Page 20 of A Lyon’s Lesson

“Which doesn’t tally with what Monk told me. At least I don’t think it does. I confess I wasn’t giving everything my full attention but . . . I’ll be very interested to talk to this steward Falconbridge tomorrow. Monk spoke very highly of him, that I do remember. Something doesn’t add up.”

“Indeed, my lord.”

“Keep your eyes peeled and your ears pricked, Victor, and let me know what you discover.”

Reynolds smiled grimly. “I shall, my lord.”

“There is a lot to do here, Reynolds.”

Reynolds nodded, his handsome mouth twisted in a slightly ironic smile. “Should keep you busy, my lord.”

Rick groaned. “I loathe the country. Really. I’d much rather be back in London.”

“Of course, my lord,” agreed Reynolds as they rounded the end of the house and headed back toward the front entrance.

Chapter 11

Two hours later, Rick sat down to a decent dinner with his wife. So, whatever other shortcomings the house had, the meals weren’t one of them, he was relieved to discover.

Despite Reynolds’s best efforts, his room still needed some work, but since he wasn’t contemplating spending the night in it, that seemed a minor consideration for the moment.

He had given some careful thought to how to approach the consummation of this marriage he’d been forced into. More thought than he usually applied to anything, his approach to life in general being spontaneous and impulsive. But it was the impulse to protect a woman in distress that had got him into this mess in the first place. For once, he was trying to apply some forethought to the process.

He was convinced he’d stopped Bidenden from actually perpetrating the deed he’d been bent upon that night. But how far had he actually got, and how traumatized was Cecelia by the event? Her responses to his kisses so far suggested that it was not far and not very, but it behooved him to tread carefully.

Rick prided himself on being an unselfish lover. He’d been raised in a household that held women in high esteem and placed considerable emphasis not only on their legal rights, as far as the law allowed them, but also on their moral rights to be treated with kindness and consideration. He may not be head over heels in love with his wife, as Rob was with Sarah, but that didn’t mean he would treat her with anything less than kindness.

And if he was honest, he was conscious of a quite powerful physical attraction to her. It was the one thing that had reconciled him to the prospect of their marriage.

Sprawled in his chair at dinner, with a glass of wine in hand, he admired the picture she made in her evening gown of blue silk and was reminded of that damned chiton. His body responded automatically to that thought. The feel of her bottom through the slippery fabric as he’d squeezed it came back to him in full, visceral force. Her breasts pressed against his chest, her soft belly against his hardening cock. Her mouth willing and eager under his . . .

He shifted in his chair, as his cock stiffened inside his breeches and his balls pulled tight. He’d not been with a woman in a while. His wife was going to get the full effect of her aroused husband.

“Is your room fit to sleep in?” he asked abruptly.

Cecelia looked up from her plate startled, as if he had dragged her from other thoughts. “Mary has done her best, but the smell of dust is not entirely eradicated yet. I had no idea the house would be in such a dilapidated condition. Is your room habitable?”

“Barely,” he said. “I was hoping you wouldn’t mind sharing . . .”

She stared at him a moment. “I see. And if have the headache?”

Registering her tone, Rick said cautiously, “Then I won’t disturb you, naturally.”

She sat back in her chair and said flatly, “You’re quite infuriating, you know.”

“I am?” he said, bewildered. “I thought I was an easy-going chap.”

“You’re abominably rude!” she said. “You ignored me for the whole trip to St Albans and would have done the same thing today if I hadn’t suggested playing cards!” She glared at him, and he winced.

“Sorry. The truth is, I was somewhat overwhelmed yesterday. A man doesn’t get married every day. I didn’t think of it from your point of view.” He grimaced. “You’re right, it was rude of me.” He smiled ruefully. “Will you forgive me?”

She pursed her pretty mouth. “Perhaps.”

He pushed his plate aside and leaned forward. “Your gown reminds me of the blue chiton, Diana. Did you wear that color deliberately? Your wedding dress was a nice echo, too. I’ll admit it’s played on my mind.”

“Oh?” Her lips twitched, “I did choose it for that reason. The wedding dress,” she clarified. She paused and added, “I know you didn’t want to marry me­­—that Mrs. Dove-Lyon forced you into it—”

“Truthfully, my own conscience did,” he said. “I behaved very badly at Lady Pennington’s, leaving you to the mercy of those cats. That wasn’t the act of a man of honor. I’m ashamed of myself.”