Chapter 35

Adelaide was certain that one day she would walk down this church aisle and not be the subject of everyone’s speculative stares. It didn’t help much that she knew the stares were more for Trent than for herself—she was still in the line of everyone’s vision, still part of the story on everyone’s lips, and still uncomfortable with the whole thing.

But if that was the price she had to pay for walking the aisle on Trent’s arm, she’d accept it. She’d sat up most of the night thinking about her life and come to the very difficult conclusion that if she had to choose between pleasing her mother and pleasing Trent, her mother was going to lose. She was fairly certain that decision was even biblical.

Griffith was already in the family pew when Trent and Adelaide slid into the box.

The duke looked his brother over before lifting one side of his lips. “You’re looking well. Considering.”

Trent straightened the sleeves of his coat. “He barely touched me.”

Since Adelaide knew how much he’d moaned while climbing into the curricle that morning, she was impressed by his façade of painless movement. She was also honored that he had allowed her to see his suffering and trusted her to keep it secret now. She smiled. Perhaps he would need another massage later.

Heat immediately flushed her cheeks. She shouldn’t be having thoughts like that. Especially not in church. She yanked her fan from her wrist and waved it rapidly in a furious bid to cool her cheeks.

“I’d love to know what you’re thinking right now,” Trent whispered in her ear.

She blushed harder. At this rate God wouldn’t need to strike her with lightning. She was going to catch fire all on her own.

“Thank you for the massage last night.”

Really. If the man did not stop whispering in her ear, she would not be held responsible for the spontaneous combustion of the church.

“Last time I felt that sore I couldn’t get out of bed the next morning. I felt almost normal this morning.”

She turned her face to find his less than an inch away. Anyone looking at them would think they were about to kiss. For a moment even she thought they were about to kiss. “I am glad to hear that. Truly I am.”

“Perhaps I could return the favor.”

His gaze bore into hers, making her think of all the things he wasn’t saying. Was it possible that they could still enjoy some of the other things like kissing even though the rest of it hadn’t worked for them? She’d certainly enjoyed those other things, and she’d enjoyed giving him a massage last night. And she really couldn’t handle this conversation and expect the skin not to burn off her face. “Trent, we’re in church!”

“Adelaide, we’re married!”

She screwed up her face in confusion. “What has that to do with anything?”

Griffith leaned toward them. “You do know it’s considered rude to whisper.”

Trent grinned back at his brother. “We’re in church. One should always speak in reverent tones in church.”

“One should also speak of reverent subjects,” Adelaide murmured.

The deep, low laugh that reached her ears shivered down her spine to land in her middle with a tightening thud. “What could be more holy than the union of two people in the eyes of God?”

Adelaide lifted a brow, almost giddy to learn she had the skill when Trent had once confessed how much it bothered him that he couldn’t do it. “Perhaps the union of a man’s soul with the risen Savior.”

“Touché.” Trent didn’t seem overly concerned that he’d conceded her the conversational point, and why should he? Her cheeks still flamed at the implications of his earlier conversation. It would be a miracle if she heard a thing the rector said this morning.

They dined at home that night. Throughout the quiet dinner and when they’d later retired to the upstairs parlor, Trent found himself searching his brain for topics that would make her laugh, make her smile. He couldn’t get their banter at church out of his mind. It fed the craving he had for more talks like that one. Adelaide didn’t often rise to his baiting statements, but when she did, he sat in awe of her quick wit. When he thought back to their wedding day, when she’d been unwilling to even look him in the eye, he never would have guessed that she would blossom into the woman sitting across the parlor from him.

Well, sort of the woman across from him. For those few moments when her blush had threatened to overtake her senses, she’d seemed like the Adelaide he married instead of the one that had been so distant for the past few weeks. But even though their relationship had turned some invisible corner last night, she still seemed different. So what was causing it?

The parlor was quiet and comfortable, the perfect place to relax on a quiet Sunday evening. She read while he pretended to. The book he’d brought up was boring, but he kept turning the pages, counting to ten each time she turned one so he wouldn’t give away his inattention to his book.

“You’ve got it upside down,” she said quietly.

Trent knew that trick, so he ignored her and turned another page, gathering his wits before he looked down at his book . . . and discovered that it was, indeed, upside down. He snapped it shut and threw it onto the seat of the chair across from him. “No wonder it was boring.”

She grinned at him over the top of her own book, and he looked at her, really looked at her. Her hair was neat, looking almost normal with the hair pulled out of her face. That wasn’t all it was though. Her dress was in perfect fashion—just as the rest of her new clothes were—the feathers on her slippers nothing out of the ordinary. Everything looked just as it should.

Everything looked just as it should.

That was it. She’d looked perfect for weeks now. What had happened to his Adelaide?

With a frown he reached out and pulled a pin from her hair, sending two curls cascading over her shoulder. Then he bent down and snagged her slipper off her foot, tossing it in the direction of her bedchamber.

He sat back, satisfied with the changes. “Much better.”

“Was that really necessary?” Her exasperated sigh delighted him.

“Yes. You looked too perfect.”

She blinked at him—perfect, adorable blinks. “Too perfect?”

“Hmm, yes. It’s taken me a while to place it, but yes, you looked too perfect.”

She set her book to the side, confusion stamped across her face. “Are you saying you’d rather I walk around with mismatched gloves, smudged slippers, and ripped hems?”

“Not all at once.” He shrugged. “You never did all of those at once. I just rather liked that I was the only person who ever saw you when everything was perfect.”

She tucked one leg underneath her and leaned over the arm of her chair to look him in the face, eager curiosity molding all of her features into a blend of wide-eyed inquisition. “But your mother gave me very specific instructions on how to keep everything in order. I must admit it’s difficult to think about every move I make all the time, and I take a full inventory every time I visit the retiring room. It’s very frustrating to find that even with all the care I find little things wrong.”

“While I fully respect my mother, I didn’t ask to marry her.” Trent stopped and shook his head. “That came out entirely wrong.”

Adelaide stared at him for a moment. “You didn’t ask to marry me, either.”

“Actually, if you’ll recall, I did.” Trent smiled as Adelaide blinked at him once more.

He leaned across the gap between their chairs and captured her lips in a kiss.

What he’d meant to be a sweet meeting of the lips soon grew as he cupped her face in his hands and drove his fingers into her curls, setting more pins free and sending more tendrils dancing around her shoulders.

“Adelaide.” Trent swallowed as the word came out too rough to be understood. “Adelaide, do you think we could try again?”

She glanced at the door to his room and then back to his eyes before leaning forward and capturing his lips in a kiss of her own.

Their days fell into a pattern once more, and while it wasn’t all that different than what they’d done before, it felt like everything had changed. They would breakfast together in the morning. She would then curl up in the chair in his study and read while he worked for an hour. Then he would go off to one of his clubs while she met with Mrs. Harris or went to see Lady Blackstone. Unless she was in the presence of the countess, she stopped worrying so much about her appearance. It was incredibly freeing to finally relax again.

Sometimes she even deliberately set part of her ensemble wrong just so Trent could find it. He had started gently and quietly correcting the mishap. If they were alone when he did it he followed it with a kiss.

Trent would return home in the late afternoon and take her for a ride before bringing her back home to dress for dinner. They’d only gone out once in the past three days and that was to a small gathering a friend of Trent’s from school was having. Otherwise they dined in and then retired to the parlor.

Trent taught her how to play chess. She read to him from some of her Minerva Press novels, using funny voices for the different characters, like she would if reading to a child. Once they even played a silly game of jacks, though they spent more time chasing the errantly bouncing ball than scooping up knucklebones.

Then they retired to his bedchamber, and sometime in the night she would come half awake while he carried her to her own bed.

On the surface everything looked wonderful. Anyone looking in would think they’d finally embraced their marriage and were as in love as any young couple who’d gone about it in a more conventional way would be.

But Adelaide knew differently.

She knew the balance they had was incredibly delicate. The unspoken-of incident with the pineapple papers stood between them, an ignored barrier to finally moving forward. She wasn’t careful of her shoes anymore, but she feared taking another wrong step with Trent, and it kept their conversations superficial.

And she didn’t like it.

Darkness pressed around them, as comfortable as the heavy blankets on top of her and the warm, hard shoulder she was using as a pillow. She loved this part of the day, when she was warm and happy and as close to her husband as any person could be to another. Sometimes they exchanged whispered stories about their childhood, other times they lay in silence.

She snuggled closer to his side and traced a looping design across his chest. “It’s so warm here. The cold always wakes me up when you take me back to bed. Maybe I’ll just stay here tonight.”

Trent laughed, causing her head to shake on his vibrating shoulder. “And send Rebecca and Finch into scandalous despair?”

“Finch is married,” Adelaide muttered. “I think he could handle it.”

He brushed her hair away from her face. “You know I could come to your bed instead. Then you wouldn’t have to get cold when I move you.”

She pouted. She felt ridiculous doing it, but she didn’t want to be deprived of his bed. “But I like your bed. It’s the most beautiful piece of furniture I’ve ever seen.”

He kissed her gently on the lips. “Then we’ll have one made for you just like it. Though I can think of several things you would rather have carved into the headboard than a hunt.”

“A bed like this is too expensive, Trent. I’ll redecorate my room eventually, and I’ll find a lovely bed, but I’ll always love yours more.”

One finger tipped her chin up, and she could see Trent searching for her eyes in the pale moonlight that crept around the edges of the curtains. “You really don’t know how much money I have, do you?”

“Trent, stop it. You’re a younger son. I know we’ll always be comfortable, but I can’t expect you to be able to live like your brother.”

Trent tilted his head back. “No, not like my brother. But probably similarly to your father.”

Adelaide sat upright and twisted in the bed to stare at him. There was no way that he was as rich as her titled father. He was a younger son whose brother had already inherited. “It’s not necessary to go into debt to impress me, you know.”

Trent laughed and pulled her back into his arms. “My father left me a generous sum, and Colin’s been managing that for years, even before I knew he was managing it. Interfering brothers are sometimes beneficial.”

“Oh.” Adelaide went back to tracing designs across Trent’s chest, wondering if she dared ask what had been bothering her all day. For several days really. She knew their delicate idyll couldn’t last forever, but did she really want to be the one to break it?

“Trent?”

“Yes, my dear?”

“Will you please tell me about the pineapples?”