Patrick’s heart slammed in his chest and beads of sweat streaked down his face, and all he could do was stare straight ahead as those gut wrenching images flooded his mind. Stirring all the old painful memories of that day and planting them fresh in his mind.
“Ye coming, milord?” Cruxley asked, peeking his head into the carriage.
Patrick jumped, startled. He cleared his throat, but it did no good. His voice still came out rough when he finally spoke. “Leave.” He pressed his thumb and forefingers against his closed eye lids. His mind cleared and reality gripped him again. He still needed to decide where to put Juliet for the night, or what remained of it anyway.
She’d taken up residence in the governess’ room again after he’d told her not to last week. He wasn’t taking her back there. Not only was it demeaning, it was not where she belonged. But his unyielding reluctance to so much as flicker a glance into the viscountess’ suite, excluded that room from his list of possibilities, too. He gulped. That only left his bedchamber. His pulse sped up. He’d never invited a woman into his bedchamber. Due to his crushing responsibilities, he hadn’t had a single night of carousing before marrying Abigail. She’d been the first woman he’d ever been intimate with, and consequently his last. And never in is room. Always in hers.
A weight lowered on his stomach. Could he take Juliet to his room? Sure, her light body posed no difficulty to him physically, but could he actually take her there? What would she think when she woke up in is bed? Their closeness tonight at Caroline’s had been undeniable, but would she feel pressured to be intimate with him? He swallowed convulsively. He wouldn’t deny he wanted her that way. He did. He’d have never imagined this burning desire six weeks ago when they’d met. It wasn’t until last week when he’d so shamelessly stared at her while she’d bathed that he’d felt any spark of desire for her. But no amount of physical wanting he had for her would move him to do something to ruin the relationship they’d formed tonight.
So where should he take her?
A candle burning by a window in the East Hall gave him the simple answer. “Of course,” he muttered to himself, securing Juliet into his hold.
He carried her into the house, up the stairs, and settled her into the bed, impulsively loosening her gown so she’d sleep a bit more comfortably.
***
A bright ray of sunshine streamed into Juliet’s bedchamber from the break in the curtains. Blinking rapidly at the blinding light, she fumbled for her spectacles. After slipping them on, she brought one hand up to shield her eyes from the offensive light and reached over to readjust the drapes with the other. She frowned. Her arm couldn’t reach the drapes, and it had nothing to do with the actual length of her arm, but rather her ability to use it. More specifically, she couldn’t straighten it because the capped sleeve of her gown had slipped from her shoulder and was wrapped around her upper arm in a way that made it impossible to stretch. She stared down at her arm. Why was she in her green ball gown?
She remembered going to Caroline’s house and how she and Drake had danced. She blushed. The memory of the empty dance floor flashed in her mind. After they’d finished dancing, Caroline’s husband had seen them out. Then what?
She lowered her hand that was acting as a shield and racked her brain. What happened after they left and how had that ended with her... With her what? Or more importantly where? She blinked. She had no idea which room she was in any more than she knew why she was still wearing her emerald gown from last night.
She threw her feet over the side of the bed and stood, letting her eyes wander around the room. Nothing about it was familiar or overly welcoming. The bed she’d been sleeping on was a large tester bed with a plush feather mattress, covered with a fine crimson counterpane and about a dozen pillows. Next to the bed was a barren nightstand. She slid open the drawer, frowned, then closed it again. The inside of the drawer was just as stark. A wardrobe across the room caught her eye and she padded across the wooden floor to the oversized piece of furniture. Not sure what to expect, she opened the door and shook her head. Just like the nightstand, it appeared this piece of furniture had been barely used, either. She glanced at the vanity, but didn’t bother to go have a look at it or the bureau. She had a fairly good idea of what she’d find: beautiful wood with nary a mark to indicate they had ever been used.
She sighed. It really didn’t matter so much, did it? What did it imply that she didn’t already know? Nothing. It didn’t take being published in one of those fancy circulars Alex Banks read to know Drake neither had the time nor the inclination to host house parties. He just didn’t have that type of personality. Likely, these furnishings had been here as long as he had, and just as likely, they’d be passed onto Drake’s heir in the same pristine state. Juliet swallowed. Drake’s heir. Who was Drake’s heir? All he had were daughters. Ladies couldn’t inherit. Drake needed a son. An eerie feeling crept over her.