Trials of Artemis Read online

  Perhaps sensing her gaze he did look into her eyes, his face earnest and solemn. It was then that Jack realized that this morning she wasn't marrying Gideon Wolfe, Earl of Harrington, but Giddy, the serious man that she had enjoyed teasing during the curricle ride. She smiled as a tiny flicker of hope came alive in her breast.

  "Do you like the ring?" he whispered to her.

  She looked down, realizing she hadn't seen it yet. It was heavy, a band of gold with a large blue sapphire, the style made more delicate by the intricate gold filigree decorating it. It was a lovely ring that looked like a treasured family piece with a long history. It fit a bit loosely on her finger.

  "You could choose another," he said. "Or I could replace the stone."

  Jack smiled up at him and whispered. "You're right. I should have one in every color."

  He raised a brow, clearly not sure if she was joking or not. The clergyman continued the ceremony and was now called for the groom to kiss the bride. Gideon leaned down to take her lips in a brief, sweet kiss. And then it was over. Her family and the duke wished them well, signing as witnesses to the nuptials. There was to be no wedding breakfast, no additional well-wishers. They entered the coach that was to bear them to Kent and Harrington handed her onto the forward facing seat before taking the one opposite himself. She scooted to the window to let it down and wave to her family until they were out of sight. When she closed the window again she looked over to see that Harrington had sunk low into his seat, arms crossed and eyes closed, legs stretched out, from all indications asleep. She opened the small bag she had packed for the trip and pulled out a book. Apparently today was not the day they were going to discuss how they would proceed.

  Gideon watched his wife from under his nearly closed eyelids. His wife. It seemed a very strange term, meaning that he possessed her. Was in turn possessed by her. He was a husband. It wasn't something he had ever aspired to be or expected to be. But here they were, husband and wife. It had merely taken some influence and a tiny bit of cash in order to have a wedding in less than a day. He had expected the event to feel angry or rushed, but it had been sedate and almost unearthly. When he had seen her entering the church she had been backlit by the early morning sun, creating a halo around the soft waves of her hair. Once the door had closed he could see her more clearly. The dress he had hoped would suit her had done much more than that. Her skin glowed like the finest pearl against the deep green. Her figure was shown to its best advantage, all lush curves and slender grace in silk and velvet. Even sitting here reading in the mid-morning light she looked like a feast he wanted to indulge in. Marrying a woman who could ignite his lust after he’d polished off half a bottle the night before was either a very good or a very, very bad idea. Knowing that she wasn't ready for him to press her on that point he closed his eyes and tried to sleep off the horrible hangover that Quince's brandy had given him.

  He jolted awake some time later to find that she had put her book away and was herself dozing while sitting up. She didn't look terribly comfortable with her head nodding to the side. He crossed the carriage and settled himself into the corner, pulling her gently down onto his chest. She wriggled once while settling in and his body responded with alacrity, but then she was in a deep sleep again. He contented himself with settling one hand on her hip and using the other to smooth her hair back from her face. She was a pretty girl and looked much sweeter in sleep than he had suspected she could. Knowing that he was driving himself to distraction he closed his own eyes again and slowly faded to sleep.

  Jack awoke to the feel of the carriage rocking to a stop. She was lying against a warm, rumbling surface that her fogged brain finally deciphered was her snoring husband. When had he crossed the carriage? And what had he been doing? His arms were wrapped loosely around her but tightened as she tried to sit up. His snore changed to a low growl as he tried to make her lie back down against him.

  "Gideon," she whispered. "I think we've arrived somewhere."

  "We're always somewhere, darling."

  She poked his ribs. "Aren't you clever. I was thinking perhaps a carriage house."

  He finally released her and sat up himself, rubbing his face and looking at the light seeping around the curtains on the window. "We have most likely arrived at home since it is already late afternoon."

  "Well, just so long as we have arrived somewhere."

  "Undoubtedly."

  There was a knock on the carriage door. Gideon seemed amused that his retainers thought it necessary to give the newlyweds privacy.

  "Come," he called. A footman opened the door and bowed.

  Gideon looked out and then quirked a smile at Jack. "We are better than somewhere. We have arrived at Kellington." He stepped down from the carriage and held his hand up for her to take. Emerging from the carriage, her first impression of her new home was of wind-swept fields and tangy salt air. There were grasses and gorse growing wild in the fields as far as the eye could see, as well as the largest manor home that Jack had ever seen, with an impossible number of staff assembled in the front circle to greet them. She stood for a moment on the steps of the carriage, struck dumb by the size of her new home. She could easily imagine her family's country manor fitting inside six times over, with room to spare. She was to be mistress of this? And other properties as well? It was difficult not to retreat back into the carriage and demand to be taken home. But now this was home. She gripped Gideon's hand tightly to steady herself and stepped down to face her new life.

  Chapter Eleven

  When Jacqueline stepped out of the carriage Gideon could tell she was overwhelmed. Her hand tightened convulsively in his and her expression went blank and wide-eyed. The softly waving hairstyle that had been fetching at the wedding had been mussed by travel and sleeping, giving the impression they had been doing far more interesting things on the carriage ride. It was better, he thought, for the staff to assume it truly had been a love match that had prompted the hasty wedding. She kept hold of him even after stepping down and he didn't try to move her hand to rest more appropriately on the crook of his arm, so they moved forward to greet the staff looking more like lovers than earl and countess.

  Gideon nodded to the butler. "Dibbs." This was not the Dibbs of London but instead that butler's father.

  Dibbs bowed deeply. "We are glad to see you return, my Lord."

  Gideon then nodded to the housekeeper. "Mrs. Gladstone."

  She curtsied. "My Lord."

  "Let me introduce to you my wife, Jacqueline Wolfe, Countess of Harrington."

  The servants both greeted her deferentially, then began the process of introducing the countess to the one hundred and thirty-three staff required to maintain the house and grounds. Gideon knew the number by heart since he reviewed the payroll monthly. He could also name almost all of them on sight except for the few that Mrs. Gladstone had hired most recently. As they made their way he asked after children, pets and health as matched each retainer. He also assessed the staff that his steward Philip Gladstone had suggested might be interested in pensioning in the next year or so. Philip was the last staff member to be introduced and Gideon saw he was carrying his satchel in case there should be any immediate questions about the household or finances.

  Gideon turned to his wife. "Would you like to rest before dinner, my love?"

  She still looked a bit pale and shocked but answered him steadily enough. "That would be lovely."

  He gave her into the care of Mrs. Gladstone and watched her walk up the steps. It occurred to him that they hadn't argued all day. Perhaps this wouldn't be the disaster that it at first seemed, but time would tell.

  Jack followed Mrs. Gladstone upstairs and through a wide, sunny hallway. The housekeeper chatted amicably about the furniture and paintings in the hall while Jack tried to take in her surroundings.

  "And these are your quarters, my Lady," the housekeeper said, opening double doors. The room beyond was devastatingly beautiful. The tall wooden doors opened into a sitting room decor
ated in light blue, gold, and pale yellow. It gave the overall effect of sunshine on a beautiful summer day. Stepping inside, Jack could tell that the room had been rather hastily cleaned and aired out. Dust motes still hung in the air, and the scent was stale from disuse. But oh, the soaring ceilings, delicate furniture, and soothing colors. She ran her hand over the silk covering on the tiny settee. The room was exquisite.

  "Happy we are to have you here, my Lady," Mrs. Gladstone said. The matronly woman had tears welling in her eyes. "We had given up on his Lord choosing a bride. But we always knew that if he did you would be quite the perfect lady. Sensible his Lord is. Not like his father, God rest his soul.”

  It wouldn't do to explain to the housekeeper what a horrible accident the marriage had been. Instead Jack smiled and said, "Why don't you tell me about the room? It's quite beautiful.”

  Mrs. Gladstone proceeded to do just that, describing both the history and significance of all the paintings and furniture. The last countess had redone the entire suite, except her husband had put his foot down and not let her replace the bed that had been in their family for generations. His reasoning, said Mrs. Gladstone, was that "every Earl of Harrington has been born in that bed and if I have any say every one of us shall." His last will and testament had even dictated that the bed could not be removed. As a consequence the bedroom was dominated by the huge dark wood piece, almost medieval in style, that the previous countess had attempted to disguise under pale blue and yellow drapes.

  Jack thanked Mrs. Gladstone for her time, agreed that yes she would need to have a lady's maid assigned to her. She closed the door and, once alone, sank down on the bed and stared at the ceiling. My, how things had changed. Still exhausted from the stress of the last two days she drifted off to sleep again.

  Gideon knocked on the connecting door that led to his wife's suite. Not hearing a response he pushed the door open and paused. Looking at the pale blue and gold panels brought memories of his mother flooding back. The airy, innocent look of the room was in stark contrast to the woman she had been. High-strung. Demanding. Neglectful. When he was a child it could be weeks, sometimes months between times he would see her. Every once in a long while his nanny would bring him here, where his mother would fuss over him until he no longer entertained her. Or until a servant displeased her, perhaps snagging her hair with a brush or knocking over one of her perfume bottles. Her shifts from mawkish sweetness to vengeful harridan could happen so swiftly as to be terrifying.

  "Jacqueline?" he called out, hesitant to walk in any further. Silence greeted him. He became annoyed that memories of his mother had stopped him and took a deep breath. Weakness was something he could not abide in himself.

  Entering the room he could see her feet poking beyond the bed hangings. As he approached he saw that she was asleep again, stretched out cross-wise on the coverlet with her arms flung to the side. Watching her, the memories of his mother dissipated. The lamplight from his room spilled across the pale bedding. Her chest rose and fell with the even breathing of sleep. He felt an impulse to join her, to awaken her with kisses and gentle strokes. Would she come alive in his arms again? Would she welcome him, as a wife should, pull him to her body and encourage a joining? Temptation made him lightheaded. They could both enjoy it. He was confident that he could fan her naturally passionate nature into a blaze of need that he could satisfy. But his Jacqueline was primarily a creature of the mind. As long as she had doubts she would feel betrayed by her own desires. He knew she had doubts because he had put some of them there himself out of anger and frustration. But the temptation was so strong he could nearly taste what it would be like to kiss and nibble at her throat. Could nearly feel the softness of stroking her hip, her breast. Before he could be swayed by his own desires he touched her foot to wake her. She jolted and then drew back when she saw him. He watched as she sat up and rubbed at her eyes. He had indeed made the right decision not to bed her at this juncture.

  "What time is it?" she asked, sounding sleepy and disoriented.

  He pulled his watch from its pocket and tilted it toward the light. "Nearly seven. Would you like to have dinner brought to your room or eat in the dining room downstairs? My apologies that I didn't think to ask you that earlier."

  She looked at him strangely then answered. "I think the dining room would be more appropriate. The staff will want to know more about me and how we will all get on together."

  "You have a point. But if they think we are in here being inappropriate it will fuel the gossip of our love match."

  She seemed to think for a moment. "Clever. And I would certainly appreciate more time to consider what I've gotten myself into."

  "Do you mind if I dine with you?"

  "Of course not. Besides, it is important for maintaining the ruse."

  He moved to the window to look out on the gardens in the pale light of the rising moon. "You can redecorate your rooms, of course. We can discuss budgets tomorrow if you like."

  "Redecorate? There's no need."

  "It is customary for the countess to change her suite to her taste."

  She had joined him at the window, looking up at him with a furrowed brow. "But this is lovely. Blue is my favorite color." He saw that she was twisting her wedding ring on her finger.

  "So I don't need to buy you one of those in every color?"

  She smiled down on the ring. "No, indeed you don't."

  "Is it uncomfortable? There was no time to consider a fitting."

  "Perhaps a bit loose, but mostly just different. I don't usually wear jewelry. I'm sure I'll become accustomed to it in time.” She looked at him more keenly. “Does the room bother you?"

  "It reminds me of my mother."

  "I take it that's not a good thing?"

  "Not in the least."

  "Very well then, we can redecorate. Perhaps I can take inspiration from this ring and the bed, something more in a medieval mode with a darker blue and gold."

  Gideon clenched his jaw. No weakness. "No, if you like it we can leave it as it is for now. Perhaps later you will decide on something you want."

  She smiled up at him. "Well, bookcases certainly. I could use some bookcases."

  "I'll have to show you the library soon."

  He watched her brighten at the suggestion. "Yes, soon."

  "Not tonight, though," he cautioned. More lightly he added, "The staff wouldn't understand that it would be part of a seduction for you."

  She laughed. "Nor should we tell them it could be a reenactment."

  Gideon saw that she realized what she'd said because she began to blush. "Perhaps we can dine in my suite?" he suggested. "No memories of my mother in there."

  "Of course," she agreed.

  "And for our... ruse, I suggest you change into a nightgown and robe to dine."

  She blushed again but nodded.

  He pointed to the door he had entered through. "When you are ready just come through there. I will send for our dinner shortly."

  Chapter Twelve

  Jack found that her clothing had been arranged in her dressing room while she slept. Of the three trunks she had brought one had contained clothing, the other two being mostly filled with books and mementos. Her maid had been at a loss with what to do with those and had just left the trunks propped open. Having familiarized herself with where things were she couldn't think of anything else to delay going to Harrington's rooms. She pulled the sash on her robe tighter and then tied it with a double knot. She had decided to wear her hair down considering the picture they were trying to paint, but as a result of that and the scant clothing, she felt very vulnerable. Taking a deep breath she walked across to the open door he had indicated earlier and knocked lightly.

  "Come in," he said.

  She ducked around the door and found the earl standing at the door to what must be his own sitting room. He was also dressed in a robe, his of silk in a deep ruby color. Just seeing him also in such a state of undress made her cheeks heat again. Glancing around the
room she saw that it was done in warm autumnal colors, very subtle and masculine, with an emphasis on polished wood. Her gaze skipped nervously over the bed and her fingers started worrying the end of her sash. Gideon walked over to her and cupped his warm hands gently on her shoulders.

  "Do you trust me?" he asked.

  "I... yes?"

  He smiled. "So dubious."

  She tried to smile but was afraid she was failing miserably at it. Gideon leaned close to her ear and whispered, "Trust me." She shuddered as his breath caressed her neck. He had leaned close enough to her that she could feel the heat from his body and found herself leaning into it like a chilly traveler drawn towards a hearthfire. She feared that he made her wanton, but feared more that he would step back from her. He nuzzled her neck and she released her pent-up breath in a sigh. His kisses and nibbles made their way to her jaw, then the side of her mouth. She was beginning to feel boneless and her entire being focused on the pleasure his lips were bringing to her. At long last he took her lips with his own, pulling her body tightly against him. He thrust his tongue into her mouth to caress and swirl against her own and she felt her reaction move from surrender to something more primal and demanding. Her hands clutched at his shoulders then went to his hair, his face. The rough texture of his day's growth of beard excited her and she could hear herself making a mewling sound in her throat. His hands moved down to her hips and he pulled her even more intimately against himself. She felt a hard ridge against her belly but was too caught in the moment to be shocked. Her breasts felt swollen and there was a needy ache pulsing from where her body pressed against his. She wanted to wriggle and rub against him like a cat. He tore his mouth from hers and then stood there with his forehead against hers, his eyes closed and his breathing labored.