And with that, he escorted her through the
remainder of the suite—the adjacent dressing room, separate bathing
chamber with a long, luxurious tub standing at the ready, and a
sitting room that was a mirror image of the bedchamber. Similar in
decor and layout to the first room they had entered, the room
appeared to have been designed originally as a bedchamber for the
mistress of the household, with one glaring omission.

“My lord, is there not another bed?”

Wearing an indefinable, intense expression,
he slipped his hand around her elbow and replied, “We have need of
only one. More seems a waste, does it not?”

She blinked several times. “But … well … yes.
I mean, no.” As he guided her back into the bedchamber, she let out
an exasperated sigh and tried again. “What I mean to say is, it is
customary for a lady to have her own chambers, separate from her
husband’s.”

“Mmm. True enough.” He moved closer to her,
so close she felt the warmth of his body surround her and brush her
skin. “But, then, we are not the usual sort of pairing, are
we?”

“Aren’t we?”

Sliding his arms around her waist and drawing
her into his hard chest, his smoke-dark eyes lit with amused
sensuality. In a voice low with seduction, he said, “You are the
bold, scandalous woman who refused to settle for a conventional
marriage to a conventional man.”

Resting her hands on his lapels, she felt her
skin tingle in a blush and dropped her eyes to the topaz pin
gracing his snowy cravat. It flashed a golden wink. “And you, my
lord? What are you?”

“The man who saw you, wanted you, and refused
to accept that any other might ever possess you.”

Her eyes flew back to his, her legs strangely
weak, her heart pounding. Could he mean such passionate words? Was
it possible he truly—?

“At least,” he said with a cynical grin,
“that is what society will believe by season’s end.”

A chill whistled through her and she
stiffened against him. The reminder that this was all merely a game
to him was unwelcome, but necessary. Honestly, she must stop
believing his nonsense. Such fanciful notions only led to
disappointment.

He must have felt her withdrawal and read it
as skepticism, because he attempted to reassure her of his
strategy. “You may doubt me, my sweet, but believe me when I say
the ton loves nothing better than a scandal which becomes a
triumphant tale of requited love worthy of Drury Lane. You will
see—by the time we are finished, you shall be the envy of those who
once dared condemn you.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I still fail
to see what all this has to do with having or not having separate
sleeping chambers.”

He shrugged. “It has nothing to do with
it.”

Shaking her head, she blinked in surprise.
“Then why …?”

He simply stared at her for a moment. When he
spoke again, his voice was dark and faintly raspy. “You are my
wife. We will share one bed so I may have you whenever I
desire.”

“But, Lucien, I—”

“Victoria.”

“Yes?”

“Be quiet so I may kiss you.”

She paused, stared at his gorgeous mouth, and
sighed, “Oh. Very well then.”

*~*~*