Adrian watched them until they disappeared into the bathroom, then made his way through the huge, silent house to the kitchen on the ground floor.
The first tendrils of dawn light were creeping through the window as he lit the stove and put a kettle on. With a sigh, he opened the larder and stared blankly at the shelves. Exhaustion made it hard to focus. He’d hardly slept at all the night before his wedding, and this last night spent jumping across rooftops, fueled by so many conflicting emotions, certainly hadn’t helped.
As soon as Bridget was comfortably settled, he’d go home and sleep the day away, he promised himself, finally pulling out a loaf of rye bread and a tub of butter. If he could just sleep for a while, it would buy him a little more time before he had to face Vanessa.
God, the thought of what he could have spent the night doing was enough to nearly bring him to his knees. All he really wanted was to find his way into Vanessa’s bed and bury himself in her lovely body, then fall asleep in her arms.
Why couldn’t she have been the woman he thought she was, the one he’d fallen so hard for?
When he turned back to the table, he found Fiona leaning against it, staring at him far too perceptively. “Why are you here, Adrian? Why aren’t you at home with your wife?”
“Prometheus never sleeps,” he quipped bitterly, unwilling to be drawn into this conversation. He feared if he told her anything, she’d somehow see the entire sordid truth.
Frowning, she took the bread and butter out of his hands and returned them to the larder. “Bridget says she’s too tired to eat. She’s already in the bath. When she’s done, I’ll get her settled. You should go home.”
He nodded bleakly and then impulsively hugged her. “Thanks, Fi. I know I ask too much of you, showing up like this in the middle of the night.”
“Don’t be silly.” She broke away from him with an embarrassed laugh. “You know I live for these children.”
He gave her a sad smile and turned toward the door.
“It’s not her fault, you know.” Fiona’s soft words stopped him in his tracks. “What that bastard did to her... it wasn’t her fault. She isn’t to blame any more than that little girl upstairs is.”
“I know that,” he said brokenly. “Christ. Don’t you think I know that?”
The thought of Roger touching Vanessa with his filthy hands was enough to drive him to murder, but he didn’t think any less of Vanessa for having been lured into the bastard’s trap.
“You leaving her like this, on this of all nights... she’s bound to think that’s the reason.” Fiona cleared her throat nervously, obviously sensing she’d crossed a line but unable to stop herself. “Don’t do this to her, Adrian. Don’t do this to yourself.”
He left without answering, but her words haunted him all the way home.
* * * *
VANESSA SPENT THE FIRSTday of her marriage with Clinton, interviewing nearly a dozen people Adrian had lined up to fill the roles of Gabriel’s nanny and her own lady’s maid.
She chose a young lady named Bates for Gabriel and an older woman named Browne for herself. She also met with both the housekeeper and cook, who confided they were glad the house finally had a mistress.
Apparently, Adrian had never taken much of an interest in how his household was run. She sensed that Clinton was the one who had held the whole thing together over the years.
Not that Vanessa herself knew anything about such things, but the three main staff members gave her a lot of helpful advice and suggestions, and she thought she’d managed to get through the day without embarrassing herself too badly. She’d never before realized how much had to be done to keep a house this big operating smoothly. With her new additions, the staff numbered nine.
Clinton also informed her that Adrian had arranged accounts for her at some of the city’s finest shops. Adrian wanted her to buy a new wardrobe and didn’t care how much she spent to do so. His generosity made her exceedingly uncomfortable because she knew her actions had made him think this was all she wanted from him.
Of her husband himself, there was no sign. She hadn’t seen him since he’d left the house last night, though she’d heard him come in at dawn.
Where had he been all night? Had he killed Roger? Had he sought comfort in the arms of someone else?
She was afraid to ask.
She ate dinner with Gabriel in the nursery again, then tucked the excited little boy good night, but still, Adrian stayed away.
Determined not to let him shut her out, she finally went in search of him, realizing she had no idea where to start.
Clinton reluctantly told her that he was indeed at home but refused to tell her where. Starting on the ground floor, she began a methodical search of her new home, finding that most of the rooms looked like they hadn’t been disturbed since he’d moved in. Only the study where he’d received her the day she’d made her proposal and a bedroom on the third floor next to hers appeared to be lived in. She made sure the door that connected their suites was unlocked and then reluctantly settled into bed with a book she’d found in the library.
* * * *
WHEN ROGER ARRIVEDat the house where he kept his current plaything, he could tell immediately that something was wrong. The two guards he’d left to watch over Bridget would not meet his gaze and seemed terrified to see him.
