by Amelia Hart
"Give it to me and I will keep it safe, I swear it."
"I shall give you my body. I know you will make good use of that."
"I want your heart as well."
"Greedy."
He abandoned sincerity and followed her into idle teasing, knowing by now she withdrew when he pushed too hard. "It is you who is greedy, madam wife. Will that body of yours ever be satisfied?"
"Twice a day, and thrice on Sundays, if I may choose a schedule."
"You will wear me out."
"I make up for lost time. You must expect such a thing if you will marry a spinster."
"Shall we see if our lunch has arrived?"
"Walk naked to the door, and I shall follow."
"Saucy wench. Wear nothing and I shall give you first choice from the basket."
"You will give me first choice anyway."
"Then wear nothing only because I like to see you."
She looked at him from under her lashes, then rolled to the side of the bed and stood. Slowly she backed towards the door, one liquid movement at a time, watching his eyelids lower, his teasing smile fade. Ah, but she loved to have that power over him. It was a wonder to her. Yet it was not some practiced technique of his, or a pretense. She could see his physical response, his arousal to watch her body move to tease him. When he suddenly threw aside the sheet and knelt up on the bed, splendidly revealed, she shrieked, laughed and fled, knowing he would give chase and wondering only where he would catch her.
A miracle indeed, but he liked her thin form.
She reached the foot of the stairs before he exited the bedroom, stood there in the shadows and watched him come one slow step at a time.
"You look like a naiad at the bottom of a well," he said.
"And you must be the Greek god Pan."
"Am I?"
"Wanton and beautiful. Perhaps I shall stay in my well, and taunt you, the unattainable naiad."
He stopped on the final riser and wrapped one arm around the simple finial of the oak staircase, dark with age and smoothed by many hands. Lounging there, he looked remarkably like those ancient, languid Greek statues, apart from his very modern, very interested dimensions.
"Will you drown me, little naiad, if I step into your deep waters?"
She leaned forward, chin tilted tauntingly. "I shall."
He stretched out a hand and ran slow fingertips over her shoulder and down the slope of her breast. "Perhaps I can lure you out," he said softly. "Will you come play with me, little naiad?"
"What will you give me?"
"So it is to be a trade, then? I cannot give you shiny wood-brown hair, for you already have that. I can't give you skin that gleams like a pearl, or sapphire eye, for you have those too. A white wand of a body and a laugh like bells are already yours. No, I can't think of a gift rich enough to match what you already have."
"You could give me soft lips to kiss me," she said, putting out her own finger to trace it shyly over the curve of those lips. "Sweet kisses until I can't think. And you could give me hair like midnight to hold and pull on," she tugged him gently until his mouth was less than an inch from hers, "and lead you where I want. And you could give me a big strong body to carry me to our bed, and this," now she put out a hand to glide over his erection, which pulsed and lifted under her light touch, "to fill me and give me pleasure until I can't hold any more. And your clever fingers too. I want them." She took his hand and brought it to cup her mons pubis and without hesitation he slid further, fingertips grazing delicately over her sensitive flesh. Immediately she felt the stunning weakness that had become so familiar to her this past week; the urge to sink down with him upon her.
He knew it, of course. He saw it in her face, no doubt, and took the final step to pick her up and carry her back upstairs, and never mind the food that might await them.
"You tempt me out," she said, pressing her face into his shoulder.
"I drown in you," he told her, his own face buried in her neck.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
It could not last forever, of course. There was more to the world than an out-of-the-way cottage he had hired, a farmer's daughter to bring them a basket of food every day through the snow, and the two of them naked and drowsing away the days in bed.
"I'm bored," she said, standing by the window and looking out at the blank whiteness, renewed by a storm last night. It made her feel trapped. She was restless with too much perfection.
"I am not enough for you? My heart is broken." He flung a forearm up dramatically to cover his eyes, and sprawled limp on the bed.
"I am not used to being so idle."
"Wait longer. You'll grow accustomed."
"I thought you said you'd become industrious and diligent, these days?"
"The sybarite still lurks under the surface, at the ready," he said.
"On the surface, more like.”
"I don't deny it. So how shall I entertain you?"
"You are right. You're not enough for me." Flawless days of him, nothing but him, and she felt herself slipping away from every anchor to reality.
"I knew it." He shook his head mournfully. "Then we go to the capital? Some town bronze for you? Or would you prefer a quiet country life?"
It was strange to have such choices, to make up her own mind how her life would go instead of straining to pull together a decent existence out of the few options available and doing as was expected of her. "Which would you prefer?"
"I'm not needed on the estates until just before the planting, when I shall be on hand to bully reluctant farmers into a proper system of crop rotation. So we're at leisure. Choose as you will."
That did not answer her question. She pulled the edges of her wrapper closer about her and leaned on the windowsill. What would it be like to go to a country estate as its mistress? She had been trained in the basics of household management, of course, but Grandmere's modest situation had hardly given her the opportunity to practice those skills and it had been long years since she expected to use them. The prospect intimidated her.
Not that a house in the city would be much easier, but at least that was only a house, not an estate and all its workers. And she knew London. Would it be pleasant to be there with money in her purse? Enough to counteract being the wife of a notorious rake and perhaps the object of pity? In addition, how would he cope when so close to the life he had lived before? He described these changes he had made and said he was pleased with them but they seemed to her a thin veneer.
It was better to face a fear than put it off and let it grow larger in her mind. Yet was it also better to give them a period of peaceful time to learn how to go together as husband and wife?
"We'll go to London, then," he said, breaking into her thoughts. "Far more there to amuse us. You have not truly seen the city and all the possibilities it has to offer."
She was silent.
The London house was unexpectedly grand.
"I did not realize," Julia whispered, and slipped her hand into Colin's as they walked up the stairs together.
He gave it a squeeze, and bent his head closer. "Realize what?"
"Look at this place. I had no idea you lived like this. What will everyone think of me?"
"That you have managed an excellent capture. See, suddenly I have become a prize."
"You were always a prize," she said absently. "But I have no idea how to manage such a place. The servants will laugh at me."
"I'll see they don't," he said, suddenly dangerous.
"Oh, there's no point being fierce about it. My ignorance will be clear to all. What shall I do?"
"Don't be afraid. I have a very good housekeeper, and a decent butler. Only pretend to be aloof and disinterested, and command them loftily to continue as they have been. Or tell them to make all the decisions as usual, but bring them to you for confirmation. That way you will learn as you go."
"That is a very good idea."
"Yes, it seems I am useful outside of the bedroom also. After yo
u, madam wife," he said, and opened the door for her to step through.
The staff had assembled inside the hall. Evidently their arrival had been expected. Then she remembered the missive he had dashed off at an inn where they stopped to eat a good beef pie on their slow journey to the City.
She stood very stiffly, and looked them over. A butler, housekeeper, half a dozen footmen and a round dozen chambermaids. They regarded her in turn.
"Brace yourself," said Colin in an undertone and took her down the line, introducing her, as each staff member either bowed or curtsied. Then, "You are dismissed," Colin told them, and they bobbed respectfully and scattered. "Come into the ballroom," he said. "I want you to see it."
"A ballroom? Of course. How delightful," she murmured.
"It will be. And you'll dance here, too," he said, pushed open a grand pair of doors then held out a hand in proud exhibition.
"Oh," she sighed, walking into it. It was not the very largest ballroom she had been in, but it was a good size, and remarkably, it was hers. "Astounding."
"Madame, if I may have the honor?"
She turned to him, and saw him in a most courtly, old-fashioned bow, his hand outstretched. Then he looked up at her, his eyes twinkling, and her insides felt warm and buttery. When she put her hand in his he straightened, put his other hand on the small of her back and swept her into a waltz. The spinning made her feel a little dizzy. Or was it he who made her dizzy?
"Do you remember the first time we danced?” she asked.
"Remember? How could I forget? Such a scold you gave me."
"I didn't."
"You did."
"Well you were being very bad, letting all those women dangle after you."
"Until that dragon of a Mama brought me over to dance with you and you looked at me like I was something nasty you had just scraped off your shoe."
"You didn't want to dance with me either."
"I hid it well."
"No you didn't. You practically rolled your eyes and pouted."
"Rubbish. A gentleman never pouts."
"You did. Your lip was out to here." She demonstrated with great exaggeration, and his eyes fixed on the out thrust lip."
"That looks rather fetching on you. No, don't put it away. Leave it there. I shall suck on it."
"Don't you dare. Someone might put their head around the door at any moment."
"Why should that stop me?" he asked, his eyebrows going up.
"To be caught kissing your own wife? Dreadfully unfashionable. Besides, I thought you weren't an exhibitionist."
"There is a great difference between displaying oneself and being accidentally caught in enjoyment. One should never defer gratification for the sake of the servants."
"I know you don't mean that."
"Is that a dare? Shall I prove my point on this very handsome parquet floor?"
"You will not!" But he stopped dancing and sank to one knee before her, his hands going to the hem of her dress. "For heavens sake, at least close the door!" He looked up at her with a boyish grin, reading that for the acquiescence it was, and went to close the ballroom doors before returning to his task.
Some time later, lying in a puddle of badly crushed day dress, with her head pillowed on his upper arm, she asked, "Would you like to come with me and meet my grandmother?"
"What? Now?" he asked lazily, and yawned.
"Tomorrow, perhaps. Early tomorrow, before people start to make calls on us. Will anyone call on us?"
"I should think they'll leave their cards, at least. Once they know we're in residence. People will want a look at the woman who snared the- Uh . . . There will probably be some curiosity about you."
"I really don't know how to go on, you know."
"What? The redoubtable Miss Preston, governess and teacher of young ladies in manners, elocution and comportment, admits she doesn't know how to go on?"
"Oh, I don't mean that. Of course I know the rules. But there's a frightful gap between rules and fashionable behavior. I don't want to discredit you."
"You could never be a discredit to me. I'm proud to show you off to the world, magnificent upright creature." She scowled into his chest, charmed despite herself that he should feel proud of her, but thinking it typical of a man that he should miss such subtleties. It was not enough to be permitted to enter Society. She wanted to be a success there.
"Well, anyway, I shall go see Grandmere, and you're welcome to come."
"Grandmere?" He gave the word the correct pronunciation. "She's French?"
"She and Grandpere fled France during the revolt, and settled here with my mother. The Comte and Comptess de Vral, though Grandpere died soon after."
"The Comptess de Vral. Why is that name familiar?"
"I don't imagine you'd know her. She held considerable sway in the years following their arrival, but she now lives much retired from Society. However from her letters I doubt she lets much go by her of the doings of the beau monde."
"Letters? That is it. She's your iniquitous correspondent," he cried, propping himself up on his shoulder to stare down at her.
"Fancy you remembering that after all this time. Iniquitous? Not so bad as that."
"To write such things to one's grandchild? I should say it's iniquitous."
"You are a prude."
"Don't you?"
"Ye-es," she said unwillingly. "But she is so amusing, one can't help but laugh. Besides, she raised me after my parents died. I suppose I am accustomed to her viewpoint, even if I don't share it."
"Knowledgeable and disapproving. What a combination. No wonder I was slain."
"You were not. You have a taste for the dramatic. Now we should dress, rather than tempt fate any further." She stood and began vainly to try and repair the damage. No one could imagine - looking at her mangled dress - that she had sat in sedate conversation with her new husband while the doors had stood closed this past hour. He watched her lithe body disappear with an expression of regret.
"You will come with me tomorrow?" she asked.
"No doubt I ought to meet this unlikely relative of yours. It seems from her letters she and I have some things in common."
"Do not dare to speak to her of those things," she warned him with a baleful glare.
"And if she speaks of them to me?"
"She will not. She is the soul of propriety among strangers. She had to learn English ways when she immigrated, and has done it well."
"As I have not, you imply."
"Take that as you will. Now, shall I demand you escort me to my bedroom to lend me countenance-"
"I am probably not the best candidate."
"You're right. I don't suppose you have useful secret passages hidden somewhere in the walls?"
"Nothing so practical. I could fetch you a cape, milady?"
"That will look very odd, but it will have to do. Good heavens, but it is exasperating to be married to a hedonist."
"I perceive how you suffer."
"I do. I do."
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
"My darling. Oh my dear one. It is heaven to see you." Tears stood in the Comtesse's eyes as she clasped Julia's cheeks between paper-skinned hands, crepey and dry. For a long moment she stood, drinking in the sight of her granddaughter as if it was refreshment to her spirit. Then she took Julia's hand in her own and lifted it and held it before her, turning a little to include Colin. "This must be your new husband. Introduce me, darling."
"Lady Eloise Dutout, Comtesse de Vral, this is Mister Colin Holbrook."
"You may use the English form, Mr Holbrook. Julia forgets she is not to call me Comtesse."
"I'm sorry, Grandmere." Julia turned to Colin. "We are to be as English as we can possibly manage."
"To be French is still unfashionable these days, and no wonder. My poor country. That wretched Corsican. Still, never mind that. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr Holbrook. Your people are from Dorsetshire?"
"You are correct, Lady Eloise."
"
Such a great pity about your brother. You have my condolences for your loss."
"Thank you."
"I admit I prefer the usual tradition of saving soldiering for the second son only, but I admire the sacrifice your family made to defeat that monster."
"My brother was very fierce. He was never one to turn from a fight. Certainly tradition was not enough."
"So chivalrous, in the best sense. A sad loss. And your parents so soon after. A triple blow. I imagine these have been difficult years for you."
"There have been new burdens, certainly. I can only hope I have proved equal to them."
"Julia writes to me that you are exploring a newfound passion for estate management."
Colin cocked a brow at Julia in enquiry, but she only looked back at him, silent, still absorbing the information her grandmother had acquired from her own sources, that he had never seen fit to share with his new wife. A second son with responsibility thrust unexpectedly upon him as he grieved for the loss not only of a brother but of his parents as well. It was no wonder he had struggled beneath that burden. Yet he had never complained of it to her.
Why had he not told her?
"I don't imagine I have mastered the subject, but I find it far more interesting than I thought. It is Julia who has been the good influence." He turned a warm smile upon her. "She encouraged me to be more useful to the world."
"Did she? How very blunt of her. I have not known many men who embrace such a forthright opinion."
"I am always willing to learn."
"Such an attractive quality in a person. No doubt you will do well. Here is Mary with refreshments. Won't you take a seat, Mr Holbrook?"
So they spoke over a range of topics and Julia listened, finding it illuminating to witness Colin like this. Without a seductive conversational partner, she discovered his charming ease of manner was a natural part of him rather than a deliberately applied technique. He listened well and his interest seemed genuine. Of course Grandmere was a charmer herself, of the first caliber.
The two seemed to like each other. In due course she invited him to call her Eloise, a high distinction. Julia knew her heart had been won.
