"Everything you prepare is lovely. I'm sure this will be no different." She smiled encouragingly at the older woman, hoping to ease her distress. "I want to thank you for providing such delicious food I can eat."
"It's a recipe of my mother's, but it's peasant food. I just couldn't think of…" She shook her head and smiled brightly. "Well, if you don't care for it, I have plenty of eggs."
That was that. Her psychological aversion to meat would have to stop. It was inconvenient and terribly distressing to their lovely cook. She rubbed the bump on her tummy. The babes hadn't caused her aversion; it was all in her head!
A footman set a plate in front of her. There was a large serving of asparagus and early peas nestled in a bed of crisply steamed carrot shavings. A thick slice of Mrs. Abernathy's delicious brown bread had been toasted and covered with a creamy sauce, yellow with specks of black pepper and other spices. It smelled rich and delicious. She carefully cut a bite from the bread and moaned in pleasure at the first taste.
"Heavens, what is this?"
"Welsh rarebit, my lady. It's cheese and cream with a dash of ale and spices. Is it acceptable?"
Smiling faintly at Elizabeth's vigorous nod, she glanced around the room and dropped a curtsy before leaving.
"So good," Elizabeth muttered around the food in her mouth. Her manners were atrocious, but she didn't care. She would begin work on relieving herself on her unfortunate weakness tomorrow, but Mrs. Abernathy would be making this delicious recipe again.
Pepper and a hint of the rich ale served in the village tavern burst in her mouth. There were other things, too. A tease of mustard, and perhaps the sharp bite of grated cinnamon. The sauce would be delicious with… No, it was perfect as it was.
Her husband glared at the meal as if it offended him but took a resigned bite. His face lit up with pleased delight, and he demolished his serving almost as quickly as she had.
"We should have this for luncheon. Often."
She laughed and continued chewing on the crisp-tender vegetables. She didn't even like peas, yet they were almost as good as everything else. "I hope she never retires." Her plate empty, she sighed and dabbed at her mouth with her napkin.
Footmen removed their empty plates, replacing them with tiny tartlets, sparkling with dusted sugar. She took a bite and moaned. The acrid taste of rhubarb burst on her tongue, softened by a hint of strawberry. Cream on top soothed the bite further. Mrs. Abernathy had a very gentle hand with the sugar.
She finished the delicious treat in just a few large bites then glanced hopefully at Richard's. With a chuckle, he pushed the dessert toward her. "Go ahead, darling. Mrs. Abernathy will be pleased you liked it.
"But I don't want to take yours!"
"I insist. I confess that I don't much care for it."
She finished the second tartlet and settled back into her chair, rubbing her belly. She was full and warm, yet not quite ready to sleep. She'd been asleep forever, it seemed.
"I wish we could take a short walk, but it's grown dark."
"If it weren't so chilly, I would take you. Would you like to read or play chess before you go to bed?"
Her mood brightened at the thought of a chess game. "Do you play?"
"No, but Denforth is considered quite a master. Shall we ask if he'd care to indulge you?"
"I could teach you." She had no idea where the offer had come from but decided she liked the idea. Perhaps he would enjoy it.
Giving her a shamefaced grin, he said, "Perhaps we'll wait for a day when we have more time. I tried to learn once, but I was an utter failure."
They sent a maid to ask Lord Denforth to join them, and within moments he met them in the library.
"I understand you wish to be thoroughly trounced at chess, my lady."
She arched an eyebrow, but said nothing as she took the chair on the black side of the table. When he joined her, she said, "Pride cometh before a fall, my lord."
He tossed his head back and laughed, his green eyes glittering with mirth. "Indeed. Shall we begin?"
They played silently at first. Michael was a solid opponent, and she had to think about the game. Brows furrowed above his eyes, he contemplated the board, choosing and discarding several moves before dropping his rook into a glorious opportunity for a checkmate.
He swore colorfully before making the only move he could, taking her knight and allowing her to snatch the king with her bishop.
"Bloody wench," he muttered. Yet there was no heat to his words, and he smiled with admiration.
"Shall we play again?"
Shaking his head, he stood. "One trouncing is enough for an evening, and I plan to leave early tomorrow."
"I should like a chance to speak with you before you go, my lord. I have many questions."
"Of course. We shall talk over breakfast." He glanced slyly at Richard and bent to drop a kiss on her cheek. "You play a good game, my lady. Your husband should take care that some blighter doesn't steal you away."
Michael’s words made Elizabeth wonder if he referred only to their chess game.
Richard growled irritably, making Michael chuckle as he left the room.
"I believe it's time for us to retire, my dear. Are you ready for bed?"
"I want to take a bath first, but after that, I shall be ready for a good night's sleep."
He frowned harder. She wouldn't have thought it was possible after he'd witnessed Michael give her that rather improper but entirely chaste kiss. "I would prefer you wait until tomorrow. You might catch a chill."
"The house is perfectly warm. I've been in bed for days and feel utterly foul." She crossed her arms mulishly. "I want a bath."
He sighed heavily. "Stubborn chit. Very well, but you're not to spend all night soaking."
"Of course not! The water would grow cold." She grinned as he hefted her into his arms, pleased that she'd gotten her way.
He carried her up the stairs slowly. She didn't complain about his pace or about being carried. It was lovely to be taken care of, but she would insist that he let her stand on her own feet tomorrow. One didn't mend from injury by lying about all day!
"I should like for you to sit with me while I bathe. We have things to discuss."
"It can wait until you finish. It would be inappropriate for me to stay while you bathe."
She laughed, her body shaking so hard he nearly dropped her as he freed an arm to open the door to their chamber. "Do be serious, Richard." She had to pause while she gasped for breath. "Do you not recall our wedding night? Why I haven't bathed by myself since…"
Her voice trailed off and she sobered. "I'm sorry."
His face was pale, and he kept his eyes averted as he set her on her feet in the bathing chamber. He nodded and turned to leave.
"Richard, wait." She put a hand on his arm, stilling him. "I— Well, I suppose I'm not sure what to say about this. I believe I've lost whatever modesty I possessed. Perhaps I've realized there are things that are more important to me than whether someone sees my body."
She let him go and sat down in front of the dressing table, working her hair from its braid. "I suppose it is inappropriate, and perhaps it's a mark of my poor breeding." She grimaced and barked out a dry laugh. "I have no female relative or married friends who might have given me their wisdom. I don't know what is supposed to go on between men and their wives."
Considering her hair, she decided she was unwilling to wait for it to dry and twisted it in a knot at the top of her head. "Do married couples maintain separate chambers? Do they come together once a month in the dark, hoping she will conceive so that he might go back to his entertainments? Do they share a bed every night?"
She stood and turned to face him, unlacing her dress and allowing it to drop to her feet. "You said something to me on our wedding night. You said you intended to start as you meant to go on. I don't want to have a separate chamber. I wish for us to talk and laugh, and even make love when the mood strikes us. I want to be wife and mistress to you."
He stared at her in shock as she sauntered toward him, her gaze determinedly fixed on his eyes. She touched his chest, her hand absorbing his warmth as he stiffened and backed away.
"I— I can't, my lady." He turned and tripped over his own damned feet as he fled the chamber.
"Coward," she hissed. She stomped to the tub and turned the taps so the water ran as hot as she could stand it. When it filled, she climbed in, wincing at the scalding heat. A cake of her favorite lemon and honey soap rested on the shelf, and she scrubbed her body until her skin turned pink from the abrasion and the warmth of the bath.
After drying off, she pulled Richard's shirt over her head, lifting the collar to her nose. It smelled like him. The lime and sandalwood of his soap, combined with something that was uniquely him. The bell between her legs chimed as she clenched her thighs together.
Why had she kept the blasted things this long? She could remove them whenever she wished! She propped her foot up on a chair and examined the bell. It attached to the ring with a simple clasp and it was a matter of seconds to rid herself of its noisy presence. Yet her hands stilled when she touched the ring piercing the flesh above her nubbin. She lowered her foot to the floor and left it right where it was.
The rings in her nipples were another matter. She would have to remove all of them, including the one between her legs before she gave birth, but surely, they could wait until she thought about it. She unclasped the bells and tossed them into the wastebasket along with their mate. How did Richard see them? Would he like them now that he wasn't under a spell?
Would he find them a horrifying reminder of that dark time? She resolved to ask him, but not tonight.
A— Well, her husband's former mistress, was perhaps correct when she'd called her ill-bred. A proper lady would have removed them right away. Truly, a proper lady wouldn't have gotten them in the first place.
A proper lady would not have enjoyed her husband's mistress's attentions the first day. She'd done so with disturbing alacrity, even though she suspected Richard had drugged her. A proper lady would have screamed the house down and demanded that the strumpet be thrown out on her ear. By the time she'd thought to do so, it had already been too late.
She had no interest in being proper. If it meant she could keep her husband from straying, she would whore for him in their bedchamber and save her noble propriety for excursions.
Her decision made, she pulled the shirt off and sauntered into the bedchamber.
She smirked with delight at Richard's indrawn hiss of air when he turned to look at her. It was quite rewarding to see his face pale then flush. His cock hardened before her avid gaze, making his trousers tent.
"Christ, woman! Will you please put something on?"
"Why?" She continued walking toward him, hips swaying gently with the movement forward.
He gaped at her, his mouth opening and closing as her appearance rendered him mute. He coughed, clearing his throat. "I— You—"
"Yes?" She tried to keep her smile in check but couldn't help a tiny grin of triumph.
"You have to put something on. A wrapper, perhaps, or a dressing gown. I can't think when I see you like that."
"I'm more comfortable this way." She brushed past him, allowing her breasts and her rounded belly to touch his arm, as she made her way to the huge bed.
"Bloody hell!" His fingers snagged in his tangled hair as he drew his hands over his head. His voice was a deep growl, rumbling low into a whisper. "Put something on, Elizabeth."
Start as you mean to go on. She ignored that warning sound, trusting that he wouldn't harm her, and flopped on the bed, sitting up with the sheet covering her lap. "Come to bed, my lord."
He bared his teeth at her and began tearing the shirt and trousers from his body. Seams ripped and buttons made tiny pinging noises as they scattered about the floor. She simply watched as he prowled closer to the bed like a great, hungry beast.
"You tempt me, wife. I should take care with you. I should sleep in another chamber," he said as he crawled toward her, his long limbs fast covering the distance between them. When he reached her, he yanked on her ankle, tugging her down the bed until she could lay flat.
She squealed when he rubbed his bristly cheek against her belly, stroking her bump with a large palm. Unable to contain her giggling, she squirmed under him until he trapped her legs with his heavy body.
Giving her a wicked grin, he said, "Are you ticklish, my dear?"
"Of course not!" The very idea was unfathomable. She didn't have a ticklish bone in her body. Yet a snort of laughter escaped her when he lowered his face to her belly once again, his whiskers tickling the sensitive skin around her navel.
"Hmm. I believe you might be mistaken." He trailed his fingers down her ribs, the touch featherlight, smirking as she bit her lip.
Chuckling, he scraped his nails down her sides as he started tickling her in earnest.
She tried to hold it back. Surely tickling was for children! Yet she dissolved into laughter, infecting Richard with the joyful sound. Gasping for breath, she tried to tell him to stop and wriggled away, but she couldn't escape those searching fingers.
Yet she didn't want to, not entirely. The gentle touch was a balm on her skin, for all that her laughter made her struggle to breathe. She loved hearing him join her in their happiness. Had she ever really heard him laugh like this? So free and abandoned, like he must have as a child.
And just as suddenly as she laughed, she was sobbing, tears streaming down her face as she turned to her side and let the fear, pain, and stress of the past months pour from her in a poisonous flood.
Richard was there, gathering her shuddering body into his lap as he rocked her. "You've never really cried, have you? Even when we were abusing you, you only cried from the physical pain. Did you cry when you thought yourself alone?"
She shook her head and buried her face into his chest, unable to speak through her sobs. How utterly mortifying! She'd had such grand plans for tonight; for taking back what belonged to her. She wanted her self-respect, her confidence, and she wanted her husband.
"Then cry now, Elizabeth. For as long as you want. I will hold you." He yanked a case off one of the pillows and pressed it into her hand, rocking her gently as he hummed a tuneless melody in her ear.
Yet as her sobs eased, she knew she'd needed the catharsis of tears. She'd needed to push out all those unhappy feelings; get rid of them so they couldn't taint her future. It was irritating she couldn't have done this by herself, rather than wasting time she should have been using to woo her husband back into her bed.
He hadn't left her, though. She'd thought he would race off in terror and find one of the maids or Mrs. Abernathy. Instead, he'd held her, rocking her as one might do for a child.
She sniffed and wiped her hot face on the pillowcase he'd given her, scowling down at the mess she'd made. What a watering pot she'd been! "I'm sorry. I got you all wet."
"Don't think on it. I'm sure I'll dry soon enough." He stood up with her body in his arms. "Let's get you cleaned up and into bed. Things will look better in the morning."
He carried her into the bathing chamber and helped her to sit in a chair as he dampened a cloth with cool water. Wiping her face gently, he asked, "Do you think you might sleep now?"
She was quite tired. Her eyes felt hot and swollen, though the wet cloth soothed them. Truly, she felt quite boneless from her crying, and even a little childlike as he cared for her. He slipped his shirt over her head.
"No, I don't want it. I hate sleeping in clothes."
"Elizabeth, I can't—" His jaw tightened and he looked away. "I'm afraid I will lose my good judgment if I see your beautiful body for a single moment more." He yanked the shirt over her head and grabbed her hands to push them into the sleeves.
"But—"
"Enough. You shall remain clothed for tonight. If it wasn't in shreds in the rag pile, I'd put you back into that heavy nightgown."
She scowled and tried t
o tug the shirt off, but he slapped her hands away. It was one thing to dress while out amongst people, but she didn't want anything between her skin and Richard's.
His voice was a deep, determined hiss in her ear. "If you persist in behaving like a child, I shall treat you like one. Shall I get your hairbrush to punish your naughty bottom?"
She stiffened and her hands fell away from the shirt. Would he punish her like he had before? Would she like it? It was quite scandalous, but she very much wanted to try some of his games. Just not tonight.
"No, my lord," she whispered.
"Good." He sent her a glare and carried her to bed, settling in next to her. His stiff cock poked into her backside as he pulled her into his arms, and it was all she could do to stop herself from rubbing against it.
Despite the need dripping freely from her cunt, she was at peace in his embrace and her eyes closed, exhaustion taking her into sleep.
Chapter 16
My wife disagrees with marriage. She says it's a construct of a society determined to bind women into servitude and prostitution. She says she doesn't believe in love. I have every intention of proving my little bluestocking wrong.
Richard Lionel Bartholomew, Ninth Earl of Shepton
The sun was very bright through her window when she finally opened her eyes. Bloody hell! She'd slept like the dead! She grinned and turned over to wake her husband like she'd done all those weeks ago, before…
She'd quite liked waking him up that way, but he was gone and the sheets were cold. Intolerable man! Sighing heavily, she got to her feet and trudged into the bathing chamber to wash and take care of her personal needs.
When she returned to the room, she found Sarah pulling a charming green morning dress from the wardrobe. She squeaked when she saw Elizabeth.
"My lady! I heard you moving about and came to help you dress, but I can come back if you plan to go back to bed."
"No, it's fine. I want to go down to breakfast. Do you know where Lord Shepton is?"
"He's in his study. He told us to let you sleep, but to tell you that breakfast will be in the morning room when you're ready."
Wicked Deception (Wicked Magic Book 1) Page 18
