Chapter 21

CHAPTER21

Nancy glanced over at the clock on the mantelpiece, trying to make out the time, trying to remember how many chimes she had heard previously. But the bedchamber was too dark, and the sky outside her chamber window was almost moonless, just a sliver of silver. Not enough to see by.

“I am glad someone is having an amusing evening,” she grumbled, angrily sipping some water to wet her dry throat.

Somewhere in the manor, it sounded like a ball was in full swing. Lively music drifted out into the gardens and up to her windows, accompanied by explosive bursts of laughter and the babble of animated chatter, though she could not make out any words. There was feminine laughter and feminine voices among the noise, too, each high-pitched giggle or fawning sigh making her stomach roil and her heart sink lower.

“Not even a week,” she said softly, sadly. “Not even a week, and he has broken his promise to me.”

“I will see only you, be with only you, and care for only you,” she heard his silky voice say in the miasma of her memories, each phrase like a dagger to the chest.

Indeed, it was the second promise he had broken, for he had not cared for her either. He had summoned Marina to do it for him, and while Nancy had lain in bed suffering, he had been gallivanting across the country, doing whatever he pleased with his friend Harry. At least, that was her suspicion.

“And what of it?” she muttered to herself, apparently turning through a fast-moving carousel of emotions—jealousy, anger, irritation, regret, nonchalance. “I shall not lie here and listen.”

Throwing back the coverlets, she winced as her feet touched the cold floor. But no slippers had been left for her, and she did not know where any of her belongings might be. Mrs. Holloway had been a militant custodian, using Nancy’s sickness to tidy away everything Nancy had brought with her.

Creeping around the room on tiptoe, Nancy searched the grand armoire—so large it spanned almost an entire wall—and found a suitable housecoat and a pair of peach silk slippers. Neither belonged to her, but she assumed that they had once belonged to Dorothea and that her mother-in-law would not mind her borrowing them.

Now, to make my own entertainment.

Nancy plucked up a lantern and headed out of the extravagant bedchamber.

She had intended to seek out Marina, certain that her cousin would not be joining in on the festivities below, but what she had not remembered, until it was rather too late, was how vast the manor was. Within a matter of ten minutes, she was utterly lost, the hallways too gloomy for her to be able to notice any distinguishing markers that might lead her back to her bedchamber.

“What a bloody nuisance,” she hissed, furious with herself.

The music had faded to a distant mumble, letting her know she was, at least, nowhere near her husband and his guests. But holding the lantern up, she did not recognize anything at all. She was in a long hallway, having just come down her fourth staircase, and all the doors looked alike, while very few candles and lamps had been lit. Likely, because it was two o’clock in the morning and most of the servants had retired for the night.

Nancy had heard the chimes of a clock not a moment ago—two strikes.

“No matter,” she told herself, feeling more comfortable in the eerie gloom if she spoke aloud. “I shall explore. It is my home too, after all. He said so himself.”

And I am stuck here until the month is over.

She wondered if she ought to cut her losses and leave. If she was discreet, no one would know that she had returned to her real home. Everyone could pretend she was still at Stapleton Court, and no one would have to pretend there was any hope of any kind of future for the married pair.

Steeling her resolve, Nancy walked the entire length of the hallway, opening every door that wouldopen and peeking inside. There were studies, storage rooms, and small parlors, but there was one room that left her uneasy, the hairs standing up on the back of her neck.

At first glance, it appeared to be a study like any other, until she realized that the desk was not a desk, but a table with a heavy marble slab on top. On the walls, there were hooks that might once have held tools, though everything had been removed. And the bookshelves were not filled with books, but boxes of various shapes and sizes. Strangest of all, everything was covered in a layer of thick dust, though every room prior had been spotlessly clean.

As curiosity got the better of her, she approached the nearest bookshelf and took down one of the boxes. It was a beautifully made thing, with the initials ‘BR’ embossed on the top. The hinges squeaked as she lifted the lid, her breath held as she half-expected a mouse or spider to leap out and nip her.

“Goodness!” she yelped, jumping back so violently that she almost lost her footing.

There was something inside the box. Something long and coiled and sleek.

“It cannot be what you think it is!” her mind argued, for it looked very much like a snake.

And that snake brought back memories of another swimming toward her across the lake, just before Adam’s arms wrapped around her, constricting her, his tongue tasting her neck. She had been mistaken about that snake, too, for it had been nothing more than an inquisitive eel. But there was one snake she had not been mistaken about.

“A snake in a garden, tempting me,” she whispered, wondering how she had not seen the comparison before.

Adam had stolen her innocence in Society’s eyes, cast her out of the paradise she had once known, robbing her of the chance to be happy.

Anger simmered in her belly, boiling away her fear until she could approach the box again. She reached in and touched the strange object. It was cool and certainly not alive.

“What the devil?” she gasped, realizing what it was. A whip.

She dropped the object as if it were alive, and slammed the lid shut, stowing the box back in its place with a shudder. Her gaze skimmed the rest of the shelves, wondering what on earth might be hidden within, but she was no longer curious. She just wished to leave the unsettling room at once.

“You are not supposed to be in here,” a throaty voice growled from the doorway behind her.

Nancy froze, her fingertips still resting on the box. Caught red-handed. A thousand excuses swirled in her mind, but before she could utter any of them, he continued.

“You are supposed to be in your bed, fast asleep,” Adam slurred slightly. “I made certain that Mrs. Holloway tucked you up like a lamb in winter, all cozy and snug. You should not be wandering. Do you not know that you might get lost, finding yourself in places you should not be?”

Nancy chose confrontation. She whipped around. “And you are supposed to be playing the part of loyal husband, taking care of me,” she shot back. “You are not supposed to be throwing obnoxiously loud parties. Indeed, that is the very opposite of caring for me, for it was the bawdy laughter and music that woke me.”

“It was?” Adam lifted a finger to his lips and made a soft shushing sound. “I am terribly sorry, my darling Nancy. We were being rather loud, were we not?”

She narrowed her eyes. “You are not even sorry!”

“I am!” he insisted, grinning. “Truly, I am as much a victim in this as you.”

“Balderdash!”

“Mind your tongue, or people might begin to think you are not as proper as you appear to be,” he teased, swaying a little. “Goodness, how beautiful you are. If you tell me that you are wearing naught but your nightdress under that housecoat, I shall collapse right here and never rise again, for the torment will be too much.”

His words stunned her for a moment.

“You forget yourself, Adam.”

“I wish I could,” he lamented, stepping further into the room. “I wish I could be a different Adam altogether, and I have never wished that before. This is all your fault, Nancy. I was perfectly happy before. Why, even tonight, Harry brought along three filles de joie to partake in the revels, and I have avoided them like the plague. One of them is particularly pretty, and she invited me to a private ‘dance,’ but I refused because all I could think when I looked at her was that she is not as beautiful nor as amusing, and definitely not as intelligent, as my wife. Do you see what you have done to me?”

Nancy stared at him, noticing the glassiness in his eyes and the slur in his voice and the unsteadiness of his body as he tried to stand still. He was quite obviously drunk, and though that would have ordinarily displeased her, there was something rather endearing about his pouty complaints.

“You mean, despite all that ruckus, you were not enjoying yourself?” she prodded.

“No. I am actually quite furious with Harry,” Adam insisted, jumping up onto the marble-slabbed table. “It was only supposed to be a few glasses of brandy between two old friends, but he had other notions. Invited half of his old brigade and their tedious wives, and then those other young ladies.”

Nancy folded her arms across her chest. “And during our honeymoon, too.”

“Precisely!” He jabbed a finger at the air. “Oh… you are not worried, are you? They are discreet if that is your concern. Indeed, they do not involve themselves with Society at all, so there is nothing to worry about.”

Nancy mustered a smile. “I had my concerns, but they have gone now.”

He did not host this party, nor is he happy about it.

She was relishing his accusations that she had done something to him. Perhaps it was that magic he had felt in the ballroom weaving its spell once more.

“And Mrs. Holloway and my mother will soundly murder me tomorrow for even allowing the party to continue, for if you have been awakened, so will they,” Adam went on, running a hand through his hair. “But I could not send them away, even if I do not want them here, because Harry would have killed me. It was an impossible situation, my dear, sweet wife.”

“Might I ask why you are no longer entertaining them?” Nancy tilted her head to one side. “What brought you all the way here, so far from the party that I cannot hear it anymore?”

Adam pointed to the doorway. “I was hungry. The kitchens are that way.” He jumped off the table and hurried to Nancy, grabbing hold of her hands, wearing an expression of boyish earnestness. “Are you hungry? You must be, after days of nothing but medicine and tea. Shall I feed you? I know where Cook hides all the delicacies, though she thinks she can outfox me. No one can outfox the fox!”

“You are a fox?” Nancy laughed, unable to help it.

He nodded proudly. “It is my nickname.” He paused, frowning. “My former nickname. You must never call me that. Promise me you will never call me that.”

“I had no intention of doing so,” she told him.

“Good.”

His grin returned, and in one sweeping motion, he caught her in his arms and hurried out of the door of that strange, unsettling room.

Nancy pretended to kick and protest, but, in truth, she rather liked the sensation of being held in his powerful arms, her arms wrapped around his neck. It was the way she had dreamed of being held since she had been a little girl, having read too many fairytales, and though Adam was not the perfect hero, by any means, he was certainly growing more charming with every encounter.

A short while later, she sat on a high stool in the expansive kitchens while Adam ran around like a madman, ransacking the cupboards and larder until he had a veritable feast laid out on the long, wide workbench. Eating small pieces of cheese and meat as he went, he set to work, making the most enormous sandwiches Nancy had ever seen, hacking at the bread and the joints of roasted meat with a vengeance.

“I hope you are not expecting me to eat one of those,” Nancy said, smiling. “I am still recovering, and I do not wish to break my jaw trying to bite into that.”

He looked up from his work, furrowing his brow. “You do not want a sandwich?” He smacked his forehead. “Of course, I should have asked what you desired! What would my darling wife prefer?”

Abandoning his own monstrosity, he set little morsels of each thing on a plate—cheese, fruit, meat, soft bread—and sauntered over to Nancy, holding the plate aloft like a waiter at a fine establishment.

“The raspberries are very good,” he told her, picking one up. “Unimaginably sweet. And if you eat one with some of this salty cheese, I promise your tongue will thank me.”

She canted her head. “Is that so?”

“I never lie,” he said, moving closer.

Sat on the stool, there was not much that Nancy could do to escape his proximity, and as she peered up into his eyes, she found she did not want to. He stood directly in front of her, the tops of his thighs pressing against her bent knees. But he seemed to want to be even closer, as he took another half-step forward, her own thighs parting for him, almost flanking his hips.

“Here,” he murmured, plucking up a raspberry and a small square of the buttery, white cheese. “Open your mouth.”

Nancy gulped and did as he asked.

Carefully, he slipped the sweet fruit and the salty square past her lips, the raspberry’s vivid juice trickling down the side of his thumb. As Nancy began to chew, savoring the sweet and salty tastes that mingled in her mouth, she almost choked as Adam drew the tip of his thumb into his mouth and sucked away the red juice. His eyes never left hers.

“What do you think?” he asked, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear as if he had done it a thousand times before. A casual gesture that made her skin tingle and her heart leap.

Nancy did not know how, but she managed to swallow the mouthful. “Delicious.”

“I told you.” He smiled, stroking his thumb across the apple of her cheek. “You should trust me more.”

She paused. “Should I?”

“Why not?” His hands cradled her face, tilting it up gently. “What harm can it do?”

“A great deal of harm,” she replied, wishing it were different.

Indeed, even at that moment, she knew she could not trust a word he said, considering his inebriated state.

He pouted his lips a little. “But I behaved myself. I kept my promise to you. Surely, that means I am permitted some trust?”

“Tonight, you did.” Her heart twinged. “But who is to say that tomorrow you will be so well-behaved?”

Adam turned and pulled himself up onto the edge of the workbench, his leg nudging hers. It was a safer distance, but Nancy found herself missing the feeling of him standing there, his thighs holding hers apart.

Perhaps I am not as recovered as I thought.

“That room where I found you,” he said, staring down at the floor. “Do you know what it was?”

Nancy shook her head, confused by the sadness in his voice. Where had his cheerful mood gone?

“That is where my father punished me and my mother and anyone else who crossed him,” Adam explained. “In the old days, brutes had the decency to keep their torture chambers underground in dungeons and cellars. But not my father. To him, punishment was as ordinary as reading a book in a study, so why not have his torture chamber somewhere just as ordinary?”

Nancy swallowed thickly. “Why are you telling me this?”

He lifted his gaze, his eyes shining with regret. “To help you understand, my dearest Nancy. To help you see what sort of wretch you have married.”