Chapter Four #2
The housekeeper, Mrs. Limewood, curtsied slightly. “It’s an honor to meet you, Lady Fontaine. If you require anything at all, don’t hesitate to call upon me.”
“That is very kind,” Catherine replied evenly.
“I would like a bath sent to my chamber and the same for my wife. We would also like an early dinner.” He paused and glanced at her. “If that is acceptable to you?”
Catherine did not want to make a scene on her initial welcome to her new home and decided that any slight she might have felt toward his highhanded demeanor could pass. “Of course.”
With that, the baron escorted her inside and Catherine gained her first true glimpse of Fontaine Hall.
Benjamin wanted to shield his new bride from the grim reality of Fontaine Hall, but there was no avoiding it the moment they stepped over the threshold.
It was just as he remembered it the day he’d left with his mother, almost as soon as the funeral for his father had been completed.
They’d gathered their things and headed for London and greener pastures, hoping to leave this squalor behind.
He tried to see it with a new perspective, one that might shine a bit of hope, but the dull reality was too much to ignore.
Wallpaper was peeling in more than one place and while as clean as able, the furniture was worn and faded, in need of new upholstery.
The wood staircase that had once gleamed in the past was now dull and lackluster.
Everywhere he looked, it was as if the house were dying.
While he couldn’t see the sky through the roof, there were bits where the plaster had fallen from the ceiling.
At least the servants had done what they could to make the place appear presentable in the short amount of notice that he’d given them that morning.
He wanted to ensure that the rooms were prepared for their stay and that fires had been prepared to ward off the chill in the rooms.
He glanced at Catherine to gauge her reaction and although she tried to pretend it wasn’t as dire as she might have imagined, he could see the disappointment in her eyes as she glanced about her surroundings.
However, when she turned to him, she was kind enough to say, “A bit of new furnishings and we shall be ready to entertain.”
He put his hand to his chest and bowed formally. “I leave it in your capable hands. I’m sure you are eager to make this house your own.”
She scrunched up her nose. “I don’t intend to take over without your input. Surely, there is something you’d like—”
He held up his hand. “You can stop right there. I care not a whit regarding a robin’s-egg blue compared to cornflower.
As the mistress of this house, I give you leave to decorate this grim interior as you see fit.
” He quickly changed the subject before she could delve into his sordid past and find out that he’d rather set a torch to the place instead of offering it a second chance at life because it all reminded him too much of his father.
“I shall leave you to get settled and see you at dinner.”
Benjamin normally eschewed the study because it had been his father’s personal haven, but since he knew that was where the liquor used to be easily accessible, he headed in that direction.
Moving to the sideboard, he poured himself a generous amount of brandy and tossed it back down his throat with a burning trail.
He continued repeating the same action until his senses had dulled enough to look around the room without wanting to rip all the paintings and tapestries from the walls and throw them out onto the front lawn to watch them burn.
Benjamin sat down in the leather chair that had belonged to his predecessor and leaned back to rest his booted feet on the top of the mahogany desk.
He could finally feel a smile start to curve his lips because he knew the old man would have an apoplexy if he knew he was defiling his precious haven.
He’d loved this room more than he ever had his family.
The proof was the bitterness that Benjamin still carried in his heart toward his sire and to most everyone with whom Benjamin had ever came into contact.
Some of his smug revelation subsided when he thought of his stepsister, Beatrice, and how he’d nearly written to her several times, but the fear of rejection and disdain had kept his pen silent.
After he’d seduced her best friend, coincidentally ending up at Gretna Green at the same time she’d married her mature Scotsman, he had rejoiced at the look of utter betrayal and anguish on Beatrice’s face when she’d realized Daria had been expecting.
However, his victory had been short-lived because as he’d ridden back to London with his new bride at his side, Daria had said something that still lived with him until this day. “Do you not have a care for anyone’s needs but your own?”
It was that query that had started his downward spiral.
He hadn’t realized how much his actions had resembled that of his father’s until that moment.
Contrition had devoured him and he’d vowed to change his ways right then.
When he’d returned to London and his mother had congratulated him on his vows, he’d told her the plans he’d had to separate ties and live on his own with Daria and attempt to start a family.
His mother had not been pleased, claiming that he was deserting her in her hour of need, but he had remained steadfast and moved out of the Bookbinder townhouse and attempted to do right by his budding family.
A few months later, tragedy had struck in the form of several devastating blows that he knew he’d likely deserved.
His mother had never fully forgiven him for leaving and he blamed himself for her death, although the doctor had claimed that the apoplexy she’d suffered couldn’t be helped.
The same was said for Daria, that the childbearing had been too difficult for her to withstand and the strain had caused her death.
And yet Benjamin still blamed himself for it all. If he hadn’t been so set on revenge against the world, he might have been able to hold his son in his arms instead of burying the stillborn child with his mother.
He could feel his throat getting tight from the recollection, so he eased his conscience by pouring another glass of brandy, forgetting that his bath was likely growing cold by now.
It wasn’t until his eyes started to lose some of their focus that he realized that he might very well be on his way to being sloshed for his second wedding night.
He scoffed, finding it rather fitting, as it would mirror that of his first one.
Unable to rest, Catherine paced the interior of her chamber after the new lady’s maid her husband had hired soon departed. She waited for the clock to strike so that she could meet her husband in the dining room.
She put a hand over her stomach, the butterflies fluttering every time she thought of Benjamin Fontaine as her husband.
It was such a foreign thought, a novel idea that she had never planned to pursue, especially in such a fashion, and yet, nothing made it any less true.
It was her duty to stand by the baron as a dutiful wife should—including sharing a bed.
Catherine listened with half an ear as the appointed lady’s maid had chattered on about the estate, grateful that the servant was eager to speak so that she didn’t have to respond often.
Her nerves were strung entirely too tight thinking of the evening to come.
While she wasn’t entirely comfortable with the baron, considering they were still little more than strangers, she found her apprehension had nothing to do with any false modesty, but everything to do with the dark promises that he’d mentioned to her.
What exactly could he do with his tongue?
Chiding herself for the hundredth time, Catherine headed downstairs attired in a chartreuse gown.
She had always thought that the coloring went well with her dark hair and suggested as much to her new maid.
Her previous maid would have known her preferences, and for the first time, she realized what an asset she had been, one that she’d taken for granted.
She did not know her new maid’s name as yet, but she intended to change past mistakes and learn from them, becoming more familiar with the servants in her new household, of which she was the mistress.
However, the moment she stepped over the threshold, she knew that all these efforts had all been for naught because her bridegroom was completely foxed.
She could almost smell the brandy on his breath from across the room and she could certainly tell by his relaxed manner and the slightly reddening of the whites of his eyes that he was well into his cups.
Catherine wasn’t sure what to say when she entered, but it turned out she didn’t have to say anything.
The moment he spied her, he rose from his chair, a bit unsteadily, and made a point of boldly looking her over from head to toe.
Against all odds, Catherine found her body heating from his intense regard. “You look… well.”
‘Well’? His compliment didn’t match the heated look in his eyes, but she merely murmured a polite reply and sat down.
The baron resumed his chair and leaned back in a rather lazy manner.
She found his relaxed ease unnerved her more than if he were composed and acted with perfect decorum.
This man might very well fit the description of the one of whom he’d spoken with such disdain on the carriage ride here.
She wasn’t certain she wanted to make his acquaintance.
And yet…
Something devilishly delicious began to swirl in her core, as if he were the forbidden fruit and she were drawn to temptation, knowing it was poison and she should abstain.
“I suppose you don’t want any wine.”
She shook her head. “I’ve heard that it is best to abstain from too many spirits.”
“It’s fortunate that you don’t have to abstain from other delights.”
Another flush of heat washed over her and Catherine nearly waved her hand in front of her face to fan herself. Instead, she concentrated on the food that was served. Since she was particularly famished, it wasn’t a difficult task to dig into her meal with gusto.
After a few bites, she realized that the master of the house wasn’t joining her. “Are you not hungry, my lord?”
“Not for food.” He raised his wineglass to his lips and she was drawn to the sight of his throat working as he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down like some sort of hypnotizing token.
She acted as though she hadn’t heard his carnal statement and turned back to her fare, but she had to admit that the desire to eat had waned. She was finding his words too enticing to ignore. And possibly resist.
Forcing herself to eat at least half of the meal, she dabbed at her lips with her serviette and pushed her plate aside. “I’m finished.”
“Shall we retire?” he suggested.
She glanced at him with a slightly lifted brow. “Yes. I believe we shall.”
His nostrils flared at the emphasis she expressed. He stood up so fast that he nearly upset his chair. Walking to her side, he held out a hand to her. After a slight hesitation, she accepted the offering.
Rather than escorting her out of the room, he pulled her into his arms and buried his nose in her hair. “God, you smell divine.”
Her nose was close to his throat and she inhaled his clean, masculine scent. “As do you,” she said softly.
“Tell me you won’t turn me aside tonight.” It was almost a plea.
“You said that we needed to consummate our union. It’s best if we do that as soon as possible.”
He muttered something incoherent and then grasped her hand and pulled her urgently toward the door.
As he led the way up the stairs, Catherine could feel her heart starting to pound with a familiar thump.
She had often felt this way when she’d climbed up into the hayloft and met David for their clandestine couplings.
It would be strange to actually use a bed instead of having to fight for a comfortable place amongst the straw.
He opened the door to the master suite so hard that it banged against the wall as he pulled her inside.
At this point, Catherine was starting to find it impossible to catch her breath, the excitement building to a crescendo within her.
Her heart was pounding to the point that she was surprised it didn’t threaten to leave her chest entirely.
But before things went any further, she wanted to make sure she was prepared for the hectic night to come because something told her that she wouldn’t be getting much sleep.
“Give me just a moment.”
She put a hand on his chest and quickly made her way to her chamber, where she quickly took the pins out of her hair and shook the long strands free.
After that, she added a few more drops of her perfume to her wrists and behind her ears.
Giving her cheeks another healthy pinch, she nodded her head and rushed back to the master’s chamber.
“I’m ready now,” she cooed softly.
And was met with a decided snore.
The baron was sprawled out on the bed, one of his boots off and the other still clinging on while he was thoroughly passed out on top of the coverlet.
Rats.