by Heather Boyd
But this morning could be awkward. He squared his shoulders and marched himself to the breakfast room doorway, prepared for awkwardness between them, but resolved to confront it head-on. He was ready now for the impact of having a desirable wife to bed. The next time he went to her, he’d keep his wits about him far better.
Lenore was seated at the table already, but there were no servants in the room right then. Only her dog was with her today, the beast staring with devoted bliss at his mistress the way all dogs did. His wife was dressed in a blue gown and held a slice of buttered bread in one hand, the paper in the other. Her delicate pink lips parted, and then she stuck the bread in her mouth so she could use both hands to turn the pages.
And then she went back to munching and reading.
Charmed to catch her in an unguarded moment, Price leaned against the doorway, studying his wife unobserved. This morning, she looked no different than when she’d first arrived in his home. Was that the same dress, too? He wasn’t sure but it didn’t matter. The temptress of last night might be gone now, but he knew she was still there, carefully hidden behind a tight bun and a prim, unfashionable morning gown.
Even now, his treacherous body reacted to her. Just being so close seemed to make his cock twitch and swell a little, eager for further bed sport if the time was right. But it wasn’t the right time. Lenore would need a few days to recover before he went to her bed again.
The dog barked suddenly, and she sighed. “I don’t bite, Carmichael.”
“I might,” he warned, and then cursed his traitorous tongue for revealing too much when her shoulders stiffened. “I’m starving.”
“There’s plenty,” she told him without turning.
Hero ran to him, and Price gave him a hearty good morning rub as he always did. Then he strolled into the room, attempting to quell his desire, put it back in their proper place, and be his usual self once more around her. The morning room was no place to make love to a wife the night after her first time. Perhaps the third or fourth time. He didn’t know how bold his wife might be outside of a bedchamber but he vowed to find out one day.
Her face was creased in a frown as he moved around the room to view her better. She looked a bit tired around the eyes but her customary smile was in place for him. “Did you sleep well last night?”
“Like the dead,” she promised, folding the paper neatly and sliding it toward the head of the table, where a second place setting was laid out for him. She looked down at her fingers. “Did you sleep?”
“I don’t sleep as much as I used to,” he warned, hoping his comings and goings last night hadn’t disturbed her.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I’m growing used to searching for the stars when I’m in London, when the air is clean enough to see them, that is,” he replied, smiling. “You can get a lot of thinking done at night when it is quiet.”
“Yes, you can,” she agreed.
Sleep only came when he was deep in his cups. Last night he’d not indulged in spirits at all, and as always happened, restlessness had plagued him the minute he’d left Lenore’s bed. He’d gotten up again and left the house to chase away the blue devils that haunted his night hours.
It was the first time in a long time he’d not gone to Madam Bradshaw’s to get through the night, though. He’d just had his men drive him around, and when they’d complained the hour was growing late, he’d ordered them inside his coach and driven the team himself while they slept. He’d found the sound of the horse’s hooves on the cobblestones soothing.
Price glanced over the sideboard and noticed everything he wanted to eat was in plentiful supply. This morning, because he’d not been drinking, he felt decidedly seedy. A hearty breakfast would certainly help and a few drinks later would fix him, but not yet. Not until after he and Lenore had talked today. After ensuring she was happy about last night, he’d retreat to his study and take away his restless urges with whatever drink fell to hand.
He looked at the table’s place settings and hesitated. The breakfast arrangements had certainly become more elaborate since he’d married. The second-best dinnerware was on the table, along with a few foods he’d not eaten at breakfast for a long time. They were probably Lenore’s choices, and he was glad she was altering his prior arrangements to make this their home. But there were things that had not changed, unfortunately. Price had always sat at the head of the table. It had worked well for a bachelor who always ate alone.
But he was a married man now, and in this marriage, he found he wanted to be nearer his wife for conversation. He didn’t want to raise his voice to ask her a question. Occasionally, he might even find the urge to touch her hand—or elsewhere—unstoppable. If they were closer, it would make their marriage more like a good friendship and a pleasure for both of them.
He decided to sit in a spot directly beside Lenore—and moved everything laid out for him to the new location. Satisfied with the change, he loaded a plate himself then sat down to eat at last, feeling ravenous.
After a while, he realized he could have heard a pin drop in the morning room. He glanced sideways and couldn’t help but notice Lenore wasn’t eating. She seemed uneasy as she watched him wolf down his breakfast. She looked away just as quickly, and he set down his knife and fork beside his plate. “I do apologize.”
“For what?”
“For ignoring you.”
Her cheeks began to redden, and he sat back in his chair to look at her. He wasn’t the only uncomfortable one sitting down to breakfast this morning, was he? Was she angry with him because he’d left her unsatisfied? Price had thought Lenore unaware of his failure when he’d left her last night. Had he been wrong about her expectations?
“Would you care for tea, my lord?”
He noticed she referred to him as “my lord” again, and had stopped using his given name.
She was definitely unhappy about last night, and he didn’t know what to say that could fix it. Any course of action to satisfy his wife would have to wait until tonight and the privacy of her bedchamber.
She looked at him, one brow rising as she waited for his answer about tea. “No, thank you, Lenore.” He smiled, studying his wife’s blushing face, and was reminded of last night all over again. He could feel his own face heating up now. “Humphries will bring the coffeepot directly.”
He dug into his food again before it grew cold, pushing aside his worries about Lenore for the time being. If he had hurt her too much last night, he was certain she would have said something or tried to push him off. He distinctly remembered her arms wrapped around him, pulling him closer instead of away.
He shifted in his seat and glanced at her again. There was that blush on her cheeks still, letting him know she was aware of him as much as he was of her. He would bring up the matter of last night with her when he could be certain a servant wasn’t about to waltz through the door.
Sure enough, a minute later, a footman arrived carrying a tray. He settled both coffeepot and cup at Price’s elbow and went away.
He heard a sniff and looked at Lenore, half afraid that his wife was weeping.
However, Lenore was leaning forward a little in her chair, nose twitching as she stared at the coffeepot recently set down by his plate.
He leaned toward her. “I take it you’d like some?”
“I’ve never had coffee.” She sat back. “The women I worked for would never allow it in their households. They said it would straighten my hair.”
He grinned. Lenore had lovely hair, long and thick, and with curls that had flowed out across her pillow in gentle waves as he’d made love to her. He would not allow her hair to be changed, or anything else about her, really. He longed to take her hair down right now but that would mean he’d also want to make love to her again. He couldn’t do that, so he pushed the inclination ruthlessly from his mind. “Superstitious nonsense.”
“Yes, there is a lot of that in the world.”
Price laughed softly. “When I see friends tossing
salt over their shoulders it usually makes me laugh. Not a good idea when it’s the Prince Regent, though.”
Lenore nodded absently as she continued to stare at his cup and sniff the air—enhanced with the scent of his freshly brewed coffee.
“Would you like to sip my coffee, Lenore? A taste?”
“I was considering asking for another cup to be brought in by a servant. I shouldn’t impose on your pleasure.” A sad smile curved her lips. “But I guess if you don’t mind sharing what you have just this once, I could be persuaded to try a sip.”
This marriage would be easier if they were more comfortable around each other and shared a great many things. Breakfast, amusements, and their beds. “Be my guest.”
He filled his cup, added sugar, and stirred it well. Then he slid the cup along the table toward Lenore. “It can be very hot. Blow a little before sipping, or you might burn your tongue.”
She pouted her pink lips and blew across the dark surface before taking a tentative sip, and then flicking out her tongue to taste her own lips.
Price shifted in his chair again as his body responded to the innocent gesture as if she’d blown across his skin instead. He couldn’t tear his eyes from her mouth. The sight of her pink tongue was immediately provocative. He stared at her, wanted to taste her lips, too. They had not kissed last night, and he regretted denying himself that pleasure. He’d deliberately avoided her mouth because it had felt too personal and intimate. Still, the taste of her skin, the softness of her body under him, had been almost too much anyway. But he’d considered kissing her near the end. When he had got back out of her bed to leave, but he’d felt too awkward to try as he said good night.
He could kiss her now.
He leaned toward her just as she took another sip, and then she grimaced before putting the cup back down. “I wasn’t missing anything, apparently.”
Lenore pressed a napkin to her lips.
Price swayed back without kissing her. “It is an acquired taste,” he murmured. At least he would never have to share his morning coffee with Lenore. Some husbands did, he’d heard, though soon purchased a larger coffeepot.
When Lenore attempted to pass the cup back, Price reached to take it from her. Their fingers brushed. That worrisome desire rose within him again, making him tremble. A need to take up her hand, pull her close and perhaps make her deliriously happy this morning grew within him. Was Lenore adventurous enough to make love here? He wasn’t sure what Lenore required to be happily married, but he wanted to find out.
He fumbled the cup, spilling the contents over the tabletop. The hot coffee ran everywhere, and they both reared back to avoid getting any on their clothes.
Price swore an oath, annoyed with himself for his clumsiness. “What the hell is wrong with me?”
“It’s only coffee,” she murmured calmly. Lenore turned away, walked around him to the mantel, and pulled the bell for a servant to come clean his mess.
She returned and stopped at his side. “Don’t worry about this. The servants will have the table sorted in no time at all and the table reset.”
Price felt profoundly foolish for his clumsiness and outburst, and then she touched his hand, and everything became worse. His cheeks heated and his cock swelled, too, beyond his power to control himself.
He wanted Lenore—to hold her, kiss her, make love to her right now and never stop.
But his wife had been an innocent last night. She deserved better from him than ravishment.
Knowing she might see his arousal, and expecting embarrassment, Price snatched up the paper and put it across his groin. He turned away from her and walked to the window, pretending he was going to read the day’s headlines while standing up as the servants went about their work cleaning up after him.
He knew he was being rude but he had not the words to explain how out of character he felt around her. She confounded him. He’d never expected to react to a woman like this in his life. Not even Angela had stirred such unprovoked desire in him the few times they’d managed to be alone.
Lenore spoke to a servant, her voice confident, calm, as she conveyed her instructions for the table to be cleaned and reset.
He wished he felt the same but he couldn’t pretend to be unaffected by his wife. This marriage he’d arranged was supposed to have had a simple purpose—the getting of an heir and then pleasant, uncomplicated companionship for the rest of their lives. It helped that he found her attractive, but that was where the line had been drawn in his mind.
The intense desire Lenore stirred in him was utterly unexpected and confusing. He was not in love with Lenore, but he seemed to crave her now.
He shook his head, disgusted with himself. He’d promised to be a good husband, not a wild beast in the bedchamber with only one thought in his head. He only needed to join her in bed to give her a child, as promised. Besides that, he was supposed to live his own life, and she would, too.
Could their marriage be more than he’d arranged? Would she even want things to be different between them?
He slowly turned to face Lenore.
She was watching the servants at work, and not him. They were stacking plates onto a tray under her watchful eye. She nodded as they worked, casting quick glances in her direction and smiling at her encouragement. He’d never noticed them so happy when cleaning up his messes before. Lenore certainly knew a thing or two about how households should be run properly, and how to get the best out of the servants in her employ.
Maybe that was why he’d written to her in the first place. He certainly trusted her to do things the right way and understand the importance of the family legacy.
He suddenly couldn’t wait to take her home to Edenmere Park. To see her stroll through those halls as its new mistress. Watch her with the housekeeper and cook as they managed the grand old house. When the day was over, they could stroll out onto the lawns together, breaking the rules his father had once set to keep them apart. As the only two children living in the house, he’d always been drawn to seek her out.
Price had married someone he didn’t expect to love, but desired beyond anything he’d ever felt before. He was supposed to be in mourning for Angela, and the other poor women his godmother had murdered. He’d promised to love Angela forever on the night she’d died…but looking at Lenore, being married to her, brought those intentions into conflict.
He hadn’t intended to give himself permission to be truly happy until a full year had passed, and yet…
Perhaps he was unsettled because he’d gone a long time without pleasure, first in waiting for Angela to accept his suit, and then because Lenore had asked for time. Either way, his wife was turning out to be quite the surprise to his starved senses.
She looked up suddenly, and he became lost in her eyes for a moment. Lenore dropped her gaze first. Her lips pressed tight together for a moment as she stared at the floor between them where Hero lay.
Lenore wasn’t happy with him right now, and that was entirely his doing.
He had to get himself under control before the next time they were together. He had to find a way to explain himself and not embarrass her too much. If only the damn servants would hurry up and go away again, he might explain himself now over breakfast.
If they were alone, he could cross the room and pull her into his arms and make the mistakes he’d made last night a distant memory for both of them.
Lenore suddenly turned on her heel and headed for the open doorway. “I’ll find out what’s keeping the servant who went for a fresh coffee cup for you,” she called over her shoulder.
And then she left without looking back at Price, and although he remained until after the servants had come and gone, Lenore did not return to finish breakfast with him.
Chapter 15
Lenore did not see Carmichael for days after that awkward first breakfast after they’d made love. He kept to himself, and she didn’t even have to try to avoid him. She’d no idea what he did with his days and nights, and she didn�
��t care. Lenore was not curious about him anymore. He’d made his feelings clear. He didn’t want to be with her beyond exchanging pleasantries over breakfast.
Lenore did check with the butler sometimes that her husband had actually been seen by a member of the staff. The answer was always yes, and she considered herself a good enough wife and to have done her duty.
Carmichael never returned to her bedchamber of his own accord, even though she’d not locked her door against him. Lenore still prepared herself each night, knowing it would take more than one night to make a child, and she wanted one, more than she’d believed possible.
Even without her husband around, her days were busy. She had enjoyed the challenge of making Lord Carmichael’s home hers, but she was now running out of things to order to be dusted or rearranged. With free time on her hands, she was starting to ponder what her life should become now that she would always be Lady Carmichael.
She’d not had a lady’s education but the time spent at the Hillcrest Academy was slowly filling the gaps in her knowledge, as were the numerous books littering her night table. She devoured anything and everything to ensure she’d never embarrass herself when she met another lady in society.
Without her husband’s involvement in her life, invitations to meet women of similar status had not eventuated. Nothing much had changed in her life except for her address and the quality of her garments.
Having her own carriage was quite a boon, though. She was able to go to places she’d only read about in the newssheets. She visited Albemarle Street often, ventured out on shopping expeditions with the Hillcrest cousins, and Hero, too.
As the days passed and conversations were shared with friends, she picked up a few things about the murders that she hadn’t realized. Her husband had been involved with the capture of the culprit—his godmother, Lady Scott. It had been an ugly business indeed, more than she’d read about in the papers months later. Carmichael was rumored to have slain the woman in defense of a friend. He’d been injured, too, though he’d never mentioned that.
