Chapter Three #2
Taking them, he seated himself on the bed. She took a half step back, but he patted the tousled bedclothes invitingly. “Perhaps it would be best to avoid the dressing table altogether?”
Slowly approaching, she climbed up and settled herself as though braced for instant flight.
Careful to move slowly, he smoothed the heavy strands down her back before running the bristles through them.
She tensed under his palms, but did not move.
He had learned long ago that most women enjoyed the rhythmic sensation of having their hair brushed.
Judging from the smile he saw reflected in the vanity mirror, Diantha was no exception.
The thick mass flowed under his hands like satin as he carefully worked his way through it.
He became aware of a rich rose scent rising from her hair.
He inhaled appreciatively. Unlike the cloying floral perfumes worn by so many women, this one did not make him want to throw open the windows for air.
To make conversation, he asked about it.
“Attar of rose and cedar. Granny swears by a drop of cedar oil for hair.” She shivered a little as his fingertips whispered against the silken skin at the nape of her neck. His body tightened at such sensitivity. His bride would require careful handling, just the kind he excelled at.
Seeing her slightly closed eyes in the mirror, he scooted himself closer to her, so that his thighs lay on either side of her hips.
To distract her, he talked of their plans for the day, when they would return to New York harbor for the start of their honeymoon trip to Paris. “Do you know much about the Columbia?”
After an initial intake of breath, she stayed still, hands resting in her lap.
“Papa’s flagship? I’ve only been on board once, a few days before Mama christened her.
It seemed to be quite comfortable, from what I remember.
” She twisted around to see his face. “The rooms looked cramped at the time, but Papa ordered alterations combining four staterooms into one suite for us.”
“I’m sure our quarters will be most comfortable.” Without breaking the rhythm of brushstrokes, he maneuvered her hair to one side.
She shrugged. “They should be. From the plans, I think the additional square footage will make the voyage quite tolerable.”
He had never heard her speak with such assurance. “Oh? Do you often read building plans, dear wife?” She flushed hotly then and fell silent.
Just as he bent forward to graze the nape of her neck with his lips, the door opened to admit two maids laden with their breakfast trays, and a third bearing coffee and tea.
Either in embarrassment at his teasing or alarmed at his attempted intimacy, she slid off the bed and breathlessly ordered the food to be set down on a table under the window. Mentally cursing prudish brides, Kieran caught himself on his hands to keep from tumbling off after her.
Diantha wanted to sink with humiliation as the maids set down the trays and scurried out of the room.
How could she have been so remiss as to sit on the bed with her husband, clad only in her nightgown and robe?
The smirks on their faces indicated that the servants’ hall would soon buzz with that juicy tidbit.
Shutting the door firmly after them, she turned back to Kieran.
She met his glare squarely as he balanced on all fours.
The sight affected her strangely. For a moment she could not breathe as his robe loosened to expose an expanse of muscular chest and dark hair.
On his hands and knees like that, he reminded her of a painting she had once seen of a panther stalking a jackrabbit.
Her knees buckled for a second at the image.
Recovering, she gestured weakly to the trays with their covered dishes. “I fear we shall have to serve ourselves.”
The spell broke at her words. Leaving the bed, he padded over to investigate their breakfast, once again the well-mannered aristocrat. Seating themselves, they enjoyed an unexceptional meal.
She found his vivid aqua eyes resting on her frequently as they ate. Alarmed at the way his regard set her heart pounding, she heaved a sigh of relief when he finally tossed down his napkin and excused himself to dress.
She wasted no time summoning her maid to do the same, for their ship left early that afternoon. As she sat in front of Mama’s three-sided mirror, she could not help reflect on how much nicer her husband’s hands felt in her hair than the servant’s.
She grimaced as the woman fastened up the buttons on a coral twill driving dress with old gold trim.
The maid frowned. “I’m sorry, your ladyship. Have I laced you too tightly?”
Diantha wondered if she would ever get used to having a title. “No, my stays are quite comfortable.”
In fact, they squeezed tightly, but she ignored the discomfort. “I have never thought this color flattering on me. Why my mother insists that I wear it so often is a mystery.” She crammed the matching hat on her head. “I would rather have worn yesterday’s dress again.”
“But, ma’am, imagine what all those papers would say if you wore the same dress two days running.” The servant handed her a pair of kid gloves.
Grumbling, Diantha descended to the drawing room on the first floor. It did not help her mood to see an echo of her dissatisfaction in Kieran’s eyes when they met, although he said nothing, doubtless out of good manners.
After the footmen loaded their luggage onto the carriage, they climbed inside for the drive south to the docks on the New Jersey side of the river.
She gazed out the window at small landmarks she and her brothers had picked out years ago: a tree leaning over the road like a giant, an ancient rock fall beside their route. Her throat tightened at the realization that she would not see them again for years, if ever.
“It’s difficult to leave home?” His lordship studied her as he leaned back on the cushions, legs crossed. “I don’t blame you; it’s beautiful.”
Surprised at his perception, she considered how best to express her feelings. “Cliff Heights was never exactly a home. We only stayed there during the summer, or visited for Thanksgiving.”
Absently, she watched the dappled sunlight play over his features as they drove through the woods. “Mama would send us here with our governess and tutors when she visited her friends at Newport. We always knew we would experience a degree of freedom here that was never permitted us at other times.”
“I think as a peeress, you will find yourself free to do a great many things.”
She stared at him, thinking of hours spent memorizing rules of etiquette and precedence for the British nobility. “I fear I have never seen your title as anything but an encumbrance.”
He straightened up, brows snapping together. “My family’s title predates the union of Great Britain in 1707, and we can trace our line back to the days of Robert the Bruce. Those are hardly burdens.”
She arched a brow. “And I suppose your lineage is why you ended up seeking help from my father.” He glared at her as though searching for a rebuttal. “Sarcasm is unbecoming in a lady.”
She sniffed. “Snobbery is unattractive in a gentleman.” She subsided then, pleased at scoring her point.
They did not speak again until the Columbia’s iron hull rose beside them on the dock. Kieran cleared his throat.
“We’re going to be in close quarters for the next week. Don’t you Americans have a saying about burying the hatchet?” He held out a hand. She took it, marveling at the warmth she felt even through her kidskin gloves.
“I’m not entirely displeased with my choice of bride, you know.” She gasped with shock at the blunt words before realizing he was teasing her. Even in jest, however, they hurt.
His eyes filled with remorse, and he moved to the seat beside her. “Forgive me, Diantha. At times I forget that not everyone shares my twisted sense of humor. Truly, my words weren’t meant to wound you.”
He squeezed her hands gently. “I only meant that despite our difficult situation, I think we can make happy lives for ourselves.”
Lives, plural, she thought with a wry smile. She had always secretly hoped to find someone who wanted to make a single life with her. But that dream had died yesterday. As Granny said, this was the only path open to her.
The aristocratic mask had dropped from Kieran’s face, and she believed he meant what he said. She nodded.
Leaning forward, he barely swept his lips over hers. “Thank you. I will be sure to guard my tongue in the future.”
“Diantha!”
They both jumped as her mother’s parasol rapped sharply against the window. Her family had arrived while they conversed. They now stood outside, waiting for a servant in Quinn livery to open the door.
Kieran’s whisper caressed her ear as he assisted her out. “We are quite sure she’s not coming with us, correct?”
Aware that her mother would have invited reporters and photographers to observe their departure from a respectful distance, she answered through a fixed smile. “If she is, I’m throwing myself overboard.”
His shoulders shook at her hissed reply.
Fortunately, her father soon monopolized the conversation, describing the ship in glowing terms for his son-in-law’s benefit.
“Five thousand tons, and four-hundred-and-sixty feet long, bow to stern.
It might not compare to your Great Eastern for size, but my goal is to provide passengers with the most comfortable passage on the seas, not stick a mess of cabins on top of a cargo ship.
“My idiot sons told me I was cracked to take out three perfectly good cabins and make them into a suite. Ha!” He clapped Kieran on the back. “We’ve sold it for every crossing in the next year, and at a higher price than all four cabins together.”
He stopped and faced the younger man, waiting for congratulations. Judging from the revolted look on her husband’s face, Diantha gathered that felicitations were not forthcoming. She stepped forward.