A Worthy Wife (4 page)

He propped his head on one elbow. “
Now
you want to talk?”

“We’d better. You see, I have decided that we should not…not…”

“Not?” Windham drank from his own glass. Aurora could see him laughing at her over the rim.

“Nothaveintimaterelationsuntilweknoweachotherbetter,” she said in a rush.

“That’s what you decided?”

She nodded, thankful that he understood.

“Odd, I thought matrimony was to be a partnership, not a one-sided affair. Barring that, I always supposed that the husband had some say in his marriage. Perhaps I got that impression from hearing you swear to love, honor, and obey. Just this morning, wasn’t it?”

“I said that?”

“Oh, yes. I might not have caught your full name, but I particularly noted the bit about obeying.”

Aurora took another swallow. “Then I suppose we could discuss the issues and come to a mutual agreement. That’s more equitable, don’t you agree?”

“Much.” He was sifting her hair through his fingers again, breathing the scent of the rosewater rinse. “Lovely.”

Yes, it was, but Aurora made herself say, “There is no reason we should rush into the, ah, physical aspects of our marriage.”

“Am I rushing, my pet? Sorry. I do tend to move quickly once I have decided my direction. I was never one for shilly-shallying. You’ll get used to it.”

“I thought a month.”

“No.”

“Perhaps a sennight would be enough if we spent a great deal of time learning about each other’s habits and such.”

“No.”

She frowned. “I thought this was to be a discussion.”

“Very well, Aurora mine, we shall discuss the matter at hand.” Since his hand was now stroking the back of her neck, Aurora could not decide if he was teasing. He was not. “The primary issue is the issue of our union. I prefer our progeny to be products of my own seed, no matter how remote the possibility.”

“Of course you do, but—”

“But you will permit me the delusion, won’t you?”

Since he was nibbling on her ear in a most interesting manner, Aurora feared she would have permitted Kenyon to delude himself into believing she was Venus Aphrodite. She nodded, not quite sure what she was agreeing to.

He refilled her glass—how many times had that been?—and blew out the candle so the only light in the room was from the glowing embers in the fireplace. Then he removed his robe. Aurora pulled the sheets over her head, but he only laughed and got under the covers with her. He did stay on his side of the bed, but
soon he was presenting the glass of champagne to her lips once more.

“Oh, I don’t think—”

“Sh, love. Don’t think. Just sip, and relax.”

Relax with a naked man in her bed? Was he daft? No, he was kissing her! “But Harland and I—” she began when she could speak again.

“Forget about Harland,” he whispered, pressing his warm lips to hers once more. “We’ll make new memories.”

Chapter Four

People kissed with their mouths open? Heavens! And heavenly. But the shock of the thing, and the shock shimmering down to her own bare toes, made Aurora gasp. At least she wasn’t squeaking like a mouse anymore.

Kenyon pulled away, one brow quirked in query.

“Harland never did that.”

“Podell was a prig,” the earl murmured before readdressing himself to turning Aurora’s composure to consommé

His tongue felt like cool silk, like the champagne bubbles, like nothing she had ever felt before. His kisses were making odd parts of her grow warm and tingling. No, his hand was on her breast.
That
was why she tingled. Then he followed his hand with his lips. Good grief, Aunt Thisbe never intended her embroidery for that! Aurora gasped again.

He stopped.

“Harland never did that either.”

Kenyon just growled in response and kept savoring her salamander—her breasts. His other hand was tugging at her gown, raising the hem over her calves, her knees, her thighs, her—
Holy herpetologist!
She gasped even louder.

“I know,” Kenyon said with a sigh, “Podell never did this either. Besides being a loose screw, he was a poor lover, my pet. A gentleman always makes sure of his partner’s pleasure. You are enjoying yourself, aren’t you?”

Enjoyment was not quite the word she would have
used, if she could have formed a coherent word. Delirium? Euphoria? She’d think about that some other time.

Kenyon seemed to take her garbled reply as assent. “Good, for I do not need to hear any more about what Podell did or did not do.” He raised himself over Aurora, his body between her thighs, with his lips over hers to stifle whatever comment she was about to make. He rocked forward, murmuring his own pleasure into her mouth. Forward, forward he thrust, moaning softly, until he encountered an unmistakable barrier. “Bloody hell,” he shouted, leaping off the bed. “He sure as Hades didn’t do
that!
”

Windham stormed over to the buhl table near the window and hefted a decanter to his lips. Stunned and stupefied, Aurora could not help noting the smooth planes of his back, the chiseled muscles of his thighs and calves, the perfection of his posterior. And she’d fretted over his bare feet! She did slam her eyes shut when he turned back to the bed, though.

“You can look. I have my robe on again.” He was holding a glass out to her again, too.

“But I do not drink strong spirits.”

“Drink it, my lady wife, and tell me if you will, how, barring Wise Men, mangers, and miracles, you are bearing Podell’s child whilst still a blooming maiden!”

Aurora huddled in the blankets. “A child? I never said—”

“You said you were ruined, by Jupiter!”

“That’s what the lieutenant told me. We…we kissed and…and embraced on the balcony at Lady Featheringill’s musicale, and one of the servants surprised us. Harland said the talk would be all over Bath unless we announced an engagement. I’d be labeled fast. Not a suitable companion for my friends. Not invited to their parties. Not partnered at the dances. Not—”

“I get the gist of his threats.” He raised the decanter to his mouth again. “And you believed the mawworm that a few stolen kisses could blight your life?”

“He said he loved me, and he would simply be speaking to Uncle Ptolemy that much sooner.”

“And then, when that wedding turned into dust, you
found an even riper plum to pick, to settle your affairs. You would have done anything to escape the narrow confines of Bath society, wouldn’t you?”

Aurora stopped cowering in her corner, in light of his unjust accusations. “What, you think I set out to trap you? How could I know that you weren’t wed? That you’d be so deuced impetuous you’d offer for a woman whose name you didn’t even know?”

He paced to the fireplace, and tossed on another log with such vehemence that sparks flew. He hopped back, swearing, and rubbed his bare feet. “You leaped at the offer quickly enough, dash it.”

“Unfair! You gave me no time to decide. If I’d had the least suspicion that you were such a bully and bad-tempered to boot, you can rest assured I would not have—”

“I gave an hour to a lady with no choice but one if her babe was to have a father. Did you feign the morning sickness, too?”

“Morning sickness? Oh. No, I…I am afraid I become ill under severe distress, I’ve always had an uncertain digestion, which is why I rarely drink more than a sip of wine. As a matter of fact—”

“Oh, no!” He raced for the wash basin, just in time. “Damn, why the devil can’t you be like other women and just cry?”

*

When Aurora awakened, the fire was still burning and her husband was still there. He was sprawled in a chair dragged near her bed, his bare feet resting on the covers inches from her nose.

“How do you feel?” he asked, instantly alert at her first movement.

“Oh, much better. The feeling never lasts.”

“Good.” He held out a glass. “Just water. Would you like me to call for a maid? Tea? Perhaps some lemonade?”

Aurora did not want the servants bustling around with their curious stares. “Nothing, thank you. The water is fine.”

Kenyon nodded, wishing to broadcast the bumble-broth of his wedding night as little as she. He pulled back the covers on the side of the bed and began to shrug out of his robe.

“What are you doing?” Aurora yelped.

“What does it look like I am doing? I am preparing to spend the rest of my wedding night in the arms of my bride, as expected.”

“No.”

“No?”

“That’s right, no. The servants will know you have been here, so there is no reason for you to stay.” He had a bedroom of his own; let him spend what was left of the night there.

“There is every reason, woman. I intend to finish what we started.”

“No.”

“Dash it, stop naysaying me at every turn. We already had this discussion.” He reached for the sheets again.

Aurora held them down with her hand. “And your reasons are no longer valid. You wanted to ensure the paternity of your sons. That is no longer an issue, and never will be, for I would not be an unfaithful type of wandering wife, no matter the state of my marriage. My concerns, however, are magnified a hundredfold.”

“What, that we don’t know each other? I believe I am getting to know your idiosyncracies, by George. You can make book I’ll never offer you champagne again.”

Aurora ignored the sarcasm. “You do not trust me. I think you might not even like me. I cannot share such intimacies as you expect, not without some degree of affection or respect.”

Kenyon ran his fingers through his already mussed hair. “Deuce take it, woman, you just did share such intimacies, and enjoyed every minute of it. I am the identical man who had you gasping not an hour ago.”

Hoping that he couldn’t see her blush in the dark, Aurora persevered. “No, you’re not. That man might have cared for me. You will not share my bed until you believe that I did not—that I would not—act as dishonorably as you accused.”

“My apologies. I was angry. I realize you could not
have known my circumstances when you made your decision.”

That was fustian, and they both knew it. His very bearing proclaimed wealth and breeding, even if his name wasn’t known the breadth of the land. “No, but you still believe I willfully deceived you, that I set out to ensnare you. That is what I cannot accept, your estimation of me as a conniving, scheming jade.” Like his first wife, though she didn’t say it. “I would feel besmirched, sharing your bed under those conditions.”

“Oh, Lord,” he muttered, retying the sash of his robe with an angry snap that almost ripped the fabric, “save me from sanctimonious, self-righteous sapskulls. But what, my dear, is to keep me from forcing my attentions upon you? I would be within my rights, you know, as your husband.”

She shook her head, sending blond curls every which way. “No, I cannot believe you would use your strength against a woman.”

Of course he wouldn’t. “But there are other ways of…persuasion, if you will. I could make you quiver with desire until you asked me, nay, begged me to make you mine.” He was brushing her hair aside, off her face.

She slapped his hand away, knowing where that could lead. “But you are too much the gentleman to take a woman against her will. And it would be against my will, my lord, even if you told my body otherwise.”

He stepped back and stared at her as if she were one of her Uncle Ptolemy’s specimens, pinned to a board. “Your pardon, but I need to get this clear. You trust me enough not to exercise my God-given rights, but you won’t let me, because I don’t trust you?”

“Precisely. You see, I knew we could come to an understanding.”

He slammed the connecting door on his way out. Aurora thought she heard him mutter, “Now I think
I
am going to be ill,” but she could be wrong.

*

The maid woke Aurora late in the morning, saying that she’d let her sleep as long as possible, on his lordship’s orders, but now my lady had to rise if they were
to make London by nightfall. Certain that the earl would not like being kept waiting, Aurora hurried through her morning toilette and into her traveling ensemble, which was freshly sponged and pressed. Her hair, however, could not be as quickly repaired. The maid pursed her lips, but thankfully made no comment as to how the neat braid had turned into a brier patch.

While the woman worked, Aurora made plans. She was going to make her husband trust her. More, she was going to make him love her. She could recite the Latin names of thirteen varieties of liverworts and lichens; surely this endeavor could not be more difficult, especially when she had such promising material to work with.

Her husband was impetuous and subject to fits of temper, likely due to a spoiled upbringing and toadying associates. Other than those minor, easily correctable faults, Kenyon was kind and considerate and honorable, the perfect gentle knight of every woman’s daydreams. That he was also the heroically sculpted embodiment of every woman’s secret night dreams was another factor in his favor. Why, if she did not watch herself, Aurora feared, she’d be more than halfway in love with the man, after less than a day.