Regency Innocents (49 page)

She was not sure what woke her, but when she opened her eyes it was to see her husband leaning on the bedpost, gazing down at her with a pensive frown.

‘How are you?' he asked, running one finger along the bevelled edge of the footboard. ‘Better, I trust, after your rest?'

Her heart went out to him. It was not his fault he was not in love with her. Nor that he had not a glib tongue, to soothe over any awkward moments. He had warned her he would speak bluntly. In truth, it was one of the
things she had liked so much about him, that slightly gruff manner, which made him stand out from the other men who had swarmed about Susannah. It had made him seem so much more manly than the others. She could easily imagine him barking out orders to a troop of battle-hardened soldiers, and them respectfully obeying him.

She smiled at him, sleepily. ‘I am sure I will feel much better, when I am properly awake. Just at the moment, I still feel a little drowsy.' She yawned, and stretched, raising her arms above her head. He watched her sinuous movements with a dark, hungry look. She stilled, pierced by the force of desire she read in his stance. She couldn't help remembering how it had felt to be the recipient of all that pent-up longing the night before. Unwittingly, she shifted on the bed, revelling in the way his fingers clenched on the footboard as his eyes focused on her body. Her dress, which Cherry had loosened so she would be more comfortable, had partially slipped from her shoulders while she slept. She had kicked her shoes off, so her feet were bare, and she could feel that her skirts no longer covered her ankles, or calves. As he ran his eyes over her recumbent frame, she felt as though he was touching her all over.

‘We need to wash and change for dinner,' he said abruptly, straightening up. ‘I will use the facilities first, since you look as though you are still half-asleep.' Swinging away from her, he marched into their dressing room.

She watched him go, not sure whether to be glad or sorry. He did not want to want her so much, that was
obvious, even to a woman of her inexperience. But want her, he did. There was no mistaking the hunger she had seen in his eyes as they had roamed over her recumbent form. She hugged the knowledge to herself as she sat up, and lowered her legs to the floor.

It was a start.

As she got to her feet, she felt a rush of feminine satisfaction surge through her. She caught her lower lip between her teeth. He wanted her, in spite of himself. And, oh, how she wanted him! Her body tingled in all the places he had paid the most attention to the night before. And her stomach gave a lurch at the prospect of receiving his attentions all over again.

In the dressing room, Captain Fawley grinned to himself as Linney helped him out of his jacket. He need not have worried that he was growing sentimental, after all. The jolt of lust he had felt, upon looking down at her, had been reassuringly carnal. All he had wanted was to lift her skirts and sink himself into the warm wet welcome, he could tell from the wanton wiggles she made, that he would find in his wife's sleepily pliant body.

There had been, apparently, no need to worry that she might find him repulsive, because of his scarring. As Linney helped him pull his shirt off over his head, he wondered if that had been because he had been so careful to shield her from the full horror of his injuries. He had kept the room dark, making sure what little light there was illuminated his good side.

Though, just now, she had looked up at him, in broad daylight, and given him clear signals that she felt aroused just by sensing the need in him. That was what
she had been thinking of, as she had lain on the bed just now, watching him. Not how ugly his face was, but the way he had made her feel.

He frowned as he worked a soaped washcloth over his face and neck. It was surprising to think that a properly brought-up young lady like she should find such pleasure in the marriage bed. Although, he huffed, splashing away the soap with clean water from the basin, perhaps that was entirely due to the fact that her mother had not had time to warn her she ought not to enjoy it. She had, in effect, been surprised into her sexual awakening.

It felt good, he reflected, drying himself on the towel Linney handed him, to know that, in the dark of their bedroom, it had not mattered what he looked like. He had raised Deborah to heights of rapture, with his one good hand, his mouth and his own manhood. She was too innocent to have faked her response.

It felt good.

It evened things out, somewhat, to know that while she had made it possible for him to live in comfort, and independence, he had introduced her to pleasure she had never guessed at.

His chest swelled; he walked a little taller as he went to the upstairs salon to await the serving of the evening meal. In one department, at least, as a man, he had no lack.

Deborah sidled into the salon some time later, feeling completely exasperated. She had made the mistake of lying down in the only dress she had with her. It had not withstood the abuse well. She had agreed with Cherry that there was nothing for it but to borrow one of the late
Miss Lampton's gowns until her own could be brushed and pressed into some semblance of respectability.

Miss Lampton had clearly been somewhat shorter, and a great deal more plump, than she was.

‘What,' her husband said, his eyes lighting with amusement, ‘are you wearing now?'

‘Another borrowed garment,' she flashed, ‘since you did not give me time to pack anything of my own.'

His amusement faded, to be replaced by a look that in another man she might have described as contrition.

‘Now, Deborah, you surely understand by now the reason for my haste in getting you to the altar. I could not risk Lampton getting wind of my plans, or he would have done his utmost to overset them. He had tried such a trick before, don't forget.'

She nodded, her hands tugging ineffectually at the voluminous skirts that left her legs bare almost to the calves.

‘No, do not try to pull your skirts lower. You have very pretty ankles. I like looking at them.'

‘It is hardly proper to be talking about my ankles,' she snapped, although she knew it was not talking about her ankles that had annoyed her, so much as hearing once again of his reluctance to confide in her.

‘Deborah,' he said, holding out his hand towards her, ‘I know I must have taxed your patience to the limit. I whisked you away from your home without giving you time to prepare, and I have been so anxious that something would prevent our marriage I fear I have been less than polite to you at times.'

‘Well, yes, I have to confess your manner has been a little … abrupt,' she conceded.

He smiled his lopsided smile, the one that always tugged at her heartstrings.

‘I do regret the necessity for keeping you so much in the dark,' he said, removing her excuse for maintaining any anger with him. ‘But given your close friendship with Miss Hullworthy, and her own infatuation with that boor, how else could I have acted?'

You could have trusted me …
She sighed, settling on to a chair and taking the glass of lemonade someone had placed on the table beside it.

‘If I had laid my cards on the table,' he continued, ‘would it not have been a burden on you?'

She bit at her lower lip, watching a pip bobbing about near the bottom of the cloudy liquid. Yes, she admitted, she would have found it hard not to have gone to Susannah and warned her about Lampton's duplicity. She supposed it was just possible that he had been trying to shield her from anxiety, just as Lady Walton had suggested.

However, she reflected bitterly, taking a tentative sip of the drink and finding it surprisingly pleasant, it was more likely that her husband was so used to barking orders at inferiors, and never having to explain himself, that he had just not considered her feelings at all.

Although to be fair to him, she sighed, taking a large, unladylike gulp of the refreshing beverage, he was not a man given to trusting anyone. Why should he? He had been surrounded by treachery and betrayal since before he had been born.

Mrs Farrell came in to announce dinner was served, and they both rose and went to the door.

‘Oh, how lovely!' Deborah exclaimed on passing
through the double doors of the dining room. Crystal glasses sparkled in the rays of the setting sun that slanted in through the mullioned windows. Silverware glittered at the place settings laid out on a heavy damasked tablecloth, and the whole room was scented by masses of fresh roses prettily arranged in bowls along the table.

Her reaction brought a delighted smile to Mrs Farrell's face.

That look faded to one of affront, as Linney helped her into her chair, saying, ‘Thank you, Mrs Farrell. I will take over from here.'

He had arranged things so that the food came from the kitchen to a sideboard just inside the door. He brought it to table, served his master and mistress, and removed the empty plates and dishes when they were finished with.

She would have to have a word with Mrs Farrell, and explain her husband's aversion to having strangers watching him eat, so that she did not take offence at Linney's peremptory dismissal. Thankfully the servants were used to serving an eccentric employer. They would grow used to her husband's foibles far more readily than some.

‘Your things should be arriving in a day or so,' Captain Fawley remarked, as Linney brought out a dish of quince jelly.

‘I shall be glad of it,' she admitted, shifting uncomfortably in the dress that, in spite of all she could do, would keep slipping off one shoulder.

‘Yes, the sooner we can get you out of that dreadful gown, the better pleased I shall be.'

Deborah felt a flame of heat engulf her at the prospect of her husband taking off her gown. Guiltily she lowered her head, concentrating fiercely on her pudding. She was sure Robert would not have deliberately said something so indelicate in front of Linney. But when she eventually regained her composure, and lifted her head, he shot her a quite unrepentant grin.

She felt her cheeks heat to an unbecoming degree.

‘You are looking a little flushed, my dear,' he said, leaning back and contemplating her thoughtfully. ‘Are you feeling unwell again?'

‘N-no, that is …'

He nodded, his face solemn, as he lay his napkin down beside his place setting. ‘You probably just need another lie down. An early night would do us both good, I think. Linney!'

‘Yes, Captain?'

‘Get someone else to finish clearing away in here. My wife needs to get to her bed. I do not want to keep her waiting.'

Deborah wished she could sink through the floor. How obvious could he be making it that going to sleep was the last thing on his mind? She found herself exerting a vice-like grip on her dessert spoon, as he rose and limped past her to the door.

As soon as I am ready, I shall send Linney to fetch you,' he shot at her over his shoulder, as he went out.

She looked at her dessert. She measured the distance to the door that had just closed on her insufferably insensitive husband. She picked up the bowl … and thought of Miss Lampton's staff. It would not be fair to
indulge in a childish tantrum on her very first night here. Why should they have to clean up the mess she had made of her life?

She slammed the bowl down on the table, slinging the spoon in with a little cry of vexation. He had warned her how it would be, yet somehow, she had not believed he could be so … crude.

Well, she was not going to put up with being ordered to his bed, in front of a servant, as though she were a woman of easy virtue.

Getting to her feet so abruptly her chair overturned, she left the dining room and went down the stairs in pursuit of her husband.

She hesitated on the threshold of their bedroom, knowing he was probably in the process of having Linney remove his false limbs. Even though he had just humiliated her, she did not think it right to descend to the same level. She just needed to draw a line, across which she refused to let him go!

Raising her fist, she banged on the door.

When Linney opened it, she drew herself up to her full height. ‘I do not care what your master asks of you. I will not have you marching into my dressing room, while I am in a state of undress! Send a message to my maid, when it is appropriate for me to come to bed, and she can relay the information to me.'

‘Yes, miss—madam,' he corrected himself. ‘Will that be all?'

Would that be all? As though she had requested he bring her a cup of tea, rather than touch upon a subject that was so delicate she wondered at herself in broaching it!

‘Yes. That will be all,' she said, with as much dignity as she could muster, before turning with a twitch of her voluminous, borrowed skirts, and heading down the corridor to the other door that opened on to her dressing room.

S
he reminded him of a bristling alley cat when she finally stalked into his bedroom. Her eyes were snapping, her fists were clenched at her sides, and if she'd had a tail, it would have been twitching.