Lenore abandoned her attitude of superiority to glare at him. “I would not feel the least comfortable being sighted by the staff in my present state of dress.”
Jason glared back. “Your present dress was not designed to be worn in a library.” Her comment, however, focused his attention on what he had been trying not to notice—how very alluring his wife looked in diaphanous silk backlit by moonlight.
“Jason!” Lenore squealed as she felt herself hoisted into his arms. “My lord!” she hissed, as he strode purposefully towards the door. He paid no attention. “For God’s sake, Jason, put me down. What if the servants see us?”
“What if they do? I married you this morning, if you recall.”
He kicked the half-open door wide and strode through. Lenore clung to him, her arms about his neck. It was distinctly unnerving to be carried along so effortlessly.
As Jason passed the front door, he sent a silent prayer of thanks heavenwards. If he had not sighted the candleflame in the library, he would have roused the whole household to look for his wandering bride. The commiserating looks from his footmen would have driven him insane.
She was driving him insane.
Sensing that she had teased his temper to a degree where conciliation might prove wise, Lenore remained silent as she was carried up the stairs. But at the top, Jason turned to the left.
“My lord—er—Jason. My room—it’s the other way.” Assuming he had simply forgotten, she pointed out this fact without undue fuss.
“I know.”
Panic clutched her stomach. “Where are you taking me?” With bated breath, she awaited his answer.
Jason stopped and juggled her to open a door. “I rather thought I’d have you in my bed tonight.”
His conversational tone did not convince Lenore that his phrasing was anything other than intentional. But it was too late for panic. The door of his room clicked shut behind them.
And before her loomed the largest four-poster bed she had ever seen.
Jason strode across the thick carpet and, standing her briefly on her feet by the bed, divested her of her peignoir before depositing her on the silken coverlet.
Lenore made no sound—her throat had seized. She watched as Jason stalked to the other side of the bed, whipping off his neckerchief and flinging it aside. As he sat down on the bed to pull off his boots, curiosity got the better of trepidation. “Aren’t you going out?”
His second boot hit the floor. Jason turned and stared at her for a moment, then stood and pulled his shirt from his breeches. “I’m not dressed like this for visiting the neighbours. These are my wife-hunting clothes.”
The truth dawned on Lenore. She choked, panic and embarrassment laying siege to her tongue. She watched as he peeled off his shirt, dropping it on the floor. Her eyes stretched wide; her heart started to thud. When his hands fell to his waistband, she decided she had seen enough.
Hearing rustling, Jason glanced up to discover his twenty-four-year-old bride had disappeared beneath the bedclothes. “For God’s sake, Lenore! You’ve got three brothers.”
“You are not my brother,” came distinctly from the lump in the bed.
Jason’s sense of humour, sternly suppressed for the past ten minutes, very nearly got the better of him. Quickly, he finished undressing and slid into the bed beside her. She was wrapped in the coverlet, facing the other way. Propped on one elbow behind her, he considered his options.
Frozen, Lenore wondered, with what little mind was left to her, what he would do.
He pinched her bottom.
“Ow!” Incensed, she rounded on him.
And found herself in his arms. Panic flared, only to be submerged by an even more frightening anticipation as he drew her closer. Lenore strove to distract them both. “That hurt!” She tried to glare but, finding his eyes coming closer and closer, she had difficulty focusing.
“Perhaps I should soothe it with a kiss?” Jason murmured, his lips curving as they gently touched hers.
Lenore froze, her wide-eyed stare telling him more clearly than words how scandalous she found his suggestion.
Jason raised a brow. “No?” He sighed dramatically, then bent to feather another kiss across her lips. “Perhaps later.”
Later? Regardless of his prowess, Lenore did not think so. She tried to shake her head to deny it all—her feelings, his words, the excitement she could feel rising inside her—but one of his hands framed her jaw. He surged up, leaning over her. Then his lips settled firmly on hers.
Lenore’s lids fluttered shut, all thought suspended.
She had not known quite what to expect—more of the magic she had felt in the Lester Hall library, certainly—but was there anything that could surpass that for sheer delight?
In the long moments of her wedding-night, she learned that, indeed, there was.
To Jason, those same long moments were the culmination of an unusually long courtship—he had never waited for a woman so long. Nor, to his secret amazement, had he ever wanted a woman so much. Introducing his wife to the pleasures of the flesh was a prize he had promised himself, a prize he had actively sought, a prize he had every intention of savouring. To the full. He did not rush her, seeking instead her active participation at every stage along the course he had charted—the longest route he could find to fulfilment. When he slipped her nightgown from her, dropping it over the side of the bed, he was conscious of a sense of wonder, of awe, that all he saw was now his—not conquered but given—a prize beyond price.
She moved sensuously on the sheets, as if savouring the feel of the silk against her smooth skin. He reached his hands into her hair, spreading his fingers and drawing them free, letting the long tresses fall like spun gold across the pillows.
From under heavy lids, Lenore studied his face, recognising the desire and need etched in his shimmering eyes. The realisation fed the flame that burned steadily inside her. She arched lightly, pressing her breast to his wandering hand. He smiled and bent his head. Pleasure streaked through her, leaving her gasping. She heard him chuckle. Lacing her fingers into his hair, she tugged gently, until he looked up, then drew his lips to hers.
He taught her the ways of kissing, how to meet him halfway. He taught her to feel no shame in her wild response to his most explicit caress. His hands were like a conjuror’s, roaming her fevered skin, seeking out each secret spot and stroking it to life. His kisses reassured and excited, beckoning her forever onwards, down the path of her desire. She clung to him, seduced by the feel of hard muscle shifting beneath her small hands. And when, after what seemed like an eternity of travelling through a landscape of pleasure, he joined with her to climb the last passionate heights, she learned what it was to soar freer than air, to blaze brighter than the sun before, consumed in the starburst of heightened pleasure, she became selfless, only aware of his heartbeat and hers, mingled, the essence of life.
Slowly, like a vessel refilling, her overloaded senses returned. Sated, sleepy, she returned his soft kisses, barely aware of his murmured praises. When he drew her against him, Lenore smiled to herself, an unconscious self-satisfied smile, then settled, fulfilled and content, by his side.
* * *
A CREAK WOKE Lenore. Puzzled, she blinked and tried to sit up, only to find a heavy weight across her waist. Struggling around, she gasped as her eyes met her husband’s sleepy grey gaze—and she remembered, simultaneously, where she was, who she was with, how she came to be there and what had happened. A strangled sound, half surprise, half embarrassment, escaped her.
“Hush!”
One large hand came to cradle her head, gently pressing her back to the pillows.
“Moggs—get out.”
For an instant, stunned silence greeted this order. Then Lenore heard the bedroom door click quietly shut.
<
br /> Jason caught his wife’s gaze, and tried to keep his lips straight as he explained. “You’ll have to excuse Moggs. Doubtless he thought I was alone.”
“Oh.” That was all Lenore could manage. She did not have her nightgown on. And he did not have a nightshirt on either.
The effect of her discovery was written in her large eyes, palest peridot, bright and clear. Jason read the message, his lips curved in anticipation.
Some vague idea that this was not how things should be—that she should, by rights, have been in her own bed and he in his by dawn—drifted into Lenore’s mind. And then out, as his lips claimed hers and the memory of the night’s shared pleasures drew her into the sweet vortex again.
It was hours before she rang for Trencher.
* * *
THE WEEKS that followed were an idyllic time for Lenore, a period lifted from her deepest dreams—those she had never acknowledged. Her days were filled with laughter and happy enterprise as Jason introduced her to his home. He was never far from her side as the summer days followed each other, sunshine and fair weather mirroring their interaction. The nights brought pleasures of a different sort, an enthralling web of sensation that wrapped them together with its silken strands. And through it all, like a swelling tide, ran a deepening, burgeoning realisation of what she had sensed was possible, what she had feared. But, in that halcyon time, it seemed that no dark cloud could intrude.
* * *
AS HE SAT UP and swung his legs over the edge of his wife’s bed, Jason aimed a playful smack at her bottom, naked beneath the silk sheet.
“Ow!” Lenore turned to frown direfully at him, rubbing her abused posterior. As he stood and drew on his grey silk robe, her expression turned sulky. Her lips pouted, but her eyes teased. “Didn’t I please you, my lord?”
His grey eyes soft as he gazed down at her, Jason laughed. Catching her hand, he leaned over her to raise it to his lips. “You always please me, Lenore, as you very well know. Stop fishing for compliments.”
Lenore’s smile was dazzling.
Jason ducked his head and planted a kiss on her offended rump. When she merely giggled, he raised a brow at her. “In fact, your progress in your study of certain of the wifely virtues can only be described as remarkable.”
Serenely content, Lenore turned to lie back on her pillows. “I had heard you were a very experienced teacher, Your Grace.”
Jason’s brows rose, his expression coolly superior, but Lenore detected the twinkle in his eyes. “I will admit that in certain disciplines I have been labelled a master. However, natural aptitude and overt enthusiasm are beyond my poor powers to call forth.” Cinching the tie of his robe, he swept her an elegant bow. “Those talents, my dear, are entirely your own.” With a rakish smile and one last lingering look, Jason strolled across the room towards his chamber. The long windows were open; a summer breeze played with the fine curtains. Outside, a bright day beckoned, yet he had to exert all his willpower to leave his wife’s bed.
Turning back at the door, he watched as she stretched languorously, like a sleek cat, sated and satisfied. They had been married more than a month yet her allure had not faded. He found her daily more fascinating, more tempting, their mutual passion more fulfilling. Which was not at all what he had expected.
“You have to admit, my dear, that this marriage of convenience has, in fact, been highly convenient for us both.” With a slight smile, which did not succeed in disguising the frown lurking in his eyes, Jason turned and left the room.
Lenore returned his light smile with one of her own, yet, when he had gone, her expression slowly sobered. A puzzled frown knitted her brows.
Clouds found the sun. Suddenly chilled, Lenore pulled the coverlet up around her shoulders. Had he intended his last comment as a warning that she should not let herself forget the basis of their marriage?
With a snort, she turned on her side to stare moodily at her nightdress, draped crazily over a chair where it had fallen the evening before. She was in no danger of forgetting their marriage—any part of it. She knew only too well that this was her time in paradise—that soon, this phase would end and he would leave to pursue his life as he had before. She had known how it would be from the start, when they had discussed his reason for marriage in the library at Lester Hall. Her role as he saw it was engraved in stone in her mind, but she had determined to focus on the present, to enjoy each moment as it came and lay up a store of memories, so that when the time came to bid him goodbye, she would be able to do it with dignity.
Grumpily, Lenore pushed aside the coverlet and, shrugging on her robe, rang for Trencher.
* * *
THE FIRST HINTS of gold had appeared in the green of the Home Wood on the day Jason and Lenore left its shady precincts to canter in companionable silence across the meadows to the forested ridge beyond.
Holding his grey hunter to a sedate pace, Jason slanted a protective glance at Lenore, beside him on a dainty roan mare. In the last weeks, she had ridden over much of the estate, accompanying him whenever he rode out, eager to learn all she could of the Abbey’s holdings. Yet she was a far from intrepid horsewoman, recently admitting, when he had twitted her over her liking for the slowest mount in his stables, that she preferred to drive herself in a gig. His eyes opened, he had, from then on, taken the gig whenever possible. When he had tentatively suggested he buy her a phaeton and pair, she had laughed at him, breathlessly disclaiming all wish to travel faster than the pace of a single, well-paced beast. Jason’s lips twitched. His wife, he had finally realised, liked to play safe. She did not take risks; she was happy as she was, content with who she was, and sought no additional thrills. She liked calmness, orderliness—a certain peace.
It had taken him weeks to realise that he had seriously disrupted her peace by uprooting her from Lester Hall. Ever after, he had sought to make it up to her, never entirely sure if he was succeeding, for there was still a side of her that remained hidden, elusive, a part of her he had yet to touch, to claim, to make his own.
The thought brought a frown to his eyes.
As they neared a hedge, Jason drew on his reins, turning his horse’s head. “This way,” he called and Lenore followed. He led her through a gate, then down a narrow lane, turning aside on to a bridle path cutting deep into the forest slope.
Slightly nervous, as ever, atop a horse, Lenore kept her placid mare’s nose as close as she dared to Jason’s gelding’s rump. Jason had explained that the lookout he wished to take her to could not be reached by a carriage. She hoped the view would be worth the journey.
As they wended their way upwards, between the boles of tall trees, the smell of damp earth and the tang of crushed greenery rose from beneath their horses’ hooves. And then they were in the open once more.
Lenore gasped and reined in. Before her, the Eversleigh valley lay unfurled, a patchwork of fields dotted with cottages, the Abbey planted like a grey sentinel in their midst. “How beautiful!” she breathed, her eyes feasting on the panorama.
Jason dismounted and came to lift her down. While he tethered the horses, Lenore looked her fill, then glanced about. The lookout was no more than a natural clearing on the side of the hill. A broad expanse of sun-warmed grass, protected from the winds by the trees about, provided a perfect picnic spot. A small stream bubbled and gurgled through rocks to one side, spreading to form a small pool before tumbling over the lip to disappear on its journey downhill.
It was too late in the day for a picnic, but Lenore saw no reason not to avail herself of the amenities. She sat down, then, feeling the sun strike through her riding jacket, took it off, folding it neatly before laying it down and stretching full-length, her head on the velvet pillow.
With a smile, Jason came up and stretched out beside her, propped on one elbow, a speculative light in his eyes.
Leno
re saw it. She struggled up on her elbows and squinted into the distance. “Having brought me here, my lord, you may now proceed to tell me what I am looking at.”
Jason laughed and obliged. For the next twenty minutes, prompted by her questions, he described the layout of his tenant farms and gave her a potted history of the families who held them.
When her questions ran out, they lapsed into silence, perfectly content, the afternoon golden about them.
Dulled by his deep satisfaction in the moment, Jason’s faculties slowly turned to focus on his contentment—at how odd it was that he should feel so very much at peace, as if he had gained his life’s ambition and was now content to lie here, beside his wife, and revel in life’s small pleasures.
His gaze dropped to Lenore, lying prone beside him, her eyes shut, a peaceful smile gently curving her lips.
Desire shook him—desire and so much more. A wealth and breadth of feeling for which he was entirely unprepared rose up and engulfed him.
Abruptly, Jason looked away, across the valley, only to have his gaze fall on the Abbey. In the past six weeks Lenore had somehow become a part of it, synonymous in his mind with his home. She was its chatelaine, in spirit as well as fact.
Allowing his mind to lose itself in aspects of his wife he found less confounding, to let the suffocating sensation that had overcome him dissipate, he dwelt on her success in taking up the reins of his household. Not that he had expected anything less. Her confidence in that sphere stemmed from experience and all in his employ had been quick to recognise that fact. He had held aloof, but had watched avidly. His wife had a natural flair for command, for organisation—the entire staff had fallen under her spell, Moggs included. He would not, in future, need to concern himself with matters within her jurisdiction.
Which meant that there was no real reason he could not return to town. September was here, the ton would be filtering back to the capital in preparation for the Little Season. The total apathy that filled him at the thought of the social whirl, his milieu for the past decade and more, unnerved him. Why had he changed?
Rules of Engagement: The Reasons for MarriageThe Wedding PartyUnlaced (Lester Family) Page 19