The Last Duchess (The Lennox Series)(108)

She sighed into the dim bedchamber, staring up at the flickering shadows against the ceiling. Why would he not get on with it? She was so tired, after swimming, and then all the high drama and emotion of the remaining afternoon, then sitting through dinner, acting as though everything was well, that she was a blushing, happy bride.

It had been torture. She’d even resented him his favorite meal, and crossly wished she’d had Cook serve up a hefty portion of smoked trout. She’d not have cared. She wasn’t able to do more than pick at her food anyway.

He continued talking, his long, warm, hairy leg nestled intimately next to hers, his arms folded behind his head. “I’ve decided we should not begin slowly, Jane.”

Alarmed, she stiffened further. “Begin? Begin what?”

“Your reintroduction into society. A soiree or musicale is too tame by half. Let’s begin with a grand ball, and invite absolutely everyone, even wicked Aunt Reid. We’ll have it to honor Lucy and Sherbourne’s marriage.”

“As you wish, Your Grace.” Thank God. He’d only been speaking of a party. She could handle that with one hand tied behind her back.

The other . . . Well, he was kidding himself if he thought she’d melt into a puddle when he reached for her. Fast, slow, or anywhere in between, she would hate it. She hated that she had to submit to him in any way at all. How long would it take to conceive?

“I remember a ball from many years ago that had a nautical theme. I believe it would be intriguing to do something similar.” He went off about the idea, talking and talking about what manner of decoration they might employ, what they might serve, how they might dress to reflect the theme of water and sailing.

After a time, he moved on to William, and what a lovely lad he was, and how proud Bonderant would be of him.

Eventually, he worked his way into a discourse on Crofton’s crossbreds and the auction coming up in June, and how they would go to Newmarket together, make a trip of it and perhaps buy some cattle for the property in Cornwall, for the population was scarce, and they would go down and visit at summer’s end, and bathe in the sea, for she had never been, and she would like it, and on he went.

Her eyes drifted closed without her realization and when they opened, it was just dawn, she was wrapped up in him and he was pressing soft, feathery kisses to her forehead. He was warm and solid and delicious. She forgot her usual insistence of rinsing her mouth and returned his kiss with tremendous passion. He was on top of her, sliding into her with a slow, insistent push before she came fully awake and remembered that she disliked him.

“You promised,” he whispered when she stiffened beneath him. “You may dislike me in a little while, love, but for now, please do not.”

She closed her eyes and said angrily, “Hurry up, then.”

He didn’t hurry up. He made love to her body, to her lips, to her face, moving over her with tenderness and gentle but firm hands.

She would have to literally be made of stone not to respond.

Her climax only served to make her more angry. As soon as he was spent, she scrambled out from under him and leapt from the bed to rush for the dressing room.

He followed, but didn’t say anything as rang for his valet. Instead, he smiled at her. Why did he have to be so handsome? Why did a smile change his face to make it even more handsome? Why did even his eyes have to smile at her, look at her as though she was simply wonderful?

Within an hour, she was dressed and Rose had gone down to ask Clive to call for the carriage. She followed shortly and went into the dining room for coffee and a piece of toast. She’d only just buttered the crusty, warm bread when Blixford strolled in, smiling as he fixed his plate at the side board. She noted he was in dress clothes, not riding breeches, and she was alarmed. Did he intend to attend services with her? How could she tell him he was unwelcome? It was church, and surely no one, even a wife who disliked him, had the right to refuse him worship. She would instantly be sent to Hell, she was certain.

When she was done with her toast, she rose from the table and walked out of the dining room, despite the fact he was in the midst of a small speech about the remainder of the day, that they should stop at the Red Lion Inn to say hallo to Mr. and Mrs. Osgood, and Lucy and Sherbourne were sure to enjoy that good lady’s victuals.

She was just stepping into the carriage when he came out of the house and bounded up beside her, smiling still, as though the world pleased him enormously. “We’re in for another lovely day, it appears. It will make for good traveling, will it not?”

She stared out the window and didn’t reply. What the devil was he about? Did he think he could wile his way back into her good graces, merely by being cheerful? If so, he had another think coming.