Chapter Fifteen
B RIGHT SUNSHINE FLOODED into the bedchamber the next morning, rousing Gabriella from a weary slumber. “Tony?” she mumbled, sliding her hand across the feather mattress in search of him. But instead she found only a cool expanse of empty sheet.
Opening her eyes, she surveyed the room and realized she was alone. With a sigh, she tugged his pillow into her arms and buried her face against its softness, letting her eyelids slide closed again as she breathed in the comforting masculine scent of him that lingered on the cloth.
Despite Tony’s admonition for her to sleep, he’d given her scant opportunity to indulge in such an activity, awakening her twice more during the night and once this morning to make love. That last time he’d taken her from behind, her drowsiness falling away as he’d palmed her breasts in his wide hands and inserted a thigh between her legs. Parting her woman’s flesh, he’d rocked them together, bringing her to a long, slow, shattering release. Yet sleep had claimed her quickly afterward, his still partially aroused flesh linked with hers.
She shifted now, her body protesting the energetic use her muscles had received in the past several hours, an unmistakable soreness lodged between her legs. With another sigh, she burrowed deeper against his pillow and let sleep claim her again.
Her nose twitched when she next awakened, stirring to the aromas of hot tea, yeasty bread, and fresh, sweet peaches. When she opened her eyes this time, she found Tony seated next to her on the bed, a laden tray of foodstuffs positioned on a small table across the room.
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” he said with an indulgent smile. “Or I suppose I should say good afternoon, since morning expired some time ago.”
She pushed a strand of hair off her cheek and gazed up at him. Mercy, he is so handsome! she thought, even with his hair mussed from sleep and his cheeks dark and rough with unshaven whiskers. She gave him a lazy smile, the full import of his words only then sinking in. “Afternoon?” she exclaimed. “Good lord! What time is it?”
A chuckle rolled from his chest. “About one-thirty or so, I believe.”
“Gracious, I never sleep this late.”
“No, I don’t imagine you do,” he drawled. “I do not generally make a habit of it myself, but one can surely be permitted to make allowances for special occasions. We are on our honeymoon, after all.” Leaning forward, he pressed a warm, openmouthed kiss on her lips, one that made the blood thrum faster in her veins. With lingering slowness, he drew back. “Are you hungry?”
For a moment she thought he meant for him, aware of her desire but unsure if her body would be capable of accommodating him again so soon. Then she realized he was talking about food, and felt a faint flush stain her skin.
“Now, don’t I wish I was a mind reader,” he teased, trailing the side of one finger over her cheek. “Whatever is it you are thinking, Your Grace?”
“I am wondering if that is a pot of tea over there,” she retorted, wishing suddenly to change the subject.
He laughed again and climbed to his feet. “Here, let me pour you a cup.”
“I can come over to the table.”
“No, stay right where you are. It shall be my pleasure to serve you. I rather like the thought of you eating in bed.”
In reply to that she decided it best to say nothing. Sitting up, she gathered the pillows into a stack at her back, tucking the sheet snuggly over her breasts.
He made two trips, one to set their cups of tea on the night table and another to bring a plate heaped with a delectable-looking array of breads, cheeses, and fruit—including one of the lusciously scented, golden peaches she’d already noticed. And if her eyes did not deceive her, a thick slice of chocolate cake.
“I thought we’d share,” he told her as he set the plate between them.
“Did Mrs. Lamstead prepare all this?” she inquired, reaching for a hard roll he’d broken in two, then slathered with butter and jam. She bit in, savoring the rich, sweet tang.
“Hmm, last night,” he explained. “I had her leave everything out so we wouldn’t be disturbed.”
“But what about the tea? Did one of the maids make it?”
“No, I made it.” He ate a bite of cheddar.
“You!”
He swallowed and raised a brow. “Yes, me. You needn’t look so astonished, you know. Even I can set a kettle to boil.”
She stared for a long moment, then smiled. “Well, fancy that, a duke who can make his own tea. I dare say there are country squires who wouldn’t know how.”
“Quite right, and you’d do well to remember it. I am an eminently resourceful fellow. Here now,” he said, “drink your tea.”
Leaning forward, she reached out to accept the offered cup and saucer. As she did, the sheet fell to her waist, revealing her naked breasts. “Oh!” she said, pausing in indecision over whether to cover herself again or take the cup. But as she sat there, his gaze glued to her chest, she wondered why she was being so shy. God knows he’d seen everything last night and done a great deal more.
“Don’t cover up on my account,” he said with a smile she could only describe as wicked. “I’m quite enjoying the view.”
Deciding a display of modesty would appear ridiculous now, she left the sheet where it lay, then took the cup. Carefully she raised the tea to her lips.
“So,” he questioned after a long moment, his gaze finally lifting to her face. “What shall we do today? I suppose horseback riding is out of the question, since I assume you are sore.”
She shot him a look. “Are you always so indelicate?”
“Just being honest. What is the point, after all, in dissembling about such matters?”
She ate the last of her roll, then broke off a small bite of cake and popped it into her mouth.
“I would suggest staying in bed,” he continued as he used a knife to cut the peach in half. “But that won’t do for the very same reason. I’d never be able to keep my hands off you.” He sank his teeth into the fruit, then chewed and swallowed. “We could take the carriage into Swaffham. There’s a fine old church there you might enjoy seeing.”
“That sounds nice, though isn’t the town a summer retreat of sorts for the Quality?”
“Quite true. And I’m not much inclined to share you with the world at the moment.” In contemplation, he sipped his own tea.
“We could go fishing,” she suggested. “If there is a pond or river nearby. Do you like fishing?”
He paused. “I do. I just would not have thought you would. Though come to think again on the matter, I suppose one of your performer friends taught you how to dive in and wrestle the fish from the water using nothing but your bare hands.”
She made a face, then laughed. “No. I learned how to fish the ordinary way, with rod and reel.” A silence fell for a moment. “Actually, it was my…um…father who taught me. Angling was one of the sports we enjoyed doing together.” When he said nothing, she set her tea aside. “I am sorry. I should not have mentioned him.”
Tony placed his cup next to hers, then tucked a finger beneath her chin so she was compelled to meet his gaze. “No. It’s fine. Whatever he was, he was still your father and a part of your life. You may speak freely of him any time you wish.”
“I hate the things he did, Tony. Sometimes, I hate him, too.”
“Shh,” he hushed, drawing her into his arms. “It’s all in the past. Forgiven now, if not forgotten. Think only of the good memories, since you had naught to do with the bad.”
Her heart turned over in her chest, love welling up inside her. The words hovered on her tongue, her need to tell him suddenly fierce. But before she could confess her feelings for him, he claimed her lips.
Long, long moments later he released her, both of them a bit breathless as they drew apart. “Shall we get dressed and go look for those fish?” he questioned. “Since I don’t think I can trust myself in this bed with you for much longer.”
She laughed. “I don’t trust myself much either. Y
es, let us go. I have an appetite for trout.”
“Trout, hmm?” he teased. “By tonight, I promise you’ll have an appetite for something else entirely.”
Tony rolled onto his back, his body satiated as he fought to regulate his breathing, Gabriella doing the same as she curled against him, equally replete. Stroking his hand over her silky hair, he let her sleep, watched the breaking dawn slowly illuminate the interior of their bedchamber.
Over the past seven weeks, he’d viewed many similar daybreaks, a sharp need he couldn’t seem to control bringing him awake, driving him to take her again when he’d already taken her only a few hours before.
He’d certainly made good on his promise to slake his hunger, indulging his sexual craving for her as often as the urge struck. And it struck often, he’d discovered, his desire for her sometimes nearly insatiable as he took her until neither one of them had the strength to do more than collapse, utterly spent, across the sheets.
Not that their lovemaking had been confined to their bedroom, the pair of them exploring farther afield almost from that very first day. While their initial fishing expedition had been just that—a fishing expedition—their next one had turned into something more. Tossing aside their reels after several unsuccessful bites, he’d lain her down beneath a leafy canopy of trees and taken her until her cries of pleasure drifted in the warm late summer air. Two weeks later, after a day’s visit to Swaffham—where luckily they had encountered no one they knew—he’d pleasured her inside their coach on the way home, stifling her moans of completion with his kisses so they would not be overheard. He’d even made love to her early one morning in the kitchen while they waited for the tea water to heat, taking her on the long, wooden work table while steam from the kettle billowed wildly into the room.
Yet the need he felt was by no means his alone, he’d realized, Gabriella as seemingly eager for their frequent, fervid couplings as he was himself. Free now to explore that side of her personality, Gabriella’s sensual nature had come alive, her innate femininity flourishing beneath his experienced hands, her confidence deepening with each new day and long, impassioned night. An enthusiastic partner, she followed his lead, willing to give and receive pleasure in equal measures. She even had the ability to surprise him on occasion, such as the night he’d awakened to find her stroking and kissing him to arousal, her uninhibited enjoyment plain.
She was everything he could want in a lover, and more than he’d expected to find, despite the undeniable passion he’d felt for her before their marriage. More than that, she was an amusing companion, her company never dull whether in bed or out. She made him laugh and she made him think, challenging him to view issues and events from a perspective he’d never considered. Even more, she made him content, relaxed, and happy in a way he could not recall ever being before in his life.
Of course that’s probably nothing more than the result of a surfeit of good sex, he told himself. What man wouldn’t be relaxed and happy after nearly two months of that! Their honeymoon had been a kind of fantasy—intimate, secluded, and intense, a special time away as they made memories together in this place and this house. But once they arose from their bed today, all that would change. The idyll would be at an end, since like it or not, it was time to go home.
Already he’d put off their return to Rosemeade twice—first when the original four weeks he’d allotted for their honeymoon elapsed and he had decided to stay another week, then again when he’d sent word that he would be away two weeks more. But a note that had arrived a few days ago from his secretary, subtly complaining of his absence, made him realize he could not put reality off any longer. As duke, a great many people depended upon him, his duty to his servants and tenants alone requiring that he stop being a lazy, self-indulgent hedonist and return to his normal life. Certainly Gabriella would be with him, but he knew nothing was going to be quite the same for them once they left this house. Still, he vowed to keep their passion—and their friendship—alive as long as he could possibly manage. Who knows, he mused, maybe we’ll succeed in being one of those couples who don’t end up hating each other.
With sunshine now pouring into their room, he knew their time was short. Once more, he thought. I have to have her one last time before this world of ours goes away.
Gliding his palms over her body, he stroked her, fondling her in all the places he now knew she loved to be touched. She arched, responding to him even in her sleep, mumbling a few unintelligible words as she smoothed a comforting hand over his shoulder.
He kissed her, taking her mouth in a long, thorough exploration while his hands continued to do the same below, her nipples beading into tight little peaks that he delighted to caress, the velvety flesh between her legs growing wet and ready for his possession. Soon he could stand it no longer, rolling her onto her back and parting her thighs. Bracing his weight, he came into her in one deep, smooth thrust. Her eyes opened then, pleasured gasps coming from her lips as he built them both toward completion. Her arms and legs locked around his back, holding on as if the two of them were caught inside a storm.
Cradling her face between his palms, he kissed her again, loving the sounds she made, the scent of her body, the texture of her skin and hair. Then suddenly she came, screaming into his mouth from the force of her release. Not long after, he took his satisfaction with equal ferocity, fists clenched into the sheets as he poured out his pleasure inside her. Closing his eyes, he drifted and let his mind go dark.
“Welcome to Rosemeade, Your Grace,” greeted Tony’s butler as Gabriella stepped down from the coach long hours later that day. “Everyone has gathered to wish you and His Grace our heartfelt good wishes on your marriage.” The older man gave her a smile, an expression that seemed somewhat incongruous on his proper, very distinguished features.
She tightened a hand against her hip to calm her uncertain nerves and returned his greeting, forcing herself not to tremble when she turned to find a small army of people looking her way.
“Dear me, Tony,” she whispered, leaning toward her husband as he moved to take her arm. “Are those your servants?”
“Most of them, I believe. There may be a few of the stable lads and gardener’s assistants who were told to remain behind.”
Most of them! How many does he have? But then considering the size of the house and grounds, she supposed they were needed, each and every one.
Even now, she had yet to completely recover from her first sight of the estate, made only minutes ago as the coach glided through a set of massive wrought-iron gates that bore the Wyvern coat of arms emblazoned on a plaque in gold at its top. What had appeared to be several hundred huge oak trees, each one thick as the coach itself, lined the elegant drive, the combined canopy of green leaves creating a majestic overhang that was both romantic and shady. Yet the obviously ancient trees were nothing compared to the house itself—if one could call the sprawling, many-winged expanse of stone, wood, and gleaming glass a house. More like a palace fit for a king!
Gabriella knew that Tony was a duke and that his family was a powerful, distinguished one with ancestors whose exploits dated back to the time of the Conqueror himself. But somehow, until this moment the magnitude of his status had not fully impressed itself upon her. Not only was Tony rich and titled, but apparently he was in charge of a small city of dependents. And now, she thought with a gulp, so am I.
Very suddenly she wasn’t ready to be a duchess, a part of her wanting to run and jump back into the coach. Instead, she held on to Tony’s arm and let him lead her forward. Pinning her most amiable smile on her face, she prepared to do the best she could.
Greeting them all, however, turned out not to be nearly as daunting an experience as she had feared, his servants polite and friendly, their curiosity about her apparently equal to her own about them. Soon enough, the moment was over and she was taken into the house to indulge in another round of wide-eyed amazement.
Only by sheer determination did she stop herself from tipping he
r head back and turning in a circle to admire the fresco-painted dome that graced the main foyer, the black-and-white marble entrance as large as many people’s entire homes. Gracious, and to think she had considered Rafe and Julianna’s country house large! Compared to Rosemeade, their immense estate was scarcely more than average.
She wondered how many days it would take to adequately explore such a vast edifice as this. Assuming she was allowed to explore. But then why should she not be, since this was her new home now? My new home! she thought, as she tried to take it all in. Mercy, what a world away this is from the tiny garret room Maude and I were sharing in London only a few months ago! A lump formed in her throat at the memory, together with a sudden pang of longing for her friend. She worried her lower lip between her teeth for a moment as she continued to study the elegance of her surroundings. Then Tony caught her eye.
As if he was aware of some of her thoughts, he gave her a reassuring smile. “Mrs. Armstrong will show you to the family wing and see you comfortably settled.”
The lump in her throat sank to her belly. “Oh, you are not coming with me?”
He shook his head. “Not at the moment. I have a number of pressing matters of business to which I must attend. We shall spend some time together later.”
“But we only just arrived. Surely you can take a few minutes to come upstairs and refresh yourself.”
His lids lowered, a look she now knew well darkening his eyes. “I am afraid I shall have to wait until later to refresh myself.”
She moved closer, leaning up on her toes so she could murmur in his ear without being overheard. “That is not what I meant, and you know it. I thought you might like to bathe.”
He chuckled, lowering his voice in reply. “I’ll do that later, too. You can join me. Go on now, and I shall see you at dinner.”
With the housekeeper, butler, and a pair of footmen looking on—despite their best efforts to keep their gazes politely averted—Gabriella decided she had little choice but to do as Tony asked, not unless she wished to create a small ruckus on her very first day in residence. “As you wish, Your Grace,” she agreed.
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