The Wedding Affair (16 page)

Not that he was feeling concern about any of it. Everything had worked just fine when it counted. A little loss of vision or muscle control afterwards was a small price to pay.

He followed another flash streaking across the sky and then turned his head to see if Olivia might have seen this one or if he really was imagining things.

Her eyes were closed. Her long dark lashes lay against the curve of her cheeks, shadowed in the soft moonlight. Her breathing was even—more than he could say for his, he admitted—but she looked every bit as bonelessly relaxed as he felt.

Any minute now she would open those glorious hazel eyes—and then no doubt she’d open her outrageously kissable mouth and start making demands.

An
annuity
, for the love of God.

He’d believed that only a woman who was very experienced—and very disillusioned with her previous lovers—would even have thought of such a thing. Perhaps she’d been fobbed off with a bracelet made of paste and had decided to take no such chances in the future.

The only surprise was that she had let him sample the merchandise so thoroughly before she had her reward—for though that had been a valuable sapphire stickpin, in the overall picture it was a mere trifle. But perhaps that meant she was a skilled negotiator—for having once tasted her, there was little he wouldn’t give to be allowed into her bed and into her body.

On the other hand, he’d swear the woman lying next to him was almost as innocent as a virgin—nowhere near so experienced as to have planned that strategy. At least, she had been innocent before he’d made love to her, and he was fiercely glad that he was the one who had initiated her.

Lady Reyne was a puzzle he meant to investigate. He would get to the depths of her…

In more ways than one.
Almost instantly, with no more stimulation than the thought, he was hard again, eager to once more slide inside her and explore.

Her breath rasped in the tiniest and most delicate of snores, and he smiled at the evidence of how deeply her climax had relaxed her.

A long time had passed since she had been with a man; that was apparent. And she had never experienced her own pleasure before. Her husband must have been the clumsiest chump on the face of the earth. Lord Reyne had planted a babe in her belly, but in all the important ways, he had left her entirely untouched.

And now she was Simon’s to explore, and to enjoy. Tenderness swept over him. He wanted to wake her up and start all over again from the beginning, but he knew that she needed some time. She would be sensitive after their love play. And she would be stiff from the cool ground she lay on; despite the blanket, the earth beneath them was chilly.

“Olivia,” he whispered. “Wake up, sweet.”

Her eyelids fluttered, and she raised a hand to his face. The half-conscious gesture was an invitation, and his penis went rigid. Even if she wasn’t entirely awake,
he
was—and she’d asked for it.

He quelled the baser side of himself and shifted away from her enough to wrap her in the blanket. She stirred as he picked her up, but her eyes were unfocused and she seemed not to know quite where she was.

He carried her to the house and managed to open the kitchen door without banging it. But the narrow, steep stairs gave him pause. She was not tall, but the ceiling was barely high enough to let her pass. He would have to duck his head as he carried her, throwing his balance into question. Even if he didn’t fall over, how was he to get them both up the no-doubt creaky stairway silently enough to avoid disturbing the household? And which bedroom was hers? He could see three doors at the top of the stairs, with nothing to suggest which one was his destination. Perhaps he should try to wake her enough that she could walk up by herself.

A quavery, high-pitched voice spoke from the shadows at the top of the stairs. “Mama?”

The woman in his arms came instantly alert. “Charlotte?” Startled to find herself suspended in midair, Olivia struggled, and Simon set her down.

Now through the railing he could see a haze of white, something that must be a tiny nightgown. “Is that a bad man, Mama?”

“Not at all, darling. What are you doing wandering around?”

“I had a scary dream, but you weren’t in your bed.”

“I’m here now, pet.” Without a glance at Simon, Olivia climbed the stairs and stooped at the top. The small figure melted into her as Charlotte buried her face in her mother’s shoulder. Olivia looked over the railing at Simon and shook her head slightly as she picked up the child.

As though she thought he would follow her upstairs and insist on sharing her bed. Not that he didn’t want to, of course.

He tiptoed out through the kitchen, collected his horse from the shed at the bottom of the garden, and rode back to Halstead in a sort of haze—wondering what had happened to him back there.

***

Not only was Halstead full of unfamiliar sounds at night, but the country darkness was so intense that Penelope felt oppressed. Occupying a big bed so different from the one she was used to in London didn’t help.

Neither did the fact that every time she closed her eyes she couldn’t stop herself from once more visualizing her husband’s bare chest. Once, as she dozed off, she stretched out a hand as if to touch him—and the movement startled her awake again. She slept badly, woke later than she’d planned, and had to hurry if she was to ride with Kate and the bridesmaids.

The little housemaid who’d helped her dress for dinner did her best, but Penelope was too rushed to be patient over details like the firm lacing of a corset. When Maggie was summoned to poke a fire down the hall, Penelope waved her away and scrambled into her riding habit by herself, thanking fortune she’d chosen a design that buttoned up the front.

Kate was already in the hall when Penelope came downstairs. “You look tired, Penny.”

A bridesmaid who was dawdling nearby snickered. “Perhaps she had a strenuous night,” she said under her breath. “Newlyweds, you know.”

Kate fixed the girl with a stern look, and the bridesmaid fluttered away toward the breakfast room.

Penelope tightened the ribbon that held her bonnet, hoping the locks of hair she’d stuffed up underneath wouldn’t fall out. “I’m not as tired as you must be, Kate—dealing with all this.”

“Oh, I’m all right. One day behind me, and only another four or five to go. I’m glad you’re going along, Penny. The more eyes we have to watch over these girls…”

“They’re quite a determined lot, aren’t they?” Too late, Penelope heard someone behind her on the stairs and turned to see Lady Daphne, dressed in a daringly stylish scarlet habit. No wonder she’d come up with the idea of riding, Penelope thought. She must have wanted to show off another piece of her trousseau.

Lady Daphne’s gaze slid slowly over Penelope. “I do hope after a few months of marriage
I
won’t have ceased to care how I look.”

Penelope tried to shrug off a surge of embarrassment. Were her buttons not straight? Was it obvious she had simply wound her hair up atop her head as best she could? “Why is it we have not yet met your husband-to-be, Lady Daphne? I thought you would wish him to be present for all the wedding festivities.”

Daphne’s eyes narrowed. “The marquess will arrive in time for the important parties.”

Penelope wondered if the timing had been chosen for the groom’s convenience or to keep him away from the covetous bridesmaids. What a scandal that would make, if one of Lady Daphne’s dozen friends were to take aim at her marquess in the manner they seemed to be doing with every other eligible man at Halstead…

A peal of giggles cascaded from the breakfast room into the hall, and half a dozen bridesmaids fluttered out. In their midst were Andrew Carlisle and the Earl of Townsend, and the bridesmaids’ attention seemed to be evenly divided.

So the young ladies were not only pursuing the eligible males, Penelope realized, but some ineligible ones as well.

Today the earl’s coat was a shade of dark blue that matched his eyes to perfection. His buckskins were spotless, and his boots reflected the spot of sunlight that fell across the marble floor of the hall. He looked absolutely perfect, and Penelope couldn’t take her gaze off him.

He paused in midstride and returned her look with a thoughtful head-to-foot appraisal that made Penelope felt even more unkempt than usual. Lady Daphne’s stare had been a compliment in comparison, and she wished she had taken a few more minutes with her toilette. Not that it would have made much difference; sooner or later her hair would be falling down no matter what she did. At least no one could argue with the tailoring of her hunter-green habit or the gloss on her riding boots.

As the group trailed out to the stables, where the horses were already saddled and a row of grooms waited at attention to adjust girths and stirrups, the earl stayed a few steps behind Penelope. Though she couldn’t see him, she knew he was there, and her heart skidded around in her chest.

Lady Daphne looked around the stable yard. “Where’s my brother?”

The stable master ducked his head respectfully. “The duke went out half an hour ago, my lady. He said he’d meet up with you in the village.”

“Oh, fie. I’d planned to take the river route down to the abbey ruins. But I suppose if we must go to the village first to collect Simon, then we must.” Lady Daphne’s gaze fell on Penelope. “No doubt we’ll have to find some sort of cob you’re capable of riding, even though you’ll hold the rest of us up.”

Penelope had reached her limit. “Perhaps, my lady, you should give me the most restive mount in the stable. After all, if the horse should throw and trample me, my husband might once more be free for your friends to pursue.”

She felt the earl’s quick movement behind her. She hadn’t realized he was quite so close, and she hadn’t intended for him to overhear the exchange. She felt herself start to color.

“We can’t allow an accident.” The earl came up beside her, running an eye over the row of horses. “May I choose a mount for you?”

Penelope held her breath. He’d never seen her on horseback; there had been little opportunity in London for her to ride. What if he, like Daphne, assumed she was only capable of controlling some fat and placid old nag?

He pointed out a trim little gray mare. “That one, I think.”

Penelope nodded gratefully as he led the mare to the mounting block. “Thank you for not suggesting I’d be more at home on a hobbyhorse.”

“Would you be?” he asked coolly. By the time she’d drawn a breath to answer, he had mounted a big gray gelding.

Penelope tentatively touched the mare with her heel and moved away from the stable, getting the feel of the horse. She stayed on the fringes of the group, expecting no problem in keeping her distance from the earl. But whenever she glanced around, there he was within a few lengths and always with his gaze on her. His unsmiling regard made her itchy, and her nervousness seemed to transmit itself to the mare, who sidled and shied at shadows.

Pay attention
, Penelope warned herself,
unless you
want
to be thrown and trampled!

By the time they reached the village, she had herself in hand and had convinced the mare that the horse was not the one in charge of the expedition. She tried not to notice the earl, who seemed to still hover at the corner of her eye, but studied the village instead.

On their arrival yesterday, they had swept down the main street so quickly that Penelope hadn’t paid much attention. Now she realized what a neat and well-kept little town it was—with a row of shops, a cluster of cottages, and a small stone church surrounded by a graveyard full of tall, bristling stones. A perfect little English village, steeped in tradition.

Outside one of the cottages she spotted a pair of horses, saddled and bridled, standing by a garden gate. An urchin held the reins, but the animals seemed to pay him no heed; they pulled at his arm as they stretched over the wall to nibble at a flowering bush inside the garden. Coming down the walk from the cottage was the duke and beside him, with her hand on his arm, walked a woman in a well-worn dark habit.

“At least now we know why he was in such a hurry to get to the village,” the earl said. “And what a reason she is, too.”

Penelope shot a look at him and then turned to stare at the woman. Despite the slightly shabby habit, there was an air of elegance about her that sent shards of envy through Penelope. No matter what she herself did, she could never acquire that sort of polish—the smooth grace and the easy gliding walk that this woman displayed.

Lady Daphne’s gaze was sharp enough to hone steel. “Who is
that
?”

“Lady Reyne.” Kate sounded as if she had swallowed something large and hard. “But why is Olivia riding with the duke?”

“Perhaps because he asked her to,” the earl said, and once more Penelope caught a tinge of humor in his voice.

“But he couldn’t have, sir,” Kate said. “The riding party was not mentioned until after dinner last night. I myself instructed Greeley to send word to the stables that horses would be required, but not until quite late in the evening.”