Romancing a Stranger (2 page)

Mindless chatter and feminine laughter filled his ears, mingling with the piano quartet playing in the front parlor. Silk and ruffles and tailored suits filled his vision. He shuddered as Bromley’s wife’s loud cackle met his ears. Why the man married such a loud woman went beyond Warden’s comprehension. But then again, Bromley was a crusty old fellow. They most definitely suited each other.

When he entered the noisy parlor, Warden immediately noticed his wife standing apart from the crowd. Other ladies were staring at her curiously, some whispering to each other. He wondered if the argument had something to do with her.

He halted, gazing at her from afar.

Lush curves with a bust to tempt a saint; long, thick hair like spun gold; a set of deadly green eyes—she was the epitome of seductiveness. Unfortunately, the pleasantries ended there. On the inside, she harbored a lonely, indifferent nature.

Their story began with a marriage of convenience. No courtship. No walks beneath a starlit sky. Warden simply followed his father’s urgings that the Bishop girl would bring him prosperity and thicken their business ties in the liquor industry. Though he cared for her, neither of them loved each other as a married couple should.

He frowned, noting Millicent’s eyes were wide, almost in fear, he thought. Her gaze kept darting around the room as if she was lost.

Perhaps she had too much champagne.

He pushed his concerns aside and approached her, offering a bow. It was at that moment he realized her dress was far beyond acceptable. The deep red garment clung to her curves and barely covered her breasts. It even had a tear in the sleeve.
Millicent would never wear this…

“Are you quite all right, Mrs. Blackwood?”

Her head snapped up, and she gaped at him. “Mrs.
What
?”

Warden chuckled, finding her humor enlightening for a change. “I could swear I heard a commotion a moment ago. Is everything fine now?”

Her delicate brows drew together. “Where the hell am I?”

Completely shocked that his wife would use such unladylike language, his jaw dropped. For a moment, he thought she truly did not know where she was, but he shook off the silly notion and offered his arm. “Come, my dear, before everyone pays you too much attention.” Perhaps she
was
a little drunk.

Millicent hesitated, gazing up at him with pleading eyes. Those green orbs had always held him captive and aroused him beyond compare, but he was no fool. Millicent was not a sensual creature in the least.

He cleared his throat, fighting his baser urges to rush her upstairs and ravage her. Lord knew he needed a good tumble under the bed sheets to ease his sexual frustration.

After another lengthy pause, she finally accepted his arm and joined him in the center of the parlor, all the while glancing anxiously about the room.

Friends and acquaintances milled about, some dancing, others conversing where they would. He did not care much for crowds either, but Josephine insisted on a celebration for her sister’s thirtieth birthday.

“Do you feel old?” he asked.

She stood barely to his chin and had to crane her neck to look at his eyes. She smelled like lavender, his favorite scent, and her shiny, golden hair was swept up in a dramatic twist. Ravishing was not a strong enough word for Millicent, and he found it unfortunate she was such a lonely soul.

Shortly after their vows were spoken six months ago, Millicent chose to ignore Warden like every other cold wife. And, up until a few weeks ago, he was determined to win her over, but his patience had worn thin after numerous failed attempts.

Now he had other plans.

They fell into an easy waltz. Millicent kept her gaze focused on Warden’s chest. He saw her bite her bottom lip. Did she not wish to celebrate this occasion? He and Josephine had left no stone unturned to ensure the party went perfectly, and she did not seem to notice. Once again, he was disappointed, and truth be told, annoyed.

“Tell me the truth, my dear. Did you not like your birthday gift? Was Saska’s amethyst ball a disappointment?”

She looked up at him and gasped, her eyes round as little saucers. The color drained from her face. “I don’t…I don’t feel well.”

Warden grabbed Millicent tight around the waist just as she fainted in his arms. Fearing the worst, he quickly scooped her up and proceeded toward the main hallway.

A hush fell over the crowd, and the troupe halted. The long screech of a violin string resounded through the room. Had there been a more discreet way to exit the room he would have taken it, but her strange behavior before the swoon worried him. The need to rush her to privacy was stronger than his desire not to cause a stir.

“Oh, my goodness, he’s carrying her,” somebody whispered. “How magical.”

“Not when she’s unconscious,” someone else said.

He did not give a damn what they thought. All that mattered was getting Millicent up to her bedchamber to the comfort of her bed.

As he rounded the balustrade and took the first step to the second floor, Samson came charging down the corridor.

“What happened, sir?”

“She fainted.”

“May I assist you?”

Warden paused halfway up the steps, not sure how to handle the situation. If he called on the doctor, Millicent would be angry with him for causing unwanted attention. But something in his gut told him her health was at stake.

“Call on Doctor Crumpler. I’m sure Josephine can handle the guests.”

Nodding briskly, Samson turned on his heel and returned down the hall. Warden hurried to Millicent’s bedchamber and laid her gently upon the mattress. He stared at her face, the pert nose, full lips slightly parted.

He wished she could love him. Really love him. That is all he wanted. He was fooling himself if he believed there was no love in their marriage. He did love her. God forgive him for denying it, but he was angry, hurt, and alone.

But how could he make her love him back?

“Millicent,” he whispered. “I wish I could tell you how much I love you, but you would not want that now would you?” He smoothed the stray hair from her face and sat on the edge of the bed, watching the shallow rise and fall of her chest, until the doctor arrived.

Doctor Crumpler, known for being the first African-American female doctor, listened to Millicent’s heart and swept a vial under her nose. She coughed and moaned, swaying her head on the pillow. After a few thundering heartbeats on Warden’s part, she finally blinked and opened her eyes. But the moment she looked at the doctor and Warden, she shut her eyes again and turned her face away.

“Well, Doctor?”

The renowned doctor turned to Warden without the least bit of concern on her face. “I believe your wife has simply overexerted herself, Mr. Blackwood. She will be fine. Her pulse is slow and steady, and she is clearly conscious. Women swoon from a variety of things that are not life threatening. No need to worry.”

Warden stared at Millicent. No. She was not dancing when he found her in the parlor, and she never overexerted herself. Something else caused her to faint.

“Keep a close eye on her. If she takes a turn for the worse, I’ll return.”

They shook hands, and Warden showed the good doctor to the door.

Doctor Crumpler walked down the brick path leading from the front door. Warden sighed deeply, grateful the good doctor took the time for him. She was one of the best around and hard to reach.

Maybe Millicent simply needed rest. He knew she would not want people hanging over her, so, with his mind made up, he disappeared to the study. He closed the door behind him, immediately going to the cabinet where he stored his finest liquor.

Pouring a healthy measure of scotch, he then swirled the drink, losing himself in the rich amber liquid. He swallowed the first shot quickly, relishing the searing path it tore down his throat, and then poured another before taking a seat at his desk.

He thumbed through the paperwork, unable to concentrate on any particular task. His accounts needed settling, and the business needed his attention, but he kept returning to the conversation he and Millicent had in the parlor before she swooned. She looked genuinely surprised when he called her Mrs. Blackwood. Then she asked where she was. Her behavior had been very strange. And that was just another reason to go ahead with his plans.

After months of marriage and only one night in her bed, on the night they spoke their vows, he was beyond restless. That was the only night he shared with her before she ordered the staff to prepare a separate bedchamber for him.

How long should a man have to wait for intimacy? In the beginning, when Bromley suggested Warden take a mistress, he had scoffed at the idea.
Now…

He reached into his pocket and retrieved the note Bromley discreetly passed him during their card game. It listed the name and address of Vivian St. Claire, the actress. He knew of her, and she knew of him. The woman had made it very clear in the past, before he married Millicent, that she would enjoy his nightly acquaintance. Tall and thin with hair black as night and dark brown eyes—she was the complete opposite of his wife.

Should he seek her out? Could he bed another woman while married? He sure as hell could not force his pleasure on his wife.

And he was damn tired of masturbating.

Finishing the second drink, he poured another, and another, until the answer came to him. He would slake his needs and be done with it.

He called on Samson to bring his driver round posthaste. He would be quick about it before his lust consumed him. If his wife would not have him, another would.

“The guests have departed, sir. Josephine informed them the mistress was abed and you had business to attend to.”

“Very good, Samson. That is all.”

Samson cleared his throat and withdrew something from behind his back. “One of the maids found this in the parlor, sir.”

Warden frowned, staring at the gift he had purchased for his wife. A special gift acquired from a gypsy elder. “What was it doing in the parlor?”

“I haven’t the slightest clue, sir. It was found near the refreshment table.”

Warden gestured for the butler to set it down on his desk. “I’m going out. Inform my wife not to wait up for me. I’m sure she needs her rest.”

“Of course, sir. If I may inquire, will she be all right?”

Warden glanced at the amethyst ball and frowned. Within the glass, a strange thing occurred. Tiny purple sparks ignited in the center and then disappeared. He closed his eyes and opened them again. Perhaps he’d had more scotch than he thought.

“I don’t know, Samson. Only time will tell.”

Milli lay as stiff as a board, afraid of what would come next. After the doctor waved that foul-smelling shit under her nose, she decided to close her eyes and pretend to be asleep. What a horrible way to wake up a second time, after waking up the first time in an alien world.

Who are these people, and why do they look like they just walked off the set of Sense and Sensibility?

One moment she stood alone in her kitchen with that stupid amethyst ball, and the next, in a dim living room surrounded by women in big, puffy dresses and just-as-big hair. Their faces were pale, and they spoke like actors from historical movies. Maybe this wasn’t
Sense and Sensibility
. Maybe she was trapped in
Much Ado About Nothing
.

Her stomach turned, and her mind spun with questions.
How could this happen? Am I stuck in some crazy dream?

A sharp tap on the door snapped her back to the moment. She glanced at the door.

“Millicent? It’s me…Josephine.”

Milli didn’t answer. How did they know her name? She wasn’t ready to see more strangers. She held her breath, hoping the woman would leave, but just as she feared, the door creaked open. A young woman walked in, her face drawn tight with worry, her hand touching her
extremely
pregnant belly.

Milli did a double take. The woman, Josephine, looked so much like her it was impossible. Though the woman’s hair was a darker blonde and she had freckles, her facial structure, green eyes, and small mouth looked exactly like her own.

“How are you feeling, dear sister?”

Sister?
“What are you talking about? I don’t know you.”

The woman halted, her expression shocked. “My goodness. Warden told me you were ill, but I never imagined
this
.”

Tears welled in Milli’s eyes. How was it possible for these people to know her and recognize her when she had no clue who they were? “Why am I here? Is this some joke? Did Mr. Bigsby set you up to this?”

Josephine frowned, clearly unaware of her meaning. “I’m not familiar with a Mr. Bigsby. Is he a new acquaintance of yours?”

“The old fart’s been living beside me for five years.”

Josephine raised a brow. “I see. Well…”

Milli looked around the room again, ignoring Josephine’s quizzical stare. This couldn’t be her home in Boston, could it? Though the décor was vastly different, the layout, windows, and crown molding looked the same. The bedroom walls were papered in some gaudy floral pattern—not clean, white walls. Thick, heavy curtains flanked tall windows—not sheer panels like the ones she had. The bed was covered in another big floral pattern, similar to the walls. Even the bedposts had fancy carvings on them.