The Devil Takes a Bride. Julia London
That declaration made him feel uncomfortably exposed. He wondered what she would think if she knew she’d trapped herself into a marriage with a madman. “Frankly, I don’t care to be known,” he said truthfully. “Good night.”
He turned away from her and walked to the door. But as he reached it, he heard her say something quite low. He paused at the door and looked back. “Pardon?”
“I said, good night, my lord,” she said with mock cheer. She looked lovely standing there, her color high, her eyes blazing with ire. The images began to come to him—images of those eyes blazing with passion—
He turned away and walked into the corridor. He turned left. He walked sixteen steps to the turn into the main corridor, then thirty-two steps to the foyer, which required him to shorten his stride. In the foyer, he began the count again, going up the steps.
It was the only thing that would banish the image of his wife caressing her naked body while he watched.
GRACE LOCKED THE door of her room. She stood there, her arms akimbo, studying it. She debated pulling a chair before it to make doubly sure he couldn’t enter. She would no more allow that wretched man to touch her than she would eat her shoe.
Actually, under the right circumstances, she might be persuaded to eat her shoe.
She studied the door, imagined him breaking it down, demanding entry. He said he would not come to her...but when he said it, he was looking at her so intently, his gaze so ravenous, that Grace didn’t believe him. She thought it a trick.
No, no, she was being ridiculous. He said he would not come to her. And if that man said something, it was painfully true. “I find idle chatter tedious,” she mimicked him under her breath. “Frankly, I do not wish to be known.”
Grace rolled her eyes. What a miserable figure! And she, a woman who was accustomed to fawning men and high society, was married to him. “Oh!” she said to the ceiling, and gripped her hands in frustration.
Yes, the lock was sufficient. And honestly, were he to come through the door now, she might brain him with the fire poker. Grace was never one to contemplate violence, but she had already contemplated it several times today, so exasperated was she with her situation. “Come through my door, sir, and see what awaits,” she muttered.
She backed away from the door, expecting to see the handle turn at any moment, and bumped up against the bed. She sat, her hands on either side of her knees, her breath a little uneven. What was the matter with him? He was a man with a broad reputation for being aloof, for being more concerned about his place in society and propriety than his own family. But his flaws seemed more to her than that. There was something very different about him than anyone she’d ever known, the signs of a private struggle, as if he was making a concerted effort to isolate himself from everyone around him. Not only would he scarcely utter a word to her, it seemed to take quite a lot for him to look her in the eye.
And yet, when he did look her in the eye, his gaze was so intent, so hungry, that she couldn’t suppress the small shock of fear that sliced through her even now.
“Now you’re imagining things,” she muttered wearily. He might be a strangely aloof man, but he was an earl, a gentleman. He had said he would not come to her tonight and he would keep his word. Grace sighed with the exhaustion of prolonged agitation and stood up. She’d forced a marriage with the man and she could not avoid the marriage bed, no matter how much she might like to. Part of her was repulsed by it, by him, by his cold manner. But another part of her felt a bit of heat sluice through her every time she thought of their fateful encounter.
You were there to meet Amherst. You mistook me for him.
How did he know what she’d done? And if he knew, why did he kiss her so thoroughly that night?
Grace mulled that over as she reached behind her to unbutton her gown but was startled almost out of her wits by a knock at the door. She gasped and hopped to her feet, running to the hearth to grab the fire poker. “Who’s there!”
“Hattie Crump, mu’um. I’ve been sent by Mrs. Garland to attend you.”
Grace’s relief swept out of her, making her feel suddenly limp. She drew a breath to find her composure, put aside the fire poker and walked to the door. She opened it to a small woman with dark red hair pinned tightly at her nape. She was wearing a severe dark blue gown with a prim white collar that Grace had seen on the other female servants today. She had an unfortunate pair of dark hollows beneath her eyes, as if she’d not slept in years.
Hattie Crump curtsied. “Mrs. Garland said I should help you until you’ve hired a lady’s maid.”
Grace’s initial instinct was to send her away, but she was so grateful for company of any sort that was not that awful man, she pulled the woman in. “Thank you.”
“How may I help?”
“Ah...” Grace glanced around the room. “My trunk. If you would put away my things?”
“Aye,” Hattie said, and started briskly for the dressing room.
Grace followed her. She stood in the doorway nervously fidgeting with the cuff of her sleeve as Hattie began to remove her gowns and underthings from the trunk, opening the doors to the armoire and neatly stacking them inside.
“Have you been long at Blackwood Hall?” Grace asked.
“Aye, mu’um, more or less all my life. As my mother before me.”
Hattie looked at least as old as Merryton. “Then I suppose you’ve known his lordship quite a long time,” Grace said, watching the woman’s face for any sign of revulsion.
“Oh, aye. He’s only a wee bit younger than I am. He was a lovely lad. Always had a kind word for the servants.”
Grace thought she must mean Amherst and said, “I was referring to Lord Merryton.”
Hattie looked up, surprised. “Aye, Lord Merryton.”
Grace blanched—Merryton, kind? There was suddenly so much she wanted to know, to arm herself against the devil. “It’s a beautiful house,” she said, avoiding Hattie’s steady gaze. “Quite far from town, however. I suppose his lordship is often away?”
“No, mu’um. Lord Amherst is rarely about, but Merryton, he remains here most of the year. Except when he travels to Bath. The family takes the waters there.”
Just as she’d feared, she’d be stuck in this wilderness, away from her mother and sisters, with perhaps an occasional trip to Bath. Grace pushed away from the door frame and walked to a window. She tried to see out, but the night was an inky black. “There must be quite a number of tenants,” she said with a sigh of tedium.
“I suppose, mu’um. The church pews are filled on Sunday, that’s all I know.”
In the mirror’s reflection, Grace could see Hattie holding up her black gown and eyeing it as if she were confused by it. Grace thought perhaps she might acquaint herself with this woman before she explained she’d married while in mourning. Put her best foot forward first, as it were. “Is there a village nearby?” she asked.
“Aye, Ashton Down. It’s a two-mile walk through the woods.”
Grace couldn’t imagine taking as much as a step into these dark woods. “Perhaps I shall walk there on the morrow,” she said, surprising herself. Apparently, she could imagine it if it meant escaping this bleak house and its bleaker master.
Hattie finished putting the clothing away, closed the doors of the armoire and turned around. “Mrs. Garland says to inquire if you will need me in the morning, mu’um,” she said.
“No, thank you. I shall be quite all right on my own.” Grace smiled.
“Very