Ravish Me with Rubies

by Jane Feather

  “It’s lovely,” Petra said honestly. The oak-beamed room was huge, the carved four-poster deep and wide, the casements, each with a deep window seat, looked out over the loch to the heather pink cliffs on the far side.

  “There’s a bathroom through that door.” Elinor pointed to a door on the far side. “It has a functioning water closet, but I’m afraid hot water has to come up from the kitchens. If you want a bath in the evening, just tell the staff in the morning.”

  Petra nodded her understanding. It wasn’t her first social visit to a Scottish castle. There were always domestic inconveniences in the vast, draughty stone mansions. One learned to manage.

  Elinor sat down on the bed and patted the space beside her. “Tell me about yourself, Petra.”

  Petra looked surprised. “There’s little to tell. I am what you see. You know my family, nothing special about them. What do you want to know?”

  Elinor was silent for a moment, then she said with a rueful laugh, “To be honest, my dear, I want to know what you have that brought my brother to the altar,” she said finally. “I never thought Guy would find a woman he loved . . . or even felt enough for that he could contemplate spending his life with her.”

  “Oh.” Petra was at a loss. “I don’t know how to answer you. Except to say that we love each other.”

  “That’s truly wonderful, my dear.” Elinor frowned down at her lap. “Forgive me for asking this, but, how well do you think you know Guy?”

  Petra bristled slightly. “Enough to agree to be his wife.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Please don’t take offense. I know I have no right to ask, but Guy’s reputation with women . . .”

  “Yes, I know,” Petra interrupted. “He told me all about that himself. But I’m no naïve ingénue, Elinor. I’m younger than he, I know, but that doesn’t make me a simpleton. He even told me about the lady guerrilla fighter in Macedonia. Oh, and I wonder, was there someone in Tibet, do you know? He told me he learned the art of massage in Tibet.” She was laughing now at Elinor’s clear puzzlement.

  “It was impertinent of me to start this discussion,” Elinor stated. “Clearly you and Guy have an understanding beyond anything I was imagining. But perhaps I can tell you something about my brother’s growing up, which you might find enlightening, useful, perhaps at some point in the future.” She paused, knotting her fingers in her lap. “I hope I’m not interfering, I know it must seem like it, but . . .” Her voice faded.

  Petra was all attention. “No, not at all. Please tell me,” she encouraged. “I know so little about that part of his life.”

  “Our father was a strange man,” Elinor began. “Strange and difficult. Our mother had a wretched life. That affected both of us, but I think Guy felt it even more deeply than I did. It was as if, perhaps, he felt partly responsible. Our father neglected his wife, left her sometimes for a year or more. She had no idea where he’d gone or who with, whether or when he would return. She put a brave face on it in public, but in private it was very different.

  “When Guy was fifteen our father started taking an interest in him. He started to introduce him to the world he lived in, the women he consorted with. Guy told me once that our father had taken him to his first brothel for his fifteenth birthday and they had shared several women.” Elinor shuddered. “It’s too awful to think about. Guy was such a sensitive boy . . . Our father was a brute. I know one shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but he was,” Elinor stated with a note of defiance. “And I believe he tried to make Guy like him.”

  Petra nodded, thinking of Guy’s taste in books, of Guy smothered in small children. She thought of how tender he could be, how concerned for her reputation despite his own with women. And she thought of his arrogance, of how controlling he could be, of the times when she’d felt he had dismissed her concerns as unimportant. And she thought of the casual, thoughtless cruelty when he’d left her, a lovesick, naïve young girl, without a word of farewell all those years ago. A lot could be explained by the malevolent influence of a bullying father on an impressionable young man.

  “Thank you for telling me,” she said after a minute. “It explains a lot of Guy’s contradictions. Did you really think he would never marry?”

  Elinor shook her head, the intensity of the last moments broken. “He never seemed to want to settle down, but he does have a duty to provide an heir, so I suppose, at some point . . . but I certainly never thought he would marry for love. I didn’t think he was capable of it.”

  Of course Guy would have had to marry at some point. Of course the ancient barony needed an heir. She just hadn’t thought about it before, Petra reflected. The reflection left a slightly sour taste in her mouth. Uncomfortable realities often had that effect, she acknowledged reluctantly.

  “Well, let us go down and join the gentlemen,” Elinor said, getting to her feet. “One of the maids will unpack your things while we’re downstairs. It’s time to send the children back to the nursery. Guy will tolerate them up to a point, but they have a habit of overstaying their welcome.”

  “They certainly seem very fond of him,” Petra observed, following Elinor out of the room.

  “Yes, he seems to have a natural affinity with children, but his patience is not unlimited,” Elinor said with a slight laugh.

  Back in the great hall they found Guy and Hamish alone, sitting on either side of the inglenook, nursing glasses of whisky.

  “Oh, did you banish the children already?” Elinor asked cheerfully, taking up a piece of embroidery as she sat down in a carved oak chair next to her husband.

  “Hamish found them too noisy,” Guy said, reaching a hand for Petra and drawing her down beside him on the cushioned settle.

  “It was time for their tea,” Hamish supplied.

  Elinor merely smiled and plied her needle. “We don’t as a rule dress for dinner at Innes when it’s just the family, Petra,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Mind?” Petra exclaimed. “I can’t think of anything better. It’s so irksome at house parties having to change one’s clothes three times a day sometimes. It’s been like that at several of our wedding visits on the way up here.”

  “Well, we don’t stand on any ceremony here, my dear,” Hamish stated, stretching his long legs to the fire.

  It was a pleasant evening and Petra felt herself relaxing into the easy friendliness of the Brandons. Guy, too, seemed to lose the sharp edges that she had assumed were always a part of who he was. He laughed a lot, teased his sister, and kept Petra close to his side, ensuring she had everything she wanted at dinner, partnering her in the rubber of bridge they played afterward. Petra was glad, however, that she was a relatively strong player when she saw how competitive Guy and Elinor were, and how very seriously Hamish took the game.

  The evening broke up quite early with Guy and Hamish set to go shooting at dawn the next morning. “I’m not an early riser, Petra,” Elinor said, kissing her sister-in-law good night on the landing outside the guests’ bedroom. “So ring for breakfast if you’d like it in your room, otherwise it’ll be laid out in the small dining room behind the front parlor. You remember where that is?”

  “Yes, I think I’ll be able to find my way. If I get lost I’m sure someone will show me.” Petra lifted her face for Hamish’s peck on the cheek. “Good night, and thank you for a lovely evening.”

  The bedroom was a warm haven, curtains drawn across the casements but pulled back around the bed. Gas lamps were turned low on the mantel above the fireplace where a log fire burned, throwing out welcome warmth to combat the chilly draft that needled its way around the window.

  “It gets cold at night up here,” Guy said. “Whatever the time of year.” He shrugged out of his tweed jacket before turning to Petra with a wicked glint in his eye. “Allow me to play lady’s maid, madam.”

  Petra submitted to his deft hands as he undressed her. His hands didn’t linger over their task and yet somehow always managed to touch, to brush, to smooth a particular s
pot on her tingling skin that brought a jolt of arousal deep in her belly. “There,” he said finally, wrapping her in a velvet dressing gown. “You won’t get cold now.” He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her toward the bathroom. “Be quick in there. And leave me some hot water.”

  Petra obeyed the little push and went into the small antechamber where two jugs of hot water steamed on the dresser. “There’s plenty here,” she called, filling the basin and dipping a face cloth into the water, burying her face in its scented warmth. Her toiletries had been unpacked during the evening and she unpinned her hair, taking up her ivory-backed brush, pulling it vigorously through the rich copper mass until it shone in the soft lamplight.

  “Aren’t you finished yet?” Guy appeared in the doorway. He came over to her, lifting a thick hank of her hair, burying his face in its fragrant silkiness. “Magnificent,” he murmured. “I have to have you now, madam wife. Get into bed.”

  Petra gave him a mischievous look over her shoulder. “But I’m not quite finished in here. I have one more personal matter to attend to.”

  “You have three minutes,” he said.

  Petra was now too anxious for the evening’s play to begin to indulge her sense of mischief by prolonging the time she needed to complete her ablutions. She did what she had to and went back into the bedroom, unfastening the tie of her robe.

  “No, wait.” Guy crossed the room swiftly, drawing her closer to the fire before untying the robe himself, pushing it off her shoulders and tossing it over an ottoman. “Let me look at you.” He stepped back, his hungry eyes running over her as she stood naked in the firelight. “Turn around.”

  She revolved slowly, feeling the heat of his gaze almost as powerfully as the flickering fire behind her.

  “Get into bed. I won’t be long.” His voice was low and husky, as if something had caught in his throat.

  Petra put one knee up on the bed as she pulled back the covers, her movements very slow, turning her body slowly, accentuating the lines and curves of her nakedness until his breath came fast and, muttering an oath, Guy strode into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

  Petra laughed softly. She loved to see the evidence of her power to arouse him. She slid between the crisp white sheets, pulled up the thick quilted coverlet and lay wide-eyed waiting for him. When he came back, wonderfully naked, his erect penis rising from the dark mass of hair at the base of his belly, she propped herself on her elbows and gazed greedily at him. Firelight threw a flickering glow over his skin, illuminating the ripple of muscle beneath, as he walked to the bed, his dark eyes beacons of lust.

  That night he made love to her fiercely, using her body as if to satisfy some primal need of his own, and Petra responded as fiercely, her own lust deeply aroused by the simple, almost savage purity of her lover’s need. And when it was over she fell back against the pillows, her body sated, her limbs weak, her breath coming fast, sweat beading on her forehead.

  Guy lay, one arm flung above his head, until his own breathing had slowed. Languidly he moved his other hand to rest on her belly, his fingers sliding down to twine in the damp dark curls. “I didn’t hurt you?”

  “No,” she said, turning her face into his shoulder, licking the sweat from his skin. “Quite the opposite.”

  He patted the curve of her hip. “I don’t usually lose myself so completely,” he murmured.

  “Lose control, you mean?”

  He was silent for a moment before admitting almost reluctantly, “Yes, I suppose that is what I mean.”

  “Do you want a child?” Petra asked, her conversation with Elinor coming into her head with a surprising urgency.

  Guy’s stroking hand came to rest on her hip. “Why do you ask that now?”

  “Well, because even though we’re married you still use those sheath things, and we’ve never discussed it before.”

  “No, we haven’t, have we?” He pulled himself up against the pillows, hauling her up with him so that her head rested on his chest. “Must we talk about it now?”

  He sounded plaintive and Petra couldn’t help chuckling. “Have I rendered you too feeble even for a conversation?”

  “No, I am well and truly in control again. So, to answer your question, yes, at some point I would like a child.”

  “A son and heir?”

  “Preferably,” he said dryly. “But the timing, my love, is up to you. When you’re ready to breed, then I’ll stop taking precautions. I thought you might want to enjoy married life for a while, before burdening yourself with motherhood.”

  Petra absorbed this for a moment, then said, “That’s settled then. Let’s go to sleep now.” She reached up to kiss his mouth before turning on her side and closing her eyes. Guy smiled, leaned over to extinguish the gas lamp and drew her curled body closer into his embrace.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Welcome back, Lady Ashton.”

  At the laughing voice in the doorway, Petra spun on her heel away from the window of a cheerful sitting room at the back of Granville House on Berkeley Square. “Oh, Diana, I was so hoping you’d come by this morning. Is Fenella with you?”

  “No, she had a rehearsal this morning, but she’ll meet us for lunch at Fortnum’s.” Diana cast aside her wool cape. “So, how is married life? How was the honeymoon? Tell me everything.”

  “I don’t know where to begin.” Petra pulled a bell rope by the hearth where a small fire burned brightly. “Coffee first.”

  She gave the order to the parlor maid who answered the summons of the bell and then held out her arms to her friend. “I’ve missed you both so much.”

  Diana embraced her warmly. “Not as much as we’ve missed you. It’s been really boring in town since you left.”

  “I was only gone four weeks,” Petra said, “but it did feel like being in another life.”

  “So, tell me all about it. How was Florence?”

  “Probably just as you remember it,” Petra answered, “but we did have a private guide for several days at the Uffizi and that was lovely . . . Oh, thank you, Marie.” She smiled at the maid returning with the coffee. “Just leave it on the table, I’ll pour.”

  “And how’s Guy?” Diana asked the question that had been on the tip of her tongue since she’d arrived at Granville House. She sat down in the corner of a sofa and looked expectantly at her friend.

  “He’s very well,” Petra said, handing her a cup of coffee. “At least he was earlier this morning. Right now he’s closeted in his office with his secretary. Some parliamentary business that Freddie’s anxious about. Freddie’s Guy’s secretary,” she added. “He’s a very earnest young man who’s always wanting Guy to write another article on some national issue or other for the Times, or give a speech in the Lords, or propose or support some bill or other. He was waiting with a sheaf of papers for Guy to deal with almost before we walked into the house. Poor Guy barely had time to take his coat off.”

  “I’m guessing you found that annoying,” Diana said shrewdly, sipping her coffee.

  “Somewhat,” Petra responded caustically.

  Diana laughed. “But truly, darling, what’s it like being married to Guy . . . being Lady Ashton.”

  Petra’s flash of irritation vanished. She smiled slowly. “Well, so far it’s wonderful. Guy’s sister and her family were lovely, very welcoming, and Guy and I didn’t quarrel once the whole month.”

  Diana raised her eyebrows, “How did you manage that?”

  Petra shook her head. “Quite honestly I don’t know. There was never anything to fall out about. But it can’t last,” she added. “Not once real life takes over.”

  “That’s probably true,” her friend agreed. “And on the subject of real life, there’s a meeting of the WSPU this evening at Caxton Hall. Can you be there? There’s a lot of talk now about getting up a march on Parliament, maybe even into St. Stephen’s Hall itself.” She grimaced. “If it goes onto hallowed ground it’ll certainly set the cat among the pigeons.”

&nbs
p; Petra frowned. “That’s taking a big step forward. It’s one thing to assemble peacefully in Parliament Square, quite another to invade Parliament itself.” She couldn’t imagine how Guy would react to such a proposition. Or rather, she could, and it was not a pretty image. Even Jonathan would be dismayed to think of his sister participating in such an event.

  “Yes, it is,” Diana agreed, “but there are some members who are getting restless. They feel we’re not getting anywhere with what we’ve done so far. Sedate protest marches, speeches at Hyde Park Corner, publishing leaflets, they feel it’s too passive.”

  “Part of me sees their point,” Petra said, setting aside her empty coffee cup. “But part of me doesn’t like the idea of anything too extreme.”

  “Well, will you come tonight? It might help to clear all our heads if we listen to all opinions.”

  “Yes, I’ll come.” Petra glanced at the clock. “What time are we meeting Fenella at Fortnum’s? It’s gone noon.”

  “We should go now.” Diana stood up, reaching for her discarded cape.

  “I’ll fetch my coat. Give me five minutes.” Petra hurried upstairs to the vast and ornate bedroom she shared with Guy. Although she had slept in this room many times before their marriage she had never felt totally at ease there and marriage had not changed that. She much preferred the privacy of her own sitting room and dressing room, which adjoined the bedroom. Guy had his own dressing room furnished with a comfortable bed on the opposite side of the bedroom. The bed was for those nights when the master of the house chose not to sleep with his wife, she presumed. So far that had not happened.

  “I’m going out, Dottie. I need a coat,” she said as she entered the dressing room, where Dottie was ironing.

  Dottie set aside her iron and fetched a dark wool coat from the armoire. “You’d best wear your boots, Miss Petra. It’s been raining.”