Chapter Twenty-One #2
Ana nearly tripped over the hem of her overlong dressing gown as she walked with the maids toward the tub. “Seems a tall order.”
“I’ll say,” Agnes agreed.
“Don’t you worry, Your Grace. We’ll help you.” Cloris untied her sash, slipped off the robe, and both sisters helped Ana into the tub.
She sank into the steaming water gratefully. “This smells divine.”
“We scented it with orange flowers and oil of roses. After I wash your hair, I’ll scent you with the oil as well. We’re going to make you delectable and irresistible, never you fear.”
“He’s made it very clear that this is a marriage of convenience.”
“And yet we all remarked on the way he looked at you so tenderly when he handed you down from the carriage. Wouldn’t let anyone else touch your hand, oh no,” Cloris said.
“And you . . .” Agnes appraised her shrewdly. “You might already be in love with him. I saw the light in your eyes, as well.”
Ana ducked her head under the water. She did have strong feelings for Dex.
There was attraction, frustration, curiosity .
. . she was always so on edge around him, her emotions like a tightly wound ball of yarn.
This talk of falling in love felt dangerous, as though someone had begun to tug at her heartstrings, and she might unravel completely.
How could she love him when he withheld himself from her?
He wouldn’t give her what she craved, and so she craved it even more.
When she emerged, Cloris began washing her hair.
It felt lovely to have strong fingers massaging her scalp, releasing the tension born of travel and these tangled thoughts.
“I don’t think he wants to be won. He’s very set in his ways, isn’t he?
I’ve only known him a short time but I can already tell that he’s as immovable as the stone walls of this castle. ”
“You shall chip away at his fortress with smiles and laughter and soft touches,” Cloris said.
“Or she’ll go mad, like so many of the ladies who lived in this cold heap of stones.”
“Agnes! Now who’s misbehaving? Please forgive our frankness, Your Grace. We’ve been so long without society as the duke never invites anyone to the castle.”
“No one? Not even a dinner party every now and then?”
“Not even his friends from London visit us. And certainly, no family. His brother so close and all, and they’re estranged.”
“It’s very sad to have family living close by and to have no contact with them.”
“I know,” Cloris said with a sigh. “But you’ll change all that, I have a very good feeling.”
“Perhaps,” Ana said softly, “he’s buried himself too deeply.”
Cloris continued her gentle ministrations. “You’ll find a way, dear lady. You must.”
It wasn’t very subtle. His staff were obviously delighted by the fact that he’d brought a wife to the castle. They wanted it to be a love match. They were hoping she would transform him. They served the meal with foolish grins on their faces, conspiring to make this a romantic occasion.
It wasn’t a romantic occasion. This was a convenient arrangement to save her reputation. Nothing more.
Ana was seated far away across the long dining room table, though her scent wafted toward him, like rain-soaked roses and meadowgrass. There was about her some subtle change that he couldn’t place.
“Why do you look different?” he asked, tilting his head.
She took a bite of pheasant. “Because Cloris and Agnes spent fully two hours bathing me in rose petals, drying my hair by the fire, arranging it into this elaborate style, and choosing this gauzy gown for your pleasure, Your Grace.”
First he pictured her naked, steam rising up around her as she idly trailed a hand through the water, trapping a rose petal with one finger and bringing it first to her lips, then trailing it down her chin, her neck, and between her breasts.
Then he noticed the mocking way she’d said Your Grace.
“I bid you call me Dex.” He set down his fork. “Is something the matter?”
“Well.” She blew the word out on an exasperated gust of air. “We have been sitting at this monstrosity of a dining table for half an hour and you have not said more than ten words to me! Didn’t we make an agreement?”
“Oh. That.” He’d completely forgotten. He’d been too busy licking rose petals off her naked flesh in his imagination. “Yes, of course. I promised to speak in fuller sentences. Very well. What are your first impressions of the castle?”
“My first impression is that the castle is much like its owner . . . gloomy and guarding untold secrets.”
“I thought you said it was magical.”
“It is magical, but to find the magic, one must unlock its secrets.”
“I’m told there is a network of tunnels beneath the castle and within the nearby cliffs that served as barracks for armies during invasions.
There’s a hedge maze so complicated that it claimed the life of one of the former dukes when he entered it inebriated and couldn’t find his way back out.
The local farmers often turn up bits and pieces of history, such as pottery and coins believed to be from sometime between the fifth and seventh centuries.
Some of the armor and weaponry hanging on the walls in the great hall date back to William the Conquerer.
There. That was at least six sentences in quick succession. ”
“I call that a history lesson.”
“You didn’t specify what I was to speak about.”
“I’d like to talk about the war. My father wrote and said that the men admired you and they were willing to keep going, to keep fighting because of you.”
Dex gripped his wine glass, willing her to stop talking.
“Did I say something wrong? I meant it as a compliment.”
“They followed me. And they died.” Full sentences. “I don’t give a damn about my own wounds, the scars on my body. What kills me is that I can’t bring them back. Your father, the other men from my company, their names are a litany that keeps me up at night. I led them into death.”
“For your country. For peace.”
“War can’t be easily justified, I’ve come to understand.
When you’re inside a war, there is no philosophy, no stirring patriotic music, no making sense of any of it.
Flesh ripped apart by mortar and bullets.
Blood flowing like water. Suffering. Pain.
Lives ended, snuffed out like candles. Young lads.
I’ve come to believe that this bloodlust, this desire for power, for dominion over man, over cities and countries, is wrong.
The men who want to own, to subjugate, to benefit from the pain of others—those men are demons, they are not to be deified or looked up to.
The shiny gold medals and the crisp uniform don’t tell the whole story.
They only tell the acceptable part of the story that people find palatable.
Gloss it over, give it a good shine. Sometimes I wish I had died in your father’s place. ”
“Don’t say that,” she said in an anguished tone that sliced through the fog that had descended in his mind.
“I apologize. I shouldn’t speak of such dark things. It’s your wedding night. There should be . . .” Tenderness. Love. Laughter. He had none of those things to give her. “Wine.”
He motioned for a footman to fill her wine glass. He resumed eating, washing the excellent meal down with a good French wine from the cellars. He was happy to see that she ate heartily as well, though she hadn’t touched the wine yet.
“You don’t care for wine?”
“I only like brandy.”
“At least try a few sips.”
She sipped delicately, her expression changing. “This is actually quite delicious.”
“Isn’t it? A good wine paired with the right meal is a pleasure not to be missed.”
Other pleasures not to be missed: watching Ana smile as she tasted his excellent wine for the first time. The candlelight wavering over her oval face, teasing the green from her eyes. The way her tongue darted out to capture an errant drop of wine.
He wanted to kiss those plump lips of hers. Taste her like wine.
He wanted to learn the shape of her with his tongue. Was her navel a swirling indentation or a concave pearl? He’d rip the pale green silk of her gown instead of unbuttoning it. Then he’d slide it down, slipping over her upper arms, the fabric caught now, held up only by her nipples.
He’d take the silk in his fingers, brush it over her nipples, watch a flush rise in her cheeks, her breathing rapid, watch the languor in her eyes as she watched him watching her.
Then he would tongue her through the silk, shape her nipples with his lips, wet the silk, wanting to prolong the pleasure of seeing her for the first time, seeing her wearing nothing but a smile.
For he would make her smile. He would make her laugh.
He would make her sigh and moan with pleasure.
He imagined these gentle, breathless, teasing explorations.
“What are you thinking about?” she asked. “You promised to let me know your thoughts.”
“I’m thinking about what I’m going to do to you tonight,” he said roughly, unable to keep the raw, pulsing need out of his voice.
Pink rose in her cheeks and her eyes went wide. “Oh.” She took a big gulp of wine.
“Shall I elaborate?”
“No,” she squeaked, adorably flustered.
“You don’t want to know my thoughts?”
“I . . .” She glanced at the footmen standing stiffly along the wall. “It’s not appropriate dinner conversation.”
“Then let’s finish this meal quickly and I’ll show you what I was thinking instead of telling you. Dessert,” he called.
The footmen jumped to attention, racing for the kitchens.
“Better yet, let’s have dessert delivered to your room,” Dex said. He had no appetite for anything other than Ana.
“Come.” He threw his serviette down on the table and rose, holding out his hand. “It’s time.”