Page 17 of Unmasking the Silver Heiress
She brushed her fingers over the carefully alphabetized volumes of reference and research. Machiavelli gave way to Milton who led to More. None of these books were strangers to her, but none were beloved friends either. She settled on a collection of poems by Alexander Pope, which certainly would have never been available to her at Mrs. Arlington's, and a brief history of Kent, which she did not know much about at all. After a moment of deliberation, she also grabbed a volume of translations titledTales from the East, which sounded intriguing, if nothing else.
When she stepped out of the library, intending to make her way back to her chambers, she found herself rooted in place, staring at the closed door of Nathaniel's bedchambers with a sudden flash of inspiration. She knew nothing of seduction, admittedly, but she did know quite a lot about rationalizing her desires until other people saw the sense in them.
She bit her lip, her mind racing with different ways she might execute her idea. She squeezed the books to her side, nervous energy making its way up from the soles of her feet to the speed of her heart, and decided that she must take advantage of her status as Mrs. Atlas while she could, lest she be left behind and never have another chance to do so.
* * *
Nate was soakedto the bone, clenching his jaw tightly to prevent his teeth clattering together. Why he'd taken it upon himself to hand deliver the blasted wedding announcements to his chosen publications was currently beyond him, though surely he'd had a valid reason at the time of setting off.
He rode up to his townhouse on a very agitated horse, his breath condensing into great clouds of fog that he left in his wake. The rain was not falling hard anymore, but even the thin sheets of it that slapped down from above were like a gifting of chill, delivered directly to the flesh.
He had attempted to wait it out, stopping at an empty pub near the offices of theEvening Standardand nursing a glass of whiskey for the better part of an hour. If he could have, he'd have taken a carriage home and sent someone to retrieve his mount, but with the household scrambling for an early departure, he simply couldn't afford to create more work for any of them, nor could he dawdle about in a pub for the entirety of the evening.
It was already dark so early in the day by this time of year, and he'd lost his race home to the rapidly dimming light of dusk.
He stepped around several men hauling a hardwood bed frame onto a carriage, scrambling to keep the pieces shielded under a waxed tarp. He hoped to God the mattress didn't get ruined in this weather before it could reach Kent, lest he and his new bride have to make do with blankets on a bare, likely very dirty floor.
He stepped into the house, shaking himself free of one layer of raindrops as he doffed his hat and coat, handing them off to a waiting footman.
"Do you need a bath, sir?" the lad asked him, taking in his bedraggled appearance.
"No, just a towel or two and my pyjamas should suit me," Nate answered. "And perhaps a stint standing a little too close to the fireplace."
"At least your bed is already warm," the young man said with a little blush. "Mrs. Atlas retired some time ago."
"Did she, now?" he replied, curiosity besetting him. "Let us hope I do not wake her with my chill, then. See that these clothes are dry before they are packed up for shipment, and I will take a spot of hot water, after all. Just a basin for a quick toilette, if you please."
"Sir," the footman said, already turning to scramble off after his task.
Nate resisted the urge to quiz the footman further and instead made haste toward his bedchamber, deeply curious as to what he might find inside. She had said not more than a few hours ago that she would not force herself into his bed if he did not want her there, and yet apparently she had done just that.
He sighed to himself, relieved that the clinging fabric of his clothing was so cold as to combat any dangerous thoughts the premise might otherwise inspire. The girl was no scheming seductress, not by half, and he had no desire to damage her delicate frame or her burgeoning trust in him as a husband by losing himself to brutish, animalistic drive in the bedchamber.
He must tread carefully. He would eventually bed her, yes, and perhaps even beget an heir, but it must be at a time when he had greater control over himself. His life had seen more tumult in the last two weeks than it had since he was a lad of ten, and as tempting as it was to lose himself in pleasure with his sweet little wife, he must take care with the process of seduction, he must be measured and tactful.
After all, if their first encounter was frightening or painful for her, she might not be willing to repeat it. He rather suspected that in ignoring his baser urges for so long, indulging them once would ignite an overwhelming appetite.
How did one bed a virgin, anyhow? He frowned, hesitating just outside of his bedroom door. He hadn't felt this unprepared in many years. It was a silly thing, but he had a sudden impulse to study as though he were walking into an exam or a particularly delicate negotiation.
What sort of man balks at a willing girl in his bed?his mind taunted.Which of you is the virgin, after all?
He took a bracing breath and turned the doorknob in his hand, refusing to be hobbled by the prospect of something that promised to be pleasant, even if it had sent his heart thudding with anxious doubt. He didn't know what he expected to find within, but reality was a far cry from a demanding wife, demanding carnal attention.
Nell was indeed in his bed. She was asleep, seemingly not by her own design, propped up on pillows with a book splayed open on her chest. Her spectacles had emerged from her luggage and were currently balanced precariously on the upturned tip of her nose, threatening to leap to their doom at any moment.
He released a gust of air, suddenly feeling quite absurd. Not wishing to have her disturbed, he left the door cracked slightly ajar, so that the washbasin could be brought in as quietly as possible.
He made his way to the bed, noting that she had chosen the left side as her own, and carefully lifted the spectacles from her face, careful not to touch her lest she wake. Unable to resist the curiosity, he held them up to his own eyes, peering through the rounded glass at the world as she must see it without them.
It wasn't terrible, he decided. He could make out everything in the room, but if he were asked to read from the book she held, he wouldn't have been able to. An average debutante would have worn them as seldom as possible, but today was the first time he'd seen her without them for hours on end. There was a mild temptation to wander toward the mirror and see how he looked in them, but he thought it best if he didn't indulge in silliness.
Instead, he folded them up and set them gently on the table next to her, considering how he might lift the book away next without disturbing her sleep.
The door creaked, giving him a start. A maid nodded respectfully to him, quickly depositing a steaming bowl of water in a wire basin frame and scurrying back out, drawing the door silently closed behind her.
He decided to leave the book in place for the time being, so that he might wash and warm himself to a presentable state before risking waking her. He stripped his wet clothes off and draped each piece on the chairs before the fire, shivering as his clammy skin was exposed to the air.
A cloth dipped into the hot water did wonders to ease the chill away, though he did rather wish he had a bath to soak in now that he'd had a taste of heat. He stepped into dry, woolen pyjamas that had absorbed some of the warmth from the fireplace, and pushed his damp hair back from his face.
