Andrea Kane (18 page)

“I don’t remember much of my early schooling.”

Wincing at the brusqueness of his tone, Ariana pushed on, determined to reach inside the stony man standing before her and extract the sensitivity she glimpsed only in their bed. “You must have had favorite subjects,” she prodded.

He shrugged. “I suppose. I’ve always had an aptitude for business, a flair for detailed types of sketching, and a fascination with the way buildings are designed.”

“Is sketching a building that much different from sketching any other subject?”

“Identical in some ways, worlds apart in others.”

“How so?”

Trenton rubbed his palms together thoughtfully. “Obviously, all drawings require discipline and imagination,” he explained. “But planning a building is not merely an aesthetic process. It’s a pragmatic one.” His brow furrowed in concentration. “In designing a home the architect must combine the owner’s personal tastes with his lifestyle.” Warming to his subject, he crossed the room to stand beside Ariana, displaying the room with a wide sweep of his hand. “For example, Broddington’s schoolroom adjoins the governess’s quarters, yet is far removed from the living quarters … and the distractions they pose.” He indicated the long line of windows on the far wall. “However, the room is also well lit and directly over the gardens, hopefully making it more conducive to learning.” Pride shone in his eyes as he surveyed the entirety of his family’s creation. “Each room is strategically placed and carefully constructed … a thriving entity unto itself and a harmonious segment of the whole.”

“I’m terribly impressed,” Ariana admitted. “I had no idea so much was involved in being an architect. In fact”—she looked sheepish—“my own sketches are so atrocious that Theresa hid my sketchpad in the hopes that I would abandon painting.”

Trenton’s lips twitched. “And did you?”

“Yes. In truth, I was dreadfully relieved.”

“What
did
you enjoy doing?” he asked curiousiy.

“I kept a detailed journal of every animal, bird, and plant at Winsham. But most of my day was spent on French lessons.”

“Ah, so you enjoyed French.”

“I loathed it.”

Trenton’s brows drew together in question. “Then why …”

“Because
Mademoiselle
Leblanc commanded it.”

“Who on earth is
Mademoiselle
Leblanc?”

“My governess,” Ariana supplied. “She thought all other studies but French to be frivolous.” So saying, she marched behind the straight-backed chair and slapped her palm on the walnut desk, pinching her nose with the other hand. “You
will
learn your French,
enfant
… or there will be no breakfast today!” Ariana recited in a nasal monotone. “We cannot waste time on idle daydreams, nor can we learn what is most important by scribbling rubbish on paper.”

Wagging a finger in Trenton’s direction, Ariana scowled in mock disapproval. “Someday you will marry a wealthy, titled gentleman and travel abroad; you
must
be thoroughly familiar with
français … la langue de beauté.
Oh, you spout terms such as
le moineau
and
le rouge-gorge
flawlessly, as well as
le jasmin, le chèvrefeuille,
and every other bird and flower in Winsham’s garden. But I assure you,
un noble
will be unimpressed by hearing you translate ‘sparrow,’ ‘robin,’ ‘jasmine,’ and ‘honeysuckle’! No,
enfant,
he will
not
be at all pleased with a wife whose only French consists of the names of
les oiseaux et les fleurs!”

Involuntary laughter erupted from Trenton’s chest. “She sounds monstrous! How did you ever tolerate her?”

Ariana lowered her arms and dimpled. “It was quite simple really. You see,
mademoiselle
was completely blind without her spectacles. So twice a week I merely
misplaced
them for her, and while she was in the midst of a long-winded soliloquy on the beauty of the French language, I climbed out the window. She never noticed. And fortunately for me, Winsham’s schoolroom leads directly to the stables. So my mornings were heavenly.”

“And here I thought you were the most docile and obedient of children.” Trenton chuckled.

Ariana leaned forward, pressing a conspiratorial finger to her lips. “Everyone thought so. And I was …
most
of the time.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“And
I
’
ll
remember to be docile and obedient.”

“Most
of the time,” he clarified. “There are places where submissive behavior is most undesirable.”

Their eyes met … and all the amusement suddenly vanished.

Ariana drew a slow breathy her heart accelerating to a rapid thud. Trenton’s gaze darkened and fell to her mouth, and Ariana could actually feel his inadvertent movement toward her.

Then, abruptly, he turned away.

Tension crackled in the air, suffocating the beauty of the past moments. Desperate to preserve, if not the fervor of their longing, then the easiness of their banter, Ariana blurted out the first thing that came into her head.

“Did Dustin follow in your footsteps?”

Trenton swung his head around to look at her. “Pardon me?”

“In his academic preferences. Did Dustin follow in your footsteps?”

Visibly, he relaxed. “Dustin preferred initiating his own footsteps.” A faint smile touched Trenton’s lips. “From early on, his interest in women far exceeded his interest in learning. Fortunately, his talents are innate. Otherwise, I shudder to think how he’d be spending his time now.”

“Talents?” Ariana’s questioning emphasis was on the plural.

Trenton nodded. “Architectural design is merely a hobby of Dustin’s. And conventional business opportunities were never his forte. No, Dustin’s true aptitudes lie in an area that will please you greatly. He buys and breeds some of the most magnificent racehorses I’ve ever seen.”

“At Tyreham?”

Yes. His contenders have placed in the Derby, the Two Thousand Guineas … I could go on and on. He has a unique flair for selecting prime horseflesh and, through inbreeding, creating extraordinary offspring. His prize mare, Sorceress, nearly took the Goodwood Cup last month, and I believe he’s grooming one of his colts to run at Newmarket’s Rowley Mile course this fall.”

“I had no idea!” Ariana said in amazement.

“Dustin is modest about his achievements.”

“He said the same of you.”

“Did he? Well, my redeeming qualities are questionable. Dustin’s are not.”

“You’re very proud of him,” Ariana commented, uncertain of how to respond to Trenton’s self-deprecating statement.

“Yes, I am. He’s a remarkable man whose brotherly allegiance is, to say the least, exceptional.”

“Did you both attend Oxford?”

Trenton clasped his hands behind his back. “For a time, yes. But my father’s health had already begun to fail, and running Broddington was all he could manage. I left Oxford to take over the remaining estates and the family businesses.”

Ariana started at the humility Trenton was displaying while recounting an utterly unselfish act—one her own brother had bemoaned for years after her parents died. “What a massive undertaking that must have been!” she exclaimed. “And how difficult … Why, you were still in your teens!”

Trenton shrugged offhandedly. “I only did what was necessary for my family.”

“And succeeded beyond their wildest dreams, I expect. Your father must have been very proud!”

A muscle worked at Trenton’s throat. “I suppose. We didn’t discuss it; I merely did what I had to do. I never questioned nor resented my responsibilities.”

“I can see that.” Unconsciously, Ariana walked forward, admiration shining in her eyes. “And yet you doubt your worthiness as a human being?” She reached up, laying her hand against his jaw. “The way I see it, you are more than worthy.”

His expression turned grim. “You don’t know me, Ariana.”

“I think I do.”

“You’re a romantic child, misty angel.”

“Romantic, perhaps, but not a child.” She raised her chin a notch. “Not anymore.”

The underlying significance of Ariana’s words sank in, and Trenton frowned, catching her wrist and pushing her hand away. “Don’t delude yourself, Ariana. What happens between us in bed has nothing to do with romance.”

She flinched. “Perhaps not in your case.”

Trenton stared down at her, a flash of pain crossing his face. Then he shook his head … hard. “Don’t make the mistake of allowing your heart into this marriage.”

“It’s too late,” she stated simply.

“You’re selling your soul to the devil,” he warned.

Ariana shrugged. “I’ll take that chance.”

Before he could respond, she moved away. “May I see the rest of the manor now?” She paused in the doorway.

Trenton nodded mutely, his eyes darkening with some unfathomable emotion. Then he led her into the hall.

“I’ve seen most of the bedrooms,” she commented, gazing down the corridor. “But I’d like to see your sitting room again.”

Trenton stiffened. “Why?”

“Because I spent very little time there.” She was already walking in that direction.

“As did I,” he said, his voice laced with irony. Reluctantly, he followed her path, opening the door to the Spartan room within.

“Why is that?” Ariana strolled about the barren floor, reinforcing her earlier impression: that this room was virtually unoccupied.

“As you know, I haven’t been at Broddington for years. “And when I was …” Trenton shoved his hands in his pockets, averting his face. “Let’s say I have no affinity for this room. I associate it with pain and loss.”

“I understand,” Ariana answered softly. Lines of stress were etched on every plane of her husband’s handsome face, and his bitterness was a palpable entity.

He stared off, his expression tormented. “I wonder if you do.”

The urge to go to Trenton at that moment was almost beyond bearing, but Ariana fought it, reminding herself that he would not welcome her comfort nor her compassion. For now, all he would accept from her was her body.

She surveyed the room, imagining how it must have looked years ago, alive with memories, vibrant with Richard Kingsley’s personal touches; paintings, sketches, intricately designed furnishings and rugs. She could visualize it all: a fire burning merrily in the fireplace, fresh flowers—violets and marigolds and hawthorn, perhaps—decorating the room, permeating it with their sweet perfume. There would be a sweeping mahogany desk at the window, sunlight illuminating its polished surface; and at the desk, Trenton, his dark brow furrowed as he contemplated the series of designs he was developing. The image was so real, it was almost as if …

The idea exploded in her head like crashing thunder, so vivid that Ariana had to keep herself from shouting in exaltation. She might not be able to wipe out Trenton’s past, but she could alleviate its pain by offering him a present, something to build on other than dark memories.

She smiled, a secret smile, anticipating how she would begin. Within these very bare, unlived-in walls, she would create the actual room she had just imagined, present Trenton with a private refuge that was all his, one that would offer him the solace he sought at Spraystone, yet be far more meaningful, for it would encompass a glowing tribute to Richard Kingsley within a glorious domain that was Trenton’s alone.

And it would be a giant step in Ariana’s plan to make Broddington a home.

“P-p-pardon me, Your Grace.” Jennings, the Broddington butler, hovered in the doorway. Smoothing a hand over his cap of red hair, he peered nervously at Trenton over a long, needlelike nose, requiring only a tree trunk beside him to complete Ariana’s vivid image of a tiny, terrified woodpecker.

“What is it, Jennings?” Trenton snapped.

Jennings quaked at the duke’s sharp, impatient tone. “I have a message for the duchess.” He inclined his head in Ariana’s direction. “It appears to be important, so I thought …”

“I’ll take it.” Trenton strode forward and snatched the note from Jennings’s bony fingers. “That will be all for now.”

“Y-y-yes, Your Grace.”

No woodpecker had ever taken flight that rapidly.

“He’s petrified of you,” Ariana said, chewing her lip in distress.

Trenton scowled. “He is new and totally unsure of himself. I had no choice but to hire him; none of my other estates could part with their butlers, and I didn’t have adequate time to interview properly.”

“What about Spraystone?”

“Spraystone has no butler, there is no need for one. There is only myself, my manservant, and his wife. Gilbert assists me on the estate and Clara helps with the meals and the cleaning. The majority of the work is mine.” Trenton awaited his wife’s inevitable distaste and surprise at her first hint of Spraystone’s unpampered lifestyle.

All he encountered was the surprise. “Truly?” Ariana had heard enough about Spraystone from Dustin to know that the estate was not of diminutive size. “That must be a staggering responsibility!”

“Not really … I’ve had an inordinate amount of free time these past years,” Trenton responded dryly. “And physical labor keeps many ghosts at bay. So I’ve learned to be tireless.”

“But not overly kind.”

His appraisal was cool. “What does that mean?”

“Give Jennings a chance, Trenton,” Ariana urged him. “You’re a very forbidding man. Don’t intimidate him. He means well.”

Trenton shook his head in amazement. Always they came back to the same thing: feelings. His new bride was governed by them, he was incapable of them, “You’re hopelessly tender-hearted, misty angel.”

“Yes I am … hopelessly,” she admitted with a shy shrug.

A jolt of desire shot through him: desire mixed with a curious swell of protectiveness. “How did you ever survive eighteen years without losing such unheard-of innocence?” Trenton asked in husky disbelief.

“I thought you preferred my innocence?” Ariana baited softly, giving him an engaging smile.

“I did.” His eyes darkened, consuming her with their intensity. “I also preferred being its recipient.”

“I’m glad,” she said simply, wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue.

With a muffled curse, Trenton moved toward her, reaching forward to drag her against him.