Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Ariadne’s gaze was unflinching.
Cedric was accustomed to people choosing to look at the uninjured side of his face or look over his shoulder, bypassing his face altogether. Not Ariadne.
Her gaze was direct, yes, but there was no horror in her look, and if she did feel it deep down, it was overpowered by the pure shock on her face.
Her lips were parted slightly, and her chest rose and fell with her breath. If he had not known the direction this conversation had taken, he would have mistaken her reaction for something else.
“Even if you want to, it's not up to me. Emily is the one who had to choose you. The best thing you can do is get to know her. The rest will come, or it won't,” he said.
She licked her lips, “I have raised my sisters with my mother, so I am sure I can help you with her. I—I won’t put myself in her mother’s place, if you are worried, I would.”
“She had never known her mother,” he said flatly.
Ariadne sagged into the corner of the carriage, “I feel wrung out. Today has been…” her eyes flickered to him, and he knew, without a doubt, she was going to deflate. “…rough.”
“And verbally sparring with me has not helped, has it?” he added dryly.
“No, it has not,” Ariadne replied. “You’re not an easy person to understand.”
He laughed, “Of course not. That would make it too easy for others. It will be at least five hours before we arrive at the first posting inn, so you might get comfortable.”
She was in the midst of a very pleasant dream in which she was strolling down Hype Park on the arm of the man she loved the most, when she felt an incessant poking on her arm; Ariadne did not appreciate being prodded awake.
“No,” she murmured as the man gazing lovingly at her began to pull away. “Don’t go. Please, don’t go.”
“Wake up, Ariadne,” a firm voice said. “We’ve arrived at the post inn.”
Those words snuck into her consciousness and the low baritone, so familiar—so very familiar— made her eyes snap open to find Cedric’s cutting jade eyes within inches of her own.
The effect it had on her was one she would rather not consider, for fear that she would do something highly regrettable. “What?” Her voice was a squeak.
He reached for his jacket that he must have discarded while she had drifted off. “We’ve arrived at the first posting inn, and I would like to get inside, have a rest, and a bath before supper is served.”
The decisive way he spoke was sobering. It reminded Ariadne that it was best for her not to lose her head over him, no matter the sinful effect he had on her.
“Very well.”
She gave him a nod, waited for him to exit the carriage, then allowed him to help her down first. She was far too practical to care about the way in which his fingers curled around her hand or the fact that he offered her his arm once. To do so would be silly, daft, and completely senseless.
And yet a part of her – that feminine part yearning for romance – could not quite help but bask in the whole experience.
“May I ask about the sleeping arrangements?” She asked quietly.
“Leander had booked two separate rooms, but only I extended mine as I knew I’d be returning this way alone,” he shot her a look. “Leander had arranged for a honeymoon in Bath, that now that I think about it, is where I should have the authorities check.”
“We’re sharing your chambers, then,” she deduced.
“Yes,” he replied as they came to the desk. The clerk bowed, “Your Grace. I am happy to see you again. Your room is ready, but may I ask about your guest? If she needs a room, I am happy to ob—”
“My wife is staying with me,” he said.
“Oh,” the clerk instantly bowed again. “My apologies, Your Grace, I had not recognized you.”
“We’re newly married,” she said while trying to keep her tone still. “You have nothing to apologize for, but I appreciate the sentiment.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” the attendant breathed in relief. “May I show you to your rooms?”
Cedric reached up to massage the back of his neck with his free hand, “Arrange baths for us and send up supper, please.”
“Cook has prepared roasted pheasant, beef stew, and vegetable broth,” the clerk replied. “What would you like?”
“A sample of all, please.” Cedric directed.
They headed up to the level above and down a hallway that opened to a very luxurious room for a post-inn. There was a thin runner that led to a set of chairs near a fireplace. The bed was the principal object in the room with its carved headboard and matching washstand.
“I hope it's sufficient?” the clerk asked.
“It is,” Cedric nodded. “Please have the bath arranged as quickly as possible.”
“It will be done, Your Grace,” the attendant bowed before he hurried away around the corridor.
Ariadne traced her hand over the covers that were piled high, and as she touched them, they felt and smelled freshly laundered. She meandered through the room, peering through the windows at the land beyond. She spotted the coaching stable and a pasture where some horses roamed and foraged.
She absently heard when the footmen deposited their bags inside, and he bid them a good evening.
“I’ve arranged for your meals,” Cedric told the coachman. “We’re leaving off early on the morrow as well. I aim to get back to my home by noon.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” The coachman bowed.
He closed the door, and she began to pull her gloves and coat off, then turned to see Cedric pulling his shirt off. Her breath stopped in her lungs. His skin was a mosaic of scars, some silvery and faded, and some not.
Shocked into silence, her eyes roamed over the permanent grooves, welts of his scars on his back, and a long, discolored swatch from his left shoulder down to his hip. She could not imagine how one could bear such atrocious pain that made those scars.
She swallowed. “Your G— Cedric? Do you usually disrobe before women so easily?”
He turned, and a twinge of regret flickered over his face, but it soon vanished. She gazed in awe at the muscular breadth of his shoulders, the granite slabs of his chest, and the strip of hair over his sectioned abdomen. He was taut and sinewy everywhere; not an ounce of fat anywhere on him.
“I apologize. It’s an old habit of mine.” He hauled his bag onto a chair and rifled through it to pull out a banyan.
Ariadne asked. “How long were you in the sickbed after the fire?”
He tugged his lapels together and belted the robe. “Much longer than I’d wanted,” he said. “It took me almost half a year to recover.”
From the stiff tone in his voice, she knew she had rubbed a still raw nerve and decided not to press the issue. Busying herself pulling out the garments that she intended to wear after her bath. Apprehension spiked in her at the thought of sharing a bed with a man when she had never done so before.
She rested her things down just as someone knocked on the door. Cedric answered it and had a small conversation with what she assumed was a worker for the inn. “Thank you.”
He crossed the room and pulled open a door that led to a small bathing chamber. The room was plain except for the two large tubs in the middle of the room, the shelves for towels, and two stools.
Waves of steam rose from the hot water, and she turned to him, “Who will go first, you or shall I?”
“You will,” he said as he nodded. “Don’t worry, little mouse, you will not be bathing in my presence, and I will not be bathing in yours.”
“Thank you,” she replied while scooping her towel and night clothes off the bed and then stepped into the bathing chamber, locking the door after her.
While nursing a glass of wine sent up before the meal, Cedric considered his next move on how to manage this marriage with Ariadne and hunting down his snake of a brother.
What to do about Ariadne when he found her too attractive for his own good? After Helena’s lies and betrayal, he truly had no desire to marry and had a difficult time trusting women’s true intent.
Did she really end up on Leander’s bed by mistake? She was still ill the next day, though. It could have been a real illness.
The door to the bathing chamber opened, and Ariadne appeared dressed in a shapeless night rail—Good god, which circus tent did she steal that from? The hideous thing was voluminous with a battalion of buttons down her chest, safeguarding her virtue.
She smiled, “I did my best to wash quickly so your water would still be warm.”
“Why, thank you for such consideration,” he threw back the rest of his drink. “The serving girls will come soon with the meal. Please keep an eye out for them.”
After shucking the dressing gown, he paused to roll up a small towel to rest on the lip of the tub before sinking inside the warm water. Closing his eyes, his head resting against the towel, his sinewy arm draped along its edge.
Despite her painful innocence and fresh beauty, Ariadne was a creature of strong passions. There was no way he had mistaken the way her bosom had risen and fallen, those pillowy lips of hers parting with each breath. Though she might not recognize the welcoming signs of her own body, he did.
His gut knotted as he thought of Helena, the woman he’d once thought he loved. The woman whose betrayal had destroyed him inside and out. An undoubtedly blond, blue-eyed angel, but beneath her charming exterior, she’d been a manipulative gorgon.
Day in and day out, while she had increased with his child, she had accused him of infidelity with any woman who crossed his path. It did not matter if she was a Marchioness or a milkmaid—only for him to find out that she had held a lover herself.
The one question that lingered for years—who was that man?
The letter Allan had found had told him she was planning to leave him to run off with her lover… but not once had she mentioned the man’s name.
It was the cooling water that stirred him to finish washing and then step out and dry. Donning a loose shirt and trousers, he stepped out to find Ariadne resting a tray of plates on the small round table in the corner of the room.
“Good timing,” she said. “The food just arrived.”