The Rake and the Recluse REDUX (a time travel romance) (63 page)

Perry studied the plans. “I’m not quite sure. We should discuss this with Rox. Hopefully he’ll be at supper. I’m sure the combined suite would serve well for a nursery in the future, since I’m assuming that this is to be the governess suite?” He pointed to the paper.

“Yes, exactly.”

“Good. Now, we have a few hours until supper. I heard you were interested in the ruins. Have you been yet?”

“No, actually, I haven’t had the time.”

Perry glanced at him. “Shall we?”

Shaw smiled and nodded.

Perry informed Mrs. Weston that he and Shaw would be taking luncheon to Trimontium, and Mrs. Weston recommended taking the sisters and Miss Faversham.

“How are you getting on with the sisters?” Shaw asked.

“Famously,” Perry grunted.

Shaw looked at him carefully, trying to assess his mood. “Not quite settled in your responsibilities to the two girls, eh?”

“Three.” Perry gave Shaw a stern look, reminding him of his responsibility to Francine. “And no, not entirely.”

“I beg your pardon, Trumbull, I just assumed from the way Roxleigh and Francine have been since we returned that—” Perry cut him off with a glare and Shaw paused. “I beg your pardon. Well, then. Are we off?”

Perry groaned. “The sooner to have it done with, I imagine.”

“Yes, quite.”

Eventually Gideon moved their tangled limbs, then lay next to her spread-eagle, endeavoring to dissipate the intense heat of their coupling. In time he rose from the bed to run another bath and she rolled to her belly to study him. He moved efficiently for a tall, broad man, agile and expedient, but his gestures hinted of something else—grace and caution.

She ran her hand under the tangled web of hair at her neck, pulling it off her back and shoulders to cool her body.

“I don’t think we will make it to luncheon,” she said. He looked over at her, realizing she had been watching him, and the very idea piqued his interest.

“No, I don’t suppose we will,” he agreed, then paused. “Do you approve?” He swept his hand the length of his body.

Her face suffused with heat as she gave him an exhausted smile, not taking her eyes off of him.

“And you, Your Grace? Do
you
approve?” She rolled to her back with a long sigh, her head lolling off the bed. He walked to her silently, stopping at the edge.

She was taken aback at the sight of him hovering above her, large and naked, and tried to move away. But he caught her and reached for her knee, tickling it with circles. “You are a wicked thing. Wherever did you learn such a trick?” he asked as he ran his hands up and down her smooth legs. Her eyes grew wide as she examined him.

“I’m…not sure, I…just love the feel of a cleanly shaven face.
Your
cleanly shaven face,” she quickly amended. “I wanted you to know how it felt to be me, touching you,” she added, smiling sweetly.

“But if I could only return the favor,” he said, tracing his fingers over her as he knelt beside the bed.

“You have bestowed many favors on me, Gideon,” she said, her breath catching. “If you only knew.”

His hands skimmed over her torso.

“Oh, God, Gideon, please stop, I cannot—” She gasped, her skin still oversensitive from the heights he had taken her to.

He smiled, kissing her. His hands left her body, holding her head for him as he kissed her upside down, then he deepened the kiss, reaching up to trace her nipples. He stood, lifting her from the bed and carrying her to the bath, carefully stepping over the edge as they sank into the warm water together.

They rested at opposite ends, gazing at one another, his lucid green eyes searching hers, their souls communicating effortlessly as they rested. The bath was the perfect length for two lovers. If she sat up straight, her legs would reach perfectly from one end to the other, her toes outstretched. So when they sat together, her legs between his, her toes played, tickled, and roamed his body. They lazed for long moments, her body calming, her strength returning.

Never in her life would she have expected something like this. Little girls grew up playing at things, expecting certain things. They played house, married their teddy bears, lived happily ever after. Her dreams had been shattered long before most, but she’d still never had an inkling of the depths of emotion she could experience. She would stay here forever, and she was confident in that. She knew to the tips of her toes that she was born to be with this one man. And that he’d only been waiting for her to arrive.

“What is it?” he asked quietly.

“I just, I can’t remember a time before you at this point. And I can’t imagine having to give you up, or having to leave, or—”

“There is no need for that.”

“I know, I’m just amazed by the truth of it. Aren’t you? I mean, we met because you ran me over in your carriage! When does that ever happen?”

He winced at the memory. “Once in a lifetime, if that.”

He poured in just a touch of oil as she stretched for the bar of soap. She lathered her hands, building the froth around her fingers, then reached over and laid her hands on his broad, velvety chest. He slid his feet behind her, pulling her closer.

She lathered her hands again and he bowed his head to her as she massaged his scalp, making spiky little nests of frothy, black locks. He tilted his head, enjoying her treatment. “Nice mohawk,” she said with a grin.

“What?” he asked, his eyes tightly closed.

She shook her head and giggled as he grabbed her ankles and moved her feet over his legs, past his waist and down under the water. He shook his hair out and she giggled at his boyish manner. Then he dunked his head beneath the water.

When he broke the surface he inhaled deeply, rivulets running down his face before he wiped it to clear the bubbles from his eyes. He smiled at her and drew her toward him, forcing her head into the bathtub, saturating her hair.

She laughed when he pulled her up, water sloshing to the floor as he spun her around on her rump and pressed his chest against her back. He reached for her soap and cleansed layer upon layer of sodden hair.

“You have so much hair. It weighs near a ton. Do you have headaches?”

She laughed and shook her head. “Not at all. I suppose you just get used to the weight.”

He sat back, pushing her forward to submerge her hair again. He ran his fingers through the long, thick tresses and leaned over her, surprising her with a wet kiss to her spine. He pulled her up and twisted her hair up around her crown as she rested against him, her eyes closed, her body spent, fully relaxed in his embrace.

“Gideon.” His name floated from her lips like a prayer. The answering growl was not the answer she had expected.

He yanked the plug, releasing the bathwater. When it got low enough and the cool air sent gooseflesh across their bodies, he twisted the faucet and refilled the bath with fresh, warm water.

“We might make it to supper,” he said, smoothing her hair from her face. As if in response her stomach grumbled. She covered it with her hand and smiled up at him, her cheek laid against his chest.

She turned, curling her knees up and wrapping her arms around his waist under the water as she nuzzled into him. He ran his hands over her skin, massaging her sore muscles. The water in the bath cooled again and he released it, then lifted her and held her close as he stepped from the tub. He wrapped her in a fresh, thick cotton towel, then gathered up his saturated clothing and rang for Mrs. Weston.

“I will miss you terribly while I’m away.”

She stilled. “Where are you going?” she asked as she watched him back away.

“To my chamber, to ready for supper, of course.”

She advanced on him and punched him playfully in the shoulder. “Don’t do that.”

He laughed and took her up in his arms, pressing an impassioned kiss to her lips. “Never again,” he said against her mouth. “Never again.” He let her down and ran for the door to his room as he heard Mrs. Weston shuffling through the passageway.

Since Ferry wasn’t nearby Gideon went to his wardrobe for clothes. He opened the door and sifted through the shirts, jackets, and trousers. When he bent to pull a pair of shoes from the lower shelf he saw the basket of trinkets Mrs. Weston had brought to his room. He took it over to his bed and laid everything out. There were several books he thought Francine would like, and he wanted to give them to her.

He sifted through the pile, coming to a thick leather volume that didn’t quite lay closed. He let it fall open, only to find a small flower pressed between the pages, next to a handwritten note.
My Gideon picked this flower in the hedgerow, he insisted it be placed in my hair. He is such a dear boy. 14 April 1859.

He turned the page. It was his mother’s diary. He read a few pages, noting how her diction seemed vaguely familiar, yet out of place. She wrote about strange things that must have been dreams.

He closed it, feeling much like an intruder. Perhaps someday he would read it all. Unlock the mysteries. Today was not the day. He placed the book next to his bed and returned to dressing.

Gideon returned to Francine’s chamber to find Mrs. Weston tending to her hair. They were laughing, and he stood behind the panels and watched with an admiring gaze. Mrs. Weston wrapped Francine’s long hair up in a knot with curling tendrils falling loosely around her face, then began weaving fresh wildflowers throughout.

Francine caught sight of him in the mirror of the dressing table and smiled. Mrs. Weston placed one last pin in her hair then turned to leave, giving Gideon a grin and a sharp pat on the shoulder.

“My lady,” Gideon said to Francine, inspecting the pale pink gown she wore for supper. “You look lovely.”

She smiled and stood, moving to embrace him. “Gideon, I love you.”

“Yes, I believe you do. Are you ready for supper?”

She shook her head. “No, my beautiful, sexy, powerful, amazing,
wonderful
man. I am
not
ready for supper.”

“No?” he asked, his brow falling in concern.

“No, definitely not, because you walked in here and I’m all dressed and done up and my hair is fixed. And look,” she said, leaning her head toward him, “Westy had Meggie fetch flowers for my hair. Fresh flowers. Can you believe it?”

“Well, as I can see it, I suppose I can believe it,” he said carefully.

She grunted. “Don’t you see?”

“No, my dear, I beg your pardon, but—”

“Oh well, here it is. You are here, ready to take me to supper. But I am just not ready for supper. I mean, I’m dressed, but I just don’t
feel
right. I feel like we are on our honeymoon and should be locked away somewhere. Away from people, left to
explore
each other undisturbed, but we aren’t because we’re not on our honeymoon, we are here, and we are running around secretly, and all I want is to kiss you in public, to hold your hand as we walk in the garden, to let everyone know, to let everyone
see
how much I love you.”

“Honeymoon?”

“Honeymoon. You know, you get married and then you leave for your honeymoon directly after and you have a chance to spend time together, doing—well,
everything
,” she said, her eyebrows raised.

“Ah, yes. Well, that is also traditionally preceded by the betrothed couple being kept apart for an entire month before the wedding. Is that also something you are interested in?”

“No— No, not so much. I just haven’t wrapped my brain around this situation, and I can see how a honeymoon would be a benefit. It would give me time—” She stepped closer to him, brushing against him. “—to become at ease—” She brought her hands up to his hips. “—with being able to touch you, discover you. I just want to be able to learn you, without having to worry about what everyone else
thinks
about it,” she finished as she blushed and looked away. “There are so many things I would like to do with you, but they are all so… improper.”

He smiled down at her, touching a finger to her chin and lifting her head to meet his gaze. “I would like nothing more than to be locked away with you for the rest of our days—”