Chapter 25

Adelaide climbed into the carriage with a small sigh of relief. Had an evening ever been so exhausting? She’d done her best to make everyone happy, but what was she supposed to do when they wanted different things from her? Her mother obviously wanted Adelaide to be vivacious and personable, and she had truly tried to be those things. While she had absolutely no intention of following through on her mother’s less-than-veiled suggestions that, with just the slightest bit of effort and coercion, Adelaide could use her new status as a member of the Hawthorne family to improve her mother’s and sister’s social positions, there didn’t seem to be a reason not to at least try to be nice to the people Mother introduced her to.

That was until she saw Trent waiting for her to come off the dance floor after sharing a quadrille with Mr. Givendale. Her husband hadn’t frowned or even looked unhappy, but he’d been stiff as he took her arm. Adelaide let her head fall back on the carriage seat and roll to the side so she could watch Trent adjust his coat and situate himself on the seat beside her. Had a man ever spent so much effort on a woman?

After collecting her from Mr. Givendale, Trent had spent the rest of the evening at her side, engaging them in conversation with the Duke of Spindlewood and his grandson and sharing dance formations with Lord and Lady Raebourne. He was obviously trying to keep her away from her mother and having a great deal of success in doing so.

Which meant no matter what she did, one of them was going to be disappointed. Never before had Adelaide been faced with such a decision. Her parents rarely had strong opinions about the same thing, so it was easy enough to please both of them. And Helena was happy as long as everything in the room revolved around her. But now there was a battle going on for Adelaide’s attention and someone was going to have to lose.

As Trent’s laugh rolled softly across her ears, Adelaide was afraid that the loser was going to have to be her mother. And she was more than a little afraid of what the repercussions would be when that happened.

If Trent’s objective with this courtship had been to make her feel like someone worth winning, he was succeeding. What she’d thought would be a dreadful evening had turned into one of the most delightful nights she’d ever had in her life. And it was all due to the man beside her.

What did that leave her with? Gratitude? Certainly. He was an answer to a prayer she hadn’t known how to phrase. Love? Maybe. She still wasn’t certain she knew what love was, but if it meant wanting to spend the rest of her life making someone else’s life better, then yes, she loved him.

The horses broke free from the crush in front of the house and trotted easily though Mayfair, leaving the two of them snug in the darkness of the carriage. It had become a habit to take the long way home, knowing their time would be limited once they got there.

Trent reached through the darkness and took her hand. “Did you enjoy this evening?”

It was his standard question, and she’d never thought to wonder why before. Was he concerned? Did he feel responsible for her? Was it possible he was coming to view her happiness as essential as she was coming to view his? Or was it a safe inquiry, relying on the commonality of a shared event to start a conversation? Rather like his discussions on food. The questions and uncertainty swam through her head and made her dizzy. “It was a very pleasant evening. Did you win your fencing match today?”

He settled closer to her until their shoulders brushed and began talking to her about the fencing club. He had won his match, but he found plenty else to tell her about as well. The other people he’d talked to, a funny story about the lady’s dog that had run into the club leaving his mistress shrieking on the pavement outside.

Adelaide listened, but she also wondered why she felt so unsettled. They’d spent several evenings this way now, and it was always nice, but it bothered her too. They were married, yet they weren’t, courting but not. She didn’t know wifely things such as household budgets and where they got their tea, or even what he liked for breakfast, but she knew what his kiss tasted like. Their courtship lacked the restraints a normal relationship would have, allowing them to do things such as ride through Mayfair in a darkened carriage to spend half an hour alone in a dimly lit hall. But their marriage lacked the security that normally came with the institution. She didn’t know where he spent his days or even his nights. There was a constant need to look her best whenever he saw her, despite the fact that she’d somehow managed to end this evening without her fan.

She had so many questions about him but no answers. If he enjoyed physical activity so much, why wasn’t he taking a more particular interest in his estates? Why was he sketching plans for pineapples and then stuffing them into a drawer? Why did he treat her like the most precious thing in the world when they went out together and then drop her at their doorstep? Which Trent was she really married to?

A public marriage in name only wasn’t going to be enough for her much longer. The better she got to know Trent the more she wanted to make this marriage work, only she didn’t know what to do next.

“Have you ever had a dog?” Trent asked as the carriage pulled up in front of their house.

“Once. One of the foxhounds had puppies, and the smallest one wasn’t doing well. So I cared for it, and soon it was following me all over the house.” Adelaide gathered up her skirts.

“What happened to him?”

“He got older and stronger. And one day we were out for a walk and he saw the other dogs training. I didn’t have the heart to keep him with me all the time after that. I still visited him every now and then. He turned into a decent hunting dog.”

She took his hand and let him help her out of the carriage. She hadn’t thought about Milkweed in years. It had been a ridiculous name for a dog, but she’d been a lonely six-year-old girl, and sometimes six-years-olds were ridiculous. The truth hadn’t gone quite like Adelaide had told Trent and the look of near pity on his face told her he guessed at the truth.

The truth was they’d been out walking and he’d naturally snuffed out a bevy of quail and sent them soaring into the heavens. Her father had asked her if she thought Milkweed would like to come with him on his next hunt. From then on she’d only seen him when she snuck down past the barn to the kennel where they kept the dogs. Eventually she stopped even doing that.

As usual, Fenton was waiting at the door. After letting them in, he locked the front door and left them in the hall, a single lantern burning on a side table to hold away the blanket of darkness.

“Where did you learn to dance?” Trent asked.

Adelaide flushed, knowing the question was born of the other things she’d shared about her time growing up—how her mother had continued to treat her like a child even as she reached the age when other girls were thinking of who and when they would marry. It had always been Helena’s turn first, as if Mother only had enough energy for one child at a time. “Dancing lessons are easier with additional couples. I was partnered with my brother, Bernard. He didn’t like it much, but he suffered through it because father said he had to. I sometimes wonder if Father made him do it for my benefit as much as Helena’s.”

“Adelaide, I . . .” Trent’s voice trailed off, not as if he didn’t know what he wanted to say but as if he didn’t have the words to say it. She knew how he felt. She felt like that almost all the time these days. Like life was throwing so much at her and she knew how she wanted to respond but didn’t know how to express it or motivate herself to actually do it.

But she knew what she wanted now. She didn’t want his gentle platitudes about how he was going to take care of her—he’d proven that with more than words tonight. She didn’t want him to say that she should have had more as a child—there was no gaining it back, and after seeing how Helena turned out she wasn’t sure she wanted to have gotten it anyway. Right now Adelaide wanted the unvarnished truth that came when he kissed her, when he couldn’t hide the harshened breathing and the unsteady hands, when he didn’t rely on his charming words or winning smile. She wanted what only she received.

As if he could read her mind, he slid his hands up her arms. His gloves had been discarded in the carriage. One of the few wifely things she knew about him. He couldn’t stand the feeling of evening gloves and shed them as soon as he was out of public.

Small calluses covered his hands from years spent rowing and fencing, and she felt every one of them as his hands slid off her gloves and onto her upper arms, pausing below the cut sleeves of her ball gown. He held her steady as he stepped closer and lowered his head. She loved this moment each night, lived for it when the evening grew tedious.

One hand released her arm and slid along the back of her neck, dislodging the pins that had already worked loose at the bottom of her coiffure.

And then his lips were on hers. There was no fumbling hesitancy now, as she felt the familiar warmth of his lips brush gently against hers before returning again with more pressure. She felt his teeth, his tongue, things she never would have thought a woman would enjoy, but she did.

She took her own step forward, pressing into the kiss in a way she hadn’t done before. More than his hands bore evidence of his athletic pursuits and she rested her hands on his shoulders, wishing she dared to wrap them around him, to hold him to her the way she wanted to.

A small cry escaped her lips as he pulled away, and he returned immediately, giving her the second kiss he’d always denied her before.

But the kiss was brief, and before she was ready he was pulling back once more, farther this time until her fingertips fell from his shoulders.

“Don’t go.”

She didn’t realize she’d said the words out loud until he sucked a harsh breath in through his teeth, but she wasn’t upset that she’d said it. Thank goodness her subconscious had more courage than she did. But she didn’t want it to be her subconscious that kept him here. She wanted to have the nerve to say it deliberately, to ask him to stay and mean it.

A deep breath filled her lungs and pushed her shoulders straight. She licked her lips and said it again.

“Don’t go.”

Curls he’d knocked from their moorings draped over her shoulder, emphasizing the fast rise and fall of her chest. The form he’d so admired as it came down the stairs draped in utter perfection was even more enticing in its altered state. The ensemble, naturally mussed and broken by simple virtue of Adelaide being in it, drew him in the way perfection could not. Because it was her. No one else lived in their clothes like she did, without guile or concern for appearance.

She blinked at him, her spectacles magnifying what little moonlight made it into the room and highlighting her clear blue eyes until he wanted to drown in them. That wasn’t possible, so he did the next best thing.

He decided to drown in her.

She’d asked for so little since they’d married, had gone along with everything he’d declared. And when she finally asked for something, all she seemed to want was him.

Could anything be more humbling?

There was also a part of him that wanted to stake his claim, to prove to her and all of the men like Givendale that he was her husband and no one else. He hadn’t liked watching her smile at another man. Perhaps if he did this, if he took that last step in making their marriage real, her most special of smiles would be only for him.

He stepped forward again, throwing caution to the wind and wrapping his arms around her. She pressed against him, already lifting her head for his kiss, wanting it as much as he wanted to give it.

For weeks now, he’d been wrestling with how to love her, how to get her to love him. Maybe it wasn’t so important that he figure it out. Maybe it was more important that he be with her. It wasn’t as if he was going to get to change his mind at the end of this courtship. The awkwardness they’d brought home with them was gone, and maybe that was enough. Maybe it would have to be.

The kiss was different this time, tinged with nerves and excitement as he realized this time he didn’t have to pull back. This time he wasn’t going to slip out the back door to meet the carriage in the alley. This time he could enjoy everything about his wife. Not just could, but should.

Her arms crept around his sides, pressing into his back as she went up on her toes in an effort to get closer.

He broke the kiss, grinning like a fool. He hoped she could sense it in the dark, knew how happy he was to be staying tonight. One arm was already tucked around her shoulders, holding her close. He bent and slid the other hand behind her knees, lifting her high against his chest as she squealed and wrapped her arms around his neck.

The motion pressed his face into the place where her neck and shoulder met. He kissed her there before lowering her enough that she could snag the lantern with one hand while keeping the other wrapped over his shoulder. He climbed the stairs, holding her tighter with each step. He’d never been so glad for the relatively small house that allowed him to reach the bedchamber without hiking down long corridors.

They didn’t call for her maid, and his valet was across town, so they fumbled with each other’s fastenings, falling into fits of giggles when her dress confounded Trent to the point that he threatened to fetch a knife. She was fascinated by the unfolding of his cravat, even taking a moment to try to re-create the folds herself. He’d thought that once they finally got to this point there’d be a rush, driven by the same sense of urgency that had nibbled at his nerves when he kissed her each night. But now that they were here, steps away from the bed he hadn’t been able to sleep in since he married this woman, a calm sense of rightness took away the need to hurry.

She looked right in this room, the room that was more his than anywhere else in the house. It was one of the few rooms he’d taken the time to refurbish when he moved in. Much to the dismay of Mrs. Harris, the rest of the house hadn’t been necessary to him. But this room was his private sanctuary, the place where only he went, and now his wife would be there as well.

The soft light from the lantern flickered over the bed, creating its own sense of magic as he pulled back the covers before taking her hand and guiding her the last few steps across the floor. He didn’t know what Adelaide knew about tonight, and what he knew was limited at best, but that didn’t matter. They would take it slow and discover it together. It had taken them nearly a month to get there, but tonight would finally be their wedding night. It was a natural act, designed by God to bring a man and woman into perfect union.

Trent kept that in mind as his heart raced and his lungs filled with the intoxicating combination of heat and roses. He gathered her in his arms and kissed her, savoring the freedom to enjoy his wife, even if there were moments of awkwardness where he could only guess at what he was doing. If her smiles and sighs were any indication, she didn’t mind his fumbling. The way her hands brushed his shoulders and back proved that she reveled in the new freedom as well.

Trent pulled her close, wondering what he’d been so afraid of, but knowing that they’d been right to wait. This moment should be the most easy, natural thing in the world. All of the reservations he’d had about this marriage were about to disappear. He grazed his fingers over her cheek, knowing the morning light would bring them a whole and splendid new marriage.