Page 89 of One Day for a Valet

Sofia wandered the length of the sitting room, pausing to wiggle her toes into the floral Axminster rug, and tried to imagine her life here with Christopher. The bookshelves, currently sparse, would be packed with Christopher’s bawdy novels and her periodicals. In the winter, they would watch the snow fall from the massive east-facing window Zachariah had designed for their bedroom. One day, there would be toys strewn about the floor from their children’s busy play.

Right now, however, it just felt cold and lonely.

Four hours ago, Christopher and Jeremy had left to fetch their new table from town. During that time, the sky, blue and cloudless upon their departure, had changed dispositions entirely, quite like a toddler having a tantrum. In a show of spectacular endurance, heavy grey clouds had been dumping rain from above while the wind whipped it sideways for hours.

Sofia had braved the storm during a brief reprieve, crossing the short distance to Northam Hall in search of Christopher. Despite Gabriel’s insistence that he and Jeremy must have remained at the inn for the night, Sofia could not soothe her rising disquiet.

Restless with worry and inconveniently energetic, Sofia paced about the house, knowing that if she laid down, it would only be to stare at the ceiling. She lit the range instead, heating kettle after kettle of water for a bath in her bedchambers, and hoping all the while that lugging pails of water up the stairs would provide sufficient inducement for her body to rest.

When the tub was finally full, she sank into the water, her muscles aching from exertion. It was a magnificent tub, but future bathing would be allocated to the kitchens for convenience. She couldn’t imagine putting herself or Christopher through the process of carting that much water up the stairs again. Every trip had seemed to extend the height of the staircase. After washing and soaking until the water was cool, she donned her night rail and combed her hair, curled up in the middle of the soft, inviting bed, and fell to sleep almost instantly.

Sofia awoke when the mattress dipped beside her and cool fingers brushed across her cheek. Before her mind could muster alarm at the intrusion, Christopher’s reassuring murmur shimmered through the fog of her sleep.

“Shh. It’s only me. I should have let you sleep but …” He paused to snuggle her, his beard-roughened cheek scratching her throat as he nuzzled into her hair. “But you looked so inviting and sweet. I couldn’t resist.”

Sofia turned in the bed and threw her arms around Christopher, squeezing the reassuring weight of his body against hers. “I was so worried. I could throttle you for riding out in this. You should be warm and dry at an inn.”

“Jeremy quite vociferously agreed. I rented a horse from the livery while he remained behind. He’ll follow tomorrow with the wagon and table.” Christopher idly stroked her hair. “I can’t blame him for opting to stay behind. Remaining at the inn was not an option for me, however. Not when I knew you would be snuggled up in our bed, awaiting my return.”

He sank his hands deeper into her curls, massaging in slow sweeps of his fingers, and Sofia didn’t think that anything had ever felt so lovely. “I will chastise you later for your recklessness,” she murmured.

“Mmm.” The warm sound rumbled in his chest. “A chastisement from the governess. Remind me to dally in summer storms more often.”

With the low sound in his throat, a pleasant warmth bloomed across her skin. “You are incorrigible.” She slid her arm tighter around his waist. “But I am too pleased to have you here beside me to scold you.” As her hands slid over him, Christopher’s breathing changed, pulling from somewhere deeper in his chest, and Sofia sensed his intentions.

“What made you change your mind?” she asked. “You were so determined this afternoon to wait on the doctor's report. Wait—” She ran her palms down his back and felt his muscles twitch beneath her gentle petting. “How are your clothes dry?”

He kissed her nose and then drew back to look at her. “I stopped at Northam Hall first to let them know I’d returned and to obtain dry clothes. And as for my change of heart …” His knuckles brushed back and forth against Sofia’s cheek, warming her blood by steady degrees. “I left you wanting earlier.” A wicked smile pulled at his mouth. “I will never leave you wanting again, Sofi.”

She pressed her lips to his smile and he opened immediately to deepen his kiss. His kiss was the slow, thorough savouring of a man who had been imagining this moment through every mile of his arduous journey, but his touch was light against her skin.

After hours of worry, hours of feeling the emptiness of the house without him, of longing for his heated flesh beneath her fingers, Sofia craved delicious, satiating contact while Christopher was offering only a teasing taste.

He licked, nibbled, and sipped until her nerves thrummed beneath his meticulous attention. Each time her pulse climbed, he eased back, only to repeat the steady process again until they were breathless despite his plodding pace.

He eased away and wrinkled his nose. “I have to bathe, sweetheart. I smell like a horse.”

She tightened her grip. “I like horses. Don’t you dare move.”

He chuckled and slipped from the circle of her arms. “I’ll be quick, there’s already water in the tub.”

“It’s cold.”

“Then I will be twice as motivated to return to our bed.”

“Our bed,” she repeated.

“Not that I require any additional motivation.”

“I’ll put water on to heat.” Sofia slid from beneath the counterpane and glanced back to see his gaze rake across her body. His eyes caught and clung to all the places her night rail moulded to her now ample curves. She raced to the kitchen, clumsy in her haste and thankful for the efficiency of her new range. Sofia paced the room while she waited for the water to heat, but paused when she noticed a tray at the door. The rain had stopped and someone from the kitchens had slipped in and left Christopher a meal. Abashed that she hadn’t even considered his hunger when satiating other appetites felt so much more urgent, she carried the plate of food to their room.

Christopher was seated on the bed in his small clothes, one leg kicked up to remove his stockings. He froze beneath her heated perusal, then stood, ambling towards her. “You have food. And I thought I loved you before.”

“Mrs Simmons sent it, so I suppose I’ll have to share some of your affection.” She watched the movement of his muscles as he approached, efficient and lithe. Sparse, sandy hair curled on his chest, thickening down the centre of his stomach and disappearing into the drawers that hung low on his lean hips. She had seen his bare chest before, but tonight, alone in this house where they would live as man and wife, every detail crystallised into exquisite focus.

He watched her with the same keen interest.

Food. He needs to eat. With effort, she tore her eyes away from where his small clothes tented and removed the lid from the tray. Mrs Simmons had heated roast beef, piled a mountain of steamed green beans, and added a hearty slice of brown bread. Christopher licked his lips, but his gaze remained on her offering only briefly before shifting back to her.