Lynne Connolly (3 page)

He studied me again. “Maybe you’re right,” he said as he handed me up into our waiting carriage. “But we’re going nowhere else tonight.”

“You don’t want to go on to the Titchbourne’s rout?” I arched my brow.

I forced a reluctant laugh out of him. “There’s no such event tonight. Come here, you witch.”

I thankfully let him take me into his arms and circled my own around him. I was tired, and now, worried.

Chapter Two

Richard didn’t allow me to worry for long. I did my best to prevent him knowing how much the appearance of his son concerned me, how deeply I prayed it wouldn’t disturb our tranquillity at this time, but of course he knew.

He took me up to my bedroom and gave me into the hands of my maid, who efficiently removed the elaborate gown, stomacher, petticoats and panniers, washed the powder out of my hair and found my favourite wrapper, one Richard had bought me to replace the one he gave me in Venice on our honeymoon. That garment, sadly worn now, was neatly folded away in my clothespress. I’d never get rid of it.

I removed the necklace and bracelet and laid it in its box to join the earrings I had removed earlier. They twinkled back at me and I smiled. Small stars of diamonds surrounded deep blue sapphires in this latest parure, one I’d chosen myself. Richard presented me with much of my jewellery, especially after I’d confessed a fondness for it, but this had appealed to me from the moment I saw it in the jeweller’s shop. I fancied I’d struck a good bargain for the pieces, which as every woman knows, added to their lustre.

I hadn’t realised I was waiting for his step until I heard it. The door that linked our bedchambers was never closed. Any disputes we had, we tried to settle at night, after an adage Martha had instilled in me. “Never close your eyes on an unresolved argument.” I found it good advice. Not that Richard and I were at odds tonight. We rarely were, but because we were humans and not heavenly beings, we had the occasional dispute. I loved him through them all, but I didn’t let that prevent me from stating my views, even though they might displease him. No disputes tonight, but a new concern that might threaten our peace. Already I knew that Richard would try to protect me, especially in my present condition, but I wouldn’t let him coddle me.

Now he came up behind me and took the brush from Nichols, dismissing her with a smile. “I’ll see to your mistress now.”

He drew the brush through my hair, smiling when I purred and leaned back. He’d done this more times than I could count, and I loved it still. I’d always enjoyed having my hair brushed, but Richard brought an extra sensuality to the act that I’d never known before I met him. I barely heard the quiet click as Nichols closed the door behind her.

“You have beautiful hair,” he said.

“Will you still say that when it’s grey?” My dark brown locks had already sported a grey hair or two, but I’d yanked them out. One day there would be too many to pull.

“You know I will.” That rhythmic, gentle stroking soothed my soul, reached deep inside me and brought me peace. I relaxed, the only sounds the swish and crackle of the brushing and the rasp of silk brocade as Richard moved his arm.

I opened my eyes to see him smiling at me in the mirror, and a thrill went through me. Sometimes I received a shock when I saw my handsome husband, so relaxed and intimate. His formality gone with his wig, his golden hair gleaming, his fathomless eyes ultramarine in the flickering candlelight. I had a candle in each of the sconces either side of the mirror, and a branch of three on the nightstand. That was all. I rose, snuffed the two by the mirror and crossed the room to the bed, using the little step to climb up. I stripped off my robe and tossed it at the foot, pulling the covers over me. He watched me, and only when I’d settled did he stroll over to me.

He sat down and took my hand, his new green robe falling casually open over the ivory coverlet. “John’s sorry reappearance hasn’t disturbed you too much?” His clear blue gaze fixed on me, none of the haughtiness from earlier left, only concern.

“I’m fine,” I repeated. “Truly.”

He smiled then. “I know I worry too much.” The smile faded. “But perhaps I have cause this time.”

“It was a shock to see the man, but I half-guessed we’d see him again one day.” I knew he wouldn’t stay away forever. His hatred of Richard had become too ingrained for him to leave it alone.

“Understandable.” He regarded me gravely, his gaze far too perceptive for my liking.

He took his robe off, getting up briefly to fling it across a chair. Unlike me, he wore nothing under his robe. I admired his lean, hard body as he came back to me, loving the way his muscles flexed, the way the candlelight caressed his skin. I drew the covers back so he could get in and lifted my arms so he could draw my night rail off over my head. It upset Nichols, my maid, if I didn’t even use the pretence of one. Sometimes I thought that I was a slave to my maid.

When I saw him watching me with an avidity I couldn’t misinterpret, shyness swept over me, a foolish thing because we spent every night together, more often than not naked. He knew everything about my body, perhaps more than I did. I smiled and lay down beside him, pulling up the covers to hide my breasts, which were noticeably fuller these days. He took me into his arms and I snuggled up.

“I shall miss this,” I said.

“Why should you need to miss it?”

“When my belly grows too large for us to do this.”

He moved his arm across my back, holding me closer. “There are other ways.” He sat up and reached out to snuff the three remaining candles. They hissed, then gave up. He came back to me, only moonlight to guide us now. “Sweetheart?” I heard an edge of anxiety that hadn’t been there before.

“Yes, my love?”

“Do you think I’ve given you twins this time? You seem to be larger than you were with Helen at this stage.”

The thought of our little daughter made me smile. “Maybe. Your family seems to produce them with great regularity.” His mother had constantly reminded him of the damage to her health when she’d birthed twins. “But there’s no reason to suppose I’ll have the same difficulties as your mother. I’m larger than her, taller, and this isn’t my first birthing. I couldn’t be better looked after. Or we may have the dates wrong, and I’m further along than we thought.”

I wanted to distract him. In fact, I considered it possible that I had conceived twins this time. Richard was a twin; my mother had been a twin, something Richard was unaware of, so I thought it might come. My accoucheur and my midwife, Mr. Simpson and Mrs. Rooke, also had their suspicions. But there was no way of finding out for sure, so I decided to try to allay Richard’s suspicions as much as I could. He would only worry, and it would do no good.

Richard’s hands swept over my back and I sighed in pleasure.

“Backache?” His movements grew more purposeful, and he smoothed warmth over my skin, moving down to the small of my back where it tended to ache the most.

“Oh that feels so good.”

Slipping his hands from me, he urged me to turn over to face away from him, and he began to rub and knead. He had a facility for this, the soothing away of pain by touch. The knot of incipient pain eased. Such bliss! In place of the pain grew warmth and a longing for him to touch other parts, bring them more than ease.

“Better?”

“Oh yes, thank you.”

He stopped rubbing and curled behind me instead, curving his body around mine in a deliciously protective gesture. His skin touched mine from my upper back to my heels, where his feet cradled mine. He cupped one of my breasts and his shaft hardened against my bottom.

I pushed back into his heat. “You want?”

“No,” he said firmly. “Well, at least, yes, but not tonight. You’re tired, and you ache. What kind of beast do you take me for? Go to sleep, sweetheart, you need your rest.”

Every day I loved him more.

Warm, held close and safe, I opened my eyes. Sunlight streamed through the windows in our bedroom, sending a shaft of pure light across the patterned carpet. Morning already. I could tell without turning over that Richard was still asleep. His breath heated the space between my shoulder blades and one arm lay heavily around my waist. The baby, or babies, moved sluggishly inside me and then quieted down once more. For now, and to avoid complications, I thought of the child in the singular. For all I knew and despite my suspicions that I harboured more than one child, my larger size could simply be a larger baby.

I liked to feel the gentle movements. It reassured me my child was safe and well. It must be so tiny. My belly was swollen, but not greatly so, and much of that was the water he swam in, keeping him safe. I refused to think of the baby as “it”, and tended to apply a sex to the child arbitrarily, one day deciding on “he”, another on “she”.

I lay content, still dreamy, happy to count my blessings. Soon I would get up and visit my daughter upstairs in her nursery before going out shopping and socialising, while Richard visited the coffeehouses and the clubs, both of us collecting gossip, being seen, doing our jobs.

Sometimes I wished we could forget everything and spend the whole day in each other’s company, as we did sometimes in the country. I loved him now as much as I had when I met him, and I had full proof of his devotion to me. I accepted it now. He could have had anyone for his wife. He was the scion of one of the greatest houses of England, leader of fashion, accomplished, sophisticated but he chose me, shy, ordinary Rose Golightly, and helped me to gain all the confidence and assurance I needed to prove myself worthy of him and the position I’d married into. Underneath his sophisticated exterior he was all man, warm, loving, with as many self-doubts as anyone else, and he loved me.

I’d woken up this morning dreamily content. I wanted to stretch, but Richard was still asleep, and I would wake him if I did that. I could wait.

It was broad daylight, but early yet. The birds in the garden outside hadn’t yet subsided, the excitement of spring filling their tiny bones, urging them to go about their business. There were two large double windows in my bedroom, framed by the same dark gold silk that hung at the corners of the bed. Knowing Richard would spend more time here than in his own room, I’d chosen the colour to be flattering, but not too feminine. I wanted him to be comfortable in here. My husband might wear lilac, but he wore it over decisively male anatomy.

I thought of the heavy, stately furniture in Southwood House and sighed. So depressing to live in that mausoleum, as one day I would probably have to do.

A gentle kiss between my shoulder blades informed me he had woken. The weight of his arm on my waist lightened. He smoothed his hand over my stomach, pulling me closer, but I rolled on to my back.

We smiled at each other. Waking in the mornings constituted one of my favourite parts of the day.

“Good morning, my love.” I adored the light in his eyes when I used the endearment he so richly deserved.

“Good morning.” He kissed me, lingering over the greeting, gently caressing my lips with the tip of his tongue. When I returned the favour, he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding inside my mouth with languorous certainty. He lifted up on one elbow and moved his other hand to caress my breast. His cock hardened against my thigh, and I went closer, enjoying his protective warmth.

He broke the kiss and lifted his head. “Every morning and every night I give thanks. If I’d married anyone else, I’d be waking up in my own bed, alone. But I have you.” He twined one hand in my hair, drawing me to him for another kiss. The other hand lay on my breast, caressing with an increased urgency that heated me, sent tingles through every part of my body. “And every morning I want you with the same desire as on the first. Something else to give thanks for.”

Small kisses on my jaw and my throat, his breath heated my collarbone, then his mouth replaced his hand on my breast, kissing, drawing on the tip, his tongue curling around my nipple, sending delicious thrills through to my groin. When he heard my “Ah!” of pleasure, he increased his efforts, moving to the other breast, his long, slender fingers delicately caressing the one he wasn’t kissing. He knew I had said yes, although not out loud. I didn’t need to.

His mouth followed his hand and he kissed the new line between my navel and the dark curls below. “Nice of it to show me the way,” his wicked voice muffled through the bedclothes covering him. I pulled them aside so I could watch him and reach my hand down to twine my fingers in his short, golden hair. He lifted his head and looked up at me, past the gentle swell of my belly and the heavy mounds of my breasts. His smile filled my soul. Never had blue eyes appeared so warm.

Propped up on one elbow, he gazed down at me, his free hand touching me, caressing me, and he inserted two fingers inside. I was wet enough to take him and he knew it, but he caressed, rotated his fingers and touched me so intimately I gasped in response.

“You want me,” he said softly.

“Yes. Oh yes, I want you, Richard, my love.” I caught another quick breath when he moved his hand again and sent sensations of rising excitement through my very heart. “How do you do it? Make me need you so much?”

“Years of dedicated practice,” he said, coming back up the bed after one particularly soul-wrenching twist of his hand. “But you—you are the culmination. I’ll never get over you. I never want to.”