by Karen Ranney
Her cheeks grew pink as he watched. She could dare him to take her, then blush when he mentioned she might be sore? What a contradiction she was. She had imagination enough to create Lady Pamela, yet she was every inch an innocent. She was a virgin, yet the most passionate woman he’d ever known.
How many other contradictions would he discover about Ellice?
She raised her arms as he slipped the shift over her head. A tiny smear of blood on her thigh held him still for a second. He wanted to enfold his arms around her, take from her any of the pain he might have caused. At the same time, he felt oddly proud that he had introduced her to passion, that in his arms she’d shivered and cried out.
He took her hand and gently led her down the three steps into the half-filled tub. She sat, making no effort to cover her breasts. Instead, she closed her eyes, inhaling the mineral smell, a scent that had always reminded him of camphor and newly sprouted leaves.
Reaching to the shelf to his left, he grabbed a washcloth and towel. Leaving the towel on the bench, he dipped the washcloth in the water, then squeezed it over her shoulders.
He wanted to touch her in some way. The foolishness of that thought made him drop the washcloth and step back. When the tub was full, he turned off the faucets.
“Take as long as you like,” he said, deliberately not looking at her.
Only then could he leave the room.
Chapter 23
Ellice stared at the closed door, hoping Ross would return. When he didn’t, she released the breath she was holding, sinking back against the polished stone.
Why did she feel like weeping at the moment? As if all the hurts stored up inside for years now sought to be released?
She was a bride. More, she was a wife. The wife of a very surprising man, one who rendered her speechless.
She’d imagined their passion but not the tenderness. What kind of man gently dresses a woman and then as sweetly undresses her? He almost started to bathe her. Why had he stopped? Why, for that matter, hadn’t he joined her?
She lay her head back, feeling the tendrils of steam against her heated cheeks. The mineral water was heavily scented but not unpleasantly so. As she relaxed she could feel herself drift off into a pleasant hazy almost sleep. She felt this way when writing sometimes, as if she were in a place between reality and imagination.
Should her heart ache when thinking of Ross? Should something open up in her chest? She wanted to ease him in some way, hold him close, and in a way she never expected, protect him.
How could she protect the Earl of Gadsden? Why did she feel the need to?
Had he loved Cassandra very much? Had she bathed here with him? She wanted the answers to both questions and yet she’d never ask. Sometimes, an answer was worse than knowing for sure. At least now she could pretend that no, he hadn’t loved Cassandra, or if he had, what he was feeling for her was so much more. Or that Cassandra was cold and unfeeling and that’s why Ross had wished never to marry again.
She wanted to make sure he didn’t feel that way now.
How did a wife seduce a husband? The same way she had this morning as a virgin, but with greater skill and more anticipation, knowing the pleasure she’d feel.
The tub was large enough to nearly swim in, certainly to stretch out each limb. She did, keeping her eyes closed, enjoying the buoyancy, the tingle as the mineral water loosened her muscles and soothed her skin.
She wasn’t sure how long she remained there, but it was long enough for the tub to cool. She was looking for a handhold when the door opened and Ross stood there. He must have bathed as well because his wet hair curled at the neck. He’d changed his clothes, too. Now he wore black trousers and another shirt, almost snowy in its whiteness.
Without a word he came to the edge, holding out a hand. Once out of the tub he handed her the towel, not looking at her. She smiled and wrapped it around her body, knowing in a way she didn’t understand that he desired her.
She wanted him after just looking at him.
She stepped in front of him and dropped the towel. At the same time, she reached up and placed her arms on his shoulders.
“Thank you,” she said. “That was a lovely experience.”
He didn’t speak but he did put his hands on her waist, fingers splayed.
“Will you lead me to your bed?” she asked. “It must be softer than your desk.”
“Ellice—” he began.
She silenced him with a kiss. When that was done and both of them breathless, she drew back.
“I’m feeling wonderful, Ross. Truly. The only thing that would make me feel better is if you showed me your bed.”
She laughed as he grabbed her, lifting her into his arms, and strode out of the bathing chamber with her.
“Thank you, Mr. McMahon,” the Dowager Countess of Gadsden said. “You’ve been very kind to bring me the new shipment.”
“ ’Tis my pleasure, your ladyship. I thought there’d be people still here and all, what with the wedding.”
“Oh, it was a small celebration. Perhaps we’ll have a ball or something later in the year. We’ve not entertained at Huntly for some time, I’m afraid.”
She stepped aside, allowing Mr. McMahon to enter her home.
“You’re very physically fit, Mr. McMahon,” she said, watching as he carried a rolled carpet with the strength of a much younger man. His arms bulged and his jacket seams didn’t look as if they could stand the strain.
“All in a day’s work, your ladyship.”
She knew he wasn’t married, that he lived with his sister and was content enough with the arrangement, all information she’d gleaned from previous visits.
“I’ve had Cook make some apple tarts,” she said, having recently discovered that he particularly liked them.
He set the carpet down in the parlor. “You tell me where you’d like this first, your ladyship.”
“Right there is fine, Mr. McMahon,” she said. She’d have to find room for it later and send for a few footmen to help her.
At the moment she was more interested in luring him to the settee with promises of something sweet along with a little conversation.
“Tea?” she asked, sitting and smiling up at him.
He was really the most remarkable man. Not as handsome as her husband, true, but handsome men were a bother. No, Jack McMahon had something about him, some power of presence she noted in only the very important or the very wealthy.
She had no doubt he was on his way to being very wealthy. She’d spent a fortune with him this last year. But it was more than that.
He was short yet powerfully built, with broad shoulders she couldn’t help but admire. His physique reminded her of those employed in Huntly’s stables and gardens, earthy men who were used to getting their hands dirty and felt the ache of sore muscles each night.
What a pity he didn’t have someone to care for him.
The birds began to chatter, so loudly she couldn’t be heard over their noise.
He smiled, the expression changing his appearance in a way that was always magical to her. His face, square and broad, was close to being plain. But his wide and engaging smile brought a twinkle to his hazel eyes and a lightness to his features.
He would never be handsome but he was most certainly arresting.
“Come now,” she said, picking up the teapot. “You have time for tea, surely? And a tart or two?”
She wanted to wave her hand in front of the tarts so he could smell the cinnamon and apples topped with a dollop of cream.
“Your ladyship . . .” he began, but she smiled at him, ignored his protests and poured him a cup.
She stirred a little cream into it, just the way he liked it, and placed it on the table before patting the seat cushion beside her.
He came and sat.
“Tell me about Edinburgh,” she said. “I want to hear what’s new in your shop and how your sister is faring.”
She placed a tart on a small plate for him, put it on t
he table, and began eating her own pastry.
Today she would call him Jack, and if she were very, very fortunate, he would want to know her name as well. Small victories that flushed her face and made her heart race.
Ellice lay sprawled across the bed, staring up at the ceiling.
She was going to die of passion, she was sure of it.
How did the poor dear perish? So young, you know.
Oh, didn’t you know? She expired from passion. She was rogered to death. But they cannot rid her of her smile.
Shocking.
She turned her head to where Ross lay in a nearly identical pose. His manhood, which should have been flaccid after all that work, twitched a little at her look. She really did want to touch it, to smooth her fingers over it, but perhaps it was better if she waited for a while.
After all, they had years and years of this.
Would she survive it?
“I never thought it would be like this,” she said once she found the strength to speak.
Ross turned his head and regarded her, his gray eyes soft as a kitten’s fur. “Like what?”
“Like feeling your soul leave your body.”
His lips curved in a smile. “Is that what it’s like?”
“You felt the same. Don’t try to pretend you didn’t,” she added, a little smugly. She’d heard his shout at the end. The very proper Earl of Gadsden had nearly screamed his release.
His smile deepened but he didn’t concur. That was fine; she didn’t need his agreement to know what she knew.
She really should reach down and pull up the sheet, but she didn’t mind being naked around him. How very strange since she’d always been so modest. Now she could very easily traipse to the bathroom and glance over her shoulder with a cheeky smile. He’d be watching her, of course, his cock twitching a bit more.
Stretching out a hand, she very nearly touched him before some imp of wisdom cautioned her that it wouldn’t be wise. He must have thought the same because he reached out and grabbed her hand, bringing it to his lips where he kissed her knuckles.
He really needed to stop making gestures like that. He would bring her to tears.
She rolled over, propping her head on her hand. How glorious he was. She liked it when his hair was mussed and his beard showing through. He looked almost like a ruffian. A brigand who insisted on robbing her, but only of pleasure.
She scooted up to place a kiss on his cheek.
“I’m very pleased,” she said, wondering if it was wise to be so honest with a new husband.
She only had Virginia and Mairi as a guide, and they never seemed to withhold anything from Macrath and Logan. She would begin that way, too.
“Are you?” he asked.
She nodded. “Very much. You’re a magnificent lover.”
Were his cheeks deepening in color? She could almost imagine it. No, the Earl of Gadsden would never blush.
“You should have told me.”
His bark of laughter made her smile.
“I don’t think that would have been entirely proper.”
“Oh, I think so,” she said. “I can imagine the conversation, can’t you? ‘Lady Ellice, I have so many acres, so much income, and by the way, I’m a great lover.’ You should have,” she added, placing another kiss on his cheek. “I wouldn’t have cared about the acreage or the income.”
“You wouldn’t, would you?” His frown surprised her. “Why wouldn’t you?”
She thought about it for a moment. “Perhaps it’s because I know what it’s like to be both wealthy and poor. I wouldn’t choose to be poor, but I can endure it. Besides, I know how fleeting wealth can be.”
“You needn’t worry,” he said. “The Gadsden wealth isn’t fleeting.”
“Well, if the coffers ever run low, you could always invite the queen to make Huntly one of her palaces.”
One edge of his smile quirked up. “It’s not really that big.”
“It’s the British Library,” she said. “It’s quite the largest place I’ve ever seen. I think you could rattle around in here and get lost.”
“I would send a hound after you.”
“Do you have hounds?”
His smile broadened. “We’ve all manner of animals at Huntly. Hounds and cats, sheep and cattle. We probably have a few of anything you’d like.”
“Does it never disturb you?”
“What, the size?”
She nodded, reaching out and tracing a pattern on his arm.
“And the loneliness,” she said, startled at her own words.
He didn’t say anything for a moment. “It doesn’t feel lonely right now.”
“So you never get lost.”
“Never,” he said. “Although there are parts I haven’t visited in years. For example, the north wing off the servants’ wing. It’s where we store old furniture. I haven’t been there in at least three years.”
She shook her head. “See? That sounds unbelievable to me, that there might be places in your own home you haven’t seen for such a long time.”
“And my mother’s house,” he added. “I try never to go there unless absolutely necessary.”
“Truly?”
He nodded. “If you ever saw it, you’d know why.”
She waited but he didn’t explain.
“So you spend most of your time in the library?”
“How did you know that?”
“A process of deduction,” she said. “When I went looking for you, the footman said you would be in the library. This morning, you took me to the library. I think it’s probably the place you spend most of your time.”
“Even people who know me well don’t know that,” he said, reaching out and pushing a tendril of hair back from her cheek. “You’re very astute, Ellice.”
“I’m your wife,” she said. “Shouldn’t I know secret things about you?”
“I broke my toe once,” he said, sticking out his foot. “It looks a bit strange.”
She reached down, cupped her hand over his toes. “You have lovely feet and you know it. And very hairy legs,” she added, ruffling the hair there. “I shan’t need a blanket in the winter. You Scots have very cold winters.”
Suddenly, she was flat on her back and he was over her, smiling.
“I promise you’ll be warm in my bed.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his head down for a kiss.
To her surprise, he wouldn’t continue with their love play, merely tucked her in at his side, wrapping his arm around her and shelving his chin on her hair.
They talked for hours, it seemed. He told her about growing up at Huntly, being sent away to school in England. She told him of Lawrence and Eudora and the smallpox epidemic that had so changed the tenor of their London days. He confessed that he grew tired of women always talking about the color of his eyes. She came up with a dozen colors they might be called other than simply gray.
When the conversation led to his plans for the library, she lay her head on his shoulder, her hand on his chest, realizing how much it meant to him.
“I’d like to make it available for any Scot to explore if he wished. There are valuable books there, volumes I suspect are among the rarest in the world.”
“Would you have people come here?”
He shook his head. “I’d donate them,” he said. “As long as I’m assured that there would be a proper place for them.” He smiled. “Something like the British Library.”
Her stomach rumbled and she laughed.
“We’ve not eaten,” he said, his tone surprised.
They looked at each other. Night had fallen and they’d spent the day together, entranced with one another to the exclusion of anything else, even food.
The servants hadn’t knocked on the door. Her new mother-in-law hadn’t disturbed them. They’d been in their own world.
“Do you like sandwiches?” he asked.
“At this point, I think I’d eat anything. Other than rabbit. I’
m not excessively fond of rabbit.”
“Or anything with eyes,” he said, charming her by remembering. “I’ve an appetite for beef, some bread, mustard, and ale.”
At her look, he smiled. “I have a schoolboy’s tastes. It’s what I lived on in England. I still crave it from time to time.”
Huntly’s staff must have been prepared for his cravings because within a quarter hour they were seated in his sitting room with a large tray on the table between them. She was dressed in one of his blue silk dressing gowns and he wore a black patterned one.
She tucked her feet beneath her as, one by one, he took the domed lids from a succession of plates, each smelling better than the one before. When he came to the cake, a delicious looking confection filled with nuts and fruit, she glanced up at him.
“I want cake,” she said. “Before anything healthful or beneficial.”
“Cake it is, then,” he said, cutting a piece and handing it to her.
She closed her eyes after the first forkful. The taste was heavenly, light and airy yet filled with nuts and chopped apricots.
When she opened her eyes, it was to find him watching her.
“I love cake,” she said, embarrassed. “I love sweets.”
“What about rabbit cake?”
“Oh, that would pose a problem for me.”
He smiled and she felt it down to her toes.
Her body was still thrumming with delight, her lips swollen from his kisses. Her husband was the most handsome man she’d ever seen, and she had cake.
Could anything be more wonderful than this moment?
Chapter 24
He was well on his way to being an absolute idiot.
The world was a glorious place this morning. The birds were particularly noisy in their greeting to the day. The sky was a cloudless blue, the color of delphiniums.
He’d never before equated the color of the sky to a flower.
This morning he would show Ellice some of the rare volumes in the Forster collection. He hoped she would be impressed at the illuminated scrolls or the Bible he suspected was one of the first Gutenberg volumes. Would she be interested in the Latin poetry he’d found? One of his ancestors had evidently collected erotic poetry.