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“Since we are now effectively brother and sister, I believe it is mandatory,” he replied, leading her into a waltz.
“I’ve never drunk wine or brandy before, but I do enjoy them,” she confessed.
“I can tell.” Dustin studied her delicate features objectively. The coloring, the inherent feminine charm: Yes, he could see Vanessa. But there was so much more here, not only beauty, but depth and character.
And passion.
Dustin felt a twinge of envy for the treasures Trenton had yet to discover.
“May I borrow my bride, Dustin?” Trenton tapped his brother on the shoulder.
Dustin blinked, surprised at the anger in Trenton’s tone. The last time he had seen his brother he was dancing with the Dowager Duchess of Cantington, in seemingly high spirits. “Of course.” Dustin stepped away, feeling the presence of the dark emotion that drove Trenton relentlessly, was always buried just beneath the surface. It emanated now like an ominous thunderstorm.
Ariana felt it too, and was suddenly and entirely sober. “Will you be staying at Broddington?” she asked Dustin, anxiety clouding her lovely face.’
He was about to say no, when he met the pleading look in her eyes. He glanced back at Trenton, saw the antagonism, and knew he couldn’t leave Ariana alone. Not with his brother in this foul, unpredictable humor.
“For a day or two,” he compromised, feeling Trenton bristle. “Then I must get back to Tyreham.”
Relief swept Ariana’s fragile features. “Wonderful! Then we’ll have a chance to get to know each other.”
“Tomorrow,” Trenton interrupted. He took Ariana’s arm. “It’s time for us to take our leave.”
All the color drained from her face. “But the guests are still here.”
“The guests will be here for hours. It’s perfectly acceptable for us to retire.” He drew her to his side. “Come. Let’s say our good-byes.”
Ariana cast a final glance at Dustin. She felt like a small lamb being led to slaughter, while being torn from an old friend rather than a new acquaintance.
Dustin interceded to kiss Ariana’s cheek. “I’ll see you at breakfast,” he promised. Turning to his brother, he extended his hand. “Congratulations, Trent. Be happy.” He leaned closer, murmuring, “And for God’s sake, be gentle.”
The tightening of Trenton’s jaw indicated that he had heard.
Whether he would comply was another thing entirely.
CHAPTER
7
“THERESA, I THINK I’D LIKE to try wearing my hair in a different style.”
The silver-handled brush paused for a moment, then continued its downward journey through Ariana’s glowing auburn waves. “If you wish, my lady.” Theresa regarded Ariana calmly in the dressing-room mirror. “We’ll experiment tomorrow.”
Ariana whirled around, gazing up at Theresa with frightened eyes. “No. Why don’t we begin tonight?”
Theresa patted her cheek gently. “I don’t suppose your new husband would appreciate being kept waiting for hours while we dress your hair.”
Ariana swallowed. “I suppose not.”
Laying down the brush, Theresa took Ariana’s hands and eased her to her feet, inspecting her like a mother hen would its chick. She smiled at the youthful picture her mistress made. In her pristine white cotton nightdress with the frilly trimmings down the front and at the neck and sleeves, with her turquoise eyes wide as saucers, she looked more like a child about to be tucked into bed than a bride awaiting her husband on their wedding night.
Ariana ran her tongue over dry lips. “Will I do?” she whispered.
Theresa clasped Ariana’s cold fingers in hers. “To quote Sir Francis, ‘Virtue is like a rich stone, best plain set.’ You are beautiful, both inside and out. You are also nervous, which is perfectly natural. But all will be well; I promise you.” She gave Ariana a slow, infinitely knowing nod. “Yes, all will be as it should.”
Ariana let the reassuring prediction soak in like warm honey. Then, hesitantly, she peeked around to the bedchamber beyond. “He was so angry,” she murmured, remembering Trenton’s earlier behavior.
“Anger is easier to admit than many of the emotions it conceals.”
