by Heather Boyd
“You’re going home?”
Wharton nodded. “After Christmas.”
“After attending Exeter’s little gathering?”
Wharton nodded slowly. “Have you told him you’re planning to go yet?”
Price shook his head. “I haven’t decided if I am or not.”
“Nonsense. When Exeter entertains, you always attend, just like I do.”
He knew that. “I want to talk to my wife about it. She might have reservations.”
“Afraid she’ll not be made welcome by our acquaintances?”
He wasn’t afraid of that. She’d find her place in society eventually, just like everyone new did. “I haven’t talked to her about it yet.”
“Dear God, man, why not? If you leave it too long you might find yourself bunked down in the stables.”
“He does have more rooms than he knows what to do with.”
“What woman wouldn’t want to spend the winter in a duke’s home? Besides, I’ll be there.”
Price rolled his eyes. “My wife will hardly be swayed by your presence.”
“Don’t been so sure. After weeks of being married to you, she might long for a change of scenery in the bedroom.”
Price leveled his friend with a cold stare. “Don’t.”
Wharton chortled. “See, now we’re getting to the heart of the matter.”
“What heart?”
“The reason you’re not at home tonight.” Wharton pointed his finger toward Price. “You, my friend, are afraid to go home for some reason.”
“I am not.”
“I think you are, and it has something to do with your wife?”
“Ridiculous,” Price said, reaching for his glass. It was empty, so he had no choice but to set it down again.
“Could you not perform?”
Maybe he could pick up the glass and throw it. “Wharton, you had better watch what you say next?”
“All right, all right.” Wharton smirked. “But from what I’ve heard, most newly married men usually are eager to be with their wives more often than you seem to be.”
“I am.”
Wharton smirked again. “Is that the problem?”
There was a tap on the door and a footman rushed in. “I have an urgent message for Lord Carmichael.”
Price flung out his hand, glad that the message might have saved him from further impertinences. He was doing his best to curb his fantasies about Lenore, to no avail. But he was now plagued by desire instead of haunted by dreams of murders.
He read the letter quickly, it was terse and to the point. He was to come home for dinner. A private dinner. Just he and his wife to attend. “I am afraid I will have to take my leave.”
“Nothing wrong, I hope?”
“Nothing, but I do have to go. Send me the papers about the mill if you want my opinion on that, too,” Price offered, already heading for the door. His carriage was brought round soon after.
On the way home, he felt impatient. He found being summoned to dinner by his wife vastly unsettling. He should have expected to have to sit down with her again at some point, he supposed, but her demand for him to come home, made via a note she’d had a footman deliver, had caught him by surprise. For a moment, he’d thought something terrible had happened to Lenore, and he would have liked to have more warning than an hour to prepare himself.
He threw himself from the carriage before the steps had been put down and raced up to the front door. He used his own key to let himself in and immediately looked for Lenore. She wasn’t to be found in the dining room so he paced the drawing room, waiting for her to come downstairs and join him.
It would be a quick dinner, he assumed. Just pleasantries and the meal, and then he’d probably go out as he usually did.
He did not want to abandon his wife, but he had not yet found peace with his attraction to her. There was also the unsettling discovery that he did not entirely trust himself. Time apart was for her own good, as well as his. Perhaps next year things would be different, no doubt. After the anniversary of Angela’s murder had passed, and the others, too, he would set his mourning aside and make a fresh start.
Price finally heard her step in the hall when he had stopped right beside the door she would come through. He spun about and made a quick dash for the nearest chair and threw himself into it. His aim was to appear patient and unconcerned by her arrival—the embodiment of gentlemanly reserve and decorum. He’d not want to frighten her with what he was really thinking.
Lenore swept into the room, and her eyes immediately fell upon him.
Her look was decidedly unfriendly. He took her in from head to toe, and quaked. Gone was the dull gown of the morning, and in its place was a woman of sensual beauty who drew him close even as he tried not to allow it. Lenore had a lovely figure, and she showed it off now to her advantage. What had happened to the sensible companion he’d married? She’d vanished to be replaced by a woman of style and elegance. A woman certain of herself.
She styled her hair differently now, too. Soft, unformed curls framed her face, giving her a lustrous quality he wanted to hold on to and never let slip through his fingers. Price’s lustful thoughts roared back to life as he remembered the night he’d spent in her bed.
His attention was drawn to the lush rise and fall of her breasts above her elegant evening gown, and he tried to loosen his cravat in vain.
He wrenched his eyes upward to look at her face in a desperate bid to control himself.
Lenore’s eyes were upon him still, and a slow smile appeared on her face.
Price clenched his fist by his side, but he wanted to dart across the room and sweep her up in his arms again and kiss her.
Take her to bed.
Make love to her all night.
She was not the spinster he’d wed but the siren he’d bedded by candlelight.
He gulped hard, fighting his need.
His wife looked…
…very well indeed.
She drew closer. “Carmichael, how glad I am that you could join me tonight.”
“I was thrilled to receive your note,” he promised, though he was still uncertain it was a good idea.
“I hope I have not upset your plans for the evening.”
“Not at all.”
“Good.” She rubbed her hands together. “I had invited company for luncheon, but they could not join me at the last minute. The housekeeper had gone to a lot of trouble on my behalf, and I didn’t want to be wasteful. It seemed a shame not to share at least one evening meal with you.”
He heard the rebuke about his absence and jumped to his feet. “Shall we go in to dine together?”
He held out his arm to take her. Her touch was not light upon his arm, and the scent of her perfume curled around his senses, causing him no end of trouble. He hoped she did not look down before they reached the dining table.
But Lenore shook her head and turned him from the door, back into the room, with a pressure he found impossible to resist. “Let’s talk first. Would you be so kind as to pour me a sherry, husband?”
Tasks. Price could perform those without needing his brain that was engaged in a battle with his libido. He also would have his back to her for several much-needed minutes.
He managed the feat of pouring and turned. Lenore had sat down on the love seat. There was room beside Lenore to sit with her, and when she patted the space, it was clear he was expected to join her. He wet his lips. “Where is Hero tonight?”
“Probably in the kitchen, making eyes at the cook again and whatever food is nearest to hand.”
He nodded. He’d heard the dog had the kitchen staff wrapped around his tiny paw.
On legs that were not so steady, he managed to cross the room to deliver the drink to his wife.
Lenore patted the space beside her again. “Please sit here next to me.”
“I… Yes,” he said, and then gulped hard. “Of course.”
He sat and crossed his leg over the other, which hel
ped conceal the thickening inside his trousers that had never really gone away. He placed his arms so they too afforded cover for his tented trousers.
Lenore sighed.
Finally, he looked at her again. There was an expression on her face that he didn’t recognize. “How are you?”
“Quite well.” She tipped her head and studied his face. “You don’t look well, though, husband.”
“I’m fine,” he promised.
She wet her lips. “When was the last time you slept a whole night through?”
“Not for months,” he admitted. Sleep was the enemy, providing new ways to torture his conscience. He’d begun to fear it.
Lenore settled her hand on his sleeve. “Would you like a potion to help you sleep? I know a good one,” she promised. Her fingers tightened on his arm. “Perhaps if you stayed at home tonight, I could be a wife to you.”
Embarrassment heated his cheeks, and he knew they’d look red to Lenore. He turned to her a little, not wishing to refuse the kind suggestion outright. Potions were less effective than spirits. “I’ll think about it.”
“Good.” She slid her hand up to his shoulder and across his upper back. He stilled. “Let me know after dinner, and I will mix it myself and put it beside your bed for you.”
“Thank you,” he managed to say, but a trickle of sweat slid down his spine as she put her other hand over his thigh. He stared at her tiny fingers and the golden ring upon one. She could be wearing the family jewels tonight, the rose-cut diamonds should have been hers long before now. But he’d forgotten to give them to her when they’d married. There were other jewels, too, but the diamonds had always been worn by the Countess of Carmichael. He’d not been a good husband by any stretch of the imagination to have forgotten that important fact. “What was it you wanted to talk about?”
She smiled. “I wanted to tell you that I met with Lord and Lady Wade today.”
“Ah,” he murmured. “The most unique match of last season.”
“Yes, they mentioned they were recently married. How is that unique, though?”
“There were rumors that Wade was in desperate straights, and Portia, his now-wife, was an heiress engaged to another man.”
“So he…”
“Ruined her? No, I don’t think so. She was set to marry a duke, actually. She cried off, a week from the wedding. There was a bit of a scandal and a lot of criticism for her family. And then a week later, it was announced that she’d accepted Lord Wade’s proposal, and they were married shortly after. There was a bit of nastiness circulating over the situation, what she’d done, the timing. You know how women come in for the most censure after they cry off. She had turned down a chance to be a duchess, and not many thought she should have. Although the duke himself was not well-liked in certain circles, Lord Wade was hardly considered a catch. I like him, though. He knows how to find out things and keep them secret, too. I can’t blame the woman, really, for choosing such a man if he makes her happy.”
“They were snubbed,” she murmured. “People can be cruel.”
“Wade, though, comes from an old family title and has wealthy friends in high positions of society, so it’s all blown over now.”
She nodded slowly. “They’re fond of each other.”
“I know he was always fond of her, but with just a viscount’s title and lack of funds, he couldn’t hope to compete with the Duke of Montrose in the beginning.”
“So they surprised everyone and married because they liked each other? It’s undeniable that they do.”
He chuckled, feeling more at ease beside his wife. “Portia had something of a reputation for appreciating beauty in gentlemen and, well, you’ve seen her husband. No one was more surprised than I that they’d make a match.”
“So they are good friends of yours? When they were here, they expressed concern about your absence from society. I wasn’t sure what to say to them.”
Price scratched his head. “I suppose they are friends, but not close ones, even though I invited them to our wedding. Wade has stuck his nose into my business before. Portia is a good friend of Lady Sorenson, my godfather’s daughter. I think you might be acquainted with Anna. She came to visit Edenmere, too, when she was younger.”
“I was never introduced to visitors unless they needed something fetched when everyone else was busy,” she whispered, withdrawing her hands from him suddenly. “To be honest, I’ve always been surprised that you wrote to me after I took up employment.”
“We were friends.” He smiled, thinking how nice it was talking to Lenore. “You were utterly fearless to try anything I challenged you to do.”
“Less so now.”
“I don’t know about that. You married me, after all.” He leaned close to her. “The time I spent with you, when my father and your grandmother were not looking, are some of my best memories of home,” he promised as he picked up her hand. “It’s why you stuck in my memory.”
“And here I thought you chose me for my scintillating conversation,” she said with just a touch of sarcasm.
Price looked at her in surprise because it didn’t suit her at all. He didn’t want her to change. “I chose you because we always got along, despite the difference in our stations in life. Shall we go into dinner now?”
“Not yet. There’s a question I need to ask you,” Lenore said softly. “One that cannot wait.”
“All right. What is it?”
She gripped his hand tightly. “Was it so horrible, making love to me? Does it sicken you to be near me? I can feel you pull away from my touch every time we’re close.”
“No!” he replied, horrified she’d think so.
“But you left me! Left the house that night even though you said you’d come back if I needed you. What else was I supposed to imagine?”
“I enjoyed…touching you.”
She shook her head. “I don’t believe you. I know I’m not truly beautiful or young, but surely, if you closed your eyes, you could…”
“Could what?”
“Pretend that I was anyone else but me.”
Price rubbed a hand over his mouth, deeply ashamed of himself. In trying to control himself, he’d made Lenore doubt her appeal. “I would never do that to you. I swear you’ve done nothing wrong. It’s me. All me.”
Her lips settled into a mulish line, as if she didn’t believe him.
He gripped her hand firmly. “I wasn’t ready for how you made me feel that night. I’m still not.”
“Then how do we fix this?” she begged of him. “I want a child, Price, and I need you to be my husband for that.”
He lowered his eyes, but her fingers slipped under his chin, and she turned his face to hers.
“Am I not your wife? Is it not my duty to give you an heir? That was the deal we struck when you proposed. Or do you want me to seek the attention of other men, as other women have done, to spare your sensibilities?”
He grabbed her shoulders. “Invite anyone else into your bed and my seconds will call on them.”
Her eyes widened a little in surprise at his threat. But then they narrowed in annoyance. “I won’t be ignored anymore.”
“I’m not ignoring you.” He wet his lips. “I’m trying to resist you. There’s a difference.”
“Not from my perspective,” she argued, but then her lips quirked. “I have never felt more invisible since I became your wife.”
“You’re not invisible to me,” he started, and his hand rose to caress her cheek but he quickly pulled it away. “I see you. I am aware of you in a way that’s unsettling.”
A frown line appeared between her brows. “Wait. Did you say I was hard to resist?”
“Yes,” he said. The frustration of his inner conflict was overwhelming at times. Just sitting here beside her taxed his resolve to take things slowly.
But as her smile grew wider, he realized he was in trouble. She liked that he was waging a battle—and that he was losing. “You are lovely and sweet, but inexperienced. I
don’t want to frighten you before we truly know each other.”
“I already know you, Price. You’re my husband, and your affections belong only to me.”
He groaned at the realization that resisting his wife was beyond his strength after hearing her declaration. “As you wish, my lady.”
Lenore shrieked as he swung her onto his lap and finally kissed her the way he should have the night they’d made love—with no plan to ever stop.
Chapter 17
Lenore clutched her husband’s wide shoulders, surprised and thrilled with her success. She was safe in his strong arms once more with no intention of letting him go tonight. Even if it was an unconventional place for him to be kissing her, and they risked being found by the servants, she wouldn’t change a thing. Her bones seemed to melt on the spot to feel him so close, and yet so far. The sensations he had stirred in her before came rushing back, making her feel so warm and wanted and very desirable.
She returned his kisses eagerly, determined to be bold and leave him in no doubt of her interest in being his wife. When his tongue darted into her mouth, she mimicked him, rejoicing when he moaned. How strange that he’d thought resisting her was something he should have done. Tonight, she’d make it obvious that wasn’t the case.
Price suddenly pulled back, his eyes full of questions. “Dinner?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“I am. For you.” He grinned, and then his fingers were in her hair. Pins fell and scattered willy-nilly, and she was too excited to care about decorum, or the lack of it. He was holding her lips to his in another devastating kiss, as if he planned never to release her. As if he couldn’t get enough of her, the way she felt about him.
He drew back again, breathing harsh and uneven in the quiet room. “I’m sorry I made you think I didn’t want you. I do. I can hardly think straight when you’re near.”
He touched her face softly, letting his fingers brush across her cheek. Lenore shivered, wiggling into his touch. He chuckled softly, and his hands moved down her back, sliding low until he cupped her bum. Price stood, effortlessly taking her with him, and crossed to the door. With one foot, he kicked it closed completely, and Lenore, realizing he meant to ensure their privacy, leaned down to turn the key in the lock so they would not be interrupted.
