Tempting the Footman (House of Devon #5) - Lauren Smith Page 0,33

door for such a line of inquiry. He hadn’t meant that she was easy to pleasure, but simply that she was easy to be around, easy to get along with.

“Yes,” Adrian answered curtly, letting the other man know to be careful what he said. The rooms had ears, especially downstairs.

“Well, Mr. Reeves handled everything tonight at dinner with Benjamin and Edward.” Edward was one of the younger footmen, only recently hired. He was only seventeen, but he was a hard worker.

“Glad to hear the boy did well.”

“He did. Mr. Reeves puffed up with pride.”

Adrian laughed at this. The butler was always proud when Hartland’s servants made a good show performing their duties.

The two of them were quiet for a long moment before Phillip spoke again.

“Adrian, you will be careful, won’t you?”

“I will.”

“Good,” Phillip said with a sigh. “Because Hartland wouldn’t be the same without you.”

Adrian hadn’t considered that. “It’s nice to know I would be missed.”

“You would, so don’t let your heart run away with you,” Phillip warned. “It wouldn’t be fair to her, or you.”

“Right, well, I’m off to bed.” Adrian left his friend alone and headed to his small shared bedroom. The room was dark when he entered. Benjamin stirred from under his sheets.

“That you, Adrian?”

He smiled at the younger man. “Yes. Go back to sleep.”

Benjamin’s bed creaked as he rolled over. Adrian removed his shoes and waistcoat and changed into his brown trousers and white lawn shirt. He lay on top of the covers and listened to Benjamin’s quiet snores. He waited for what felt like ages before he slipped back out of bed and tiptoed out of the room. The servants’ hall was dark, but he knew the steps and doorways by heart. It was not hard to navigate his way quietly upstairs.

The lamps in the gilded corridors burned low and created an eerie atmosphere, as though the portraits of Hartland’s ancestors watched and judged him as he passed through the long picture gallery.

He comforted himself by thinking of the beautiful, openhearted lady who awaited him, and Lord Byron’s words once more came to his mind:

It is the hour when from the boughs

The nightingale’s high note is heard—

It is the hour—when lovers’ vows

Seem sweet in every whisper’d word—

And gentle winds and waters near

Make music to the lonely ear.

Each flower the dews have lightly wet,

And in the sky the stars are met:

And on the wave is deeper blue,

And on the leaf a browner hue—

And in the Heaven, that clear obscure

So softly dark—and darkly pure,

That follows the decline of day

As twilight melts beneath the moon away.

Lady Venetia seemed to belong to a hundred poems by Byron, his words wrapping around her in an exquisite package, and tonight Adrian would bask in her womanly glow, consequences be damned. He didn’t knock when he reached her bedchamber; he simply eased the door open and slipped inside. A lamp burned low on the bedside table nearest the door, and he saw Venetia lying in bed. Her face was turned toward him, her dark-brown eyes open.

“I’m sorry you had to wait so long,” he apologized. “I know the routines of all the servants, and I had to be sure that I would not be seen.” He came and sat down on the edge of the bed, feeling an undeniable excitement now that he was so close to taking this beautiful woman to bed.

She eased up so that she was sitting, and her hands fidgeted with the edge of the blue counterpane.

“You can change your mind at any time, my lady,” Adrian said as he touched her hands with one of his, gently playing with her fingers.

“I haven’t, but I am a ball of nerves. I have no idea what I’m doing. And . . . I want to make sure that this is what you want as well.”

Adrian brushed his thumb over her inner wrist as he met her gaze. “From the moment you stepped out of your coach when you first arrived here, I have wanted nothing else but to be with you.”

“Truly?” Her lashes lowered as she gazed down at their joined hands.

“Truly. And if you wish for me to simply hold you tonight, I will happily do that.”

“That sounds lovely, and I should like that . . . after . . .” She reached up to the laces of her nightgown and tugged them free. The fabric of the nightgown loosened so that it draped off her shoulders. The pale, creamy skin she exposed set his pulse racing.

“I am