“I don’t have a Great-Aunt Mary.”
He rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”
“Yes. I do, and you’re wrong. Ludo, you’re not dabbling. I may be biased, but I do have an eye for a good painting. I met Henry Barbour once and he told me so. What’s more, I believe these are more than good. I think they’re excellent, and I know you ought to take it seriously.”
“You met Henry Barbour?” Ludo’s eyes had lit with awe, and he appeared to have completely disregarded everything else she’d said.
“I did, yes. Father is a distant cousin of the Marquess of Winterbourne, who is one of Mr Barbour’s closest friends. We were there one summer, and he introduced me.”
“He’s not the slightest bit mad, is he?”
Bunty shook her head at once.
“Goodness, no. Very shy, rather, and somewhat eccentric, to be sure. He dislikes people on the whole, but he was charming and spoke to me at length about his work, and about some of the others I’d seen at the Royal Academy’s summer exhibition. Indeed, I think I should show him some of yours. Perhaps I shall send one to him,” she mused.
All the colour drained from Ludo’s face. “Oh, no. Not on your life. He’s… he’s a genius. You’ll not go sending my paltry offerings to show him.”
Bunty sighed and set his painting aside with care before moving back to him. She wrapped her arms about his waist and stared up at him.
“I’m fat,” she said baldly. “I’m fat and ungainly, and too tall.”
His face darkened with fury.
“And I’m the Queen of Sheba!” he retorted. “What the devil has made you say so? You’re gorgeous, Bunty. Surely you know I can’t keep my bloody hands off you? I’ve been half in love with you for… for years, wishing and hoping such a beautiful creature could be mine.”
Bunty swallowed down the emotion that made her throat feel tight on hearing those impassioned words. Instead, she reached up and touched his cheek.
“You’re an artist, Ludo. You’re a clever, talented man, and you will be a great success. I am so proud of you. I believe in you. The only thing left to do is believe in yourself.”
“That was a dirty trick,” he grumbled, but he pulled her close and she smiled up at him.
“It made my point, though. Other people have always given me their opinions, far too freely, and I always believed them. Yet, you make me see they were wrong, terribly, cruelly wrong. Let me do the same for you, love. That wretch, Farringdon, your brothers, they all made you feel worthless, and that’s so far from the truth.”
He let out a breath and nodded.
“Very well,” he said, still a little gruff. “But it will be some time before I have the courage to show anything to Henry Barbour, let me assure you.”
“That’s all right. We have plenty of time.”
The journey to Russell House was cold and tedious, but neither Ludo nor Bunty complained. Buoyed by excitement and distracted by each other, the time passed pleasantly as Ludo invented ways to keep Bunty warm. He was very good at it.
They worried as the snow fell with increasing enthusiasm: large, soft flakes tumbling from the white sky overhead and laying still and pristine over the beautiful landscape.
“How lovely it is,” Bunty said, staring out of the window.
“It is. It makes me wish I had my paints to hand but, all the same, I wish it would leave off until we’re sat in front of a warm fire.”
“We’ll get there.” Bunty ducked back under his arm and luxuriated in his warmth. Her husband was better than any hot brick for keeping warm on a long journey.
Despite being slowed by the snow, they arrived at midday. Ludo jumped out of the carriage, reaching back to help Bunty, and then gazed up at the house in wonder.
“My word, but it’s lovely. I feel like I’m dreaming. Is it really ours?”
“It is,” Bunty said, enjoying the pleasure in his eyes and his obvious happiness.
“It’s smaller than I remember,” he said with a laugh. “In my memories it’s a vast, cavernous place, but it is every bit as beautiful.”
Bunty laughed. “Well, I don’t think it’s shrunk, love, more that you’ve grown. It is beautiful, though.”
It was. A seven hundred-year-old medieval hall house overlooking the rolling Kentish countryside, the place was graceful and ancient. Elegant arched windows and an arched front door gave it a romantic feel, especially now, with its long roof dusted with snow and the chimneys coiling smoke into the sky and promising a warm welcome.
The front door opened as they walked towards it, and an older couple appeared. The lady was short and squat with iron grey hair, and a fierce expression that softened when she laid eyes on Ludo. She reached for her apron and pressed it to her mouth to muffle a little cry of delight.
“Widdy?” Ludo said, incredulous even though he’d known the old housekeeper would still be here. “Is that really you?”
“Oh,” the woman said, trying valiantly to curtsey and not to cry, nor to run and hug Ludo as she clearly wished to do. “Oh, welcome home, my lord.”
To Bunty’s delight, Ludo had no such restraint and gave her a hug, swift and enthusiastic.
“You’ve not changed a bit,” he said, delighted and earning himself a snort of disbelief. “Nor you, Mr Widdershins. I feel like a boy again.”
“Ah, and we have missed you, my lord. You and your Mama both, God rest her soul. My poor Agnes was heartbroken when they took you away. Never forgot you, she never. Always said a prayer for you on Sunday and hoped you’d marry and come back home again.”
Ludo swallowed hard and hugged Mrs Widdershins again, and this time she burst into tears.
“Oh. I knew you was unhappy,” she wailed. “I knew that horrid man didn’t treat you right, or else how would such a good boy have gone off and been so very wicked?”
She blushed and clamped her mouth shut, realising too late she’d just insulted the marquess and Ludo both, but Ludo only laughed.
“No, don’t stop there, Widdy. You’re right, of course. About all of it. I was a devilish fellow, to be sure, but I am home now, thank God, and I mean to behave, I promise. I must thank you, though, for never forgetting me and for keeping me in your prayers, and certainly for keeping the place so beautifully. It’s just how I remember it. And now, before I am accused of forgetting my manners entirely… this lovely creature is my wife. Bunty, please meet Mr and Mrs Widdershins. Mr and Mrs Widdershins, my wife, Lady Courtenay.”
Ludo was as enthusiastic as a boy whilst Widdy—as she insisted Bunty address her—showed them around the house. At every turn, Ludo exclaimed as some memory returned to him of his darling mama and the happy times they’d had here together. Bunty was overcome with joy for him, and so relieved that his memories had in no way been diminished or overshadowed by what had come next. He clearly felt no ill will towards his mother for the situation in which she had left him, despite how awful it had been. To Bunty, this showed just how good-hearted and generous her husband was and, impossibly, she felt herself fall more in love with him with every passing moment.
Bunty watched as he laughed with Widdy, recalling an incident when he’d eaten an entire tray of jam tarts and then sworn blind that he hadn’t despite the sticky evidence around his person that called him a liar.
“Ah, but you was sorry for it, and begged my pardon so nicely,” Widdy said, dabbing at her eyes with her apron. “I couldn’t be cross with you.”
Smiling, Bunty wondered if the Ratched sisters were having as lovely a time as she was, and if they would ever be so happy. How strange that their avaricious plans had turned out so wonderfully for her and Ludo. As it was Christmas, or very near, Bunty sent them a silent thank you, for without them, she might never have married Ludo, and that would have been a tragedy.
Finally, Widdy showed them to their own room, the one that had once belonged to Ludo’s mother.
“Well, I’ll leave you be for a while, as I no doubt you’re eager for me to do, i
f I know anything about newlyweds. There’ll be a hot meal waiting for you in an hour, should you wish for it, but I shan’t bat an eyelid if you don’t. I’ll leave tea and biscuits outside the door in the meantime, but I’ll not disturb you again, my lord. Ring for me if you need aught, though.”
“Thank you, Widdy,” Ludo said, sending her such a warm smile that poor Widdy looked quite flustered. “For such a lovely welcome. I know we shall be very happy here.”
“Ah, well. All is as it ought to be at last, my lord,” Widdy said, dipping a curtsey before she left them alone and closed the door behind her.
Bunty watched as Ludo moved to the dressing table, touching perfume bottles and silver-backed brushes that must have belonged to his mother with reverent fingers. He lifted one of the crystal bottles and took out the stopper, lifting it to his nose, and smiled. Placing the bottle back with care, he stood by the window and looked out. The light was fading now, twilight settling upon the snow and leaving the landscape hushed and silent. Bunty moved to stand beside him, and he slid his arm about her waist, pulling her close.
“Over that way is Sedlescombe and Battle Abbey, and that way to Hastings. In the summer, we can go to the beach and you can sea bathe. Pevensey Bay is over there, where William the Conqueror landed. There was always a lot of society to be had here, too. A good community, or at least my mother found it so. I’m afraid you may struggle there, what with my black reputation to overcome.”
“Nonsense,” Bunty said briskly, not wanting anything to spoil his good humour, though there was truth in his words. “Soon enough, they’ll see that you’ve turned over a new leaf and are a good husband and a wonderful man, and until then I am more than content to keep you all to myself.”
“Are you?” he asked softly, touching her cheek with a fingertip. “For I don’t doubt the rumours are flying already. The neighbourhood will be bracing itself for wild parties and tales of scandal and debauchery.”
Bunty snorted.
“Well, they must content themselves with my scandal, and how I trapped the wicked Lord Courtenay into marriage and tamed his wild heart. That should entertain them through Christmas at least.” She moved closer to him and laid her head on his chest, hearing the reassuring thud of his heart. “And yes, you daft creature. I am in no need of society just yet. You are all I want for Christmas.”
“I have always hated Christmas,” he said his voice low. “Since mother died, at least. We had wonderful Christmases here. The house was filled with greenery and Widdy cooked up a storm. Mother helped her, too. She liked stirring the plum pudding, and I always put the charms in.”
“Then let us have a Christmas like that,” Bunty said, excitement bubbling through her at the idea. Christmas with her parents had always been a bit dull. It had been a blessing when her friend Freddie had been with them to add some fun to the proceedings. “We’ll have a wonderful celebration, just as you did when you were a boy. We’ll fill the house with food and laughter, and it will be the best Christmas ever. I can make you love it again, Ludo, I’m sure. With a little help, at least.”
“I already do,” he said, laughing now. “I love you, Bunty. My word, I love you so much I get these moments of sheer terror when I’m afraid I’ll wake up and discover I dreamed it all.”
Bunty stared at him, so touched by his words she could not speak for a moment.
“I’m no dream, Ludo,” she said, pulling his head down for a kiss. She pulled back, whispering the words against his mouth. “I’ll prove it to you.”
Ludo’s breath caught as Bunty pushed his coat from his shoulders, allowing it to fall to the floor in a heap before reaching for his waistcoat buttons. He’d meant what he’d said. Everything that had happened since he’d accepted that note had brought him such joy he lived in terror of losing it, of waking and finding it a dream, or of something crashing down upon him that would ruin everything. Yet, looking into Bunty’s eyes and seeing her certainty, her confidence in him, he knew now that he was worrying for nothing. This was no dream. This wonderful woman, this home, this future… they were all his. He did not doubt that there would be challenges ahead. There would be difficulties, good days and bad days, for that was life and no one could escape its vagaries and quirks, but he could face it now. Such a short time ago, the world had looked bleak and lonely, and his efforts to change his life had seemed like climbing a mountain with one arm behind his back. Not now. Now he felt he could face anything if Bunty was beside him, and she was. She always would be.
She’d made short work of his waistcoat and had flung his cravat across the room with a wicked grin. He watched, delighted by the anticipation in her eyes as she tugged his shirt from his breeches, and slid her hands under the fabric.
“Christ, your hands are cold!”
Ludo sucked in a breath as goosebumps chased over his skin, but she only laughed at him.
“Wicked creature,” he murmured with affection. “Just see how I’ve corrupted you.”
She nodded, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Indeed you have, my lord. Just think of all the dreadful things I’ve learned these past days in your company.”
“And nights,” he added gravely. “Don’t forget the nights.”
“Oh, Ludo,” she said, her voice trembling with laughter. “I could never forget the nights.”
She made him strip off the shirt, and then stood for a long moment, staring at his chest in a way that made Ludo feel like king of the world. He watched as she bit her lip, considering, and then moved towards him and rubbed her face over his chest like a cat, her hands caressing his skin as she sighed happily. He thought perhaps she might purr.
“Oh, I’ve wanted to do that for an age,” she said, looking up as he quirked an eyebrow at her. “You’re just so….”
“Hairy?”
“Well, yes, but… big and hot and… cuddly.”
“Cuddly?” he repeated doubtfully. “I’m not a kitten.”
She snorted at that. “Certainly not, though you rather make me feel like one, which is lovely.”
He grinned at her, aware he must look smug, but the expression was swiftly wiped from his face as he realised she’d undone the fall on his trousers and was getting to her knees. Her fingers brushed through the trail of hair that arrowed down his belly to the thick thatch from which his arousal strained, begging for attention.
“I found a book when I was packing, Ludo,” she said conversationally. “I’d never seen anything like it.”
“Oh?” Ludo said, not paying much attention, not when her mouth was so close, her breath a teasing whisper of warmth over his taut skin.
“It had pictures.”
“Did it?” he murmured, before his mind snagged on the only book he had with pictures. “Oh!”
“Oh, indeed,” she said, though to his relief she did not sound disgusted, or cross, rather amused and curious.
“It was most… illuminating.”
Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes, please. His brain kept up an internal monologue as she trailed a fingertip along the crease at the top of his thigh, making him shiver.
She leaned closer and her tongue darted out, giving him an experimental lick, and Ludo groaned. She did it again, and he held his breath. With excruciating tenderness, she took him into her mouth and sucked gently. He felt dizzy.
“You like that?” she asked, pleased.
Ludo whimpered.
There was a surprisingly naughty chuckle, and Ludo gave himself over to the most exquisite torture of his life as his wife practised the art of driving him out of his mind. She was a quick study, and it was an embarrassingly short time before his body grew tight, his mind blank and emptied of any thought except the pleasure she gave him.
“B-Bunty,” he said, trying to force her name out, to warn her, but his lust-addled brain could not form words. Ludo gave a hoarse cry and sank his hands into her hair, too far gone to stop, to do anything but give in to the orgasm that rolled through him with the force of a tidal wave.
It to
ok him a long moment to come back to himself, leaning on the wall beside him to keep himself upright, for his knees felt ready to buckle. Dazed, he focused on his wife with difficulty, but did not miss the smug expression that curved her lush mouth as she looked up at him from under her lashes.
“My word,” Ludo managed, wondering if he might sit down for a moment. “I’ve created a monster.”
Bunty snorted and covered her mouth with the back of her hand, no doubt to cover up her delighted smile at having brought him practically to his knees.
“Don’t make out like you’re sorry,” she said, grinning at him.
Ludo gave in. He sat heavily down in the nearest chair and quickly divested himself of breeches and boots. He turned a wicked expression on his wife and shook his head. “Oh, no. Not the least bit sorry, love, but… turnabout is fair play.”
Bunty, correctly interpreting the look in his eyes, scrambled to her feet with a little shriek as Ludo lunged for her and swept her up into his arms and over one shoulder. Feeling rather like a caveman returning home with his spoils, he dumped her on the bed, where she bounced invitingly on the mattress before he climbed over her.
“L-Ludo,” she said, wagging a warning finger at her. “If you m-make me scream, I’ll never be able to leave this room, I’ll be so mortified….”
“I always make you scream,” he retorted, making short work of the buttons on her bodice. “And I can live with that. There seem to be advantages to keeping you in my bed at all hours.”
“I’ll never be able to look Mrs Widdershins in the eye again. Nor her husband!” she said, covering her face with her hands.
“You’ll get over it,” Ludo said placidly. “And the rest of the household will just have to get used to it. I may be married, but I have a reputation to uphold.”
“Oh, you’re—”
“Dreadful,” he supplied for her, giving a happy sigh as he exposed her lovely breasts. “Wicked, depraved, utterly reprehensible….”
Have Yourself a Merry Little Scandal: a Christmas collection of Historical Romance (Have Yourself a Merry Little... Book 1) Page 32
