Try as she might, she could not close her eyes. Her gaze fixed on him as heated waves rippled over her, intensifying with each stroke. She felt him at her entrance, again, probing, wanting to reenter. Her body tensed. His circling quickened. Confused by the sensations, she grasped his forearms, breathing in short bursts.
As he entered her, she squeezed her eyes shut again, expecting the sharp pain. Instead, the thrust dizzied her in delightful ways. Instinctively, she arched against him. She lost herself, then, to the combined sensations of his thrusts and his fingers. In a strange fantasy, she imagined herself astride Duncan, the two of them riding atop a horse. Her hips moved to the gait of the ride, the horse’s hoofs pounding into the earth, sending shocks of vibrations through her body. With each hoofbeat, she gasped. Though she could not see behind her, she knew they approached a hurdle. Oh, please jump it.
Gripping Duncan with all her might, her legs locked around him, she rode the anticipation of the jump, the gallop intensifying, quickening. Only when she felt the lift of the ride did she relax into the jump, letting herself leap over the hurdle. Duncan’s mouth met hers as she thrust her hips against him, finding a curious release, a physical relaxation wherein she floated above all and sundry, no longer earthbound.
He moaned against her lips, his hardness held inside her, pulsing.
Opening her eyes, she met his gaze.
Bodies still connected, he asked, his voice cracking, “How was it?”
She bit her top lip to keep from giggling. Nodding, she said, “Exhilarating.”
“Exhilarating?” He repeated, incredulous. He made to speak several times before finally answering with a concise, “Good.”
In a slow movement, he withdrew from her, a motion that had her gasping anew, leaving in its wake an ache. Her legs trembled when she straightened them, and her lower body throbbed from a mixture of pleasure and soreness. Duncan rolled off her onto his side. Cool air wafted against her skin, shivering everywhere sweat had pooled. She did not have long to ponder her physical state or what it felt like to be loved, for his arm came around her in a tight grip and pulled her to him, turning her until her back was to his chest. He nuzzled her neck, moving her hair aside until he could kiss her shoulder.
“You may be exhilarated, my love, but I’m exhausted. Happy wedding day, Lady Starrett. Today is the beginning of our forever.” His voice trailed off as he drifted to sleep.
She listened to his soft snores until she, too, fell into a dreamless sleep.
Chapter 19
Though dusk was still at least two hours away, the blue autumnal sky had begun to darken, the wind picking up speed and the chill worsening. Duncan burrowed into his greatcoat and spared a glance at the carriage beside him.
It was good that he rode Caesar to Sidwell Hall rather than travel in the carriage with the women and children. At each stop along the way, Mary’s cheeks had glowed with a rosy sheen every time her eyes alighted on him. It was also good that his parents were an openly loving couple without prudish views, and that his brother and wife shared a similar outlook, for there could be no doubt in anyone’s mind about what Mary blushed. The marriage had all too clearly been consummated.
Yes, riding outside the carriage was best for all involved. Since one look from her stirred his loins, he was fortunate to be outside in safety, at least until they could find privacy again.
Despite his grand plans, they had not coupled countless times throughout the afternoon, evening, and night. The time together had been no less pleasurable. Though he knew her to be aroused, she had been far too sore for seconds, leaving them no choice but to restrict their physical affection to heavy petting. To his delight, she had awakened him before dawn, her nipples swollen and puckered from his attentions, her body finally ready for a second joining. He could tell she was still sore, so he was as gentle as possible.
Soon, he hoped, she would be physically accustomed to him, and when that day came, there would be no end to their lovemaking, as far as he was concerned.
The journey to Durham had been long. With stops along the way to rest the horses, eat, and allow Bernard an opportunity to disperse pent up energy, it had taken them all day. His plans for exploring the grounds and stable block would have to wait until the morrow. All in the party would need to rest once they arrived. While he may be used to long distances riding a horse, neither his father nor his brother was accustomed to it, their fidgeting in the saddle a tell-tale sign. At least his brother had one of the finest horses he had ever ridden, namely Mary’s beloved Athena. In the carriage were his mother, his sister-in-law Miranda, his three nieces, Mary, and Bernard.
He knew the moment they drew near the hall; the land changed. Without riding the park with the steward, he did not know exactly what all belonged to him, but he knew it comprised of some three-hundred acres, much of which was farmland cultivated by tenant farmers. In the lingering light, Duncan could spy crop fields, open fields, grazing sheep, woodlands, and the occasional peek of a running stream. Exploring the grounds and home farm would be a delight. Did this all belong to him? He thought it might.
According to Mr. McLarren, the previous owner had spent a small fortune on landscaping the park with meandering streams, wandering and sinuous nature walks, bands of trees wrapping about the entire park, and small formal gardens surrounding the house.
He had teased Mary last night with tales of the morning room’s terrace garden. Foxgloves, lavender, agapanthus, roses, sweeping bowling greens, and more, all as the centerpiece of a holly walk, and situated parallel to a kitchen garden with such herbs as thyme, peppermint, and chives. Duncan wondered if he would arrive to an overgrown disaster or if everything was pristine. If Mr. McLarren were to be believed, the family was in for a treat. What he had not teased Mary about was the stable block. That would be a surprise. The former owner had collected thoroughbreds for racing, and thus had tripled the fortune he spent on landscaping to build an impressive stable block visible from the hall, complete with clock tower and gentleman’s lounge.
Duncan had wondered how the man had any money remaining for the upkeep of the estate when he saw the accounts of how much the deceased baronet spent on his hobbies. The estate brought in a modest income, but nothing to match the expenses of the owner. Then, if the man had no heir or family, perhaps he had been right to spend his wealth on what he enjoyed, knowing there was no one to whom to leave it. Duncan glanced at the carriage. He could just make out Mary’s silhouette and Bernard’s wave through the window. What a fortunate man he was to have a family.
When they reached the stone gatehouse, Duncan’s blood pumped with vigor. This was his. This was his home. And it was bound to be grander than anything he could have conceived in dreams. The long ago plan of becoming a farmer would have involved a humble cottage on someone else’s land, a tenant to someone else, perhaps even a baronet. And now, this was his. He was the baronet.
The parade of horses, carriage, luggage carriage, and servants turned past the gates and through the gatehouse to follow a winding drive surrounded by trees on one side and open fields to the other. No signs of the hall yet, just a lengthy drive.
After what felt an eternity, Duncan’s heart beating a tattoo against his ribcage in anticipation of the first glimpse, they came to a tree-lined portion of the drive. The mirroring row of trees, with red and yellow tipped branches canopying the gravel, queued like saluting soldiers. If he squinted, he could see their destination at the far end of the tree tunnel, a teasing peek of ashlar stone hidden by cleverly arranged evergreens.
Both his father and brother stole glances to see Duncan’s immediate reaction. He could not keep the grin from his lips.
They promenaded through the sabre arch of trees, drawing ever closer to the house. Whoever planned the trees to block the view except for the single glimpse of a vertical row of windows was either ingenious or cruel. Duncan sided with the latter.
Enough of this! He wanted to see his home. With a touch of Duncan’s calves, Caesar trotted ahead of the group, bound for their destination.
And then, finally, there it stood.
Trees made way for an open lawn that would have been dramatic of its own beauty but made more so by the dotting of people gathered about the Palladian house. Duncan was not sure where to look first—the house or the people, or the stable block for that matter. He had time for only a quick glance to the house before the people descended on the party.
A three-story, five-bay block of ashlar stood in majesty against a backdrop of golden hued trees, broad lawns, and a stable block that rivaled in size. While no contest for the grandeur of Lyonn Manor and one-wing smaller in size to Cois Greta Park, Sidwell Hall was a beauty. He would not call it a stately home, but it was all too clearly well-maintained and a point of pride to the former owner, just as it now was to Duncan. And certainly, it was grander than anything he had ever dreamt of owning.
Grooms rushed ahead of the greeters to aid the arrivals. Duncan paid little mind. He dismounted, fleetingly hoping he did not stumble in front of strangers since it still took a good deal of effort to discern when his foot hit the ground.
The crowd approached, a disordered mixture of hall staff and what he assumed were villagers and neighbors. In the middle of the entourage was the steward.
Mr. McLarren scuttled forward, pushing his spectacles up his nose before accepting Duncan’s outstretched hand.
The steward spoke first. “Welcome to Sidwell Hall, Sir Duncan! I trust your journey was well. As you can see, the message you sent at your last stop arrived in time for us to ready for your arrival.”
“I can see that,” Duncan said with a chuckle and a broad smile. “I admit I never expected such a warm welcome. I had hoped you would be available to meet us, but nothing more crossed my mind.”
“Oh, no, Sir Duncan, we could not allow a war hero to arrive without fanfare! Your neighbors have all been eager to meet you since word first spread of your ownership.”
The steward turned his attention to behind Duncan. Approaching were the horses and carriages that had fallen behind when Duncan trotted forward in haste. McLarren waved hands to grooms and footmen. With finesse and expertise, the man directed a well-orchestrated ballet to see to the guests.
Duncan, meanwhile, began shaking hands with a sea of smiling people. Some bowed, some accepted his hand, and some embraced him as a long-lost relation, taking him quite by surprise. He had memorized so many names during the steward’s stay at Cois Greta Park, but he knew none of their faces. Nevertheless, the whole experience was reminiscent of the village he had just left behind. In a strange way, he felt he was coming home. But then, he was.
Stealing a moment away from the crowd, he headed to the carriage just as Mary descended the steps. Casting a blushing glance his way, she turned to see the crowd, her eyes widening. Bernard saw no one except his papa. He rushed at Duncan with arms raised. Before his little feet could come to a stumbling halt, Duncan swung him into his arms. Only once in the journey had Bernard begged to ride with his papa, realizing after a short distance that it was terribly boring and far more fun to be in the carriage. And so, it had been a long time since he had seen Duncan, two hours at least.
Bernard on his hip, Duncan made the rounds to introduce the people and the staff to his family, his hand on the small of Mary’s back, his parents, brother, and brother’s family standing behind them.
The whole of Sidwell Hall could fit into one wing of Lyonn Manor, but she loved it. This was hers. No longer was she an unwanted daughter or a guest of her brother. She was the wife of a colonel and baronet, lady of her own manor.
Though they had not seen any of the gardens or park after arriving, they had toured inside before dining over a feast specially arranged by a cook who was eager to welcome the new master and his wife. The rooms were cozy in comparison to what she was used to. This was a place in which she was certain she could be happy.
The grandest aspect of the home was its decorative plasterwork; though not gilded, ribbed, or with pendants, every room had a painted mural or elaborate design. The drawing room’s ceiling was a shimmering gold with intricate swirls that sparkled in the candlelight, centered with a blue medallion. Even the bedchambers, all of them, had some of the most fascinating plasterwork designs she had ever seen, not meant to impress with wealth so much as dazzle with artistic beauty.
However much she wanted to see the park, she spent the morning touring the servant wing with the housekeeper and discussing household matters, including meeting with the cook to plan the menu. Duncan and Mr. McLarren toured the park, alongside her father- and brother-in-law. She could see the park anytime, she told herself. There was no sense in being disappointed on her first day just because she had not been invited for the ride.
The house was immaculate in cleanliness and furnishings. The only feature lacking was the nursery, all too clearly a suite of rooms on the second floor that had not been designated for children until recently. Duncan must have requested the steward prepare a nursery. Only, the dear man did not have an eye for children’s needs. Did he not have children himself? Ah, but they were older, and Mary realized his wife must have taken care of such details. It was enough for now, but she would request more be done soon.
After a brief visit in said nursery to see the children and have a word with the nannies, and then a brief visit to the drawing room to talk with Mrs. Starrett and Miranda, she set off to explore the gardens. She had wanted to invite them to join her, as a good hostess should. Solitude, however, suddenly sounded like a grand idea. And besides, they were not guests; they were family.
Nuzzling into her fur, she set off to the formal gardens. There was no butler, a point that would need to be remedied soon, but a footman had helped her into her coat, bonnet, and gloves.
The air was turning from chilly to frosty sooner than any of them had expected. It was a good thing the family would only stay for a week before returning home. Being snowbound at an inn along the way would do no one any favors. Mary pulled her bonnet tighter around her ears and shivered.
How divine was this garden? Quaint, to be sure, but splendid in its own way.
A sitting room on the first floor overlooked the garden. The dining room on the ground floor faced it. Whoever designed this had an eye for beauty. A bowling green stretched before her, flowerbeds running parallel, and gravel paths to either side, framed by boxed hedges. It was far different from her mother’s rose garden or the manor’s parterre and knot gardens, but she liked it.
Though it did not have the bright array of spring and summer color Duncan had described to her from the steward’s descriptions, it had its own autumn and early winter beauty, not without color. Yew hedges, hollies, and laurels held their green. Yellow flowers of a winter jasmine contrasted against the bare branches of the rose bushes and surrounding trees. If she was not mistaken, she thought she spotted snowdrops and aconites awaiting winter’s snow so they could bloom in early spring to herald the coming of next season.
She followed the path around the garden before circling back to explore the rear of the house. There she found a terraced morning room with its own garden. A courtyard stood to one side, connecting the house with the servant’s wing. Skeletal branches of what she thought might be roses or maybe wisteria climbed the stone. It must look dramatically romantic in spring.
“Mary! There you are,” a voice called out to her.
She turned to spy Duncan coming around the side of the house, his cheeks pink from a wind-blown ride, his shoulders broader than usual with a caped coat. Unable to control her reaction, she felt the flush of both desire and embarrassment to see him. Her body warmed and her stomach fluttered. She could not look at him anymore without imagining him bare skinned and poised above her.
“I’ve scoured the house looking for you. I should have known I’d fi
nd you in the garden. You always did prefer the outside to in.” He greeted her with a kiss to her temple. “Come. I’ve something to show you.”
Without waiting for her reply, he tucked a hand at the small of her back and directed her to the front of the house.
Each time his shoulder brushed hers, she remembered the feel of his flesh. Each time his fingers pressed against her spine, she recalled the touch of his fingertips to her most intimate areas. Last evening the soreness from which she had suffered for a full day, had abated, though there remained an inexplicable tenderness when he touched her. She had enjoyed their coupling during their first night at the hall far more than their wedding day and better still than the second time the morning before the journey.
So aware of him, she did not realize they were heading to the stable block until halfway across the drive. When the realization struck her, she quickened her pace.
“Thank you, Duncan,” she said as they approached the archway. “I’ve been wanting to see Athena all morning but have not had a chance to get away.”
“You’ll see her soon enough, but I have something else in mind for you,” he said cryptically.
Mary knew there to be a lounge in the front of the block. They walked past it without a visit. Stables with a lounge sounded divine. If she had designed a stable block, she would have included such a luxury.
When they rounded the long row of stalls, she was first struck with just how enormous was the complex. The ducal stables had been impressive, but nothing to this. There could be no doubt this was designed by a connoisseur of horses. The block stood two stories, not including the clock tower, and formed a quadrangle with a central courtyard that had ample room for maneuvering a carriage and four.
Duncan steered her to the center of the courtyard.
“What do you think?” he asked, turning in a circle, arms outstretched.
She took it all in with a deep inhale of horse cologne, that familiar fragrance one could only find in a well-mucked and clean stable.
The Colonel and The Enchantress (An Enchantress Novel Book 4) Page 25