Chapter 18
Adam held her carefully in his arms. The first rays of dawn stretched through the window, bathing the room in its daffodil glow. He could hardly fathom that he felt more at peace than he could ever recall being. Usually, his nights were precarious windows in which he was never certain when old ghosts and horrific visions might visit him. Sleep was a difficult business. Contentment? Fairly impossible. Years ago, he’d found a tentative peace. But contentment? Never. Now, with Beatrix beside him, he felt oddly certain that no matter what happened in the dark hours, all would be well.
It was. . . Well, it was damned alarming. Who was this person who was happily in bed with his new wife?
It was him, apparently. He kissed the top of her head, lingering.
She’d fallen asleep not long after they’d made love and he, instead, had simply savored this new experience.
All his life, he’d been driven. Driven to change the world. To right injustice. He had never been in one place long enough to wish to stay there. At least, not since boyhood.
With Beatrix, could he?
She stirred against him. “Are you all right?”
“Yes,” he whispered, caressing his hand down her back in a soothing stroke.
“I can almost hear your thinking,” she said against his chest.
He chortled. “Is that what woke you?”
“Quite possibly,” she teased, raking her fingertips along his stomach.
It was delicious torture.
“What is taking up so much of your thoughts?”
It was tempting to give a light remark, to pass her question off. But now, they were more than just friends. They were meant to be each other’s dearest ally. Could he embrace that? Well, there was only one way to find out.
“I have never been as content as I am in this moment,” he confessed. Then he waited to hear her reply.
“And that is a bad thing?” she queried softly.
“Not at all,” he replied, relieved that she had taken his declaration so easily. “I’m savoring it. But it’s also an unfamiliar feeling, you understand.”
She nodded against his chest. “I think I can.”
“It will take time to get used to this, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like it.”
“Adam?”
“Yes?”
“You told me that you have scars of your own.” She grew silent then rushed, “I didn’t see any on your person. Not any of note.”
“Do you disparage all those cuts?” he teased. He had few scars in fact, and none of significance, largely because his arm was long and his skill with both a pistol and a cutlass was exemplary.
She punched him lightly on the arm. “Of course not. . . But they are not really comparable to mine.”
“Mine are not on the outside,” he said softly, the yawning chasm of his past opening up despite the contentedness he’d just proclaimed to be experiencing. And as that door began to creak, he mentally reached out and slammed it shut.
“You’ll tell me of them?”
“I will.” God, how could he? How he could he show her the hell he had seen? “But not now. Not just yet. I would not wish to mar this moment.”
“I understand.”
And he knew she did, for those who’d undergone pain knew it was no easy thing to speak of the past.
He shoved the linens back and bounded from the bed. “Come, it is a beautiful day and I wish to spend it with you.”
She sat up, holding the sheet to her chest. “Shall we order baths?”
“A horrible idea.”
She quirked a brow, then looked down at herself. “But don’t you think—”
“One bath, woman,” he said, hoping to shock her just a little bit. “I have no intention of letting you out of my arms just yet.”
She blushed. “I see.”
He grinned then came back to the bed and rolled her onto her back. “Good. You’re going to grow absolutely sick of me.”
She stroked a hand through his hair. “I doubt that very much.”
But he wondered. He’d never spent any significant time with a woman. How did one form an attachment? Could she become attached to him? He didn’t know. It was a damned harrowing thought. But he was damned well going to try to make it happen.
*
Beatrix hated London. Or at least she had until Adam. Now, three months later, London seemed like the most marvelous place in the world. Wherever they went, he found the humor or beauty in the moment. Each day began with a rough ride in the park that set the ton atwitter. With each ride, it seemed to grow easier physically, too. Her leg was adapting and growing stronger.
And then he insisted she take him to see all the major points of significance in the town. With her knowledge of history, he’d said, it wouldn’t be dreary or without point.
It had been remarkable, sharing all that she knew with him about the cathedrals, the guilds, the walls, and the palaces. He’d drunk it in, all the while gazing at her as if she, too, were some priceless treasure. It was the happiest she’d been since the day she’d gotten into that coach.
After months of loneliness and self-imposed isolation, she’d begun to feel. . . Dare she say, awakened?
So, as autumn came to town, she suggested that they go back to her family home and have a house party.
To some, it might seem odd. But the idea of going back to a place of such raucous happiness with little fanfare was unthinkable. No, it would be better to baptize the house again right away in what it had always known.
Joy.
Besides, autumn, she knew, would be difficult. It was the anniversary of a painful time. Surely, it would be the right thing to wrap herself up in the memories of her family.
Adam had agreed, though he looked like the very idea might cause him to walk into the Thames.
It had been most interesting living with someone so far away from being raised as a peer with access to several houses, exclusivity, and a sense that one had been born to rule the world.
He did not view the world as she had been raised to; that there was an inherent order and way of governance. Nor did he understand the migration of ton people from town, to country, then house to house.
They’re all as dull as tombs, he’d declared of the ton. They need constant amusement in their meaningless little lives or else they’ll crumble like dust.
It had taken her little consideration to realize that he was correct. The endless sparkling parties, routs, hunts, and races were an attempt by her class to stave off an impending inevitability of life. Many of them were inescapably bored in their elegant prisons. From childhood to grave, they knew the same people, they went to the same places, and they circulated the same ideas.
Except for a treasured few like her father and the set that her husband had been introduced to by his brother.
The Duke of Hunt, the Duke of Aston, and others of their ilk such as the Duke of Blackburn and the Duke of Roth all traveled in their own circle, deriding much of society and actively working to change it.
She often wondered if it wasn’t for them, that Adam would be secretly plotting a revolution within England to free the people who he so obviously admired from their wool-headed overlords.
As it was, she sat holding his hand as the black lacquered coach rolled up the great alley of oaks that lined the drive to her family estate. Red and yellow leaves spun and danced in the air as they tumbled from the ancient arms of the trees.
She had not seen this place in a year and she could scarce breathe.
His gloved hand tightened around hers and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
“It is very beautiful here,” he said.
“I’m glad you think so,” she replied, her eyes transfixed by the familiar forest.
They had driven through miles and miles of parkland. Now, as they approached a curve in the raked gravel drive, the red brick Tudor mansion, which had been encased in more modern buttery stone, appeared before a shimmering lake.
The lake was man-made. A perfect rectangle and it reflected the huge home in its placid surface. It was fed by a perfectly-orchestrated set of falls that tumbled down the hillside in grand fashion. One could even swear that the sound of the falling water filled the air with music.
In the center of the lake, a fountain shot several feet into the air, surrounded by mermen.
Tears stung her eyes.
As the coach came to a halt before the set of granite stairs, Adam whispered, “How are you?”
“I am so happy to be home and, yet, I cannot deny that I feel sadness.”
He brushed a lock of hair from her face. “There are many memories here.”
“Indeed,” she replied, unable to say anything else.
The coach door swung open and a footman dressed in crimson livery reached in. She took the white-gloved hand then stepped down. Adam quickly followed, quiet for now.
A line of servants awaited them.
Her heart nearly stopped. These men and women had been a part of her family’s life for years. And it had pained her to not see them.
But now, they were together again.
Quietly, she made her way down the line, from the tweenie to Mrs. Andrews, the housekeeper, she shook hands and thanked them for remaining on.
When they finally reached Braxton, who had come up from London to set all to readiness, she was smiling through tears. “Let us show Captain Duke the house!”
Braxton inclined his head. “Of course, Lady Beatrix. Refreshments await you in the great hall when you are ready.”
At present, she had no desire to sample the cook’s delicious fare. Not yet. Not when she could open a window of her life for her new husband.
Taking Adam’s hand, she led him up the steps and into the place that had been her greatest happiness. Without a doubt, it would be her future happiness, too.