by Gayle Eden
“Yes, madam.” The woman smiled and nodded. “I got Toby to fetch Mr. Howser this morning and the tub has been replaced in the bathing room, just off the guest chamber.”
“Thank you. Thank goodness.” Val laughed as she walked into the open main room, her heeled shoes clicking on the polished floors. “We have the other guest bath but I feel much better knowing the connecting one is finally done.”
“According to Mr. Howser, those old tubs are hard to mend once cracked. He found a replacement.”
After talking a bit more, the housekeeper left. Val looked around the before heading for the stairs. She was happy, pleased with the house, the high ceilings and polished floors. The main rooms had darker wood furnishing, rosewood and teaks. The tables and chairs were a mix of comfortable larger pieces for a man Van Wyc’s size, also, her own, because she was not comfortable with delicate furnishings only for looks.
She’d’ been fortunate—aside from having a father who would plow through warehouses for her and ask every merchant coming and going where to find this or that. Along with the impressive offerings among the stalls at Panteon Bazaar, or Harding, Howell & Co, at Pall Mall, Burlington Arcade, at Knightsbridge, the linen-drapers B. Harvey & Co—she was able to find most of what she sought—right down to buying a massive bed from a Sea captain who purchased the thing in Madagascar.
Walking up the stairs, she admired the airy paintings, lighter ones with botanicals for the hall and stairway walls, Roman and Greek. Vases were placed here and there with fresh greenery, open and airy, nothing too heavy. Not even in the master chamber.
The bed dominated the room, its reddish wood gleaming and heavy scrolled posts anchoring it. The drapes were fluttering white silk and sheer. The floors were light wood. Rugs, two of them, one in the sitting area, one at the edge of the bed, were designed with peacocks with white flowers. The vanity and wardrobes were large, ivory and green, and in the sitting area, a cozy one with window seat, chaise and fireplace, she’d mixed blues and white, a creamy almost butter hue accent.
The bathing room was small. Yet the white and light green with copper fixtures made it seem big enough. There was a bench, a long enough mirror for two tall people, and the chest at the far end for linen and toweling, the top holding soaps, oils, perfumes and the like.
Doing her walk through, Val had unbuttoned her suit jacket. She took it off and hung it in the wardrobe, walking to the cheval mirror across from the bed. Her chemise straps showed under the lavender sheer blouse she wore with the skirt. The outfit would be fine for evening but she considered changing.
Standing there letting her gaze move over her mink hair, drawn up in front, several long curls cascading in back, it was held with plain combs. Her lashes were darkened, her color a bit high. Setting her hands on the curves of her hips, she knew that unlike most women she had chosen her fashion (the straight skirt with small pleats at the hem) for its modest simplicity rather than dash and style.
Rubbing her palm over her stomach, her eyes scanning her breasts under the silk chemise, she thought of the four gowns she had ordered and not yet worn. Outfits that her father and Alex had talked her into having designed, from materials she had absolutely fallen in love with.
Teeth raking her lip, Val admitted she had thought of Archard when she had had them done. Sighing, she turned and went to the wardrobe, opening it and taking down the opal silk with tiny clear beads. Before she could change her mind, she stripped down to her white stockings, stepping out of the darker pumps. She undid the side latches and stepped into the gown, not daring to look at herself until she had the latches fixed, and her feet in the white mules. They were beaded also.
Feeling the snug fit of the gown on her body, she walked to the mirror, the longer hem in back whispering on the floor.
Amazing, she mused mentally, visually tracing the lines from the square neckline, lower than usual. Two-inch silk straps left her arms bare, and the beaded band under her breast enhanced the fall of the skirt, which had an inverted v shape of beads the front hem. The color, as she moved slightly, was a deep opal, and it did look good against her cream skin. She noted it deepened the hues in her hair too. She smoothed a strand back.
The snugger fit outlined her waist and flair of hips, and for once, she was glad of her taller height. The design seemed to flatter the fact, her legs were long.
Val added a pair of gloves, pulling them on after changing her ruby earrings for small opals. No necklace, because her deep cleavage needed no more attention, she thought dryly. Grabbing a purple scarf, she headed below.
Half way down the stairs, she heard the commotion and a familiar accented voice. Surprised how her heart leapt, the flush seemed to start under her skin. She took a moment at the bottom to gather herself. Val heard another voice, thicker accented, a touch of humor apparently, as they were talking to the footman and butler.
She moved on, draping her wrap over a chair and reaching the entry between foyer and hall. Footmen went past her with bags and trunks. There was noise, the usual arrival greetings, talk, servants and the housekeeper among them.
Archard’s back was to her for the moment, his coat handed off to a servant. The breadth of shoulders and back in a linen shirt was as familiar as his supple leather breeches and wine boots. Thus, she found herself looking beyond and meeting gray eyes in a handsomely rugged face. Dark copper hair, silk like, and longish, framed that visage. There was enough in the bones to remind her of Archard and make him identifiable as his brother.
He was tall, sinewy, and with honey skin, a handsome mouth—holding a bemused smile.
“Hullo. You must be Aric,” she spoke amid the din.
He stepped toward her, his coat over his arm. Bowing, he offered, “Yes. And you—are more beautiful than my brother claimed.”
She laughed abashed, but shook his hand, which seemed to amuse him. Looking up, Val offered, “I don’t know why I expected you to be shorter.”
“I think Archard did too. I grew up on him.” He winked.
Val saw the charm and the rogue amid intelligence. “Come in, please. Shall I ring for coffee or brandy?”
“Coffee….”
“Val.”
She had just turned, taking a step to show him into the main room when Archard’s voice reached her. All others seemed to hush. She turned back, aware absently that his brother had paused to observe their reunion.
Heart speeding, that rush began in her blood. Val swiftly scanned him whilst he walked to meet her. He looked fit, warm, as strong and handsome as ever. God, those very light blue eyes… You have never had that. You have never had a man like me. I will make you glad you do.
“Welcome home.” She smiled a little nervously as he took her hands.
His gaze seemed to be moving all over her at once. A dozen emotions and reactions—all of them good, as he replayed, “It is good to be home. Good to see you.”
She was prepared when his head dipped, for a polite and chaste kiss. Holding her hands, his mouth touched hers, cool at first, silken, and something altogether different happened.
Later, she would not know if it was her doing or his, but sometime in that three-minute kiss, lips parted, and his tongue swept in long enough to bring a sound from her throat and raise chills on her skin.
As if he was not sure either, when he raised Archard turned back to the housekeeper, requesting coffee. As if, he needed a moment, although he held to her hands.
He loosed one. Their eyes met for a second before Val, this time, glanced at Aric and then led them into the open sitting room.
“It is amazing. Very nice.” Archard was gazing around the room, taking it in. “You did well.”
“I’m pleased you like it.” Val took a seat as servants brought coffee to the low table and began pouring.
“I haven’t formally introduced you. Aric, this is Val, Valerie, my wife. Val, my brother, Aric.”
Val nodded to Aric who had turned from admiring the painting over the mantle. He said, “A
rchard talked about you nonstop.”
“He wrote about you,” she said to cover her flush. “I can see he was right. You are too handsome for your own good.’
Aric chuckled and sat himself on one of the padded benches comfortably. Accepting coffee, he said when the servant left, “Coming from you, it’s a compliment. Coming from Archard…”
She smiled, sipping and watching Archard seat himself in the chair closest to her. “My father has invited us to dine, if you are both up to it?”
“Look forward to it.” Aric nodded. “Your father and family mean a lot to Archard.”
Val encountered his gaze, reading more there, and realizing that Archard had shared confidences with his brother. It also showed a more serious side to Aric.
“It is mutual. Father is looking forward to meeting you, also.” She asked about the cousin, being told he was settled and she would meet him at holiday.
Val asked about family, the voyage, and Auttenburg. She listened to them both, aware of how intense Archard’s gaze was, feeling it on her bare arms and body and warm from it. On the one hand, she felt the familiar part, the friendship and yes, joy that he was back. On the other, she was all too aware that he returned as her husband.
Aric excused himself to refresh, shown to his rooms after thanking Val for welcoming him, and basically charming her too, for it was hard to look at him and not notice how attractive the contrast in his eyes and hair, how his lean brawn and broad shoulders gave him that same magnetism it did Archard.
Mostly though it was an obvious affection and respect, she observed between him and Archard that warmed her. Whilst they talked, she had noted it. She may have been late doing so, but she had discovered how important family was—how good it was to have someone who understood and loved you—no matter what.
“I like him,” she told Archard, rising to put her cup down and walk over to the mantel. Turning, she caught those eyes on her, going down her.
He brought them up, meeting hers. “I’m glad.” His throat flexed and after scanning her face, he murmured, “That gown is amazingly attractive on you…although, you’d look so in anything.”
“Thank you. Father and Alex picked the style.”
“Good taste.” He got to his feet. “I’ll bathe and change for dinner.”
Before leaving the room, he walked toward her, gazing down at her upturned face for several silent moments. “It is not as if I could ever forget how lovely you are,” he husked softly. “But you fair take my breath away.”
“Archard…” her own voice was rough, a high flush on her cheeks. “It’s…good to have you home.”
His lips curved even though his eyes were burning a lighter blue. “I’ll join you soon.” He turned and walked toward the stairs.
Val watched that stride with slightly weak knees and too tingling skin. Oh, dear. She supposed those dreams and thoughts were real after all.
* * * *
Having reached the bedchamber, Archard leaned back against the door. His gaze went around, taking in the nice décor absently, because his mind was below, on Val. The kiss was…the stuff of his dreams, or at least the beginning of them. It had tensed him in all the right ways, hearing, seeing her, and smelling her perfume, yes, the gown, bloody well, yes. He’d always found her attractive, but the gown she had on hid nothing of her hourglass figure and long legs.
He blew out a breath, thinking of her mink hair, how it shone, and her creamy, smooth skin. By the time he went to the bath and stripped, he was extremely aroused. Battling that, he bathed, shaved, and emerged in a towel. Bone wrapped in tense muscle and sinew under flushed honey skin, Archard had to sit on the edge of the bed and talk himself back to a patient frame of mind.
He dressed, choosing snug leather trousers, a white embroidered shirt and casual jacket and polished wine boots. Hair combed, left down and drying, he stared at the bed, trying to get his mind off images of them there, images of her there.
The clock ticking reminded him of the time. He left, going below and finding her sitting comfortably talking to Aric. They were discussing Edmund, high society, and the ton in general. His brother had changed and wore buff breeches, white shirt and a cinnamon jacket to the thigh, a pair of cordovan leather boots.
They stood when he entered. He took Val’s wrap, placing it around her shoulders as they prepared to leave. Catching Aric’s gaze watching, seeing his brother smile, he mentally shrugged. Aric knew he had not slept with Val as yet. He knew the whole story. It was not as if anyone but Val had not discerned that he had always been attracted to her.
The coach ride, a short one, was filled with conversation as Aric watched the traffic, noted the well-dressed, exiting or entering carriages. He listened mostly as Val pointed out who lived at what address. He listened to them laugh, exchange quips about the upper crust, and noticed Val was much more relaxed about society than she had been last season. She gave Aric a short background on the Marquis—his rep—and managed to make even the tension of last season, with Jo’s scandals and Alex’s apparent seduction of Edmund, all an entertaining story. He had told Aric the details, but he could see his brother enjoyed hearing her version.
When they arrived at the Marquis’s mansion, he knew Aric saw everything he did in Val. When they stepped down, his brother winked and nodded. Archard smiled and helped Val out. He expected no less.
* * * *
Dinner, following introductions, was lively, noisy and with Jo and Alex both there, filled with more stories of ton doings. Drolly, Alex relayed events she and Edmund attended with the more lofty crowds, whilst Jo—in green silk, a low cut and flattering gown, gave Aric and the rest of them an amusing account of some young pup who tried to climb up to her bedchamber via the arbor two nights ago and fell, breaking his ankle.
The Marquis finished dryly, “I had to keep him here until his coach came, and he bloody well screamed for the whole two hours.”
“Father got him foxed on whiskey. He was crying like a babe when he left.”
Edmund snorted, “Markham weeps if his boots get dusty. I’m amazed he’d scratch them climbing an arbor.”
“Men make great sacrifices for my affections,” Jo quipped.
To which Alex said aridly, “It is not your affections they’re after.”
Archard looked at Aric who chuckled with the rest. He could tell his brother was enjoying himself, fascinated by both Jo and Alex. Alex was obvious in her passion for Edmund still, so he supposed it was a safe fascination.
After dinner the Marquis offered, “Edmund and I will take Aric off your hands tonight.” He winked. “Show him a bit of town.”
“He’s grown enough, I reckon.” Archard teased.
Aric thanked the men, saying laconically to Archard, “Don’t wait up for me.”
Alex and Jo were headed out for some ball when he and Val departed, Archard discerned that everyone was making sure he and Val were together, alone for his homecoming, slash their reunion. At least he was aware they were making it possible.
In the coach, he held Val’s hand.
“You could go with them. They are like to get up with Auvary and—” she began
“—I’ll see them at the club in the morning. I’d rather be with you.” The ride was too short and her perfume teased his already responsive senses. Archard was back to talking in his mind again about patience.
When they arrived, he assured the servants they could see to themselves. Lights were subtle and after she removed gloves and wrap, he in his shirtsleeves, he asked her to join him in the study. Admiring the décor there as well, he poured a small brandy, turning next to half sit on the desk, while she stood by the open French doors. The gardener was worth his wage. Moonlight spilled down on a quaint garden and spring air wafted in the fragrance of new blooms. However, it was Val, that gown glowing on her skin, subtle lights in her rich hair, he watched mostly.
She folded her arms. He sensed her tension. Finishing the drink, Archard put the glass aside and went to stand sli
ghtly behind her.
“What are you thinking?”
She glanced over her shoulder, up at him. Her lavender eyes were captivating. “That I don’t know what to do.”
He raised his hand, touching her bare shoulder, coming around, so he could look at her fully. “You’ve done wonderfully with the house. And from what your family said, got on quite well since I left.” His gaze searched hers. “Being my wife is not a duty, Val. Not a task you have to complete.”
“I know that,” she said softly. “But I am your wife and we….”
“What?” His hand moved so that he took her chin, his thumb brushing under her beautiful mouth. “The we, is just us. Whatever we do or have, it is going to be mutual and natural. I don’t want anything less.”
Archard could not resist. He leaned down and touched his mouth to hers. He felt his heart slam at the passive parting of her lips. For Val, not having experience aside from Leland’s roughness, it was telling. No matter how long held his hungers, he was careful when he tasted her, lenient, when he glided his tongue in her mouth. She was silken, sweet, arousing.
* * * *
Val let him taste her and felt the stir in her body with some amazement. When she unfolded her arms, he slid his strong hand back, cupping her nape. She could feel his restraint so at odds with the sensual roll of his tongue. Breath fluttering from her nostrils, she began to kiss back, tentatively, exploring.
He pulled his mouth free for a split second. “Hold me.”
She raised her arms and her hands felt the heat and muscle in his back. Kissing again, it seemed more explicit and sensual; bodies close and being conscious of his hand at her nape, the other resting somewhere near her hip.
His tongue swept once, deeper, before he raised his head. Her lashes lifted to meet his half-mast gaze. Shadows and moonlight played on his handsome face.
“You taste like heaven,” he husked. His head dipped but he placed soft kisses over her brow and cheeks, low on her jaw.
A little weak, Val was amazed at the feel of his lips, stirred by even the smaller whisper-like kisses. She let him pull her close, hold her, when he was done. Hearing, feeling, the thud of his heart, she realized she stirred him too.