It was all about appearances, after all.
“I wanted to be an independent woman,” Elise finally acknowledged with a nod. “I was tired of being married to a philandering husband and wondering if there was enough money to pay the servants. Tired of his drunkenness and his cruel words. Praying I wouldn’t find myself with child, because I didn’t want to have to protect it from the beast—”
“Jesus, Elise,” Godfrey whispered hoarsely, the curse a testament to his ignorance of the life she had lived as the Countess of Lancaster. “I had no idea. Had I known...” He swallowed, wondering what he might be capable of doing. “I would have—”
She held up a staying hand. “You’re right. I would not have considered your suit back then,” she admitted with a nod, saving him from making any kind of chivalrous claim. “But another year has passed, and circumstances have changed, and now you have proposed marriage.”
“I shall pay a visit to Doctors Commons on the morrow and see to a special license,” Godfrey stated.
“Tomorrow is Friday,” Elise reminded him. “Won’t you be at Parliament?”
“Not all day,” Godfrey countered. “Would you consider a ceremony on Saturday, perhaps?” he asked, his voice sounding rather hopeful.
Elise resisted the urge to inhale sharply. She hadn’t realized he would take her suggestion so seriously. What would the gossips think? “I suppose,” she hedged. “Although a sudden wedding will have the tongues wagging. Why, they’ll think we had to marry,” she added as her eyes widened. She took a swallow of scotch and found it went down far easier than the first sip.
Godfrey gave a shrug, realizing he rather liked the idea that some in the ton might think such a thing. “Let them think we had an affaire that’s left you enceinte,” he replied with a nod, his face lighting up suddenly. “It will be our secret that we didn’t.”
Giving him a quelling glance and about to say something along the lines of, it doesn’t quite work like that, Elise rather enjoyed seeing Godfrey’s expression just then. It was the first sign of joy she had seen on his face since the first day he had kissed her. He was rather handsome when he looked like that.
Happy.
The expression faded when he suddenly frowned, and the moment was lost.
“You said you had conditions.”
Elise inhaled softly, rather surprised he remembered. “Where will we live?” she asked. “You see, I refuse to spend the entire year living in the country.” She dared a glance around the room in which they sat, knowing the study would always be his domain. This might be the only time she was welcome here.
“Would you be amenable to moving in here? With me?” His enthusiasm had him looking as if he were ten years younger than he was. “We could live here year-round if you wish. We’d never have to go to the country.”
Elise blinked. “Do you ...? Is there enough room for me?” Enough room for a family?
Godfrey’s eyes widened. “I should hope so. There are fourteen rooms here,” he claimed. His eyes went skyward before he allowed a sigh when he remembered Elise had never toured the townhouse his family had owned since its original construction. “You’ll have your own bedchamber, of course, and then there’s mine. A bathing chamber. And a couple of guest bedchambers, a nursery and a salon. Those are all on the first floor. And then, down here, there’s a small ballroom. A breakfast parlor, and a dining room, and the parlor. Kitchen, butler’s pantry, and study,” he counted off, giving a nod when he had finished the inventory of rooms. He held his breath a moment. “You’re welcome to redecorate should you decide you don’t like the colors or... or the fabrics... or anything, for that matter. Throw out anything you don’t think is suitable. As long as...” He paused, his expression sobering suddenly.
“As long as...?” Elise prompted, wondering at the sudden change in him. Why, he looked as forlorn as he had when she had first arrived.
“As long as you don’t throw me out, I suppose,” he finally said.
Elise sighed before leaning forward. She placed a hand on his knee, giving it a bit of a shake. “I won’t,” she whispered. “That is, unless...” She stopped, her lips set in a thin line.
“Unless?” he prompted.
“I will not abide another philandering husband,” she stated suddenly, her chin thrust out in defiance. “It’s one of my conditions. Despite his vows and his assurances to my brother, James, Lancaster was never faithful to me. You have to promise...” She stopped when she paid witness to his expression of surprise. “What? Is that too much to ask? Because, if it is...”
Godfrey had to suppress the urge to laugh at her, but not for the reason she would assume. “Elise, please. I will be faithful to you to until my dying day,” he vowed, slowly getting to his feet. “And beyond. I promise.”
The empty tumbler dropped from his hand and rolled onto the carpet as he covered the space that barely separated them. His hands were suddenly beneath her arms, pulling her up to her feet. Despite her gasp of surprise, he embraced her, his arms pulling her hard against the front of his body before Elise quite knew what was happening.
Not having been held so close in a very long time, Elise closed her eyes and reveled in the sensation of his heat permeating the satin of her gown. Her own arms lifted to wrap around his shoulders, one hand moving to his head as her fingers speared the waves of his hair. “Then I make the same promise to you,” she murmured. She pulled away a bit so that she could look into his eyes when she said her next words. “I have only ever been with one other man, and that was my husband,” she added in a whisper. “He was a very poor lover. I never knew...” She paused as a flush covered her face. She might have attributed it to the scotch, but she knew it was embarrassment at the topic of her comment. “You shall have to teach me what I need to know to please you in bed.”
Left momentarily speechless, Godfrey tried to form the words he thought he should say just then, but instead he pulled her against his body again. “Jesus, Elise. I’ve a mind to...” He clamped his mouth shut, knowing he would never do what his overactive imagination had him imagining just then. At least, not until after they were wed. Even then, he wasn’t sure he would manage that particular fÍte.
“Oh, we really can’t tonight,” she said with a shake of her head. “I’ve no other clothes with me, and my coachman is out front...” She paused suddenly before allowing a nervous giggle. “But that’s probably not what you meant just then, is it?” she added uncertainly.
Godfrey kissed her then, his mouth taking possession of hers in a soft, slow kiss that seemed to send heat to every part of her body. The heat was necessary, though, as her entire body seemed to shiver beneath his hold. Desire bloomed while the front of her body molded to his. When his lips moved to her jaw and then to her neck, Elise allowed a quiet sigh. “I think I shall make kisses another condition of our marriage,” she managed to get out in a hoarse whisper.
“You needn’t, I assure you,” he countered, dipping his tongue into the hollow of her throat, just above where her pendant lay against her heated skin. “For I would make them one of mine.”
Elise allowed another gasp as his tongue trailed down to the neckline of her gown. She felt her nipples harden behind the fabric cups of her corset, and she gasped again. “Have you others?” she wondered as she used one of her hands to guide one of his to her breast. She inhaled sharply when he gently cupped it, molded it slowly.
“Others?” he repeated, finally pulling his lips away from her chest.
“Conditions?”
“Have you?” he countered, his brows furrowing as he brushed the edge of his thumb over her pebbled nipple. Despite the low light from the fireplace, he could see the silhouette of it through the dark red satin. He had half a mind to cover it with his mouth, but reason had him straightening instead. He would ruin the gown if he did. And he wanted to see her wearing it again. And again.
“I want a baby. Two, actually,” Elise whispered. “Maybe more.”
He blinked. “
Of course,” he nodded. “I need an heir,” he agreed with a nod. “Do you suppose...?” He swallowed, his head falling forward so his forehead rested on hers. “Would you be agreeable to sharing a bed? At least, whilst we sleep? For I think I shall want to hold you all night long. Keep you warm. Keep you safe.”
Nodding, Elise lifted her head and kissed him as she had done earlier that afternoon. “I think I’ll make a condition of it,” she murmured. “Unless you snore, and then we shall have to renegotiate.”
Godfrey grinned before sucking in a breath between his teeth. “Oh, how I wish I was married to you already. If I don’t send you home this very instant, my lady, we shall be saying our wedding vows without benefit of a bishop up in my bedchamber,” he warned.
Elise had half a mind to allow him to do so, but reason prevailed when she remembered how she was dressed. She would have to return to her townhouse at some point, preferably about the same time as she would if she were attending the theatre. Tomorrow was Friday. There would be morning callers.
“I’ll let my brother know I’ll be vacating my townhouse,” Elise said, a twinge making her wonder if she was doing the right thing. She allowed Godfrey to lead her to the vestibule.
“I’ve already asked and received his permission,” he replied as he lifted her mantle from the peg and held it for her. “Third time’s the charm?”
“What did you say?” Elise asked in alarm.
Godfrey blinked and allowed a one-shouldered shrug. “Your brother has finally given me permission to marry you. Which is another reason why my proposal occurred when it did.”
Elise nodded, a mix of anger at her brother and surprise at Godfrey thinking he needed the duke’s permission leaving her a bit discombobulated. “Good night,” she murmured.
Godfrey settled his lips onto hers and kissed her. “I can hardly wait to do this every single day for the rest of my life.”
Giving him a wan smile, Elise nodded her agreement and took her leave of Thorncastle’s townhouse.
Her future home.
Once she was settled in the squabs of her town coach, Elise wondered at Godfrey’s words.
Third time’s the charm.
Had the man really asked for James’ permission to marry her that many times?
Perhaps she should keep the ducal townhouse, just in case something happened. Just in case she was making a huge mistake in finally marrying Godfrey Thorncastle.
But in the meantime, she needed to have a word with James.
Chapter 19
A Son Confers with His Father
Meanwhile, back at Aimsley House
Adam strode through the hall, his boot heels sinking into the Axminster carpet runner decorating the center of it. On either side of him, the faces of past Aimsley earls and their countesses stared down at him. A few Breckinridge viscounts were scattered among the portraits, only one of which had a matching viscountess. Grandmother, he thought as he paused to gaze at the woman he could barely remember from his youth.
Had her raven hair been allowed to show instead of the ornate wig featured in the painting, Adam realized she and Diana could have been related. Given the common ancestors of so many aristocrats, perhaps they were. Both had heart-shaped faces that looked as if they could be made of porcelain, with wide-set eyes and rosebud lips meant for kissing. Grandmother’s were set in a teasing grin he recalled seeing several times.
He regarded the painting for a moment longer, frowning before he stepped closer. The ring tucked into his waistcoat pocket was featured in the painting, although the artist failed to capture the brilliance of its single diamond. The pendant at the hollow of her throat included a single gem, although it was impossible to tell just what kind of stone the gold setting surrounded.
Sighing, Adam stepped back, about to move on when he did a double-take. Why, he was quite sure his grandmother was winking at him. He moved closer, studying the brush strokes around her eyes, noting the tiny lashes and crinkles at the corners. She had been a handsome woman. Probably even pretty in her younger years. What had his grandfather deciding she would be his countess? he wondered. Had their marriage been one of convenience? Or one of mutual affection? Given her expression, he rather hoped it had been a happy union. He thought of what his intended might look like in forty years. She would still be beautiful. He was sure of it.
When he was convinced his grandmother’s portrait wasn’t winking, he finally gave the matron a bow and continued his trek down the wide hall.
He ignored several marble busts he was sure were watching him—as a child he half-expected one or more of them to come to life—and finally stopped at the half-opened door to his father’s study. Ducking his head past the opening, he was relieved to find Mark Comber, Earl of Aimsley, at his desk. The man gripped a pen in his right hand and was furiously writing.
“One more line and then you can interrupt,” the earl commented without taking his attention from the parchment in front of him.
Adam stood just inside the door, deciding to wait there rather than take a seat in front of the desk. He hadn’t yet determined how he was going to broach the subject he now thought to discuss with his father. At first, he had merely thought to inform the earl that he had decided on whom he was going to marry. Now, though, he had another concern.
When Mark Comber glanced up, he did a double-take. “Well, if this isn’t a surprise. What the hell brings you to Aimsley House on this fine night? Nothing good happening at White’s?” he asked as he waved his son to the chair in front of his desk. He was about to ask if Adam needed an advance on his allowance, but decided against it when he saw the serious expression on Adam’s face.
The oldest son shook his head. “How did you know Mother was the one?” Adam blurted as he took the proffered chair.
Aimsley blinked and stared at his son for a moment before turning to retrieve a decanter and two tumblers from the credenza behind his desk. Without saying a word, he poured a generous amount into each crystal glass and offered one to Adam. He lifted his own glass and said, “To ladies and their pinkies.”
Adam frowned but lifted his own in salute. “To pinkies,” he repeated, a hint of uncertainty in his voice. The scotch burned the back of his throat, but the smoky scent filled his nostrils at the same time the liquid heat seemed to fortify him. When he inherited the earldom, he would be sure to stock this scotch, he decided. He had a passing thought he could buy a bottle from Berry Bros. to have at his townhouse, but he rather doubted his allowance would cover the cost.
Watching his son for a moment, the earl finally sighed. “I think it was a bit of love at first sight coupled with a good deal of lust.”
Adam blinked, rather startled by his father’s candor. “Lust?” he repeated, suddenly not so sure he wanted to hear what his father had to say about meeting his mother.
“Oh, God, yes,” Aimsley replied before taking a sip from his scotch. “That woman could have led me around by my—”
“Father!” Adam interrupted, stunned at what the earl was suggesting. “You make Mother sound as if she was a... a courtesan,” he scolded, the last word said sotto voce. He had almost said something else, but decided he didn’t want his father knowing he knew such a word.
The earl seemed to think on the comment for a moment and was about to agree but gave a chuckle instead. “Pretty much,” he agreed with a grin. “Wanton is probably a better term, though. She still is.” He sobered, though, and gave a shrug. “I loved her. She loved me. Proved it to me several times before we were even wed,” he added with a naughty grin. “So I ruined her to ensure we would.”
Adam’s eyes rounded. Stunned at hearing that his mother, a paragon of propriety, would have bedded his father before their wedding had his head shaking in disbelief. “You’re joking,” he accused. Why, he had half a mind to challenge his father to a duel for impugning his mother’s honor like this!
Aimsley gave him a quelling glance. “Haven’t you done the math?”
Adam blinked, wond
ering if his father had somehow overheard his conversation with his betrothed at Gunter’s. “What math?”
The earl rolled his eyes. “Jesus, Adam. You were born seven months after the wedding,” Aimsley said with far too much amusement. “Surely you must have sorted that out by now.”
Truth be told, Adam hadn’t sorted the timing of his birth because he had never thought to do so. He was about to put voice to the thought but his father spoke up before he could.
“Tell me about yours now. And don’t try to claim you haven’t got one. You wouldn’t have put voice to such a question if you weren’t finally considering matrimony,” the earl stated firmly. “About damned time, too. If I’m two-and-fifty, you have to be about thirty.” He suddenly frowned. “You haven’t ruined her, I hope?”
Adam rolled his eyes. “Of course not!” Then he realized what else his father had said. “Two-and-fifty? That means you got married when you were...” Here Adam had to stop and attempt to do the math in his head while his father watched with baited breath.
“Two-and-twenty,” Aimsley finally said with a hint of impatience. “I take it you skipped school the day they taught simple arithmetic,” he accused. He was well aware of Adam’s truancy at Eton, but now he was growing concerned that perhaps the boy had missed more instruction than he thought.
Adam was about to explain that he had never been good at mathematics, but he wanted to get back to the matter at hand.
His betrothed.
“It’s true that I have proposed marriage. Mother knows—I just came from speaking with her—but given my future wife is an instructor at Warwick’s, I rather doubt there will be much of a dowry—”
The Secrets of a Viscount Page 13
