Regency Innocents (51 page)

He had to find Deborah and tell her. Striding to the chimneybreast, he rang for the housekeeper.

‘Tell my wife I want a few words with her,' he barked.

Mrs Farrell raised her brows in an expression of disapproval, but said nothing as she turned to obey his
command. It was only when, some minutes later, a very timid knock on the door presaged his wife's arrival that it occurred to him it might have seemed a little autocratic to send for her as though she was one of his subordinates.

The look of trepidation on her face as she approached the desk behind which he sat only confirmed his sense of having treated her with less than the respect due to a wife. He recalled the way she had fled from his fit of temper that morning. He had not seen her since. She looked as though she wished she was not seeing him now.

‘I only asked you in here to share the news that the factor has just given me,' he said. ‘Do sit down! You look like a nervous subaltern up on a charge!' he snapped, his conscience provoking him to lash out, quite unfairly, in completely the wrong direction. It was with himself he was annoyed. He felt even more angry with himself when she sank into the seat, her head down, hands clasped in her lap as though expecting a scold.

Rapidly reviewing the few words they had exchanged since making their vows, he could hardly blame her. With a heavy sigh, he said, ‘It cannot have been easy for you, the last few days. I apologise.'

‘You apologise?' She looked up at him with swift enquiry. Then shook her head. ‘It has occurred to me, during this morning, that I have some things to apologise for too.'

‘You do?' he sat bolt upright, completely astonished. ‘Why, what have you done?'

‘Well, I have been angry with you on more than one occasion …'

‘Which I thoroughly deserved, I dare say. Look,' he
said, when she opened her mouth as if she would have protested, ‘it is clearly not such a simple task to merge two lives together as I had thought it would be. We will have to come to some accommodation regarding Linney's presence in our room. I cannot do without his aid, you know, but—'

‘If you would just tell me before you sent for him, so that I could cover myself up. Or leave altogether if your need for help is of a delicate nature.'

Her cheeks went bright red. It reminded him how delightfully tousled she had looked that morning, after having spent some minutes hiding under the blankets. He made an effort to soften his voice as he said, ‘I should not have used such coarse language this morning, Deborah. It was inexcusable.'

She smiled shyly up at him. ‘As you say, we both have adjustments to make, being married. I dare say it will take us some time to get used to each other's ways.'

What a generous nature she had! And how reasonably she was dealing with their earlier quarrel. He recalled some of the scenes that had gone on in Walton House when his half-brother had first brought home his French wife. Doors slamming, crockery being thrown, sulks and tantrums. Heloise had gone about town, acting as outrageously as she dared, to try to punish her husband for his cold and autocratic treatment of her. They had settled down eventually, but for a while, they had made each other miserable.

Of course, he had known from the outset Deborah would never treat him to such tantrums. He had never seen her make a fuss about the difficulties life threw in
her way. She just got on with whatever she had to do, with good grace.

‘We have a lifetime.' He smiled, congratulating himself on choosing such a levelheaded girl to wife. ‘And if we can both be as reasonable as you are being this morning, then it will be a pleasure to get used to your ways.'

‘Oh,' she said, her smile growing broader. What a lovely thing it had been to say. Especially since she knew he meant it. Had he not promised never to offer her Spanish coin? She ducked her head, fidgeting with a stray thread that was working its way from her cuff.

Watching her nervous gesture, he suddenly knew what he wanted to spend his money on. It was not just that she had not brought many clothes with her. She had never had many clothes. She had worn the same ball gown, with different trimmings, for the entire Season, until the night of Lensborough's ball. She had only three or four bonnets, to his knowledge, and she had always worn her gloves until the seams started to split.

‘When we go back to London, I want you to buy an entirely new wardrobe,' he said decisively.

She looked up at him in alarm. ‘You do not like my clothes?'

‘That is immaterial. You need new ones. I want you looking extremely fashionable.' He wanted to see her enjoying herself. Women enjoyed shopping for clothes. And then showing them off.

‘We will have to get a barouche, so you can drive round Hyde Park in it.' He frowned. And a house, a fine house, in the very best address.'

Deborah's heart sank. She was not the kind of woman he should have married at all. While her head had been full of dreams of a house in the country, filled with children, it seemed that, all along, he had wanted to live in town and cut a fashionable figure. With a pang, she realised that they had never discussed what they wanted out of marriage. Robert had mentioned children, and security, but not any details of where or how he anticipated they might live out their lives.

She pasted a brave smile on her lips as she forced herself to say, ‘That sounds lovely.'

He frowned. ‘It cannot be done all at once. It may take Travers some time to raise the capital.' He indicated the pile of ledgers on the desk that separated them.

‘Oh, I shan't mind staying here for a while,' she put in quickly. If he intended to return to London, she had best make the most of what little time she had here. From the window seat of an empty upstairs bedroom, where she had taken refuge that morning, she had noticed, not an oak tree, but a massive yew in the centre of a velvety smooth lawn. Beyond that was a walled garden, over which peeped the boughs of what looked like a productive orchard. The housewife in her wanted to explore the orchard, the vegetable gardens and the stillroom. The mother in her wanted to see if it would ever be possible to build a tree house in that yew. Or, if not, at least hang a swing from its lower branches. From her recollection of the journey, the house itself stood not far from the village. She wanted to walk to it, and explore it and find out if there were other walks in the area. She wanted to attend the church with its squat,
Norman tower, and make friends with the local ladies. In short, she wanted to make The Dovecote her home.

She would not care all that much if she never set foot in London again. Life there had seemed shallow, and brittle and not the least bit comfortable.

‘I am sorry I did not give you the chance to bring a change of clothing with you,' he broke into her reverie. ‘But you won't be needing much anyway, for the next few days.'

No, he would not wish to entertain, she thought, entirely missing the wicked grin that lit his face.

‘No, I suppose not,' she said, trying to be as amenable to his wishes as she could. He could barely tolerate having his own wife in the room while he was eating, let alone strangers. She could make this one gown do until her trunks arrived, since she would only be pottering about the gardens and house. She would put off visiting the neighbours until the next time they came down here. Whenever that might be.

‘Then you agree?' he said, getting to his feet and coming round the desk.

‘Agree?' She was not aware he had asked her a question. With a puzzled frown, she swiftly reviewed their conversation.

‘That we should spend these next few days getting to know each other better,' he said, coming to stand over her. She looked up at him in bewilderment. He reached down and ran one finger along the curve of her cheekbone.

‘I want to take you back to bed, Deborah. Now. In broad daylight. Does that shock you?' His face took on a shuttered expression. ‘Disgust you?'

Her heart leapt at the look of longing she had read before the shutters came down. She had thought he could barely tolerate having her in bed, because she was not the woman he wanted. Now she saw that part of his insistence on complete darkness stemmed from his fear
she
would find
him
repulsive. She wanted to cry. How could he think she might feel disgust, just because he had a few scars?

Slowly, she got to her feet. Then reached out her own hand, mirroring the way he had just caressed her face. Deliberately, she ran one finger down the unblemished side of his face. Then she reached up on tiptoe, to kiss the cheek that was puckered, and reddened, before saying, ‘Not disgusted. But perhaps more than a little shocked. Oh, not at your suggestion, but at my reaction to it. I find that when you speak of wanting to return to our bed, my heart has started to beat faster. I believe it is quite improper, and yet …'

He caught her hand to his cheek, on a ragged gasp, his eyes darkening. ‘You want me,' he growled, before sliding his hand round to the nape of her neck, and kissing her soundly.

‘Yes.' She sighed, when he finally broke the kiss. ‘I should not, but—'

‘Why not? We are married. There is no sin in this, Deborah.' Grabbing her hand, he made for the door.

Now her heart was really beating fast. The thought of retreating to the seclusion of their room, in broad daylight, was incredibly exciting.

‘Damn it,' he cursed, coming to an abrupt halt. ‘I am going to have to get Linney to get me out of this leg first.'

She made a little mew of disappointment as she pictured the scene. He would ring for his serving man, and go through all the rigmarole of getting ready for bed, having first ensured her absence from whatever ritual he was so unwilling for her to witness. Then he would send for her. And then, when he had finished with her, send her away so that Linney could help him wash and restore him to an appearance of wholeness. The whole procedure would be cumbersome, and awkward, and embarrassing for all concerned.

‘It will not be very romantic,' she acknowledged ruefully.

‘We agreed, when I proposed to you, we would not try to cozen each other with romantic nonsense,' he spat at her irritably.

‘Romantic nonsense …' She sighed, recalling she had gone along with everything he had demanded, so thrilled had she been he was proposing at all. ‘No, we would not want that.' She looked at her husband, tense, frustrated and growing angrier by the second, and wondered what she could do to help him.

‘I know what I do want, though,' she said carefully, drawing his gaze from the door at which he had been glaring balefully for the past few seconds.

‘What is that?'

‘The same thing as you.' And then she blushed, though she managed to hold his gaze. ‘When you spoke about returning to bed … well, do we really need a bed? I do not know very much about it, but it seems to me that, umm …' And then she lost the ability to look at anything other than her hands, which she found she was twisting at her waist.

Without saying a word, Robert reached past her, and turned the key in the lock. Then, quite calmly, he went to the windows and very deliberately drew the curtains.

‘Are you quite certain about this?' he husked, turning to look at her. Even in the shadowed room she could read intense hunger in his face. Her own blood was pounding through her veins. She could not speak. She only nodded.

‘Then come here,' he urged her, holding out his hand.

She flew to him, and he caught her, claiming her mouth in a kiss that had nothing of tenderness in it. Yet her spirit still soared. She did not care how unseemly this was, she only knew she would let nothing stop her from expressing her love in the only way he seemed able to accept it from her.

‘I wish we could be naked,' he growled against her neck, while his hand kneaded at her breast. ‘I wish I had the agility to take you standing up, against the door, or that you were not a lady, and I could bend you over the desk …'

The images his words conjured up should have shocked her. Instead, she found that she was growing even more excited. And eager to accede to his every demand.

‘Do it, then,' she heard herself say, in a voice roughened with need.

His head flew up in astonishment. ‘Do what?'

‘Whatever you want,' she said, reaching round his waist to yank his shirt from the waistband of his breeches. She sighed at the satin texture of his body under her fingers. ‘I need to feel your skin too,' she confessed, looking up at him with trepidation at her
boldness. ‘I want you now. I don't want to leave this room.' Her breath hitched on a sob. ‘I don't want to have to wait for Linney, and for it to become cold and businesslike.'

‘I won't let it be cold then,' he husked, ‘nor make you wait. But if you want it now,' he warned her, ‘you are going to have to help me.'

‘I know,' she whispered. ‘Show me what to do.'

With a fierce growl, he sought her mouth again, kissing her greedily. For the first time, he flung his injured arm about her waist, holding her close to him. She could feel how strong it was, holding her to his chest. It felt a little strange, ending just below the elbow. But that was just a fleeting thought. It was what his other hand was doing that dominated her mind. He had bunched up the material of her skirts and reached underneath until he found the soft skin of her thighs above her stocking tops. He only paused there briefly. Soon she began to moan, clinging to his shoulders for support when her knees became so weak under the ministration of his clever fingers, she thought her legs would give way.

‘The wall, the wall,' he grunted, pushing her backwards until she was leaning against a space between two glass fronted bookcases. ‘Lift your skirts,' he ordered, as he let them go, to unbutton the fall of his breeches.

‘This won't be very decorous,' he warned her, as she swiftly obeyed, granting him the access he sought.

No, she gasped. It wasn't in the least bit decorous. Nor was it cold or businesslike. It was frenzied, and exciting and … necessary. Oh, so necessary, for her to
have this—this proof that he could not wait for the night, but needed her now.