Echoes in the Mist Page 8

  The trip to Broddington was a blur.

  A strained silence accompanied them in the coach, Trenton scowling moodily off into space, Ariana anxiously twisting the new, foreign-feeling ring on her finger.

  The iron gates were flung open, admitting the bridal procession to some of the most exquisite grounds Ariana had ever seen.

  “How lovely!” she exclaimed, the ponderous tension pervading the carriage instantly forgotten as she leaned forward to drink in the vast, rolling hills.

  “We have hundreds of acres on the front lawns alone,” Trenton supplied, unsurprised that Ariana, like every woman, was impressed with Broddington. He studied his wife’s face, taking in the turquoise splendor of her eyes when they were alight with pleasure. Without warning, he found himself wondering if those same eyes would darken with passion in his bed.

  Unexpected lust surged through his blood.

  Oblivious to the direction Trenton’s thoughts had taken, Ariana was half out of her seat, staring delightedly out the carriage window. “Do you have stables?”

  Trenton blinked at the naïveté of the question. “What?”

  Ariana cast an apologetic look in his direction. “I’m sorry. If you haven’t any stables, I’ll find animals in the woods.”

  “Of course we have stables!” he blurted out, totally stupefied. “Years ago Broddington housed dozens of Thoroughbreds for racing. But that was before …” He broke off, his expression closed.

  Ariana heard him, but she chose to ignore the implication of his words. It was enough that they were finally managing a civil conversation—an unexpected experience that would surely be shattered were they to discuss the events leading up to Trenton’s exile.

  “Are all the horses gone, then?” she asked instead.

  “Do you ride?”

  “Since I could walk.”

  He studied her glowing face. “I’ll arrange to have proper horses delivered immediately.”

  She smiled, touched by his generosity. “Thank you.” Her forefinger traced the outline of one of her gown’s lace panels. “And while I’m expressing my gratitude, thank you for allowing Theresa to accompany me to Broddington. She raised me from birth and is more like a family member than a servant.”

  “I’m not a monster, Ariana.” He spoke her name for the first time, and the deep-timbred syllables sounded strangely exhilarating to her ears. “You’re my wife. Anything you ask for … anything within reason … is yours.” He leaned forward, his hands gripping his knees. “And while we’re exchanging thank yous, I owe you one as well. I appreciate your composure during the wedding ceremony. It prevented an unthinkable amount of ugly gossip from spreading.”

  Ariana nodded slowly. A thousand questions bubbled up inside her, but she doggedly fought the impulse to blurt them out. She would know when the time was right to ask each one.

  The carriage rolled onward until the enormous Broddington manor came into view.

  Again, Trenton watched Ariana’s face, curious about her reaction to the formidable dwelling. He saw her eyes widen with surprise just before she began plucking at the satin edging of her gown.

  “Will there be many people living here?” she asked in an odd tone.

  Trenton frowned. “No. At least not once the reception has ended. There will be a small staff of servants, most of whom I’ve borrowed from my other estates, your Theresa, and us. Why?” He was annoyed at this unplanned development. He hadn’t anticipated that Ariana would want a houseful of servants to direct. Perhaps he should have, though. Given her isolation at Winsham, she had doubtlessly envisioned her life as a duchess to include the running of a huge staff.

  Ariana sagged with relief, shrugging her slim shoulders in apology. “It’s just that I’m dreadfully unprepared to answer to anyone, let alone have dozens of people answer to me. At Winsham it was only Baxter, Theresa, myself, and a few other servants. Baxter was rarely home and I spent most of my time in the stables or the gardens. I’m much more accustomed to a simple life … one I can hardly expect to continue living as your duchess.”

  “I see.” For the life of him, Trenton couldn’t think of another thing to say to her astonishing admission.

  “I will try to adapt,” she continued, taking his silence to mean displeasure. “But remember, this marriage was your choice, not mine.”

  Trenton’s lips twitched. “I remember.”

  The conversation was cut short as the carriage pulled up to the entranceway door and halted.

  Unorthodox to the last, Trenton waved away the footman and descended first, extending a hand to help his wife alight.

  Ariana placed her fingers in his.

  Even the fine material of her glove could not deflect the spark of electricity that passed between them, blazing through his blood to hers like wildfire. Stunned, Ariana froze in place, staring at their joined hands. Slowly, she turned her face to his.

  Trenton gave her a slow, dark smile. “Ah, misty angel, I’m beginning to share your preference for an uncluttered household. Already I’m eager for the privacy you were just describing.” He brought her gloved hand to his lips, turning it over to kiss her trembling palm. “There are some aspects to this marriage that I promise you will find infinitely more pleasurable than you expect.” He kissed her fingertips, one by one. “Infinitely.”

  He released her hand and caught her by the waist, lining her from the carriage and lowering her to the ground. For the briefest of instants he pressed her against him, his eyes twinkling wickedly at the soft flush that inadvertently stained her cheeks. “Your innocence is bewitching,” he murmured. “You are bewitching.”

  “The guests are arriving,” she whispered inanely.

  He chuckled. “Very well. We’ll act the dutiful bride and groom. But later, when I have you to myself, we are going to stoke the flames of this fire that rages between us.” He brushed her chin with his thumb. “Tonight, misty angel.”

  Totally dazed by the exchange and drowning in a deluge of unfamiliar sensations, it took Ariana a few minutes to realize that Trenton was guiding her, not into the house as she had expected, but along the path that led around Broddington’s magnificent manor.

  “Where are we going?” she asked faintly.

  “To receive our guests.”

  Ariana gave him a quizzical look. “But …” Her question ended in a soft gasp as she beheld the magical picture that unfolded before her. The conservatory doors were flung open, and countless servants were scurrying about, carrying trays of everything from cold lobster salad, roast duck, and meat pies to wine jelly, lemon cake, and coffee cream, and placing them on dozens of miniature tables scattered across the grounds as far as Ariana could see.

  “Does it please you?” Trenton asked brusquely.

  Ariana turned enchanted eyes to his. “It’s beautiful! How did you ever manage to do all this?”

  He fought the pleasure her joy evoked. “I didn’t. Dustin arranged it all, and the servants did the rest.”

  She gave him a radiant smile. “Thank you.”

  Another unwilling tug at his heart. “You’re welcome.”

  “Broddington is massive!” Ariana peeked into the conservatory. “Oh … how lovely! Geraniums, heliotrope, violets, poppies, honeysuckle …” She paused to catch her breath. “Goldenrod, heather, bluebells …”

  “You know the names of all those flowers?” Trenton asked in amazement.

  “Of course! I told you, I’ve spent most of my time in Winsham’s gardens and stables. I adore the blossoms that thrive in summer, and the animals that emerge from their winter’s sleep. And—”

  “White owls?” Trenton teased.

  Ariana flushed. “You remember.”

  “I remember.” He grinned as she flitted around, pausing to sniff a bud here and there. “Your ankle appears to have fully recovered.”

  Ariana laughed. “It has.” Curiously, she peaked through the inner conservatory door. “Where does this lead?”

  “Into the drawing room. It’s
designed so you can look out into the conservatory and enjoy its beauty, winter or summer. Beyond the drawing room is the library, and beyond that, the chapel.”

  “Why wasn’t our wedding ceremony held in the Broddington chapel, then?”

  “We designed it to seat two hundred people. There were over six hundred guests at the church today.”

  “We?” She latched onto that reference at once, her eyes widening with interest. “Did you assist the architect in designing this house?”

  Trenton glanced about him, assessing the room with great pride. He’d forgotten just how magnificent Broddington was. “I am the architect,” he responded simply. “Or, rather, one of them. My father is primarily responsible for the manor’s exquisite detail. Dustin and I merely assisted him.”

  “You’re an architect.” She looked both amazed and impressed. “But I thought you were a duke.”

  A rumble of laughter exploded from Trenton’s chest. “I am both, misty angel. Believe it or not, a man can be many things.”

  “You’re superbly talented.”

  “My father was a genius.” The words were out before Trenton realized he’d spoken them.

  Ariana reacted to the raw emotion in his voice. “I’m sure he was,” she said carefully. Again, the urge to continue, to ask him all about his father, was nearly overpowering. She knew only that Richard Kingsley had died shortly after Vanessa, presumably from the shock of his son’s reprehensible behavior. And Trenton’s strangled tone and pained expression certainly concurred.

  Ariana’s instincts did not.

  “Our guests will doubtlessly wonder where we are,” she said, touching his arm.

  Instantly, Trenton’s mask was back in place. “Doubtlessly,” he agreed. As if on cue, the strings began to play, calling for the dancing to commence. Trenton offered Ariana his arm. “Come. I believe the first dance customarily belongs to the bride and groom.”

  Ariana slid her fingers through his arm.

  “Brides are supposedly too nervous to eat.”

  Dustin’s teasing voice interrupted Ariana’s last bite of lemon cake.

  She laughed. “You’re right. And I’ll certainly pay with a terribly upset stomach. But you see”—she leaned conspiratorially forward—“when I get nervous, I eat huge quantities of sweets.”

  Dustin caught her elbow as she weaved a bit on her feet. “I see. And do you also drink huge quantities?”

  “What?”

  “How much punch have you had?”

  She considered the question. “I’m not certain. Perhaps four or five glasses. It’s really quite tasty for fruit juice.”

  Dustin looked utterly incredulous. “Fruit juice? Sweetheart, there are countless pints of French brandy and white wine in that ‘fruit juice.’”

  “There are?” Ariana frowned. “Does this mean I’m foxed?”

  “Hopelessly.”

  She laughed. “And you’re the duke’s brother.”

  “That I am.” He gave a formal bow. “And you’re the duke’s wife,” he said with a twinkle.

  Ariana chewed her lip, glancing around to make certain they were alone. “Can you keep a secret?” she whispered at last.

  “I think so.”

  She leaned closer. “I have no idea how to be a wife.”

  Dustin couldn’t help himself; he burst out laughing. “Ariana, I think you are going to be a very quick learner.” He took her elbow. “Are you up for a dance?”

  She nodded, her face flushed from wine and excitement. “But only if you lead … Dustin. May I call you Dustin?”

  “Since we are now effectively brother and sister, I believe it is mandatory,” he replied, leading her into a waltz.

  “I’ve never drunk wine or brandy before, but I do enjoy them,” she confessed.

  “I can tell.” Dustin studied her delicate features objectively. The coloring, the inherent feminine charm: Yes, he could see Vanessa. But there was so much more here, not only beauty, but depth and character.

  And passion.

  Dustin felt a twinge of envy for the treasures Trenton had yet to discover.

  “May I borrow my bride, Dustin?” Trenton tapped his brother on the shoulder.

  Dustin blinked, surprised at the anger in Trenton’s tone. The last time he had seen his brother he was dancing with the Dowager Duchess of Cantington, in seemingly high spirits. “Of course.” Dustin stepped away, feeling the presence of the dark emotion that drove Trenton relentlessly, was always buried just beneath the surface. It emanated now like an ominous thunderstorm.

  Ariana felt it too, and was suddenly and entirely sober. “Will you be staying at Broddington?” she asked Dustin, anxiety clouding her lovely face.’

  He was about to say no, when he met the pleading look in her eyes. He glanced back at Trenton, saw the antagonism, and knew he couldn’t leave Ariana alone. Not with his brother in this foul, unpredictable humor.

  “For a day or two,” he compromised, feeling Trenton bristle. “Then I must get back to Tyreham.”

  Relief swept Ariana’s fragile features. “Wonderful! Then we’ll have a chance to get to know each other.”

  “Tomorrow,” Trenton interrupted. He took Ariana’s arm. “It’s time for us to take our leave.”

  All the color drained from her face. “But the guests are still here.”

  “The guests will be here for hours. It’s perfectly acceptable for us to retire.” He drew her to his side. “Come. Let’s say our good-byes.”

  Ariana cast a final glance at Dustin. She felt like a small lamb being led to slaughter, while being torn from an old friend rather than a new acquaintance.

  Dustin interceded to kiss Ariana’s cheek. “I’ll see you at breakfast,” he promised. Turning to his brother, he extended his hand. “Congratulations, Trent. Be happy.” He leaned closer, murmuring, “And for God’s sake, be gentle.”

  The tightening of Trenton’s jaw indicated that he had heard.

  Whether he would comply was another thing entirely.

  CHAPTER

  7

  “THERESA, I THINK I’D LIKE to try wearing my hair in a different style.”

  The silver-handled brush paused for a moment, then continued its downward journey through Ariana’s glowing auburn waves. “If you wish, my lady.” Theresa regarded Ariana calmly in the dressing-room mirror. “We’ll experiment tomorrow.”

  Ariana whirled around, gazing up at Theresa with frightened eyes. “No. Why don’t we begin tonight?”

  Theresa patted her cheek gently. “I don’t suppose your new husband would appreciate being kept waiting for hours while we dress your hair.”

  Ariana swallowed. “I suppose not.”

  Laying down the brush, Theresa took Ariana’s hands and eased her to her feet, inspecting her like a mother hen would its chick. She smiled at the youthful picture her mistress made. In her pristine white cotton nightdress with the frilly trimmings down the front and at the neck and sleeves, with her turquoise eyes wide as saucers, she looked more like a child about to be tucked into bed than a bride awaiting her husband on their wedding night.

  Ariana ran her tongue over dry lips. “Will I do?” she whispered.

  Theresa clasped Ariana’s cold fingers in hers. “To quote Sir Francis, ‘Virtue is like a rich stone, best plain set.’ You are beautiful, both inside and out. You are also nervous, which is perfectly natural. But all will be well; I promise you.” She gave Ariana a slow, infinitely knowing nod. “Yes, all will be as it should.”

  Ariana let the reassuring prediction soak in like warm honey. Then, hesitantly, she peeked around to the bedchamber beyond. “He was so angry,” she murmured, remembering Trenton’s earlier behavior.

  “Anger is easier to admit than many of the emotions it conceals.”

  “There is more to him than he allows the world to see,” Ariana concurred instantly. Her expression unclouded, her small chin set. “I just know it.”

  “Then follow your instincts, pet. And leave any foolish not
ions behind.”

  Ariana pondered the advice, and slowly her anxiety began to wane. “You’re right.” Impulsively, she hugged Theresa. “Thank you, my dear, dear friend.”

  “Go,” Theresa ordered, her voice choked. She kissed Ariana’s brow and shooed her off. “The duke is on his way.”

  With a determined expression, Ariana stood tall and marched through the connecting door.

  She had unpacked her things earlier that night, so it was not the first time she’d been in her new bedroom. Nevertheless, its enormous size and austere presence still unnerved her. Aside from a low wooden table and two straight-backed chairs clustered around the far wall housing the marble fireplace, the room was barren, almost completely devoid of furniture. The polished wooden floors stretched endlessly beneath a towering domed ceiling, with nothing below save a china basin and pitcher, a tiny nightstand …

  And, in the dead center of the room, a massive four-poster bed.

  Tentatively, Ariana walked over, brushing her fingers across the soft coverlet and cool linen. She noted that the bed had been turned down in preparation for sleep … or whatever preceded sleep.

  Ariana tried to imagine lying here with Trenton Kingsley. Her stomach lurched, and turning away, she wrapped her arms about herself for reassurance. It was probably best to keep her mind occupied with other things. She strolled about the room, noting its magnificent elegance and symmetry. The great sash windows were wide and multipaned to allow the maximum amount of daylight in; the walls were intricately tiled … yet oddly and utterly bare of paintings or personal touches of any kind.

  Contemplating that unusual fact, Ariana’s eyes drifted to the great gilded lighting fixture suspended from the ceiling, illuminating … the bed.

  She gulped and looked away. Was it just her nerves creating an illusion or had the bed really been designed as the focal point of the room?

  The click of the door latch shattered her thoughts, and she whirled about, her heart thudding in her chest.

  Trenton lounged formidably against the closed door, watching her with predatory intensity. In his black dressing robe he loomed, an ominous shadow in the dimly lit room, his shoulders massive, his features set in harsh, unfathomable lines.