A Worthy Wife (29 page)

Kenyon was losing patience. “You know, I was going to suggest to your nephew that he ship you out of the country so no one would be embarrassed by your ravings. We could keep everything private between the two households that way. I was even going to offer to help pay your way. But no one threatens my family, do you understand?” He took a step toward Phelan, which had the man redirecting his aim away from Aurora.

“Kenyon, no!” she cried. “Let him leave the country, please. He did help my mother, and he cannot hurt us anymore.”

“See?” Lord Phelan snarled. “M’niece loves me. So I think I better take her with me.” He lurched up out of his chair and tossed the bottle of Blue Ruin at Kenyon’s head. The bottle painfully grazed the previous injury and, worse, knocked the earl’s spectacles to the ground. So he couldn’t quite see Ramsey grab Aurora by the neck and put the gun barrel to her temple, but he could feel it in his gut. Aurora was struggling, but her strength was no match for the maddened Phelan, and no one would chance shooting the dirty dish now, not with Aurora in his hold. Ramsey’s grip was so tight she could not even scream.

“Damn it, woman, I told you to stay in the coach!”

“Good idea, Windham. Mayhaps I’ll borrow your carriage, too. Wouldn’t want your little ladybird getting tossed around in a hired hack.”

“My wife and my carriage?” Kenyon shouted. “Never. Besides, you wouldn’t want to travel with her right now. She gets sick to her stomach when she’s overset. That’s right, isn’t it, Aurora?”

Taking her cue, Aurora made gagging noises and clutched her stomach. Phelan shoved her away from him
in the same instant Kenyon dove at him, just as Ned and two footmen burst through the front door. Phelan’s pistol discharged, Aurora screamed, and Kenyon cursed as the Runners and the constables crashed through the back door. The bill collectors’ bullies smashed through the windows. And the ceiling, mortally wounded, rained plaster down on all of them.

By the time Phelan was carted away, no one had to worry much about what he was going to say, not with his jaw broken. And he wasn’t going to have to worry about his blackened teeth anymore, either, or his too-large nose.

It was over. Lord and Lady Windham went home.

*

The town house was quiet—incredibly quiet. The servants had all been given the evening off. Ned and Andrew were spending the night with Lady Anstruther-Jones, who was also entertaining a rajah and his seventeen children. Two more would not matter. Ned was likely teaching them all to pick pockets or something, anyway.

Kenyon missed the piped hot water at Windrush. The buckets that filled his copper tub here were already cool by the time he’d rinsed the last of the plaster dust out of his hair. Then he had to decide what to wear. Getting dressed was foolish. He had every intention of disrobing within minutes of entering his wife’s bedchamber. His nightshirt was too fusty, a towel too casual for the momentous occasion. His dressing gown had blood on it from last night’s head wound. Not very romantic. But that Hindustan prince with his harem had seemed to fascinate Aurora, so Kenyan wrapped a sheet about himself, tucking the ends over his shoulder. Deuce take it, he was as fluttery as a schoolgirl at her come-out.

Aurora had spent an age in her tub, too, worrying. She feared that, after waiting so long, Kenyon would be disappointed in her inexperience. She knew he’d be everything she ever dreamed of, and more than her poor maiden’s mind could envision, but what if she did not please him? Legions of Lolas loomed in her imagination.

Not if she could help it. Aurora wasted more time
dithering over what to wear. Her choice was easier than Kenyon’s, since she already knew she’d be waiting for him in her bed, rather than exposed. She might have lovemaking on her mind, but she still had a modicum of modesty. So she wore the Windham diamonds.

Which landed on the floor atop his sheet before the first candle sputtered out.

“Have I told you how much I love you, Lady Windham?”

“Not that I recall, Lord Windham.”

So Kenyon made love to Aurora with words, and she replied in kind. Truly their marriage was the happiest day of their lives, until tonight. She had given him back a soul, and he had given her his heart. Now they were both complete.

And then they were one, complete.

A short time later, Aurora laughed as his tongue touched her ribs. “That tickles, my love. What are you doing?”

“Inspecting my wife for identifying marks in case anyone ever tries to claim her, of course. I haven’t found any birthmarks or scars or tattoos yet, but without my glasses I have to be that close in order to see, don’t you know. A gentleman does not wear his spectacles to bed.”

She giggled. “I wonder if such rules are written in Lady Anstruther-Jones’s pillow book.”

“We’ll write our own book.”

“Hmm. I am a very good researcher, my lord. But I did tell Lady Anstruther-Jones about Phelan, you know. I thought it only fair, since she helped us. And if word does get out, at least she will tell people the truth.”

“Hmm.” Kenyon was busy learning every inch of his wife, trailing butterfly kisses down her ribs, tasting, touching, savoring the scent of her, the silkiness.

“While I was there, she took Sweety back, but she gave us another gift.”

He paused for a moment of misgiving, then resumed his exploration. “She must have had a large library of such books in her heyday.” Right between Aurora’s ribs, beneath her breastbone, he could almost touch her heartbeat. His own quickened.

“This gift is not a book.”

Kenyon had reached his wife’s firm belly, with its indentations and soft swellings. His Aurora, his dawn, was vibrating to his touch. The whole bed was pulsing with their rising passion. He did not want to talk about Lady Anstruther-Jones’s gifts or gossip. “God, I love it when you purr like that.”

“And I love what you are doing, Kenyon, but that’s not me purring.”