“Of course not, but you’ll want to look pretty for him, I know,” Wendy said knowingly, in a way that Ellie could hardly deny. “Especially after the footmen carried in that pretty cabinet he bought for you. Isn’t it wonderful?”
Ellie agreed, hardly surprised to find herself gowned in burgundy velvet skirts and a fitted bodice of cream satin with burgundy embroidery. It fit her well, gracing her curves as much as any garment would and the neckline was perhaps more daring than most she owned, for it opened in a square deep enough to allow the tops of her breasts, pushed up by the corset, to beckon temptingly. The sleeves were fitted of burgundy velvet and the wrist cuffs of cream satin. Wendy took down her hair and brushed it thoroughly, leaving a tendril hanging below each ear as she braided her lady’s locks and then arranged the plaits into an elegant knot.
She was dressing it with Ellie’s pearl hairpins when Ashberry came casually through the dressing room door.
Ellie blushed when he appeared behind her in the mirror, remembering clearly their morning meeting in the room. He came to stand behind her, waving Wendy on when she looked as if to flee. “You may finish, Wendy. I do not mind waiting for my beautiful bride.”
The blush extended then down to her neck and lower, until Ashberry was forced to wonder if it would extend even further below her bodice. He had been earnest when he had told her to go to no special effort but was glad he had passed the time by dressing as well. “You look spectacular, my dear, but you didn’t need to change for me, Ellie. You were lovely dressed as you were.”
Ellie met his eyes in the mirror as Wendy smiled. “Thank you, sir,” she said softly, her eyes focusing suddenly on Wendy, who stepped back with a satisfied smile.
“She’s all finished, my lord,” the girl said firmly, “If you are satisfied, my lady,” she added quickly with a look to her mistress.
“It is very nice, but I’m afraid it was a great deal of work for something that will simply be taken out in only a few hours,” the marquess mused as Ellie nodded to her maid in the affirmative. The comment reminded Ellie of Ashberry’s earlier desire to brush his wife’s hair, and she blushed, so that even Wendy saw it.
The marquess said nothing to the maid, who turned away to hide her smile. He simply took his wife by the hand and led her out of the suite and down the stairs. Dinner was ready, so they went directly to the dining room, where the long Chippendale table was set with a lonely place at each end. The marquess led his wife to her seat at the end before looking toward his own. At least ten feet separated the two place settings and Ashberry frowned at the sight.
Ellie saw his hesitation and smiled tentatively. “There’s no one here but the two of us,” she said, a doubtful sound to her voice.
The marquess said nothing more, but led his bride to the chair to his right at the head of the table. The footman hurried to follow with Ellie’s plate and silver, but the lord himself assisted his bride into the seat.
He decided she was lovely in the brilliant candlelight of the room and the hint of her figure above the bodice was almost enough to keep his eyes firmly fixed below her chin. He couldn’t have said later what they had for dinner and was surprised when Alexander brought the tray of decanters to the table. He refused, his eyes suddenly on Ellie’s. “There’s no need, Alexander.” To his wife, he asked, “Do you play chess?”
Surprised by the question, her brows creased as she answered. “I do, though I’m hardly an expert.”
“Unless you wish for the two of us to assemble in the drawing room and drink cups of tea while having stilted and awkward conversation,” he offered, “I thought it might be a way to pass the evening together.”
Ellie nodded. She hadn’t really considered how she would spend her evenings and in fact, she could hardly remember ever having spent an evening without the company of her mother. “I don’t believe I’ve ever not spent the evening in the drawing room,” she said, her voice showing a slight wonder. “Not since I left the schoolroom. It’s not something I’ve ever thought about, but I suppose there’s no reason for the two of us to go and sit there and stare at each other.”
Ashberry nodded, turning to the butler. “Alexander, have a fire lit in my sitting room upstairs and ask Mrs. Shannon to brew her ladyship some tea. We will enjoy it together, upstairs.” He smiled at his wife. “Perhaps you would like to take a turn around the galleries and meet my ancestors?” he asked gallantly.
They stood, together, while the footman held Ellie’s chair and Ashberry took his wife’s hand and laid it on her arm. From her side, he could see the mounds of her breasts just pushed enough above the bodice that they gave shape to her cleavage and he instinctively drew her closer, his fingers tightening as he resisted the urge slide them down inside her gown.
His voice was slightly raspy as they began their tour of the portraits that lined the conservatory walls but her intelligent questions and obvious inattention to his baser desires helped him to adjust to the tension that he anticipated would be a normal state of affairs as long as Ellie slept in a separate bed.
Playing chess was more difficult than he expected. Ashberry corrected a few of her more amateurish mistakes, using the game to distract himself from her, but each time he looked up, his eyes were forced to pass over the tempting bosom that rose and fell gently with each breath. He easily won the first two games, but sometime during the third game, the marquess realized he was spending more time with his eyes on his wife than on the board. He found her facial expressions to be intensely distracting, to the point where he had to sink deep into his chair where the dim light of the room would hood his eyes from her inquisitive ones.
It was still early for London when he feigned sleepiness. Her eyes were beginning to droop and he knew the task of restraining himself from a more intimate examination of her curves was taxing his own energy. Solicitously, he guided her to her dressing room. To his surprise, Wendy was already there, waiting for her mistress. He almost dismissed her, but thought better of it, murmuring instead to his wide-eyed wife that he would wait for her.
Returning to his own dressing room while he did, the marquess frowned at Griffin, who discreetly disappeared. He fiddled with idea of undressing, but instead just removed his coat and cravat before returning to her boudoir and settling into the chair beside the fire.
It wasn’t long before she came into the room, her eyes immediately seeking. He said nothing, just watched her body move gracefully beneath the velvet fabric of her peignoir.
She stopped in front of him, nervously watching him, expecting him to speak.
Selfishness wasn’t a condition that Ashberry tended to dwell in but he couldn’t stop the urge that swept through him. He kept her standing there, waiting for him, as his eyes slowly rose from the hem of her gown and up over her thighs and narrow waist to the tempting roundness of her bosom. “I am more tempted every minute I see you, Ella dear, to carry you into my own chamber and keep you there in my bed.” Her eyes widened and her fists clenched at her sides but she did not turn away. He pushed her a bit more by adding, “The skin on your hands and face and shoulders is so incredibly silky that my hands ache to explore underneath your nightclothes and discover just how delectable the rest of you is.” He laughed, the timbre low and husky. “I dare not stand up, Ella, for fear I will break every promise I made to you yesterday.”
The room was silent for a long minute before he shifted in the chair, his head turning to face the fire that had illuminated her in the room. “Get into bed while I collect myself.” The words were quiet, nearly a whisper, but he knew she’d understood perfectly. He listened to her obey, knew instinctively when her peignoir slid from her shoulders and tensed as he listened to her fold it neatly and lay it at the end of the bed. He bit his lip, hard, as he heard her slide beneath the coverlet, drawing the heavy quilt over her.
Even after she was motionless, he sat and stared at the flames of the fire for several long minutes before standing. Wendy had already drawn the curtains of the bed nearl
y closed, so Ellie was mostly hidden. He strode purposefully to the side, leaned over and kissed her on the forehead almost without looking, then turned away from her. “Sleep well, Ella,” he said, the agony in him apparent only by his gruff tones.
“Goodnight,” she whispered simply.
Then he fled.
* * * *
The next few days passed with little change from that first day. Both husband and wife stayed busy during the day but when evening came, they found themselves alone and vulnerable to the emotions of the other. The kisses, at least in any depth, had not been repeated, though Ashberry had taken to kissing the corner of her mouth instead of the forehead. Ellie approved of the change, the color of her cheeks notwithstanding, but had no courage to tell him except by her acquiescence. Each day, he seemed more tense, his jaw more square. She wondered if she was the reason and hoped desperately she was not. Ellie, despite her fears, wished for Ashberry to be content in their marriage.
Ashberry had absented himself from his wife’s dressing room since that first morning, but had managed to appear just as she exited her sitting room. They had, as of yet, had no one disturb their solitude, though Ellie had gone to call on Caroline Eldenwood, whose expertise in managing Ashberry House had been well worth the outing, not to mention the advice she had provided about Ashberry Park. Together, Ellie and Ashberry had called on Ellie’s mother, who had been unwilling to broach any personal conversation with the marquess in the room.
Ellie had been grateful for Ashberry’s attentions that day, for he had stayed close by her side, his eyes on her every move and word, his word and manner gentle and tender.
On the fifth day of their marriage, they descended the stairs together and shared their breakfast before Ellie removed to the morning room and Ashberry to the quiet of his study.
She sometimes wondered what he did there, but found herself too occupied to actually investigate. As she had told Ashberry that morning at breakfast, she would have been surprised if they had been spared even one more day. Her mother, Charlotte and Caroline all came to call late in the morning, thankfully eliminating any opportunity for her mother to interrogate her privately. When asked how the couple was adjusting, she had simply colored very prettily, a reaction that was both honest and capable of misinterpretation.
Caroline and Charlotte had given each other a quite knowing look but her mother had peered much more suspiciously into her face, so Ellie had added, “Ashberry is quite a gentleman and has been very good to me.” Her mother had inspected the jewelry and the accompanying cabinet with an approving eye, while Caroline had simply humphed at her brother. “He never bought us anything that handsome,” Charlotte had stated with a tilt to her chin that Ellie thought might mean trouble for her husband.
The two sisters had joined them for afternoon tea but Ellie’s mother already had an engagement. The twins had quickly cancelled Ashberry’s plans for a decorous, light tea that ultimately demonstrated his sisters’ comfort around their eldest brother and former guardian.
They scolded their brother mercilessly for his extravagance after the years, they claimed, that he had forced them to dress in rags. He had simply shrugged and kept his eyes on Ellie, whose own face was lit in an expression he didn’t understand.
Ellie was thrilled though she said little. The twins were completely unrestrained out of Society’s presence and Ellie dearly wished she could see them so free more often. She had never been around women who were as fun loving as they and she found herself smiling more than not. Afterwards when they insisted she go driving with them, Ellie had looked at her husband, who had nodded and kissed the corner of her mouth. Charlotte had the audacity to giggle while Caroline had turned away and hugged her brother, whispering in his ear. Ellie wondered what she had said, but had no opportunity to ask for the sisters had nearly carried her off into the Earl of Eldenwood’s elegant city landau.
The drive in Hyde Park had been a revelation to her, for Ellie had never experienced one like it. The twins were polite and proper as peas in a pod when speaking with the matrons or being complimented by the rare gentleman but when others were out of earshot, they were merciless. They regaled Ellie with tales of Ashberry’s growing pains, claiming near perfection on their own parts, until she nearly doubled over laughing at the images the girls painted of him.
The twins had returned her to Ashberry House with plenty of time to return to their own homes and prepare for their own dinners with their own husbands. Ellie had wandered a bit in the house before settling in the music room, her fingers skimming lovingly over the keys.
Ashberry found himself opening his study door again to listen to the melodies, eventually setting down his pen and moving to the music room to sit by the fire that burned there. His chair faced the pianoforte’s bench and his view of her was unobstructed, and he absorbed every expression that accompanied each sentiment of the music.
Ellie knew he was there, though her eyes were closed as she played. The tune seemed to follow the lead of her heart and she used the passion and sweet sadness of it to settle her soul. When the piece ended and the last echoes died in the room, she laid her hands on her lap, speaking to her husband. “I spent hours playing as I was growing up but I didn’t really understand how much emotion music could express until after Papa took us to Europe.”
“You can play as much as you wish,” he replied softly, his eyes on her.
Her reply was sincere. “I will and I would thank both your parents for the instrument if I could,” she murmured. She paused, then said abruptly, “I did not intend for you to be miserable, Ashberry.”
“I’m not,” he said, surprised. “Why would you say that?”
“Last night,” she whispered.
Ashberry considered her words. He had been especially tense, abruptly sending her to bed and hardly even pausing in her boudoir to say goodnight. She could have tasted the frustration that oozed from him. Finally, he murmured, “I was not miserable, Ella. I was wanting.”
Ellie was as shocked by her next words as Ashberry was, but the question had been troubling her all day and the words just seemed to tumble out. “I don’t understand, my lord. You have every legal and Godly right to do everything to me that you wanted to do last night and you must know that I would not fight you. Why do you deny yourself?”
Impulsively, Ashberry moved toward her, sliding beside her onto the bench. He grasped her hands in his, turning her upper body to him. “Ella dear,” he replied seriously, “I have told you why already, if you remember.” The sincerity and confusion of her question struck him nearly as much as her acceptance of his authority in their marriage and he struggled to focus on the first issue while ignoring the urges caused by the second. “I swore an oath just five days ago,” he explained, his words slightly savage. “To you and to God, that I would honor and protect you for the rest of my days.” He dropped her hands to cup her cheeks in his hands. “And I will keep it, even if it means denying myself something that I desire more than anything else in my life.”
Ellie licked her lower lip, the gesture enough for Ashberry to squeeze his eyes closed. He gripped her just a bit tighter but she did not resist and after a few moments his hands slackened until they simply rested on hers. “You nearly kill me, Ella,” he said, the agony in his voice clear. “And you don’t even know how.”
She drew a deep breath, waiting while her heartbeat slowed. Her mouth was dry but she dared not wet her lips again, for despite his words she was learning quickly. Instead, she whispered, “I should dress for dinner.”
Ashberry did not release her, as she expected. Instead, his body coiled like a taut spring while he asked, “That afternoon in your sitting room, were you repulsed by our kiss?”
She considered her words carefully, finally settling on a nondescript answer. “No, your kisses did not repulse me, Ashberry,” in a whisper. It would simply be unfair to him to admit she had been enthralled, aching even, when he had pulled away. Even in her innocence, Ellie understood suc
h an admission would make his celibacy even more painful.
He sighed, muttering, “Thank God.” Almost compulsively, his hands drew her face toward him until their lips touched, not bothering to point out that the magic words had once again crossed her lips when she had anxiously questioned him. Her eyes closed when he tilted her head, adding a slight pressure to the kiss. “I have to taste you,” he breathed, the words so hoarse that Ellie could barely understand them. She shivered, not from fear but from the delicious tingle that flitted through her nerves, then innocently turned her mouth up in wanton offering.
The groan that came from him seemed to start in his abdomen and grow as it swelled through his chest and throat. One hand slid behind her head pushing her face up even higher while the other left her face to encircle her waist, sliding her closer to him on the bench.
With his hand behind her head and his body nearly touching hers, Ellie knew that every place his hand touched hers burned. Her fingers crushed her skirts in her fist while she struggled to keep up with the sensations that flooded her. The burning of his lips on hers seemed practically impossible for her to deny, for the ardor of it was increased even by the pressure of his hand at the small of her back. She leaned toward him, submitting to the demands of his mouth, until he abruptly released her and stood, backing away.
His breathing was heavy as he stared at her, his mouth open. Her lids fluttered under the heat of his gaze, until he growled, “Go, Ella. Now.”
Ellie did as he said.
It was her turn to flee.
* * * *
Ellie didn’t see Ashberry again until she entered the salon before dinner. He had changed, adding a simple cravat to his shirt and coat. She didn’t know his mood but he handed her a glass of wine and touched the edge of his to hers, so she smiled a little.
Embracing Ashberry Page 13