Candice Hern (24 page)

Marianne. His love. He had known in his heart that this moment, after the loving, would be painfully bittersweet. The end of a long-unacknowledged dream, briefly come true. For there could never be another night like this. Adam would marry Clarissa, and never hold Marianne in his arms again. They would both have to keep the thrill of this night, this one remarkable night, forever secret in their hearts.

Only her memories would not be of Adam, and so this ending was worse than bittersweet. It was damned near devastating.

Good Lord, now what was he to do? Should he wake her up and confess his true identity? Should he wait for her to awake and, assuming light ever made its way into this blasted room, discover she was not curled up beside Sherwood, but was naked in the arms of her husband's best friend?

She would very likely murder him.

And what good would it do her anyway, to know she and Adam had spent one illicit night together but could never do so again?

Adam half wished he had not crawled into her bed, though he could not have stopped himself if he'd tried. And now he would enter into a marriage with a sweet, innocent girl he barely knew, just when he had finally been allowed, if only by mistake, to hold in his arms the only woman he'd ever loved.

This night had not been fair to either woman, and Adam's gut twisted with a horrible guilt for it. And for finally acknowledging that he was in love with David's wife, and had probably been so even while the man lived. It had been a night steeped in guilt — first Sherwood's accident, and now this. All because Adam had placed his own desires above everyone else's. He'd been selfish enough to deny Marianne a lover, and even more selfish to assume that role himself.

And he'd hurt more than just her. He'd done harm to Marianne, Clarissa, and Sherwood with his damned self-indulgent arrogance.

And yet, he had given Marianne what she wanted. He had shown her the joys of physical love, and she had responded with more passion than he'd ever imagined. It was a memory he would cherish forever, even if he could never admit it had happened. Not even to Marianne. Especially not to Marianne.

He wished he could tell her. He would like her to know that he was the one who'd held her while she'd shuddered beneath him with her first sexual climax. He might have been tempted to wake her and tell her if he believed she would accept the night as a gift, one precious night, a sweet shared memory.

But he did not believe Marianne would see it that way. He rather suspected she would hate him for tricking her, for allowing her to believe he was Sherwood, even though he'd never meant to do so. Even worse, he had introduced her to pleasure, all the while knowing it could be only this one time. She might hate him for that most of all.

Adam realized the nature of their friendship was destined to change once he married Clarissa, but he did not want it to end altogether. He did not want Marianne to hate him.

And so he could not tell her.

He stroked a hand over Marianne's soft hair, ever so gently so as not to wake her. He had to leave before she woke, but he wanted to hold her just a while longer. Just for a few more minutes. How he wished he could see her. Instead, he'd memorized the lines of her body, every curve, every angle — the full breasts, the slender waist, the soft belly, the curve of hip, the round bottom. Every detail was etched in his memory. If he were to meet her in the dark again, he would be able to touch any part of her and recognize it as Marianne.

The darkness heightened other senses as well. He turned his head slightly and inhaled the sweet scent of her. That heady, familiar fragrance would be on his skin now, as a reminder. He was tempted never to bathe again.

But if he was to keep tonight a secret, he would need to erase anything that might identify him as her lover. He could not walk around with Marianne's fragrance on his skin. As much as it would pain him to do so, he would have to wash it off. It would be a punishment, a ritual purging of Marianne from his body and soul.

Would she wake if he kissed her? He wanted to kiss her one last time, just once more, but he could not risk waking her. He could not take the chance. He would have to live on memories of other kisses. Kisses full of tenderness and passion, of gentle exploration and frenzied hunger.

She had not responded to Sherwood's kisses, she'd told him. Yet she had responded to Adam's kisses with wonder and urgency and mutual desire. How could she have thought he was Sherwood?

He pressed his lips to her hair, ever so gently. "Good night, my love." His words were no more than a breath, barely a whisper in the darkness. "I love you, Marianne. I will always love you."

Adam eased himself from the bed and tucked the covers around her. She stirred slightly but did not wake. He let the bed-curtains fall back, enclosing her in darkness.

He stumbled to the window and moved the draperies aside. There was no hint of dawn yet, but the moon was almost full and poured its light into the room. He used the moonlight to locate his clothes and shoes. He began to dress, thinking it would not be a good idea to be seen creeping naked out of Marianne's bedchamber.

And then he noticed the other door. Of course. The connecting door to the former dressing room. He walked over and tried the handle. It was unlocked. Excellent. No one would see him leave Marianne's room after all. No one need ever know he had been there.

Not even Marianne.

He gathered up his clothing, taking care not to leave a single incriminating item behind, walked through to his own pokey little room, and closed the door forever on his dream of love.

* * *

After much searching, Marianne found her nightgown bunched up with the covers at the foot of the bed. She slipped it over her head and tugged it down over her hips. There would be too many questions if her maid found her naked in bed.

And she was not ready to leave the bed just yet. She wanted to lie there a bit longer, languorous and lazy, reflecting on the miracle of the previous hours. She rolled to her side and buried her nose in the pillow. She could still smell him there, and everywhere.

It was a shame he was gone when she awoke. But he was being cautious and protective of her reputation, and she silently thanked him for it. She only wished that she hadn't fallen so deeply asleep. She would like to have spoken to him, perhaps make love with him again. She hadn't even heard him leave. Sexual activity was apparently like an opiate to her, drugging her into a sound sleep.

When she had first wakened and found him gone, she remembered Wilhelmina's juniper-laced wine. She'd fumbled around in the dark until she found it, and downed it in a few long swallows. She still was not entirely sure it was needed, but she supposed it was best to be safe. Besides, it tasted good and made her drowsy again. She had fallen asleep, and must have slept for a few more hours.

As she lay there now, very much aware of her bare skin beneath the slippery silk of her gown and savoring the suddenly erotic sensation, Marianne reviewed all that had happened between them, and marveled again that such pleasure was possible. Julian had done things to her she'd never expected, touched her in ways she'd never even imagined. When she thought of that first explosion of sensation — which must have been the climax Penelope had mentioned; it was certainly climactic — and what he had done to make it happen, she pulled the covers over her head and squealed. It was beyond shocking to think about and seemed a horribly indecent thing to do, but it had also been utterly spectacular.

That, and everything else he'd done, had been so thoroughly wonderful that she could not stop smiling. No wonder Penelope and the others — with the exception of Grace, of course — were willing and eager to take lovers. They knew. Even Beatrice, who had not yet taken a lover, at least knew what a lover could give her.

But Marianne had never really known. She really
had
missed something with David, and that realization was a source of great sorrow for her. They had loved each other. They ought to have experienced this sort of sharing, this unbelievable intimacy. And yet, they had never even been fully naked together. He had never touched her as intimately as Julian had done. There had certainly never been a climax with David. There was a world of experience they had never shared, and it saddened her to think of it.

It angered her a little, too.
Why
had they never shared this together?

With David, the sexual act had always been simple and quick, with his nightshirt and her nightgown bunched around their waists. But he had held her in his arms afterward and she had always loved that best of all. Perhaps some men simply were not as skilled or as knowledgeable about these things, though she was quite sure Adam could have told David what to do if he had asked. How she wished she could have shared this more complete experience with him.

But at least she had shared it with someone. She had chosen wisely, too, as it happened. Julian was a magnificent lover. He took her completely by surprise with his tenderness and generosity, not to mention the incredible magic he worked with his hands and his mouth.

Judging by his previous kisses, she had rather expected him to be somewhat rough and frenzied and overpowering. She certainly had not expected him to spend so much time arousing her. It was as though everything he did was for her, as though he had put her pleasure above his own. He'd had his share of pleasure, too, naturally. His desire for her was obvious and he'd seemed more than satisfied. But she could not help feeling the whole experience had been for her, unlike his previous kisses, which had been all for him.

And then there were the words he'd whispered in her ear. Words of love. All part of the seduction, of course, and not to be taken literally. Just sweet lies. Even so, it was lovely to hear them spoken, and quite unexpected.

Perhaps all that he did for her and said to her was his way of making up for the fact that he made her wait so long. It was strange how completely she had misjudged him.

She heard Rose, her maid, stirring about. Marianne could not, unfortunately, lie in bed all day. She would have to get up and get dressed and go downstairs for breakfast. Would it be awkward to see Julian at the breakfast table? Would everyone be able to tell what had taken place between them last night? She was quite sure the warm glow she felt inside would be reflected in her face. As with Penelope, there would be no disguising it.

Sometime later, she made her way downstairs. She had dressed to suit her mood, wearing a dress of printed muslin in cheerful yellow and white stripes, trimmed with bright yellow ribbon. A passing footman held open the breakfast room door for her. She paused and took a deep breath before entering. She did not wish to embarrass herself by blushing crimson at the sight of Julian. Donning her best composure, she stepped inside.

Her gaze quickly swept the room. He was not there.

She was a bit relieved, since she would not have to worry about making a fool of herself, but she was also disappointed. She really was anxious to see him and speak to him. She wanted to make sure he understood that another evening in his arms would be welcome.

The Stillmans were there, as were Mrs. Forrester, Sir George Lowestoft, and Wilhelmina. Marianne caught her friend's eye and flashed a smile. She exchanged greetings with all the guests and made her way to the sideboard. Marianne enjoyed breakfast at Ossing. It was the most informal meal of the day, where the guests served themselves. Servants did not hover, but came in only to replenish the plates of food.

Feeling uncharacteristically hungry — is that what a night of passionate sexual activity did for one? — Marianne filled a plate with toasted bread and butter, a French sweet roll, a boiled egg, and a slice of cold ham. She carried her plate to the table and took the empty seat beside Wilhelmina.

She leaned over and pitched her voice low so no one else would hear. "Thank you for sending the cordial and the wine last night. They were very welcome and much appreciated, I assure you. That cordial was extremely potent, I might add. What was in it?"

"I will write out the recipe for you," Wilhelmina said. "I am glad you liked it, though it is rather a shame that it wasn't necessary after all."

Marianne furrowed her brow. "What do you mean?"

"I trust all the noise last night did not keep you awake, Mrs. Nesbitt."

She turned to Sir George and smiled. "Did you gentlemen create a rumpus last evening with your card games? How provoking that you should have so much fun without the ladies. But I assure you, I heard nothing. I slept like the dead."

Which was quite true, of course. Another consequence of strenuous sexual activity. She slanted a glance toward Wilhelmina and smiled.

"Oh, no," Sir George said, "I did not mean that at all. Though, of course, we did have rather a boisterous evening. As I recall." He flashed a grin.

Marianne imagined he and some of the others had likely imbibed somewhat more than they ought. It was only to be expected when a group of men gathered for cards.

"No, I meant the accident," he said. "I'm afraid we made quite a racket getting poor Sherwood up to his bedchamber."

Poor Sherwood? What on earth was he talking about?

"I heard nothing, sir," she said. "There was an accident?"

"I'm afraid so," he said.

"Lord Julian fell and broke his leg," Miss Stillman said.

She gave a start. "What?"

There must be some mistake. Julian was with her and she was quite sure his leg was not broken. In fact, it had been in very good working order. Unless something happened to him after he left her room?

"Yes, isn't it just awful?" Miss Stillman said, her eyes as big as saucers.

"Sir George was just telling us all about it," Wilhelmina said, and shot Marianne an apologetic look. "It appears Lord Julian was quite seriously injured."

He was? Good heavens. Then it had to have been after he left her. The poor, dear man. Marianne experienced a pang of disappointment that he would not be able to come to her bed again that evening. "How dreadful. What happened?"