A Lady of Persuasion (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #3)

A Lady of Persuasion (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #3) Page 27

Twisting her neck, Isabel looked up at him. “I would say he shared the family talent for impressing young ladies.” She looked back down at the fairy-tale vista. “And you truly live here?”

“We truly live here. And you, my dear, are the lady of the keep.” He released her waist and stepped to her side, kissing her hand gallantly before tucking it into his elbow. “I’m near famished. Shall we go home?”

Together they picked their way down the gentle slope and through the hedge-rimmed gardens. As they approached the castle, Isabel was surprised to discover how much smaller it was than she’d first thought. The proportions had been carefully designed to give a grand appearance from a distance. Up close, however, the house had a human scale that made it welcoming, rather than imposing. The moat was a clear, shallow pool dotted with lily-pads, and Toby was able to open the arched wooden door with one hand.

“Welcome to Wynterhall,” he said. “Hope you don’t find it too fanciful for your tastes.”

“It’s … it’s enchanting.” Truly, there was no other word. Bel stood gaping at the grand hall into which they had entered. It was oval-shaped, and capped with an oval skylight that, with the blue sky shining through, gave the appearance of a cabochon sapphire set in gold. The floor was tiled in an intricate pattern of black and white marble.

Toby led her toward a narrow stone staircase. “Our chambers are upstairs.”

As they ascended the steps, Bel was conscious of how their footfalls echoed through the silence. “Is there no one else here? Have you no servants?”

“We have an army of servants,” he replied as they reached the top of the staircase. He led her down a wide, carpeted hallway. “They are led by Mrs. Tremaine, the housekeeper, a woman of unflagging good spirits and infinite energy. I’m sure she’s prepared a completely overwhelming display to welcome you—food, décor, music, every comfort you could imagine. It wouldn’t surprise me if she’s taught the parlormaids and footmen some sort of song and dance routine in your honor. That’s why I sent word with the driver that they were to clear out for the afternoon. You’ve had a trying day, and I thought a bit of restful quiet was in order. Meeting the servants, touring the estate—all that can wait.”

Bel breathed a sigh of relief. He was right, she didn’t feel up to a grand welcome just now.

“And”—Toby pushed open one half of a set of double doors—“I directed them to bring your things here for the time being, to my suite.” Ushering her inside with a rakish smile, he added,

“After all, it’s not as though we’re going to sleep apart.”

“We aren’t?”

“Well, I—” He paused. “That is, unless you wish to, in which case I’ll—”

“No,” she interrupted, sorry to have caused him doubt. “No, this is fine.” She wished she hadn’t blurted the question out, but it was something that had already been on her mind. They’d slept in the same bed every night of their marriage thus far, but Bel had been uncertain whether it was merely a honeymoon arrangement or a habit in the making.

The latter, she hoped. She liked having him nearby. Heavens, what a wanton she was becoming! She would have thought her desire for him might have waned, now that the elements of curiosity and novelty had been removed.

But no. Not waning at all. Waxing by the day.

“At any rate,” she said, “it looks as though four or five of us could fit in that.” She gestured toward the bed—an enormous, ancient four-poster affair with golden velvet draperies and a jewel-toned coverlet. It was a bed fit for a king … and a queen. And a handful of courtiers besides.

“Ah, yes. The ancestral bed.” Toby walked over to it and sat, bouncing on the high mattress.

“Now this bed truly is centuries old, even if Wynterhall is not. I think my great-great uncle must have built the entire house around it.” He patted the space next to him, and Bel accepted the invitation to sit. “Yes, this bed has served its purpose well. Generations of Aldridge heirs have been conceived under this canopy.”

Taking her hand in his, he flopped on his back, leaving her no choice but to do the same. She could hear the devilish grin in his voice as he said, “I shall do my best to make you pregnant in this bed.”

Bel’s cheeks burned as she stared up at the embroidered canopy. “What a thing to say.” She refrained from adding, if the past week had not constituted his best attempts at making her pregnant, she was quite uncertain what more to expect.

“But first,” Toby said, releasing her hand and struggling up on his elbows, “we really must have something to eat. I did give instructions… Ah, there it is. I knew she would not disappoint.” He rose from the bed. Bel turned on her side in preparation to follow, but he stilled her with a gesture. “No, stay right there. I’ll just bring the tray.”

“Are we to have a picnic, then?” Bel rose to a sitting position, kicking off her slippers and folding her legs under her skirts. She unbuttoned the restrictive spencer of her traveling habit and laid it aside, leaving her dressed in a chemisette and skirt.

“Just so.” Toby returned, balancing a covered tray on one hand. Bel drank in the sight of him. When this marvelous castle had come into view, she’d lost eyes for anything but Wynterhall. But now, Toby recaptured her full attention. With his untied cravat slung loose around his neck, his hair mussed, his skin aglow with sun and exertion … she could have told him to skip the picnic and proceed straight to dessert.

But that just wasn’t something Bel could say. She was a bit shocked at herself for even thinking it.

“Mrs. Tremaine will have my head,” he said, uncovering the tray and setting it in the center of the bed. “She’s likely prepared a ten-course feast downstairs, and here I’m serving you cold chicken and bread as your first meal at Wynterhall.”

“Oh, it’s perfect.” Bel broke off a piece of bread and bit into it gratefully. She reached for a leg of chicken. Until he’d placed the food before her, she hadn’t realized how hungry she was.

“Good,” he said, chuckling. “Good. Eat up, darling. This is why I requested simple fare. I knew you’d not eat a morsel if it was accompanied by too much pomp and display.” He sliced into a small wheel of cheese and held out a wedge to her. Her hands occupied with bread and chicken, she accepted the bite with her teeth.

Absurdly, her eyes misted as she chewed that little bit of cheese. Such an intimate, caring, husbandly gesture. He was right, she would never have accepted a bite of food from his fingers, had they been seated at table in an opulent dining room. Toby had known just the way to make her feel immediately comfortable in his home. She had simply grown comfortable with him.

After they ate, Toby cleared the tray and returned to the bed. “Now,” he said. “How are you feeling? Are you certain you are unharmed after the … after the incident earlier?”

“Yes, quite certain.”

“Shall I ring for your maid? Perhaps you’d like to undress, bathe, sleep …?”

“All three, eventually—but I’m in no rush.”

He cocked his head. “Are you still feeling frightened? Do you need me to hold you?”

She smiled. “I’m not frightened anymore.” But oh, how I need you to hold me.

“That’s fortunate. Because I’m still a bit rattled, truthfully, and I think I need to be held.”

Reclining, he laid his head in her lap. “There, that’s much better.”

She smoothed the hair from his forehead.

He closed his eyes and sighed. “Yes. Much, much better. “

She combed his golden-brown hair with her fingers, massaging his temples and scalp with light pressure and enjoying the little groan of pleasure that ensued. After a few minutes, his breathing steadied. He seemed on the verge of falling asleep.

Bel didn’t want him to fall asleep.

“Perhaps …” she whispered.

“Perhaps what?” he mumbled back.

She lost her courage. Instead of the amorous suggestion she’d intended, a flood of nonsense came forth. “Perhaps we should ring for a maid to remove the tray. There’s still so much food there; it would be a shame to let it spoil. Perhaps there’s a servant who could take it home to his family.”

He chuckled. “You are always so good, always thinking of others.”

“No. I’m not, really.”

“Yes, you are. It’s so refreshing. Do you know how few ladies of your rank would think of sending leftover chicken home with the servants?”

Bel shook her head. If only he could divine the true nature of her thoughts right now, he would understand just how selfish they were—and how common, among ladies of every rank who chanced to look on this beautiful man. She ran her fingers through his hair again, and he nestled deeper into her lap. Her heartbeat raced, and a sweet, hollow ache built in her womb. Really, she was becoming quite desperate for him.

He murmured, “Isabel, you are too good to be true. Tell me honestly, are your motives always so pure? Don’t you ever want to do something that you know is just wrong?”

She laughed dryly. “Oh, Toby. Only every time I look at you.”

“What?” His eyes flew open and locked with hers. “What do you mean?”

“I mean …” Bel’s face heated. She’d meant it as a joke. He was supposed to laugh. But instead, his expression had gone completely serious. That would teach her to attempt humor.

“Surely you must know what I mean.”

He rose from her lap and sat up, facing her. “Are you saying you desire me?”

“Are you going to force me to say it?”

“You desire me,” he repeated. “And you think this is wrong.”

Bel didn’t know what to say. This was terrible. She’d meant to compliment her husband, in the same way he always showered her with praise. And somehow she’d managed to offend him. He took her hand. “We’re married, Isabel. I’m your husband. There’s nothing at all wrong with desiring me.”

“Yes, well.” She chewed her lip. She’d come this far; there could be no prevarication now. “To be truthful, it started long before we were married.”

“How long before?”

“I suppose … from the first time I saw you.”

“And I wanted you from the first, as well. All the more reason for us to have wed.” He inched closer to her on the bed. “And still, we did wait. We did everything properly, and believe me I know—because doing it the proper way damn near killed me. But still, you think it’s wrong. Why is that? Does it…” He lowered his voice. “Does the act feel unpleasant?”

“Oh, no!” Bel bounced on the mattress with the force of her disavowal. “It feels very pleasant indeed. Too pleasant, I fear. Anything that feels so good must be a little bit wrong.”

He stared at her, obviously dismayed. “So this is why you’re always so eager to leave our bed,” he said. “Afterward. You feel guilty, having experienced pleasure, and you feel compelled to atone for it with some good deed.”

She shrugged. He was correct, in part. There was more to it than that, but Bel didn’t know how to explain. How to tell him, that in those moments of physical release, she lost all other cares, all other motives, all thoughts of good or charity or even her husband? She lost her self. How could she tell him, that every time she slipped into that blissful nothingness, she was a little bit afraid that she would never find her way back?

“Isabel,” he said. “I won’t have you feeling that way about making love to me.”

Fear gripped her heart. Did he mean they wouldn’t make love anymore? She didn’t want that. As conflicted as desire made her feel, she could not bring herself to reject it. Toby’s eyes grew dark. With anger, she feared—or perhaps, simply with determination. With his free hand, he slowly removed the cravat hanging loose round his neck. “You trust me. Don’t you, Isabel?”