on the leather seat and gazed out the window for the first time. “You’ll meet them…later.”
“You didn’t ask, so I assume you discovered all you care to know about me.”
Adam grinned and gazed at her once more. Oscar routinely worked for Harrington Construction, handling sensitive matters. He was well compensated for his efforts, and so hadn’t minded a rush assignment on a Sunday afternoon.
“Only the basics,” Adam admitted. Enough to know she made the perfect wife.
“But not everything.”
His brows drew together. “No, not everything.”
She shot him a scathing look. “Rethinking the marriage, Mr. Harrington?”
“No.” He leveled his gaze at her across the dim carriage. “But don’t get any ideas. If you’re thinking it’s a way to get out of this marriage, you’re wrong. I won’t tolerate a scandal.”
Her chin crept higher. “And neither will I, Mr. Harrington.”
“Don’t you think it would be all right if we were on a first-name basis now, Haley?”
Hearing him say her name sent a chill up her spine. Recollections of him breathing the word against her ear last night floated up in her mind, along with all sorts of feelings she couldn’t capture and certainly couldn’t name. She looked away. “I suppose… Adam.”
He grinned. “There. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
It wasn’t bad at all, but she didn’t say so.
Haley looked out the window. The streetlights had disappeared, and by the sway of the carriage she could tell they had left the city. Presently, Adam sat forward.
“We’re home.”
Haley’s stomach tingled. Home? Her home was in San Francisco, with her mother and grandparents.
The carriage stopped, and Adam helped her to the ground while the driver and Chrissy handled her trunks.
Haley clutched her handbag as she gazed at the house. Every etched and stained-glass pane was lit in the three-story structure, setting it ablaze against the night sky. A large porch wrapped the entire first floor, and an onion dome and a witch’s hat punctuated the roof. Fashionable gingerbread and scrollwork decorated the house, which was blue with white trim, she guessed—it was hard to tell in the dark. Mature trees in the yard and flowers and shrubbery against the house scented the air pleasantly.
The front door opened, and a small, neat man with a carefully trimmed gray mustache stepped outside.
“Good evening, sir,” he droned.
Adam ushered her into the foyer. “Bernard, this is my wife.”
The butler gave her a stiff bow and a cursory glance. “Good evening, Mrs. Harrington.”
“See to her things.” Adam pulled his watch from his pocket and consulted it. He turned to Haley. “If you need anything, ask Bernard.”
And with that, he disappeared down the hall.
“Mr. Harrington is particular about his schedule,” Bernard offered in a monotone.
“Certainly,” she responded, as if that explained being dismissed like yesterday’s news.
“Follow me, please.”
She climbed the sweeping staircase behind the butler. Chrissy stepped alongside her, her eyes wide. “Well, somebody slap me—will you just look at this place? You’ve just got to keep me here, Miss Haley. No offense, but your aunt’s house smells like camphor all the time.”
Haley didn’t answer. She wasn’t certain she’d stay herself.
Chimes from the parlor’s mantel clock echoed up the stairway, causing Adam to stop and pull out his pocket watch. Fast. Two minutes fast. He couldn’t abide an inaccurate timepiece. Bernard would have to be told to see to the clock’s repair.
Adam started up the stairs again, then froze. No, Bernard would not have to handle it. He had a wife now to see to those things. A little smile pulled at his lips, and he climbed the stairs.
In his room, he poured himself a glass of bourbon from the decanter on his bureau and sipped it, his gaze riveted to the connecting door to his new wife’s suite. He’d sat at his desk downstairs for hours, trying to concentrate on the McKettrick plans. He’d set aside that time specifically to work on them, but he hadn’t gotten much accomplished; they hadn’t interested him to. begin with.
Adam crossed the room and passed through the sitting area to stare at Haley’s closed bedroom door. No light shone beneath it. No sound emanated from within. Surely she was sleeping by now; she’d looked exhausted when he picked her up—beautiful, but exhausted.
Quietly he opened the door and light from behind him beamed into the room. She was a bulge under the coverlet, curled on her side facing him. He heard the light, even breathing of her slumbers and wished to hell he’d tossed the McKettrick plans aside and come upstairs as he wanted to. But Haley represented an important element of a long-range plan. No need to rush with her; she’d be here forever.
Adam leaned his shoulder against the door casing and took another sip of the bourbon. He wished he could remember actually marrying her, or at least what had led up to his doing such a rash thing. He remembered being quite captivated by the sight of her, and asking friends if anyone knew her. The Olivers’ wedding ceremony had been stoic, as expected, and the reception predictable until the old guard left. Things had gotten completely out of hand after that. Vaguely he recalled reciting vows, images of Harry Oliver and Judge Williams fading in and out.
Adam looked down at the bourbon and swirled it in the glass. He must have had more than his usual too much last night.
He might have kept her regardless of her background, after spending last night rolling around in bed with her. That much of the evening he remembered with great clarity. But after Oscar informed him of her social standing, he could hardly believe his luck. No more women throwing their eligible daughters and nieces at him. No more teas, receptions or piano recitals to sit through in his search for an acceptable wife. Now he had her. And without the bother of the endless engagement parties, the wedding preparations, the ceremony and all the silly hoopla that went with it.
And no chance that the bride would change her mind.
Adam tossed back the last of the bourbon and drew in a deep, satisfying breath. He had it all. His new home and his wife. He was on his way. What could possibly go wrong now?
Haley pushed her hair off her shoulder and peered over the thick coverlet. Morning sunlight sifted through the white gossamer drapes across the room. She blinked and rubbed her eyes. Another strange room.
She fell back on the pillow and lifted her arm. At least this morning she had on her own nightgown.
