Mastering the Marquess (26 page)

It had been a good life.

Nibbling another bite of toast—the apricot jam really was excellent—Louisa pursed her lips.

She didn’t suppose that life would actually be that different now. She still had to dress and she imagined she’d still have to choose what to eat. It might be more complicated in a house with a man, but she still remembered how to be sure that there was enough meat on the table and that the port decanter was full.

Her own house did present a worry, however. She hadn’t truly considered what she would do with it once she was married. It would have to be discussed with Swanston.

And where was her husband? She’d have to ask—after she finished her bacon.

Riding always cleared his head. A good canter through the park as the sun was rising could take care of even the worst overindulgence. Fresh air and exercise helped cleanse the soul—or so he’d been told. This morning, however, not even a full gallop through the morning mists was clearing or cleansing.

His head was still wrapped in cotton, his brain fogged. Swanston wasn’t even sure he could have separated up from down. And it was all his wife’s fault.

He’d been fine the night before, known just what he was doing, and now—blast!—now he just wasn’t sure.

If the night had been bad, been awful, he might have understood his unease. But it hadn’t been. It had been good—hell, more than good.

He hadn’t expected to enjoy such ordinary relations much at all, at least not beyond the orgasm. He’d expected to finish up and then return to his own bed, duty complete.

Instead he’d had a night like he hadn’t had in quite a while. He’d been randy as an old goat—and for his own wife.

Hell.

He had no idea what came next.

“Slow up there, Swanston.” The cry came from behind.

The gallop wasn’t doing anything for him anyway. Pulling the reins, Swanston slowed the horse as Duldon came up beside. “What?” He knew he sounded gruff.

“Now that’s not any way for a man to sound after his wedding night,” Duldon responded.

“And how should a man sound?”

“Not like he’s been sleeping on a bed of nails and is moving to one made of tacks.”

Swanston released a long sigh. “You do say the strangest things.”

“Don’t try to deflect my question.”

“I did not hear a question.”

“Was there some difficulty last night that has you looking so haggard and gray this morning? Perhaps things did not turn up—I mean ‘out’—as expected?”

Swanston dug his heels into the gelding, urging the beast to a faster pace. “I am not in the mood for your attempt at humor this morning.”

“That, I believe, is exactly my point. Should not a man be cheered after his wedding night? You won the lady—and her funds. Lady Brookingston was quite a prize.”

“Damn it, Duldon. You know better than to even suggest such a thing. And it’s Lady
Swanston
.”

“It’s not exactly a secret why you married her. Everyone thinks you were most sensible—and the lady, too. I’ve not heard a single negative thing except from those gentlemen who wished to win her purse for themselves.”

“I am not saying it’s not true, just that it’s not seemly to talk about.” Only it didn’t feel as true as it had, and he hated the thought of anyone’s thinking that he’d married Louisa for her purse. She had so much more to offer than that. There were a dozen other women he could have
married if that had been all he cared about.

“Didn’t mean to cause offense—and that’s not what I wished to discuss anyhow.” Duldon slowed his horse, forcing Swanston to do the same or appear rude.

“Yes?”

“I wanted to discuss your sister. Bliss. Do you know who she’s been spending her time with?”

“I have had other things on my mind. If you’re worried why don’t you speak to my father?”

“You know better than that.”

Yes, he did. Swanston didn’t even know why he had said the words. His father could not be counted on for anything unless it was buying a pig for a thousand pounds in the foolish belief that it would be the start of a whole new enterprise. “What has Bliss been up to?”

“She’s been seen on several occasions with the Countess Ormande. She has frequently left balls with the Countess, and my understanding is that they have not always gone directly home.”

Swanston rubbed his brow. He truly did not need this right now. “And what do you know of the Countess?” he asked, not mistaking the odd inflection that Duldon had placed on her name.

“I believe I know the same things about her that you do—and that she seems to have no fondness for you. Although I understand you once spent quite a bit of time together.”

Dropping his hand, Swanston stared at his friend. What did Duldon know? “I am not quite sure what you mean.”

“Is this whole morning going to be spent on a back-and-forth of questions? You know exactly what I mean. You may keep your life discreet, as I have kept mine, but we do have several mutual acquaintances. You may not be fond of the term ‘Master,’ but I do have a taste for it.”

Swanston could only hope he did not gape. “I was not aware that we had these things in common.”

“One rarely is, unless one cares to be watched. Then it is a whole different matter.”

“Yes, I suppose it is. That has never been one of my fancies.”

“Nor mine.”

There was silence then. What were two men to say when they had both admitted to a socially unacceptable desire for domination?

Loosening his reins so that his horse could nibble at the grass beside the riding path, Swanston finally turned his head to stare at his friend. “Has anything definite happened between the Countess and Bliss? Do I need to take action?”

“I don’t think anything has happened yet, but it would not be a bad idea to remove your sister from the Countess’s influence.”

“I’d like to take a whip to the bloody woman.”

Duldon chuckled coldly. “That is probably just what she wants.”

Being Lady Swanston was not very different from being Lady Brookingston—at least during the day. There was still a house to run, servants to be managed, social obligations to be kept, gowns to be purchased, and accounts to be balanced. The scale was greater than she had previously known, but the tasks were quite similar. It was not an exciting life, but it was a busy and satisfying one.

No, her days were not different.

But her nights … now they were something else.

There was something quite satisfying about curling up beside one’s husband each evening. They still did not talk or touch much—other than when they were engaged in marital activities—but it was just so … so comfortable. Yes, that was the word. It was easy and comfortable.

And the marital activities were quite comfortable, too. She’d never have thought that that was a word she’d use to describe sexual relations, but it was the right one. It was quite lovely to go to bed each night knowing that her husband would move over her and then delicious things would happen.

It was certainly not what she’d expected as a girl when she’d been told that if she just did what her husband wished it would soon be over.

And whatever it had been with Charles—she allowed herself to think his name for the first time in the weeks since her marriage—that had been anything but comfortable.

“And what has you grinning like a cat with a bowl of cream?”

Louisa looked up, startled. She’d actually forgotten that Lady Perse was there—and one did not forget Lady Perse.

Picking up her tea, Louisa took a hurried sip. “I was thinking about my husband.” And that was true. The smile had been for Swanston, not Charles.

“So you are pleased with your choice then, despite my reservations?” Lady Perse herself did not look entirely pleased.

Louisa stared down into her teacup. “Yes, I rather believe I am happy.”

“He is not too staid and dull, too dour? He is such a serious man. Whatever do you find to talk about?” Lady Perse set down her cup of tea and stared at Louisa as if trying to understand some deep secret.

“I must admit that at first it was somewhat difficult. As you have said, Swanston is not known for being verbose, but the more time I spend with him the more we find to discuss. He has a great interest in music. I was quite surprised when he first began to comment on the libretto after we had been to the opera. I believe that he is afraid to be thought whimsical for having such an interest, but he is well informed.”

“I never knew.” And it was clear that Lady Perse did not like not knowing.

“I am not sure that anybody did. My husband is a man of secrets.”

“Exactly why I wasn’t sure about the match. One never knows what one will get when one marries a man with secrets. And surprises are not always pleasant.”

Well, hers had been so far—at least as far as her husband was concerned. “I am sure that you are right.”

“Of course I am,” the older women answered. “I would admit, I have more experience with younger women, those entering the market for the first time, but I do believe some rules are universal.”

It almost sounded as if Lady Perse did not wish her to be happy.

“Did you not care for the duck? You have hardly touched your portion,” Swanston asked, setting down his knife.

“I am just without appetite, I fear. The duck is quite good. The plum glaze is wonderful,” Louisa replied as she watched her husband lift his glass.

“I am glad you think so. It has always been one of my favorites, so I should hate to give it up.”

“Give it up?” She could not keep the surprise from her voice.

“Well, with only the two of us to dinner most nights it would be a shame to serve something that you did not like. It seems silly for Cook to prepare food for just one.” Swanston put down his glass again, his gaze meeting hers and holding it.

“But surely she cooked just for you before I arrived. How is it different now?”

“Well, now she would need to make a separate dish to suit you as well.”

Louisa pulled her glance from his and allowed it to wander over a sideboard filled with dishes waiting to be served. “You don’t think that I could find something to suit me in all of that, even if I did not like the duck?”

“It simply does not need to be an issue. If you do not like the duck we will not have it.”

“But I have already said that I do like the duck.”

“But if you did not …” He spoke with some force.

“But I do.” She tried to match the firmness of his tone, but feared that she failed.

Swanston sat up higher in his chair, his chin jutting forward. “And I say that if you did not like it then it would not be served in this house.”

Suddenly it was all too much for her and she could not hold back the giggle that leaked from between her lips; even lifting the damask napkin to cover it did not help.

“What?”

She let the napkin fall back to her lap. “Are we actually going to have our first fight arguing about a situation that we both admit doesn’t exist?”

“I merely mean you to understand …” And then Swanston’s voice trailed off, and he smiled. A genuine smile—the first she had seen upon his lips that was not polite, not measured, not for show, but a genuine smile that reached his eyes and lit them.