All Dressed in White EPB

by Michaels, Charis

  She narrowed her eyes. He would indulge her, she knew, whatever it was, but he would make her say it. So much of sex with him was talking about it.

  “I like it . . .” she began, feeling herself blush. She couldn’t look at him. She gazed out the window.

  “Yes,” he drawled, still reclining on the seat. He lazily closed his eyes.

  Her heart was pounding, a reaction that he, undoubtedly, discerned. She cleared her throat. “. . . that is, I liked it when we were in Vauxhall Gardens, and you chased away those young men, and your accent—that is, the way you spoke—sort of . . . changed.”

  Joseph opened the lone eye again. “Changed how?” he asked.

  But perhaps she could not say it. She made a noise of frustration. “Don’t bait me, Joseph, you know I am damaged and fragile and just . . . er, learning.”

  “You are not damaged or fragile and you know more than most women who have been married all of their lives.” Both eyes were open now, although he was staring at her with half-lidded casualness. “You’re being shy on purpose, but if you want me a certain way, I should like to hear it.”

  She tipped forward and stared at her purple leather boots. “Your voice was, er, rough? It was, not the voice of a gentleman. That is, you spoke in a way that I’d never heard—from you.” She could feel herself blush to the tips of her ears, but she pressed on. “It was as if . . . It was the way I assume you spoke before you were educated? Before you were a gentleman. When you were in Greece, perhaps, with Falcondale. When you were—” She lost heart and trailed off.

  “Oh, that voice,” he teased slowly, and then he sat up and snatched off his hat.

  “I knew it,” he drawled. “Trevor accused me of imagining it, but I’ve known it all along.” He tossed his hat to the opposite seat and grabbed Tessa in the same movement. He pulled her into his lap, tickling and dipping her back. She yelped and then slapped a hand over her mouth, mindful of the driver.

  Joseph kissed her hard—once, twice—and then dropped his lips to her ear. “I knew the gentleman’s pretty daughter harbored some fantasy for the strapping servant from belowstairs.”

  Tessa laughed again, squirming in his lap. “It’s not true,” she said. “I’d not even heard your original accent until you fought off those men at Vauxhall Gardens.” She broke free enough to kiss him, a quick buss of her lips, but he captured her mouth in a long, slow, languid kiss. She let out a little sigh, sinking in.

  “I don’t believe you,” he declared when she finally broke away. “I saw a spark of interest in your eyes the very first time I mentioned the upstart story of my upstart life. On that first walk at Berymede. Admit it. It excites you.” He dipped to nuzzle her ear, and she shivered.

  “Well, perhaps it is a little true,” she consented. “Did no small part of you fantasize about seducing the gentleman’s daughter?”

  “Believe me, love, there’s a very large part of me that fantasized about it, and still does,” he whispered in the other voice, the voice she’d heard only at Vauxhall. He surged against her, and she made a little whimpering noise.

  “But is that what you want?” he growled into her ear. “Now? For our last beautiful bit of your beautiful body? In this carriage?”

  She was breathing hard, her hands clinging to fistfuls of his jacket, but she shook her head. “You’ve said it’s only a twenty-minute ride.”

  “Want the full hour, do you?” he asked again in his other voice.

  She laughed and slid from his lap, straightening her dress. “If the cottage interests us, it will be very poor form to turn up with my hair undone and your cravat ruined. You’ve said the sellers are sentimental? Very poor form.”

  “Tonight then,” he said. “Love.” And he retrieved his hat and rested it over his eyes, resuming his slouch.

  Abbotsford Cottage was a fourteen-bedroom, Elizabethan-style manor house with ballroom, nursery, music room, detached servant’s quarters, and walled garden with fountain. It had two high towers (no longer in use but architecturally striking), an arcade wall of arches, and a circle drive paved with crushed stone.

  It was, in Joseph’s view, as striking as Berymede, if not lovelier. This should not be a priority, he knew, but it was.

  “Oh, Joseph,” Tessa breathed as their carriage crunched up the drive. “Joseph, this is far, far too much.” But her voice sounded awed and wistful and grateful. This had also been a priority. That Tessa would love it.

  “Not bad for a stable boy, I submit,” he teased.

  “Stop, I wish I’d not said anything.” Her eyes had not left the house.

  “You will not wish that after tonight,” he promised but she had slid the carriage glass to the side and leaned from the window, craning for a better view of the house.

  They were greeted by the owners themselves, a shipbuilder with a shipyard in nearby Brancepeth. Sir Thomas Park and his wife Lady Winnifred were selling the house to relocate to London to be closer to their grown children. But they had devoted their marriage and child-rearing years in Abbotsford Cottage and could not bear to sell it to strangers who might allow it to fall in disrepair or build on in a way that jeopardized the historical integrity of the original structure.

  After introductions and chitchat about the journey, Joseph allowed Tessa to take over. Her natural charm and vitality made every corner of the grand house seem like her new personal favorite. Her questions were thoughtful and flattering, her manner warm and well-bred. She behaved like the queen.

  When Joseph asked for a few moments alone to discuss the property with his wife, Sir Thomas led them to the garden.

  Staring down into the fountain, Tessa asked, “Joseph, be honest. How can we afford it? It’s far too much. It’s grander than Berymede. It’s as grand as Willow’s home, Leland Park.”

  “Do you like it?” he asked.

  “Of course, I like it. But there is upkeep, there are servants—a veritable army of servants for a house of this size—there is fuel for fireplaces and lamps and candles. We had discussed a cottage.”

  “It’s called Abbotsford Cottage.”

  “I am aware of the name. I’m also aware that I’m standing in the garden of a full-blown estate. Please tell me you would not bankrupt us to buy this because you think it will impress me.”

  “Are you impressed?” He put one shiny boot on the ledge of the fountain.

  “Of course, I am impressed. But I was happy living in a cellar with two other women, a baby, and a goat. This is unnecessary. But I do love you for it.”

  “Nope,” he said, “unacceptable expression of love. It rings false when you say it in response to this gift of a small castle. Keep trying.”

  She laughed and shook her head. “It is possible to hurt my feelings, you are aware? You can only toss this sentiment in my face so many times, before I will be forever wounded.”

  “What if I told you that I do believe that you love me?”

  She looked at him thoughtfully. “I suppose I would ask you why you believe it.”

  “Well, perhaps there are many reasons, but chiefly, firstly, because I was terrible to you and despite that, you wanted me back in your life. After I abandoned you. Not only did you want me, you made it possible for our brig to make landfall. You tried to correct things. Why would you do this, if you did not love me?”

  She smiled gently, a sweet, gratified smile not for him, just for herself. He watched her, enjoying her pleasure. He’d gotten it right, then. He wanted everything he did to be right for her. She stared into the gurgling fountain and he drifted beside her and put his hands on her waist.

  “Joseph?” she asked softly. “Have I told you how very sorry I am—for the way I handled our days at Berymede? For the deception and the entrapment? I was desperate and afraid and I wanted you so very badly, but that’s no excuse. I should have risked losing you by telling you the truth. That way, you would never doubt, even for a second, that I married you . . . for you.”

  His heart expanded, straining against
the confines of his mortal body. He pulled her against him and nuzzled her neck. “I forgive you, Tessa. My dearest. And I do believe you love me, but I shall never, ever grow weary of hearing you try to say it.”

  “I’m not trying to say it. I am saying it. I’ve said it many times.”

  “Fine. Trying to say it exactly right.”

  “Oh, perhaps I should use a different accent? The poshest pout of a gentleman’s daughter?”

  “Now there’s a promising notion,” he said, trailing kisses along her jaw.

  She sighed, by all signs enjoying his closeness, the texture of his lips and face, the smell of him; but then she glanced at the windows of the house and pushed him away.

  “The sellers will toss us out if we are . . . inappropriate. But perhaps that’s what you want. Perhaps my fears about this house are warranted. We’ve seen it, we’ve been naughty beside the fountain, and now we will be asked to leave—and what a lark it was. Is that what you intend?”

  “What I intend,” he said, “is to buy this house. Immediately. So I may carry on beside the fountain however I please. The money is not a concern, Tessa. You’ll remember a small investment of £15,000 in dowry money? This is your net gain. And myself, of course.”

  He was about to tell her that he loved her, that there was a part of him who relished the opportunity to buy an ostentatious house for his beautiful wife, but Sir Thomas and his wife bustled into the garden, leading a contingent of servants with tea trolley and trays of food.

  “I hope you have time for tea,” called Lady Winnifred, trapping them with the tea trolley and a scrum of servants who assembled a table and chairs.

  “Oh, how lovely,” Tessa trilled. “You are too kind.”

  “Sir Thomas and I have had a bit of a chat, and it’s all decided,” said Lady Winnifred, beginning to pour. “You must join us for dinner tomorrow and stay the night as our guests. We’ve dear friends visiting from Durham and a few other dignitaries from the county. Our cook is doing up a special meal. You’ll be too full to trundle off back to Hartlepool after the fun, so you may stay as our guests. It will give you some idea of how the house entertains, and you may sleep beneath the roof, walk the halls, and learn its secrets. I know you must have grown weary of that cramped, musty inn in town. They do a passable venison stew, but I’ll wager they’ve already run out of summer vegetables, and one does grow so very weary of turnip.”

  “Our friends are active in the Whig-party politics, Mr. Chance,” said Sir Thomas, “one gentleman and his son in particular would be good men for you to know.”

  Joseph shot Tessa a look. It’s up to you.

  Tessa beamed at the couple. “We would be delighted,” she said.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  After much deliberation, Tessa consented to leave the baby with Perry at the inn for their night at Abbotsford Cottage. It would be her first night spent away from the baby since his birth. Perry had insisted that she and Christian were more comfortable at the inn. Certainly, there was far more room than the cellar in Belgravia. And Christian was deliriously in love with the innkeeper’s cat.

  “We must get a cat for Dollop when we settle down, wherever it may be.”

  “A cat and a goat,” said Joseph. “And a horse. As soon as he is able to ride. I want all our children to ride.”

  Tessa loved hearing him talk about Christian as if he was his own son, but the mention of other children caused her to turn away. Even after a week alone together in an inn bedroom, after hours of intimate moments steeped in sensuality, her marriage to Joseph had still not been consummated.

  The night before, she’d lain very still and quiet while he’d casually wrapped his large hand around her ankle. She had not cried out. She had not leapt from the bed. But, unlike all the other parts of her body, his touch on her ankle had been met with silence and stillness. She had been . . . stoic. It had taken all available strength not to cry out.

  She had not been able to kiss him, she hadn’t laughed, she hadn’t explored his body. She hadn’t burned with need for him and begged him to do more—do anything more!

  She’d simply lain there, her heart pounding, her mind spinning, willing herself to carry on with four anxiety-ridden minutes of his warm, casual hand wrapped around her left ankle.

  When Joseph saw her reaction, he had endeavored to withdraw. He’d never meant to experiment if she appeared unhappy or, God forbid, in distress.

  But Tessa had felt the value of each of the other times he had touched her, and she saw the value especially his hand on her ankle. Joseph was slowly replacing the small ownership taken by Captain Marking and giving it back—first to her. Second, if she allowed it, she would share possession with Joseph, who, after he moved his hand, would return with tickles and tweaks and massages that drove her mad with desire.

  All the while, she had been distracted by the joy of exploring his body, marking it and possessing the beautiful expanse of his muscle and heat, to call it her own.

  “I believe my ankle is a problem,” she’d told him, “because the moment the captain touched my ankle, I knew what was to come.” She said the words into the darkness.

  “I was finished,” she went on. “Ruined. A rough kiss or even a tussle in the woods would have been unpleasant, but I could have recovered. When my ankle was under his control, when he bent my leg, I was powerless. It was the beginning of the end.”

  “We will get past it,” Joseph had said against her hair.

  But Tessa struggled to see how. The obstacle of the ankle was that it was the first thing Marking’s hand found when he’d delved beneath her skirts. How could she ever forget the cold, terrifying realization that a man—this formerly dashing man—was clawing his way up her body from below?

  “The beginning of the end,” she had repeated and fallen asleep.

  She’d awakened to Joseph whistling, fresh and hopeful; eager to see Abbotsford Cottage again. She could not remain downtrodden when he, denied so long, was cheerful and eager to spend a night in the beautiful home he wished to buy for her.

  They arrived to Abbotsford Cottage in time to take another tour of the house and change for dinner before the other guests arrived. The house was as Tessa remembered it, grand but not opulent; a piece of history but also a home.

  Ever aware that the sellers were auditioning them in the same way they considered the house, Tessa was generous with praise and open about the ways she might style the house if it became hers.

  It was easy to be enthusiastic about the property—she had loved it at first sight—but even so, she struggled to focus. Her lack of attention felt like a betrayal of Joseph, who all but rubbed his hands together in anticipation over the library, the ballroom, the solarium. She wanted to enjoy it with him, but honestly, Joseph was the source of her distraction.

  The longer the day wore on, the more determined she became that tonight their lovemaking would happen. Enough had been . . . well, enough. Her demons, surely, had been exorcized. She’d carried on, wounded and nervous, until she’d grown weary, even of herself.

  It was fun (and useful) to enjoy Joseph claiming one part of her body at the time, but then they’d hit the barricade of her stupid ankle and Tessa wanted to rail at the sky. An ankle wasn’t even one of her naughty bits. She refused to allow her anxiety to stand in their way another night.

  She, Tessa St. Croix-Chance, once formerly the most notorious flirt in Surrey, would be bedded by her own husband. Tonight. In this beautiful home. With no baby in the next room. And no Perry to face in the morning. She would put the past to rest, satisfy Joseph (who had been so very patient), and satisfy herself.

  The first step, she thought, was to look her very best. After the tour, Tessa reminded Lady Winnifred that she’d traveled to the house without a maid. The lady kindly provided a woman from her own staff and sent her up to assist.

  The middle-aged maid arrived promptly and said almost nothing compared to Perry’s constant chatter. She styled Tessa’s hair simply, in a
high, loose bun at the back of her head, with wisps of blonde dropping around her face. She was fastening Tessa into a cherry-red evening gown glittering with tiny iridescent crystal beads when Joseph let himself into the room.

  “I’ll finish,” Joseph said to the maid. “Thank you, that will be all.” The woman bobbed a curtsy and disappeared from the room.

  “You look too good to leave this room,” Joseph said, coming up behind Tessa. He dropped a kiss on her neck and she shivered.

  “My mother adored this dress. It was never my favorite, it’s stiff and uncomfortable, but it makes a statement.” Tessa fidgeted, trying to find the most comfortable way to tolerate the sharp beads. She gave a kick of one leg, then the other, jostling the layers of petticoat that tangled around her legs. She caught sight of a red slipper beneath the hem, and she had the thought. An idea.

  She slid her foot from beneath the hem again. She smiled. It was a simple idea, really; easy to carry out, pure in its own way.

  While Joseph did up the buttons on the back of her dress, Tessa traced a half circle with the toe of her slipper on the carpet, like a ballerina. Crinoline scratched against the silk of her stockings. The beadwork cut into the skin beneath her arms. She had never once removed this dress without a network of tiny scrapes marring her skin from the embellishments.

  Why hadn’t she thought of this before?

  The idea would have to wait until after dinner, of course, but she could whet his appetite. She could tease him, just a little, as he had done to her when he’d introduced his “game.”

  The idea of this thrilled her, and she was determined, suddenly, to bring her idea from theory to conjecture. She gave her skirts one final shake and reached for her ruby earbobs.

  “Joseph?” she called casually. He’d drifted away to study the bookshelves.

  “These novels are all about hauntings,” he said. “Do you suppose we should take it as a bad sign?”

  “Joseph, look at me.”

  He turned and blinked. “You are stunning. You are the most stunning creature I have ever seen.”