Читать книгу The Sleeping Beauty - Jacqueline Navin - Страница 13

Besides being cold most of the time, Adam very quickly learned, the Northumberland shire was very troublesome in its terrain. His horse didn’t like it at all, the spoiled beast. No doubt longing for the civilized streets of the city, the gelding snorted and generally made known his displeasure at having to traverse the crude paths. When they came to a fallen tree, he balked at the jump. At the edge of a stream, he rolled his eyes testily and refused to take one step into the water.

In no mood to have a difference of opinion with the ornery beast, Adam sighed and resigned himself to following the bank for a while. He let his mind wander.

There were plans to be made, tasks to be seen to. He had to post several letters tomorrow, which he had written early this morning. One to his friends to inform them of his staying on in Northumberland for a period of two months, and of the impending nuptials. He grinned, imagining their response. There had been no small amount of coin wagered on his success in this venture, and he wished he could be there to see the naysayers who had put their money against him pay up.

Two other letters were to solicitors. Mr. Fenton was his father’s old solicitor. It would be he who would receive the bulk of the five thousand to settle Adam’s father’s debts, compounded by his own ill-fated attempts to cope with them through wagering.

Mr. Darby was a new fellow whom Adam had contacted just before setting out. On the chance he was successful in getting his hands on the Rathford money, Adam had arranged for Darby to handle all future transfers of funds. The clean break with Fenton was needed. This would signal the end of a chapter in Adam’s life, an unpleasant one. He was now a wealthy man and the troubles of the past were behind him.

There was a fourth letter, written to a Trina Bentford, advising her that their association was to be terminated due to the occasion of his marriage. It was something that had been coming for a long time. As a friend, Trina was exuberant and deliciously wicked. She never ceased to make him laugh and always was ready for whatever wild scheme anyone could come up with. As a mistress, she was exhausting. Not in bed. In fact, her interest in that department was negligible. Of course, she understood how it went and did her best to keep him pleasured, but she was hardly inventive or particularly stirring in the sensual way. No, her talent lay in craving attention, and her appetite for that had been far too voracious for him.

It was a good time for a break here, too. She would be miffed, naturally, since marriage was not necessarily an occasion for ending a liaison, but by the time Adam was set to return to London she would have cooled off enough to forgo the usual tedious scenes.

Thinking of tedious scenes put him in mind of his future wife. He smiled as he kicked his horse up the sloped embankment and cantered home, although why thinking of Helena Rathford should bring on a stupid grin was beyond his comprehension. She was a bothersome piece, completely incomprehensible and constantly contradicting reason. A study in contrasts at every turn—cool as ice one moment, then wild as any untamed virago the next. And all the while shrouded in that cursed air of mystery that was beginning to wear on his nerves.

But damn, her eyes could look straight through a man and touch something in him. Adam scoffed at himself. Lust was what it was, if one could be besieged by that affliction for such a slip of a girl. He mentally compared her to the voluptuous Trina, then dismissed his former mistress, to linger only on Helena’s attributes.

She had incredible grace. Her neck was like a swan’s, giving her the most elegant aspect. Her air of reserve seemed to taunt him unmercifully, driving him to distraction with wanting to strip it away and find out what passions it hid.

Because there was passion in her. He had heard it in the incredible music she had produced. Absolutely tantalizing.

He was still thinking about her when the house came into view. It was past luncheon, nearly teatime. He wondered if she’d eaten. Good God, he was becoming her nursemaid, worrying over her. He told himself it was because he didn’t want to bed a skeleton. By their wedding night, at which time he had promised to do his best to keep his end of the wretched bargain he had struck with Rathford, Adam wanted a more fleshy version of the woman to warm his bed.

He wanted the Helena in the portrait.

“Hello, sir,” the groom called, coming to take the horse. “Have a nice ride?”

“The damned beast almost broke a leg on those rocks.”

“Gotta stay off of them rocks,” the man agreed. “Gotta go south to get to the good hunting grounds. That’s where the master goes.”

“Hunts, does he?” Adam was interested. “Where exactly does he go?”

“The woods that stretch from here to Strathmere, then all the way to the castle.” Seeing from his expression that Adam didn’t know about the castle, the man explained, “Where the duke lives. You’ll see it when you get near. It’s a huge old place, sits way up high on a big hill. The woods whip around it and go all the way up to the cliffs, and there’s lots of game in those woods. The duke don’t like you hunting the deer, though. Got a cousin what comes up once in a while, and he and the master have a rout, getting the foxes off the farmers’ lands and rabbit hunting.”

“Keep me informed when the fellow arrives, if I’m about. I fancy a good fox chase. What’s your name, fellow?”

“Kepper, sir.”

“Glad to know you, Kepper,” Adam said amicably. He noticed the man’s surprise at his familiarity. There were certainly many things that had changed about him in the years since he was himself touching his forelock to members of the aristocracy, but he’d be dead and rotted through before he’d neglect a courtesy because of his newfound status. “Thanks for the tip. I’ll need a carriage or curricle to go into the village tomorrow. I’ll be taking Lady Helena with me, so something not too rough, man.”

“Lady…? Lady Helena, you say? She’s going into the village?”

“That’s what I said.” Adam’s good-natured smile sagged at the man’s apoplectic expression. “Is there something wrong with that, Kepper?”

“She don’t see nobody, sir. Don’t go out none, either.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged his wide, bony shoulders. He had the wiry build of a man whose frame held a deceptive amount of strength. There was an air of competence about Kepper, as if he’d seen a lot in his life and knew how to keep it locked up tight behind closed lips. “Don’t want to, I guess.”

“Yes.” Adam knew Kepper wasn’t going to gossip, so he took his leave and mulled over the latest titillating bit of strangeness about his betrothed.

He was losing count of them.

One of the few advantages Rathford Manor could boast was its good cook. Her name was Maddie, and last night’s herbed roast beef had been perfection, complemented with a delicate sauce and mashed turnips. Mashed turnips had hardly been chief on Adam’s list of favorite delicacies, but this dish was incredible, as was the delicious cake soaked in rum served for dessert, with steaming hot coffee strong enough to make the roots of his teeth ache. Just how he liked it.

He feared he would grow quite fat and lazy here at Rathford Manor. As he sat down this evening and surveyed the dressed fowl and glazed carrots on the sideboard, ready to be served, he considered this a definite possibility. That thought reminded him of the necessity of daily exercise, which in turn put him in mind of the possibility of hunting with Lord Rathford.

“I was told you are fond of the hunt, sir,” Adam said.

Lord Rathford was seated at his customary seat. He cocked his eyebrows. “Indeed I am, sir.”

“I fancy a good run in the woods myself. I was told you sometimes go out with a fellow from a nearby castle.”

“Yes, when he is visiting his cousin, the duke. The, ah, Duke of Strathmere is an old family friend.” The glance he cast Helena was nothing short of conspiratorial.

Adam frowned. What was this, another secret?

“Do you keep hounds, Lord Rathford?”

“Used to have a fine pack, but I don’t get out as much as I used to and they turned bad, most of them. Lost the scent, or ran off.” He waved his hand in the air.

Adam was now truly perplexed. A good hound was as valuable in hunting circles as an excellent mount. One did not simply neglect them, or allow them to “run off.”

“I don’t understand.” Leaning on his elbow, Adam took up his wineglass, which had just been filled. “How do you hunt without the hounds?”

“There’s a bitch in the stables that’s still good, and a dog or two who’ll be up for a romp occasionally, but they’re too lazy to run for long.”

“They need training, that is all. And steady exercise to build up their endurance.” Looking to Helena, who had maintained a decorous quiet during this entire exchange, he asked, “Do you hunt, my lady?”

Her lowered lashes lifted lazily. “No, Mr. Mannion, I do not have the slightest interest in chasing poor, defenseless animals. There seems to me to be no good reason for this exercise other than to experience a rush of pleasure at having demonstrated superiority over a hare.”

“You put it so cheerfully,” he countered as a servant came to proffer a plate loaded with pheasant, “that it makes me absolutely champ at the bit to get out there and track the wretched beasts. I believe it my most profound duty to drive them down into the ground, where they belong.”

She tried to appear cool, but her lips twitched before she lowered her gaze back to her plate. When the servant came to her, Helena selected a few morsels.

“Excuse me…Bissel, is it?” Adam asked. “Ah, then, Bissel, if you would place a few more slices of the fowl on your mistress’s plate, it would please me.”

“Excuse me,” Helena interrupted archly. “You are not presuming to select my food for me, are you?”

“Indeed, I am. I am concerned about your health, Helena. You skip meals and eat sparingly whenever you do take a meal.”

“Let me guess.” Her smirk was childish, but it actually looked good on her. She was angry, and the emotion gave color to her cheeks and made those blue-green eyes sparkle radiantly in the candlelight. “You prefer your women plump.”

“I enjoy many things in a woman, not the least of which is a pleasant disposition, but I am not aiming to please myself. I simply thought that since you were to be fitted for some new dresses, you might want to see to filling them out a bit.”

She reacted as if he had slapped her. “How dare you make reference to my garments and their…fit.”

“I was merely observing that it must get damned tiresome being so scrawny.”

The look in her eyes was murderous. “Did you hear that, Father?”

“Yes,” Rathford agreed mildly, not at all offended on his daughter’s behalf. “The man has appalling manners, I agree, my dear. Nevertheless, he is correct. You look like an urchin. It’s about time someone told you so.”

“Father!” She sprang to her feet, clearly devastated. “I cannot believe you would take sides against me.”

Leveling a serious look at her, Rathford said solemnly, “Never, Daughter. That I’d not do. And if you listen closely, you’ll not hear a disparaging word in what I said. It is merely the unfortunate truth.”

“Sit down, Helena,” Adam interjected. “I am getting tired of you running out of a room every time you realize you cannot win an argument.”

She waited a long time before she did anything. Adam was half-afraid she’d dismiss his taunt and run, anyway.

“Will it help if I ask nicely?” he said, wanting to offer something in return when she slowly sank back down in her seat. “Please eat your pheasant. There. And have the carrots, too.”

“I will eat what I wish, and you can be damned.”

Adam merely smiled back at her. “Did you hear that, Lord Rathford?”

“Indeed, and I agree with her. Now shut up and eat before I resort to paddling the pair of you and sending you off to bed without dessert.”

Adam addressed the contents of his plate with gusto, pretending not to notice how Helena ate. He would not have put it past her to deny herself out of defiance against him. But she didn’t. She consumed a healthy portion at dinner and had a slice of iced sweetroll for dessert. He even detected her stirring more cream into her coffee than he had seen her use last night.

He couldn’t keep from crowing to himself at his victory. This marriage might just be fine, after all. All he had to do is refer to his wife as “scrawny” and she’d do his will.

God, that thought—of Helena doing his will—brought up images no man should have about a woman while sitting in the presence of her father.