Читать книгу Regency Surrender: Passion And Rebellion - Энни Берроуз, Louise Allen - Страница 18

Chapter Eight

‘That’s all we need,’ he said, ramming his hat back on his head. Things had been going so well until they’d reached Mayfield. She’d been warming towards him throughout the day. It hadn’t even been all that difficult. She had a generous nature and seemed disposed to try to like him.

But now her face had changed. It put him in mind of the way his great-aunt had looked at him when he’d turned up to one of her ridottos in riding boots. No credit for remembering the insipid event and tearing himself away from a far more convivial gathering to get there. And more or less on time, as well. No. Only disapproval for being incorrectly dressed.

Not that the cases were a bit the same. He couldn’t really blame Mary for being cross with him.

He scowled at the carriage as it disappeared round a curve in the drive, wishing now that he hadn’t dismissed the post-boys with such haste.

‘The Dog and Ferret really is no place for you,’ he said aloud, as much to remind himself why he’d had all the luggage unloaded, as to explain himself to her. ‘But,’ he said, turning to her at last, bracing himself to meet another frosty stare, ‘at least it would have got you out of the weather. And now,’ he said, shooting the back of their post-chaise one last glare, ‘we are stuck here. Can’t expect you to walk to the village at this hour, in this weather.’ If it had been just him, he could have cut across the fields. But he’d seen the state of her boots the night before. They wouldn’t keep her feet dry. Nor was that fancy coat and bonnet of hers cut out for hiking through the countryside in the rain.

‘Only one thing for it,’ he said, and before she could raise a single objection at leaving the shelter of the porch, he seized her arm and set off round the side of the house.

She shivered when the rain struck them both with full force. When she stumbled over some unseen obstacle, he put his arm round her waist and half carried, half dragged her through what was starting to become something of a storm, under the gated archway that led to the back of the house.

It was much darker in the enclosed courtyard, so that even he had trouble navigating his way to the servants’ entrance. But at least it was sheltered from the wind that was getting up.

He rattled the door handle, cursing at finding it locked.

Not that it would be all that hard to get inside.

Couldn’t expect Mary to climb in through a window, though. Which meant he’d have to leave her out here while he groped his way along the darkened passages and got a door open for her.

He shucked off his coat.

‘Here,’ he said, tucking it round her shoulders, ‘this should keep the worst of the wet off you while I break in.’

‘B-break in?’

He couldn’t see her face, it was so dark, but he could hear the shock and disapproval in her voice.

‘There’s a window, just along here,’ he said, feeling his way along the wall, with Mary following close on his heels. ‘Ah, here it is.’

He reached into his pocket and found a penknife. ‘Never used to fasten properly,’ he explained, flicking open the knife blade. ‘The footmen used to use it to get in after lock-up, when they’d sneaked off to the Dog and Ferret.’

‘That’s...’

‘Dreadful, I know.’ He worked the knife blade under the sash. ‘As a boy, I shouldn’t have known anything about it. But nobody paid me much mind in those days.’ The lock sprang free and he heaved the window up. ‘Never thought knowing how to break into my own house would come in so handy,’ he said, getting one leg over the sill. ‘You just wait there,’ he said firmly. He didn’t want her stumbling about in the dark and hurting herself. ‘I’ll come and let you in, in just a jiffy.’

If it had been dark in the courtyard, it was black as a coalhole in the scullery. And yet he had little trouble finding his way past the sinks and along the wall, round to the kitchen door. This place was deeply embedded in his memory. Even the smell in here flung him back to his boyhood and all the hours he’d spent below stairs in the company of servants, rather than wherever it was he was meant to have been.

In no time at all he’d laid his hands on a lamp, which was on a shelf just beside the back door, where it had always been kept.

As he lit it, he pictured Mary, huddled up under the eaves in a futile attempt to find shelter from the wind and rain, and no doubt counting the minutes he was making her wait. And wondering what the hell he’d dragged her into. All of a sudden he got a sudden, vivid memory of the day his stepmother had first come to Mayfield. How she’d stood—not in the rear courtyard, shivering with cold, but in the imposing entrance hall, nervously watching the servants, who’d all lined up to greet her. She’d attempted a timid smile for him and he’d returned it with a scowl, seeing her as an interloper. A woman who had no right to take the place of his mother.

He couldn’t recall her ever smiling again, not while she’d lived here.

He paused, the lighted lantern in his hand, recalling how he’d complained to his friends about how a woman changed a man when she got him leg-shackled. But the truth was that it wasn’t just a man who took a huge risk when he got married. When a woman chose the wrong partner, she could be just as miserable. He knew, because he’d seen it with Julia’s mother. She’d blossomed when she’d finally married her childhood sweetheart. Only to shrivel to a husk of her former self when shackled to her third husband. Who’d been a brute.

It was all very well protecting himself from hurt, but not at Mary’s expense. Theirs might not be a love match, but there was no reason why he shouldn’t do whatever he could to make her happy.

He set the lamp back on its shelf by the back door before he unbolted it. And when Mary saw him, and came scurrying over, he caught her round the waist, then swept her up off her feet and into his arms.

‘Nothing else has gone right so far,’ he said. ‘But at least I can carry my bride over the threshold.’

To his immense relief, she flung her arms round his neck and burrowed her face into his chest.

She must be freezing, poor lamb. Else she wouldn’t be clinging to him like this.

He set her down gently and shut the door. Turned, and took both her hands in his.

‘I haven’t made a very good start as a husband, have I,’ he said ruefully. ‘I must have written a dozen letters yesterday. Thought I’d organised it all so brilliantly. But never took into account the possibility the Brownlows might have already made their plans for Christmas. And...’ he squeezed her hands ‘...I fear you are right. There’s nobody here but us. And there’s no telling how long they’ll be away. I dare say you must be really cross with me, but...’

‘No!’ She stunned him by placing one hand on his cheek. ‘Not at all. There are far worse things for a man to be, than a bit disorganised.’

‘Well, it’s good of you to say so,’ he said gruffly, raising his own hand to cover hers where it rested on his cheek, ‘but you do realise we’ve no option but to rack up here for the night? And that there are no servants, no beds made up for us...’

She gave him a brave smile. ‘It will seem better once we can get a fire going,’ she said bracingly. Clearly determined to make the best of a bad job. ‘And if the Brownlows normally live here, then there’s bound to be some provisions in the larder. We can manage.’

‘Come on, then,’ he said, kissing her hand in gratitude at her forbearance. ‘Let’s raid the kitchen.’

Pausing only to pick up the lantern, he led Mary along the stone-flagged corridor, his brow knotted in thought. His father had never really appreciated Julia’s mother. He’d treated her as though she ought to have been grateful he’d given her his name and title. He hadn’t seen it as a boy, but his father had treated his dogs and horses better than his own wife.

The minute he thought of horses, he recalled the hurt look that had flickered across Mary’s face when he’d told her how he’d sent his own horses down by easy stages.

Lord, he’d started out as badly as his own father had done! Pampering his horses and pitching his wife headlong into hardship.

‘You ought by rights to be ripping up at me for making such a botch of things,’ he growled as he opened the door to the kitchen for her.

She gazed up at him, wide-eyed. Then gave a little sniff and shook her head.

‘You were just in a hurry to get things ready for your sister,’ she said. ‘You were concentrating on getting her to a place of safety. It would have been a miracle if, somewhere along the line, your plans hadn’t hit a snag.’

‘That’s very generous of you—to take that attitude,’ he said, setting the lantern on the shelf just inside the door, which had always been used for that very purpose.

‘Let’s just hope this is the worst snag we hit,’ she said, untying the ribbons of her bonnet and setting it on the massive table that stood in the very centre of the room. Then she walked across to the closed stove and knelt in front of it.

‘Good, dry kindling laid ready,’ she said, opening the door and peeking inside. ‘And plenty of logs in the basket.’ She stood up, and scanned the shelf over the fireplace. ‘And here’s the tinderbox, just where any sensible housewife would keep it.’

Thank goodness she wasn’t one of those useless, helpless females whose sole aim in life was to be decorative. It would be an absolute nightmare to be stuck in this huge, empty house with one of those.

Fortunately, he managed to keep his thoughts to himself rather than blurting them out and provoking an argument. For what woman liked to hear a man think she was useful rather than decorative?

‘I’ll go and take a look around, then,’ he said, going to light another lamp. ‘See what I can discover. So long as you will be all right here for a while?’

She glanced at him over her shoulder and nodded, with a look that told him he was an idiot for even asking.

He gave a wry smile as he set out to explore the house. He’d contracted a practical marriage, with a practical, no-nonsense sort of woman. Of course she wasn’t going to have a fit of the vapours because he was leaving her alone to get a fire lit.

* * *

By the time he returned to the kitchen, it was noticeably warmer. And there were plates and bowls and things out on the sides, which had previously been bare.

‘While you were gone I had a good look round the larder, found some tea and made a pot,’ said Mary, pouring some into two cups. ‘There’s no milk to go in it, but we can sweeten it with some sugar.’

‘I didn’t expect you to have to act like a servant,’ he said glumly as he set the lamp on its shelf.

She put the teapot down rather hard.

‘Would you rather sit all night in the gloom, with an empty stomach, and wait for someone else to turn up and wait on you?’

‘No. I didn’t mean that! It’s just—I promised you a life of luxury. And on the first day, you’re already reduced to this.’ He waved his arm round the big, empty kitchen.

‘Oh.’ Her anger dissipated as swiftly as his own ever did. She shot him a rueful glance as she dumped two full spoons of sugar into both cups. ‘I don’t mind, you know. It’s the biggest house I’ve ever had to call my own. And I’m sure, come the morning, you will be able to find out what has become of the couple who should be taking care of the place. The state of the larder leads me to believe they have not been away all that long.’

‘It looks as though there’s been a horse in the stables very recently, too,’ he said, taking a seat at the table next to the place settings he noted she’d laid. Then he picked up his cup and braced himself to swallow the sickly concoction without grimacing. She’d been looking through the larder and preparing a meal, when she could have been sitting in front of the fire sulking. Her temper was frayed—the way she’d slammed down the teapot and ladled sugar into his drink without asking whether he liked it or not told him that much. So he’d be an ungrateful oaf to provoke her again, by complaining about such a small thing, when she was clearly doing her utmost to make the best of things.

‘Though no sign of any of my own. Nor my groom,’ he finished gloomily. Dammit, where was everyone?

‘Well, at least we have plenty to eat. Would you like something now? I can make an omelette, if you’d like it.’

‘I am starving,’ he admitted with a wry smile. ‘I suppose we ought to do something about finding somewhere to sleep really, but I could do with fortifying before I can face going upstairs again. The whole place is like an icehouse.’

‘We...we could sleep in the kitchen,’ she suggested, taking a sip of her own tea. ‘It is, at least, warm.’

‘Absolutely not,’ he said, setting his own cup down firmly on the table—with some relief that he had a valid excuse for doing so without having to endure any more of the noxiously syrupy drink. ‘There are a dozen perfectly serviceable bedrooms above stairs. And just because you’ve put on an apron and have to act like a cook doesn’t mean you need to sleep below stairs, as well.’

‘I’ve slept in worse places,’ she admitted.

‘Yes, maybe you have, but you’re married to me now and it is my job to take care of you.’ He was going to do better than his own father had done with Julia’s mother. He wasn’t going to assume Mary should be grateful for the privilege of bearing his name, and his title, no matter what the circumstances.

‘Of course,’ she said meekly, before rising and going across to a sort of preparation area near the stove and cracking several eggs into a bowl.

She didn’t utter a word of reproof, but the set of her back as she grated some cheese into the egg mixture told him he really shouldn’t have raised his voice to her just now.

He cleared his throat.

‘It’s very clever of you to know how to do all this sort of thing.’

‘It was necessary,’ she said, pouring the egg mixture into a pan where she’d already started some butter melting. ‘If I hadn’t learned how to cook, once Papa died, we would have gone hungry. We’d never been all that well off, but after he went, we had to move into a much smaller place and let all the servants go.’ She frowned as she kept pulling the slowly setting mixture from the edges into the middle. ‘Mama did the purchasing and tried to learn how to keep the household accounts in order, while I did the actual physical work of keeping house.’

‘Well, I’m glad of it,’ he said, and then, realising how heartless that sounded, added hastily, ‘I mean, glad you can turn your hand to cooking. That smells wonderful,’ he said, desperately hoping to make up lost ground. ‘Anything I can do to help?’

She stirred the egg mixture several more times before making her reply.

‘It might go down better with some wine,’ she suggested as she added some ham to the egg mixture. ‘But only if you can fetch it quickly. This won’t take but a minute more.’

He didn’t need telling twice. Lord, but he needed to get out of the kitchen before he said something even more tactless and shattered the tentative hold she must be keeping on her temper with him. He returned, with a dusty bottle and two wine glasses, just as she was sliding the omelette on to a plate.

‘Not the best crystal,’ he said, putting the bottle down beside his place setting and pulling a corkscrew from his pocket. ‘But you did specify haste, so I got these from the butler’s pantry.’

‘I’m not used to the best crystal, anyway.’

She startled him then, by looking up at him and smiling ruefully. That she could still muster a smile, any kind of smile, and turn it his way, felt nothing short of miraculous. He dropped into his chair with relief, picked up his fork, swearing to himself he’d praise her cooking to the skies no matter what it tasted like.

But in the event, there was no need to feign appreciation.

‘This has got to be,’ he said, ‘one of the tastiest omelettes I’ve ever eaten.’

She flushed and smiled again, this time with what looked like real pleasure.

‘The...the wine is very good, too,’ she reciprocated, having taken a sip.

‘Don’t go heaping coals of fire on my head. Coming here has been a disaster. All my fault. And you haven’t uttered a single word of complaint. You’re the only woman I know who wouldn’t be ringing a peal over my head.’

‘This really isn’t so very bad,’ she replied, lowering her gaze to her plate, ‘compared to some of the things that have happened to me.’

‘What do you mean?’ He hadn’t really learned all that much about her past, now he came to think of it. He’d been in such a hurry to get her to the altar he hadn’t taken the time to talk.

‘Oh, just...well, it was bad enough after Papa died, but at least Mama and I managed to maintain our independence. Even if it did mean moving frequently, to keep one step ahead of our creditors.’ She flushed, and moved the omelette round and round on her plate, before taking a deep breath and plunging on.

‘But when she died, her annuity died with her. I really did have absolutely nothing, for a while. Fortunately, I managed to track down the lawyer who’d dealt with Papa’s affairs, hoping he would have some solution. But all he did was refer me to Papa’s relations. None of whom wanted the added burden of an indigent female. I really was at my wit’s end by the time I reached London and my aunt Pargetter. I thought...’ She looked up and flashed him a tight smile. ‘Well, you can see why all this...’ she waved her hand round the kitchen, much as he’d done earlier ‘...doesn’t seem so very dreadful. At least nobody can turn me out into that storm, can they? And we have food and a fire.’ She shrugged and popped another forkful of omelette into her mouth.

He didn’t know what to say. She’d been through so much. So bravely. And all on her own. And here he’d been, half expecting her to throw a tantrum like some spoiled society miss.

He pushed his empty plate to one side.

‘Come on, let’s go and see about somewhere to sleep.’

‘But I need to wash the dishes....’

‘Leave ’em. Plenty more about the place, I’m sure. So we can have clean ones in the morning. The staff can do the washing up when they get back. That’s what I pay ’em for.’ He went round the table and pulled her to her feet. ‘I’m glad you’ve pitched in and put a meal together, but I draw the line at you washing dishes.’

‘I’ll just stack them in the scullery, then.’

‘Very well.’

‘I think,’ she said, with a shy smile, ‘that I’m going to like being Lady Havelock.’

‘What! After this?’

‘I have always hated washing up,’ she said, wiping her hands and tossing her apron aside. ‘It’s wonderful to just do the things I enjoy and leave the unpleasant tasks to others.’

Wonderful? From his point of view, it was wonderful she could describe any part of this evening in positive terms. ‘Glad to hear it,’ he said, tucking her arm into his and leading her up the stairs.

‘This way,’ he said, tugging her to the left and pulling a bunch of keys from his pocket.

He proudly flung open the double doors at the head of the stairs.

‘The master bedroom,’ he said. Then reeled back, coughing, at the musty smell that wafted out to greet him.

‘It doesn’t look as if anyone has used this room for years,’ she said, wrinkling her nose.

‘About a dozen, I suspect,’ he groaned. ‘I seem to recall the trustees saying something about only letting the tenants use certain rooms. I should have realised this one would be one of the ones out of bounds.’ He ran his fingers through his hair. The Dog and Ferret was looking more appealing by the minute.

‘Well, let us find a room that has been in use more recently and is a bit better aired,’ she said, stepping smartly back into the corridor.

‘What a good job you thought of coming down to look the place over before telling your sister she could come to live here,’ she said brightly, after they’d inspected several more rooms and found them in a similar state to the master suite. ‘I’m going to have my work cut out, getting it ready for her return.’

Not if he could help it. He’d hire an army of servants to scrub and clean this place from top to bottom. Hang the expense. He wasn’t going to have her working her fingers to the bone on his account.

* * *

Mary was just beginning to think they would have to go back to the kitchen, after all, when Lord Havelock opened the door to a room that didn’t reek of damp and mice.

‘It doesn’t strike so cold in here, does it?’ he said, stepping over the threshold. ‘I’ll tell you what it is,’ he said sagely, as she lifted the corner of a cover that shrouded an item of furniture that turned out to be a bed. ‘Right at the end of the corridor, here, the room faces south. It must get the sun all day. Bound to keep it drier than the others, which face west or east.’

‘Even so, I’m not too sure we can use this bed,’ she said, lifting the cover higher to reveal a rolled-up mattress at the end of the frame.

He sighed. ‘The bedding at the Dog and Ferret may have been dirty and damp, but at least there would have been some.’

‘We could air the mattress for a while in front of the fire, once we get it lit,’ she suggested. ‘And we can use our coats, and what have you, for bedding. Just for one night. If...if you wouldn’t mind fetching our luggage.’

‘I’ll do that,’ he said. Then, as he passed her, he swept her into his arms and gave her a swift, hard kiss. ‘You think of everything.’

Well, in the past, she’d had to. She wouldn’t have got as far as Aunt Pargetter, if she hadn’t had the sense to track down the lawyer who’d dealt with her father’s affairs.

But, only fancy, now she was telling her husband, a peer of the realm no less, how to deal with the situation in which they found themselves. And sending him off on an errand.

She wouldn’t have believed it, if someone had told her, even a few weeks ago, that she’d have the courage.

But it came easily to her, with Lord Havelock, she mused, kneeling on the hearth to see if she could get the fire going. In fact, as she set a taper to the wadded-up paper in the grate, she decided she was going to ask him to fetch some more coal, when he came back with their luggage. For there were only a few dusty coals sitting on top of the kindling, and only a handful more in the scuttle. And she really didn’t think he’d mind.

Thanks heavens she’d decided to make the best of things, rather than nursing her grievances. What was the point, after all, of dwelling on past mistakes, when he was clearly making such an effort with her now? He’d been an attentive companion during the journey, apologised profusely for the state of the house and even carried her over the threshold—a romantic gesture that had taken her completely by surprise. Not that she was going to read too much into it.

She didn’t care that circumstances were far from ideal. They were making a much better job of being married than her parents ever had, with each blaming the other for everything that went wrong and neither of them lifting a finger to do anything about it.

She put her hand to her lips, which were still tingling from his last kiss, a great surge of hope rising up in her heart.

‘How are you getting on?’ said Lord Havelock as he came back to the room with one of her cases and one of his.

She opened her mouth to thank him for being so even-handed, rather than just bringing up his own cases first. But the moment he’d opened the door a cloud of smoke came billowing into the room instead of going up the chimney, making her cough and wipe at her streaming eyes.

‘Now I can see,’ he said, shutting the door hastily, ‘why this room was never occupied by the family, in spite of the view. It looks as though it has one of those fires that sends more smoke into the room than up the chimney.’

‘It doesn’t seem to be drawing very well,’ she said. ‘I just thought the chimney was probably a bit damp.’

‘No. I’ve just remembered something. I never understood it before, but it was so odd, that it stuck in my mind,’ he said, striding to the window. ‘Nobody ever lit the fire in here without shutting that door and opening this window first.’

He turned the handle and pushed at the casement. It didn’t budge.

‘Stuck,’ he said gloomily. ‘Frame is probably warped with damp. Will probably need to get a lot of the frames shaved,’ he said, giving it another, harder shove, ‘or replaced.’

Suddenly, the window gave. Only not just the casement, but the hinges, too. His entire top half disappeared through the opening for a moment while a gust of wind whooshed in.

The smoke curled in on itself and got sucked up the chimney while flames finally started dancing across the sluggish kindling.

Lord Havelock hauled himself upright and staggered away from the window. He was sopping wet. And swearing fluently at the segment of window frame he was still clutching in his hand.

‘You...you...’ She pressed her hand to her mouth. But it was no use. She couldn’t suppress the torrent of giggles fizzing up inside.

‘You are quite...’ she managed shakily. ‘Quite right, the fire d-does draw better with the window...the window...’ Finally rendered speechless with laughter, she pointed at the frame dangling from his hand.

‘You think this is funny?’

She nodded, completely unable to frame any words for the laughter bubbling over.

With a low growl, he spun away from her, wedged the window frame back in place and thumped it home with several strategic blows from his large, powerful fists.

Strange, but she wasn’t the least bit intimidated by the demonstration of raw masculine frustration. If that had been her father, now, she would have been crouching lower, keeping her eyes down, her head bowed. Anything and everything to render herself small and invisible.

But Lord Havelock wasn’t cast from the same mould as her father. He might be hot-tempered, but he wasn’t bad-tempered. And that made all the difference.

As if to prove the point, the second he’d mended the window as well as he could, he strode across the room, dropped to his knees beside her and draped one arm about her shoulders.

‘You’re a good sport,’ he said brusquely, before planting a kiss on her temple. ‘I know I’ve said it before, but you must be the only woman alive who would see the funny side, rather than ripping up at me.’

He took the poker from the set of fire irons and started pushing the coals into more strategic positions.

‘So far today you’ve had to skivvy like a kitchen maid and now you’re going to have to sleep in conditions that are tantamount to camping out.’

Whatever must the women in his past have been like, to carp over such trifles as that? No wonder he’d been so reluctant to get married, if that was his expectation of female behaviour.

‘All I really asked of you was a room of my own, in whichever of your properties I happened to be,’ she countered. ‘We never specified it should have fully f-functioning, w-windows...’ And suddenly she couldn’t quite stifle another bout of giggles as she recalled the look on his face when the whole thing had come away in his hands. ‘Or f-furniture of any kind, come to that.’

‘Like I said, a good sport,’ he said, smiling at her with approval.

‘What would be the point of ripping up at you, over something as silly as this? You didn’t mean me any harm. It’s just...’ She reached up and cupped his cheek.

‘Oh—you are so cold. You must get out of those wet things at once.’

His smile turned a shade wicked.

‘Now that’s what a man likes to hear from his bride. An invitation to get out of his clothing and into—’ He stopped short. ‘Only, hang it, we haven’t actually got a bed to get into.’

‘It won’t take long,’ she said, a touch breathlessly, ‘to make one up.’

He tossed the poker aside and gave her a look that made her heart leap behind her breastbone.

‘In fact, all we need to do...’

‘Yes?’

‘Is to bring the mattress over here and unroll it in front of the fire.’

‘Brilliant notion,’ he said, dropping a swift kiss on her cheek.

As she went to open their cases, he ripped off his damp jacket and shirt and tossed them into a corner. Her mouth dried at the sight of his naked torso. Though she was supposed to be selecting the items of clothing most suited to form bedding, she just grabbed handfuls at random, unable to keep her eyes straying from the sight of him wrestling the mattress into submission. In the end, it happened to be a couple of his shirts and her spare petticoat that she spread over the mattress, and heaven alone knew what she had wadded up into makeshift pillows.

They fell to the mattress together, lips meeting and locking in a heated kiss.

She ran her hands up and down the smooth, sleek muscles of his back as he rolled her beneath him. And moaned with pleasure when he grabbed a handful of her skirts and pushed them up out of the way.

‘Lord,’ he groaned, ‘we should slow this down, somehow. You are so new at this.’

No! He couldn’t stop now. Not when she needed him so badly.

‘We can go slow next time, if you like. But please...’ She shifted her hips impatiently.

‘Next time, she says,’ he growled into her neck. ‘Do you know what it does to a man, hearing the woman he’s taking, promising him there will be a next time?’

‘No....’

‘Of course you don’t, my little innocent. That’s what makes you so adorable.’

Adorable? He thought she was adorable? Well, she thought he was adorable, too. She hugged him hard, on a wave of tenderness.

‘And I don’t want to wait any longer than I have to, believe me,’ he assured her.

‘Good.’ She half sighed, half moaned, as he slid his hand, and with it her skirts, all the way up to her waist.

‘Oh, God,’ he moaned, exploring her with his fingers. ‘You are so ready for me. I can’t believe it. I don’t deserve you.’ He raised himself up to claw open the fall of his breeches. ‘I don’t deserve,’ he said, thrusting home, ‘this.’

It was heavenly. She knew the pleasure he could bring this time, and instead of lying back and letting him do all the work, she became an equal participant, striving to reach the finishing line alongside him. And this time, instead of a soft, gentle burst of pleasure, it was like a thousand rockets going off inside her, all at once. Shattering. Sparkling. Satisfying. So satisfying. She clutched at him, stroking his back as he settled over her, his face buried in her neck.

‘Mary,’ he growled after a moment or two. ‘Mary?’

‘Hmm?’

‘I know I said you could always have a room of your own,’ he said plaintively. ‘But I hope you’re not going to insist I find somewhere else tonight.’

‘You must be joking,’ she said. ‘I will need you to keep me warm.’

When he would have rolled off her, she clung on.

‘Not so fast.’

He half rose up to look down into her face.

‘You mean, now I can take it slowly?’

‘I didn’t mean that,’ she protested.

But with a wicked grin, he reached down between them and began to toy with her, just where their bodies were still joined.

She gasped. ‘I didn’t know... Can you do it all over again?’

‘It seems that with you, I can. You are an astonishing woman.’

‘Me?’ She looked up at him, perplexed. Though she couldn’t meet his eye for very long, not when he was doing what he was doing.

‘Oohh,’ she groaned.

‘Oh, indeed,’ he agreed. And wrapped her legs round his waist.