Because she was looking up at him in wonder. As though...as though...
‘Ben,’ she breathed, on a whisper. ‘Does that mean...that you do want to make our marriage work? Now that you’ve had time to think it through?’
‘Yes,’ he grunted. Amazed that he could even form one word, containing as much as a whole syllable, when the most primitive part of him was stealing so much of his ability to behave like a decent human being.
She beamed up at him. ‘Oh, I’m so glad,’ she said. ‘I really do think,’ she added, somehow turning him so that he was at her side, before steering him along the path they’d trampled through the grass on their way to church, ‘that we can do a lot of good together.’
He stumbled along at her side, his whole body throbbing with the way it had felt to hold her in his arms, her whole body pressed up against his, her hands upon his shoulders, her lips moving, in sweet response, beneath his own. He could hear her chattering on about plans for transforming the houses in the village, creating jobs, and sending messages to the villagers who’d already left, letting them know that things would be different. While all he could think about was that the first time he kissed her should have been in a rose arbour, or at a ball, with music playing in the background, not in the middle of a field on the way back from church.
After a few minutes of admiring the animation in her lovely face while she shared her ideas with him, his head began to clear. And two things dawned on him. The first was that all her happiness centred on what they could achieve together, in the district, with her money, and that she really seemed excited by the prospect that she could be useful, instead of merely decorative.
The second was that although she hadn’t been repulsed by his kiss, she hadn’t enjoyed it so much she’d wanted to have another one. When he’d broken off before he plunged into the abyss of unforgiveable behaviour, she’d neatly manoeuvred him so that they were now walking side by side, rather than standing face to face.
‘Don’t you think?’ She was smiling up at him in an expectant way, as if waiting for his answer. He rapidly reviewed the things she’d been saying while he’d been wrestling his body back under control. Things that had filtered through, to an extent, or he wouldn’t have been aware of how excited she was to be able to do something constructive with her dowry.
‘I have had some thoughts of my own,’ he decided to tell her. ‘Since we came here I have spent a great deal of time riding the estates, and talking to what tenants there are left, and seeking their opinions.’ Much of which he could not repeat, or not to her, anyway.
‘The tenants who have stayed on,’ he continued, ‘are the older ones, or those who cannot face the prospect of moving to another town and looking for work that would prove to be arduous.’ Or a few outlying farmers who were too belligerent to meekly move out, even after being threatened with eviction for refusing to pay the ridiculously high rent increases the Fourth Earl had attempted to impose. Those who’d met him with shotguns in their hands and desperation in their eyes, swearing they’d as soon hang for murder as see their families turned off the land and out of their homes to starve for no good reason. But he wasn’t about to tell Daisy about them and cause her any alarm. He’d reassured them he was cut from a different cloth from their previous landlord. Which none of them found hard to believe. At least, none of them had actually shot him, had they? ‘Which means there is a real scarcity of men to do the heavy work in the village or the Park, such as repairing roofs, and walls, and fences, or digging drainage ditches or even mowing this meadow until it resembles the lawn it once was.’
‘So we need to get strong, able-bodied men to come here, then. How do you think we might do that? Do we advertise in London? Or...’
‘No. I was thinking of contacting the regiment. Many ex-soldiers find it hard to find work, especially if they are disfigured.’
She frowned. ‘But I thought you said we needed to find able-bodied men. Oh, not that I am against trying to help wounded ex-soldiers, it is just...’
‘Well, we would have to select men who can do something. Men who are, also, desperate to find any kind of work, and prepared to live anywhere. We could offer a married man with children one of the houses in the village that stands empty, in return for repairing it, and...a few light tasks on the estate...’
They began to discuss various enterprises, and by the time they got back to the house they had created, in their imaginations, a sort of workers’ paradise.
‘I don’t suppose any of it will come to pass,’ he said heavily as he opened the kitchen door for her to go through.
‘I don’t see why not,’ she said, over her shoulder as she went inside. He half closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of her, leaning in to catch every last atom of it. ‘You are too inclined to look on the dark side, Ben.’ Of course he was. He’d seen it. In fact, he’d seen little else.
She tipped her head to one side. ‘I swear I could count the number of times I’ve seen you smile on the fingers of one hand.’
‘As many as that?’
She shook her head in mock reproof, before undoing the ribbons of her bonnet. And proceeded to tease him, all the way through the meal that Mrs Green and Sally had stayed behind to prepare.
He had no idea how to react. On the one hand, it was wonderful that she was talking to him for the first time, properly, since they’d married. On the other...why, oh, why wasn’t he the sort of man who could respond to her playful banter in kind? Who was less serious? Who could smile easily, and laugh and make jokes?
He could barely eat the wholesome food Sergeant Wilmot had dished up, he was in such turmoil. He was either shaking with the force of waves of desire that kept sweeping through him every time she smiled at him playfully. Or he was drowning in despair at the casual way she’d suggested they ought to spend her money doing good to other people, since they couldn’t be happy with each other.
And then he’d remember the softness of her lips under his own, the curves of her slender body where he’d held her tightly, and he’d have no idea what everyone else at the table was laughing at.
And then, all of a sudden, Vale was getting to his feet and saying that, yes, he had no objection to starting out now, and Wilmot was standing up as well, and saying he’d give him a hand.
‘On a Sunday?’ Mrs Green was the only one who seemed to object to whatever it was that the two men had decided to do. Which was ironic since she’d chosen to stay here cooking their dinner rather than going with them to church.
‘Well, it’s a lovely afternoon,’ said Vale. ‘And all we’ll be doing is strolling around the orchard, seeing what can be salvaged. Won’t be doing any lifting today.’
The furniture. They’d made some plans to rescue some of the furniture the late Earl had been so determined to deny him.
Daisy cleared her throat. ‘I thought, if you don’t object,’ she said to Ben, ‘that while Vale and Wilmot and Marcie and Sally take a walk through the furniture orchard, we could take a look around the stables and other outbuildings, and see which ones we could use for storage, and which could be turned into workshops.’
She was proposing they spend the afternoon together? Without Marcie and her footman dogging their footsteps? ‘I don’t object,’ he said swiftly. And basked in the warmth of the smile she turned on him.
‘You don’t think,’ she said, once the men had gone to the orchard, and they were on their way to the stables, ‘that I am being silly? I noticed that you didn’t say anything about the suggestions I made at lunch. And although I am grateful that you didn’t pour cold water on them in front of the others, I would truly appreciate it if you...prevented me from making a colossal fool of myself.’
He didn’t like the way she assumed he’d think her ideas foolish. But on reflection he supposed he hadn’t said anything to make her think otherwise. It was about time he made more of an effort to speak up. He had to ge
t over the feeling that he wouldn’t be able to form three coherent words in the correct order whenever he was near her. She wasn’t an unattainable goddess, who’d turn her nose up at him and stalk away or mock him for his clumsiness any longer. She was his wife. And she wanted to know what he thought. She’d asked him, hadn’t she?
He cleared his throat. ‘Getting the furniture under cover before it deteriorates any further is not a silly idea at all. I should have thought of it myself.’
She breathed out on what sounded like a sigh of relief.
‘The truth, I suppose,’ or part of it, anyway, ‘is that there is so much neglect and deliberate damage to undo that I haven’t known where to start. The more I have discovered, the bigger the task seems, and therefore the more impossible to achieve anything at all.’ Although he had made some headway with some of the tenant farmers, hadn’t he? He’d managed to persuade them that he had no intention of evicting them, or keeping the rents at a level they couldn’t afford to pay, or prosecuting them for turning their weapons on him.
‘Perhaps,’ she said as they reached the stables, and she peered into an empty stall, ‘some of those wounded ex-soldiers might have skills in carpentry, or furniture restoration, or something of the sort.’
‘Hmm.’ That was a possibility. He’d never ceased to be amazed at the skills the men serving under him had displayed, even though they’d preferred to put them to some nefarious ends. ‘And some of the wives would have no trouble digging ditches or climbing up on roofs to repair the thatch. Army wives are a tough breed.’
She turned to him, and giggled. ‘Oh, dear. It sounds as if we may be on the brink of creating a totally revolutionary settlement, where the men will sit inside sewing and baking, while the women go out digging ditches!’
‘You would like that, wouldn’t you?’ He stepped to one side as she made to leave the stall, blocking her path. ‘You would like to overturn the dominance of men.’
She looked up at him thoughtfully. ‘I had never really thought about it. Not in that way. I mean, I have resented my father and my brothers sometimes, but...’
A shaft of sunlight was caressing her hair, making it glow like a million candle flames. She was so beautiful she took his breath away. And all he’d have to do was put his arm out, and he could pull her in and he could kiss her again. And she wouldn’t object, not to judge by the way she’d responded earlier.
So he did. And she didn’t. Instead, she melted against him, put her arms round his neck and moved her lips against his. Which she hadn’t tried to do before. As if...
‘Has no man ever kissed you before, Daisy?’ He couldn’t believe it. She was so lovely, every man in London must have tried to get her alone.
She shook her head with a little grimace of distaste.
‘I have never let any male get me into a situation where it might be possible,’ she said. ‘Urgh.’
And yet she hadn’t objected to him kissing her. Had just tried, shyly, to kiss him back.
And had been furious that he hadn’t gone to her bed on their wedding night.
His heart thudded thickly. Tonight, he promised himself. He was going to give her the wedding night he had not dared to attempt before. Even though she’d predicted they might never be happy together, right now her body was his for the taking. She could not be telling him more clearly, without coming outright and saying it, that she wanted to know what it meant to be a married woman. Even if the husband she’d ended up with was him.
And he was more than willing to oblige.
* * *
Daisy’s heart was thundering so hard she was surprised Ben couldn’t feel it. And she was shaking. Because she’d done it! She’d managed to get him to kiss her. Not once, but twice!
She wasn’t a total failure as a woman after all. She did have what it took to make a man...desire her. Enough to kiss her, anyway. The first time had been hard work. She’d racked her brains to recall the things Mother had advised her she could do to bag the man she’d set her sights on, and had come up with the ruse of clinging to his arm and shamelessly pressing her breast against his upper arm. Because Mother had said that breasts were a woman’s most potent weapon. During her London Season she had observed that men did, indeed, look at them far more than they ever looked at her face. And it had made her wish to keep them covered up at all times. But with Ben...
And then she’d shared things with him she’d never told anyone else. Aroused all his protective instincts. And looked at him with what she hoped was a sort of feminine helplessness, as though he, and he alone, could save her.
But this time all she’d had to do was smile at him. Right into his face, after acting as though she was interested in every word that dropped from his mouth. Just as Mother had said.
Although it hadn’t been an act, really, had it? She had come to trust him enough to share things with him she hadn’t shared with anyone else. Because it was Ben. Ben who never uttered three words if he could express what he meant with a sarcastic grimace instead. But when Ben did decide to talk, the things he said were interesting. He never wasted his breath saying anything unless he had something worth saying.
She sighed happily as she recalled the things he’d said about her ideas. He hadn’t dismissed them, saying she didn’t know what she was talking about, the way Father would have done. Or laughed at her and tweaked her nose, the way her brothers would have done. Instead, he had, in his turn, shared his own thoughts with her.
He made her feel...he made her...
‘Ben,’ she sighed up at him. He really did seem to like her, as a person. Or he couldn’t have shared his thoughts with her, could he? He was usually so quiet, so withdrawn.
‘Daisy,’ he grated, and pulled her roughly up against his chest, again. And devoured her mouth as though he was starving. To her surprise she felt something that hadn’t been there before. Something like a pipe, pushing against her stomach. She knew, in theory, what it was. Her brothers were always making crude jokes about flagstaffs and suchlike. But this was the first time a man had had that reaction because of her.
It had taken a week, and a great deal of determination, but she’d done it. She’d got Ben to see her as a woman, not a silly, petulant child.
She felt like thanking her mother for all the tips she’d given her about drawing a man into her net. And apologising for the way she’d behaved when Mother had been giving her that advice, declaring she’d never stoop to such tactics. And why would she, when the last thing she wanted was a husband?
Ah, but it was different now she had a husband, wasn’t it? Especially since she didn’t want that other woman to give him what he ought to be getting from his wife.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Ben paused on the threshold of what had once been the Fourth Earl’s room, a lifetime of knowing he had no right to walk in here seizing him by the scruff of the neck. But after only a moment or two it began to relax its grip. Because this was not the Fourth Earl’s room any longer. The Fourth Earl was dead.
And Daisy had made it her own, by moving some of the heavier, darker furniture out, and moving what was left into new positions. There was no longer a shaving stand by the window but a dressing table, covered with all sorts of feminine paraphernalia. Bottles, pots, brushes, and so forth. And it smelled of her. That light perfume that never ceased to make him slightly giddy with desire.
But, best of all, she was sitting up in the ancient four-poster bed, smiling at him, even though she’d looked slightly surprised when he’d first opened the door.
She was his wife, he reminded himself as he closed the door softly behind him. He had the right to get into the bed she’d made her own. No, more than that, she wanted him to give her the wedding night she’d accused him of denying her, when he’d assumed he had been sparing her an ordeal.
His heart pounded as he stalked across the room, his eyes fixed on her lovely face. Althoug
h he was aware that her legs were decorously covered by sheets and a coverlet. He’d taken in every detail of her while he’d been standing in the doorway, assessing her reaction to his approach.
She was wearing a blue silk gown so fine that he could see the shadows of her nipples through it. Nipples he wanted to take in his mouth and suckle.
He reached the bed and pulled back the covers. The silk nightgown was rumpled round her calves, revealing her slender feet and delicate toes. Toes that looked as though some great master had carved them out of marble. He might have known she’d have perfect feet. Everything about her was perfect. And he wanted to see...everything. Every exquisite inch of her. Even if her heart never belonged to him, this, this much, was his...
‘I want to see you,’ he heard himself grate. And was immediately shocked that he’d voiced that thought aloud.
But Daisy didn’t seem to mind. Because, albeit shyly, her fingers went to the ribbon ties at her bosom and began fumbling them loose.
‘All of you,’ he admitted, greedily. If this night was all he ever had of her, he was damn well going to make the most of it.
‘I suppose that’s fair,’ she said threadily. ‘After all, I have seen you. Without asking permission. I...’ She faltered into silence, blushing as he pulled his shirt over his head and shucked off his breeches.
Growing impatient with the time it was taking her to undo her gown, he replaced his hands at her neckline, and just ripped the flimsy garment, all the way down, so that it spread to each side of her pale, slender body like the wings of a butterfly.
She gasped. Her hands fluttered to her breasts, as though to cover them. Then to the triangle of pale curls where her thighs met, as though unsure what she was most determined to protect from him.
He could not move to prevent her. He could not move a muscle. She was every bit as beautiful as he’d always known she would be. A goddess of alabaster and gold.
No, not a goddess. He’d learned that much since marrying her. Or at least she was a goddess with feet of clay. She had a temper, and could be cutting when provoked. Although weren’t the goddesses of myth prone to wreak vengeance on mere mortals who’d offended them?
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