The Last Duchess (The Lennox Series)(118)
“I wish now I had killed him when I had the chance. I believe it might be worth going to Hell, just for the satisfaction.” Her tears returned. “I don’t understand, Michael, truly I don’t. How can anyone be so cruel and horrible, so lacking in honor? I feel . . . this is just how I felt when . . . after he . . .” She clung to him and cried until she was hiccupping.
He never let her go, but somehow produced a handkerchief. He dried her tears and she blew her nose, then settled down in his arms, the storm past. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I love you, Michael,” she said, just before she hiccupped, “but I’m afraid I still dislike you.”
“It’s quite all right, love. I’m working on that problem, as well.”
“You are?”
“Hmm. You’ll see. Just relax now and go to sleep, and when you wake up, you’ll feel much better, I promise.”
“Will not.” She hiccupped again. “You’re going to make love to me and I’ll dislike you more and more.”
“Will it be how you disliked me this morning?”
“I hope so,” she said, her eyes drifting closed.
She slept hard, dreamless and unmoving, then came awake of a sudden, instinctively reaching for him. The bed was empty. She sat up and saw him in the chair next to the fire, a brandy snifter in one long fingered hand. “Blix,” she called out sleepily, “what are you doing?”
“Watching you sleep.”
“Well do stop and come to bed. I’m cold.”
His smile was interesting. “In a while, love.”
Lying down, she burrowed into the covers and dropped back to sleep. Later, she knew not how much later, she woke again and reached for an empty space. She sat up. He stood at the window, the portiere’s open, moonlight streaming in. “Michael, what are you doing?”
“Watching you sleep.”
“Looks to me like you’re watching the moon.”
He turned and he was magnificent in moonlight. He was naked. In spite of herself, she heated with desire. “Aren’t you chilled?”
“On the contrary,” he replied, “I’m quite warm.”
She noticed then, he was fully erect. “Did I mention that I’m cold? Won’t you please come to bed?”
He did, and it didn’t take long for her to be quite warm as well. Afterward, she went to sleep in his arms and didn’t wake again until the sun was up, having spent the remainder of the night spooned into his warm, solid form.
***
Eastchase Hall was just as she remembered, a pleasing blend of old and new architecture. The stone walls of the central, cavernous hall, built over three centuries earlier, were hung with standards, each bearing the Blixford coat of arms and varying symbols and colors of characteristics considered necessary to the ducal title: courage, faith, honor, loyalty to the crown, and stewardship. A fireplace twice as tall as herself and doubled in width was set into the wall opposite the massive, oak doors, flanked on one side by a curving staircase and on the other by an old fashioned minstrel gallery, its screen an elaborately carved section of juniper. An enormous, intricate iron chandelier, maneuverable by heavy chain and pulleys, hung above all, fashioned to hold two hundred candles. The central building included the hall, the kitchens, a morning room, a dining room, an extensive library, a study, and a drawing room surely large enough to host a small ball. An actual ballroom had been added above stairs, directly above the hall, adjacent to a long portrait gallery, which was notable for its absence of portraits. Three separate wings went off from the central hall section of the house, one occupied entirely by the army of servants employed by the estate, another reserved for guests, and the third housing the ducal family apartments.
Jane remembered worrying she would get lost, the house was so enormous, but Annabel had drawn it out for her, and once she had a clear idea of the layout, she found it easy to navigate. Everything was oversized, from the doors, to the rooms, even the furniture. The bed in her chamber was of ordinary size, but the bed in Blixford’s chamber was huge, long and wide. He said she would sleep with him, and he wouldn’t allow her to hide in the massive thing, no matter how far he had to come after her. She argued that she desired her own chamber, and he relented to her own dressing room, but drew a hard line at her own chamber. What was the point? he asked. If she would sleep in her own bed, he would be there anyway, so why not make use of his enormous, extremely soft one?
Their journey had taken all afternoon and the better part of the following day. They stopped at an inn to spend the night and left mid-morning, Blixford saying they were in no hurry, so may as well go along at a leisurely pace.