A Scandalous Past (Regency Romance, Book 4) (24 page)

Clayworth’s twilight eyes sparkled as he
repeated the words. Never in her life would she have thought these
surroundings would have been romantic, but the man staring at her
made her knees weak and her heart pound.

 “All right, Miss Avery, yer turn. I,
Cordelia Avery, take ye, Brendan Reese, tae be my husband before
God and these witnesses.”

“I—um,” she cleared her throat and
swallowed. “I, Cordelia Avery, take you, Brendan Reese to be my
husband before God and these witnesses.” Chills raced across her
skin with these words. They were the most important ones she’d ever
said, giving herself to this man.

 “Ye’ve go’ the ring, m’lord?”

“Yes, of course,” Clayworth said, fumbling
around in his pocket, finally retrieving a small golden ring. His
eyes flashed to hers, rich with desire, and Cordie nearly lost her
breath. Then he slid the ring onto her finger of the hand that was
bound to his.

There were words engraved on the band, and
Cordie squinted to read them.
Dw i’n dy garu di
. She twisted
the ring around her finger with her thumb, before glancing back up
at her husband. “What does it mean?”

“I love you—in Welsh. It was my
grandmother’s.”

A laughed escaped her throat. “A French
mother and a Welsh grandmother? Honestly, my lord, are you English
at all?”

“Don’t forget the Scottish wedding,” he
replied with a wink.

“
Mìle fàilte dhuit le d'bhréid, fad do ré
gun robh thu slàn. Móran làithean dhuit is sìth,
le d'mhaitheas is le d'nì bhi fàs
,
”
the blacksmith said
in Gaelic. He smiled. “Ye may kiss yer bride.”

Clayworth pulled her towards him and held
her in his arms before dipping his head for the most innocent kiss
he’d ever given her. Then he paid the blacksmith, who unbound their
hands and suggested a nice inn a few blocks away.

The White Heather Inn was much nicer than
any place they had stopped along the way.  Swathed in soft
shades of purple and white lace, the inn was warm and inviting.
After ordering a bath for their room, Clayworth left to see about
their horses. She was glad for the time alone with a mirror. Three
days of travel in a ball gown had certainly taken their toll.

As she stepped into the brass tub, Cordie
sighed as the heavenly water sloshed against her aching muscles.
She slid down until her body was covered and closed her eyes,
content to never leave the peaceful water. However, she now had a
husband, and she was fairly certain that he wouldn’t be content to
let her stay in the tub forever.

Still it was nice to wash away days of
travel from her skin and wash her hair with the lilac soap the inn
provided. She almost felt like herself again.

The door creaked, and Cordie’s eyes flew
open. Her husband stood in the threshold with a simple package
wrapped in brown paper. She resisted the urge to scream and hide
herself from his view, but… Well, he was her husband now. Besides,
she was fairly certain the water covered most of her anyway.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he said
sheepishly, then gestured with the package. “I—well, I thought
after three days in a coach you’d want something besides your ball
gown.”

Cordie was speechless, almost. When? How had
he found something for her to wear? “What is it?” she asked, nearly
forgetting her state of dishabille and sitting up in the tub. She
quickly sloshed back down.

Clayworth placed the package on a small
table by the window. “Back in Stamford. The innkeeper easily put
together our situation. Most people don’t travel in evening wear
and have urgent needs to post letters to London.” He smiled at her,
making Cordie’s entire body tingle with awareness. “It’s just a
nightrail,” he explained. “Belonged to her daughter. I hope it
fits.”

It was one of the sweetest things anyone had
ever done for her. Cordie shook her head in disbelief. “Thank
you.”

“Anyway,” he cleared his throat. “I’ll give
you a few more minutes, order dinner, and be back.”

Her escape from reality was over. Cordie
nodded in agreement to the plan.

***

Brendan forced himself to leave the room.
He’d never seen a more beautiful sight in all his life, but he
couldn’t just scoop her up and toss her to the bed like some
lecherous bastard, no matter how badly he wanted to. He somehow
made his way to the taproom and ordered a meal he had no intention
of eating to be brought to their room.

Knowing that his wife was upstairs,
completely bare made it nearly impossible for him to focus on the
task at hand. He wished there was a freezing loch nearby that he
could dip himself in, just to get his mind to return to some sort
of working fashion.

“M’lord?” a young maid said, staring at him
strangely. Brendan wondered how long she’d been trying to get his
attention. From the exasperated look on her face, it had been a
while.

“Yes, I’m sorry?”

“I said I’ll bring it tae yer room when it’s
ready.”

“Th-thank you,” he mumbled before climbing
the stairs that led to the room where his wife was waiting.

For a long moment, Brendan stood outside
their door, resting his head against the frame, cursing himself for
a fool. It had been too long since he’d taken a woman to bed, and
his need to have his wife was too great. Above all else he needed
to maintain his control. He didn’t want to scare her, or go too
fast, or hurt her. Why hadn’t he participated in carnal activities
more often over the years? He’d be much more likely to reign in his
desires now if he had.

“M’lord?” an annoyed voice came from behind
him.

Brendan turned around to see the maid
balancing a tray of food on her shoulder. She gaped at him as if
he’d escaped from Bedlam. Not that he could blame her. What sort of
fool stands outside his bedroom door, while his wife of less than
an hour awaits him on the other side? He nodded. “Yes, of course.
Thank you.”

He knocked, then poked his head in the room.
His eyes nearly popped out of his head. Cordelia was standing by
the grate in the nightrail he’d given her. It should have been an
innocent ensemble, but apparently the innkeeper’s daughter was not
as endowed as his wife. The simple muslin hugged Cordelia’s curves
in such a way he didn’t think he could speak.

The maid cleared her throat.

“Yes, yes, of course,” he said, finding his
voice and opening the door to admit the girl. “Dinner has arrived,
my dear.”

Cordelia’s eyes sparkled when they landed on
him, and Brendan took a steadying breath, still not in complete
control of himself.

“Do put the tray here, miss,” his wife said
to the maid, indicting a table by the window. “And could you have
someone bring more hot water for his lordship’s bath?”

He neither needed nor wanted a
hot
bath, but perhaps the cooler water already in the tub would help
him regain his control while he washed away the smell of sweat,
horses, and days’ worth of travel. “No need,” he told the girl, who
already thought he was insane. “Thank you for your help.”

With a shake of her head, the maid departed,
muttering something about the lunacy of Sassenach men.

Once alone, Cordelia’s green eyes raked him
from head to toe. “I assumed you would want to bathe, my lord. Do
you want me to have someone remove the tub?”

He shook his head. “I’m sure the water
that’s there will be fine.” He shrugged out of his jacket, all the
while keeping his eyes leveled on his bride in her too-tight
nightrail. She
was
the adventurous sort. What where his
chances of getting her to bathe him? “Cordelia…”

She frowned. “I do wish you’d call me
Cordie. Only my mother calls me Cordelia… Well, and my brothers,
but only when they’re angry with me.”

Cordie. It did suit her. Spirited, reckless,
full of life—all the things he’d been missing for far too long.
“Cordie Clayworth,” he tested the name, smiling when she walked
towards him.

“Thank you again for the nightrail,” she
whispered, stopping directly in front of him. “It was so sweet of
you to think of it.”

“I want you to be happy, Cordie, and
comfortable.” He fingered the faded lace edging at the bodice, his
fingers brushing against the top of her creamy breasts that he
longed to taste. “I’m sorry if the fit isn’t right,” his voice
sounded strangled to his own ears.

True joy shone from her mesmerizing eyes.
“Oh, my lord, it’s perfect… Well, it’s a little tight, but I
despaired at the thought of having to put that gown back on, so
this is wonderful.”

Brendan tsked and shook his head. “My lord?
Cordie dear, you are my wife. Must you still call me that?”

She cocked her head to one side, a
mischievous smile on her face. “My sincerest apologies, Lord
Adonis.”

Lord Adonis! He’d hated that moniker for
more years than he could remember. He closed his eyes and groaned.
“Please don’t call me
that
.”

Cordie giggled and ran her hands along his
chest, searing him with her touch, before lightly setting them on
his shoulders. “What shall I call you, then? Do you prefer
Clayworth?”

He snaked an arm around her waist and pulled
her against his body. “Brendan,” he said fiercely.

She looked surprised by his tone, and
probably his action, but her smile never faltered. “Indeed? My
mother always referred to my father as Avery, even to this very
day. She never calls Gregory by that name.”

At the moment, he didn’t care what Lady
Avery called anyone, but he did enjoy watching his wife’s lips as
she spoke. It gave him the best ideas. Brendan slowly lowered his
head and kissed Cordie the way he’d wanted to at the blacksmith’s
shop, the way he’d wanted to in the coach for days. Her lips were
pliant beneath his and she tasted like the sweetest berries. When
she sighed against his lips, clutching his shirt in her hands,
Brendan swept his tongue into her mouth. His body tightened with
unbridled need

Dear God, she was heaven. All the heaven he
could ever want to hold in his arms. She kissed him back, and began
to twirl her hands through his hair, nearly robbing him of his
breath. Then she giggled against his lips. Brendan pulled back from
her. “What are you laughing at?”

Cordie moved her hand from his air and
presented him with a twig he must have picked up while steering
their coach. “And you taste like horses,” she told him, with a
charming laugh.

Blast! He did need a bath. Brendan stepped
out of her embrace to unbutton his shirt. With a raised brow he
asked, “I don’t suppose I could convince you to bathe me.”

Thankfully, she didn’t even look bashful.
“Brendan Reese, are you incapable of such a chore on your own?”

He winked at her. “I’ve been doing it for
years, my dear. I just think you’d make it more enjoyable.” She did
blush at that, and Brendan felt his heart soar. He entwined his
fingers with hers. “Come be a good wife, Cordie,” he encouraged,
tugging her toward the tub.

Cordie couldn’t believe she was going along
with this, though she was curious to see where it would lead. Her
husband was so strong, like steel, whenever she touched him. Seeing
him would be an adventure all on its own. Did he really want her to
bathe him, though? She couldn’t imagine the stuffy earl wishing for
such a thing. Of course he didn’t seem quite so stuffy anymore.
He’d loosened up a bit, or perhaps she was just accustomed to him
now. Either way, it didn’t matter.

Brendan dropped into a wooden chair and
pointed his booted foot at her. “Will you do the honors, my
dear?”

She raised one eyebrow haughtily.  She
hadn’t agreed to be the man’s valet. Still that meant she would get
to touch him. Cordie dropped to her knees and tugged at his first
boot.

“Pull up from the heel,” he advised.

“Is this why you married me?” she asked
tartly, though she followed his instructions anyway. Almost at
once, the boot flew off his foot and she fell backwards, landing on
her bottom. When her husband laughed, she scowled at him. “I’m so
glad you’re enjoying yourself. Remove your own boots.”

Brendan laughed even harder and pulled her
up from the floor. “You are delightful.” He winked at her, then he
tugged off his other boot. 

Cordie’s eyes widened when he unbuttoned his
shirt and slid it over his head. She stared at him in awe. As
startlingly handsome as Brendan always was, unclothed, her husband
was a work of art. His sculpted chest was lightly dusted with dark
golden hair and rippled muscles. Cordie swallowed and a fine tingle
of anticipation played at her nape when he slipped the first button
through its hole.

Brendan stilled his hands and took in her
anxious expression. “Cordie, you didn’t use all the soap, did you?”
he asked softly.

It was obvious he was trying to put her at
ease, and Cordie sighed. Even in this, he was a gentleman. Her
heart swelled at the realization. By some amazing stroke of luck,
she’d married him and he was…perfect. She managed to shake her head
in answer.

He smiled at her as he finished with his
buttons and stepped out of his trousers and small clothes. Cordie
turned her head, suddenly unable to look at him or to let her eyes
drop to that part of him. Her face flushed red and she started to
walk away, but he clutched her arm. “Don’t go,” he pleaded, pulling
her back to him.

She stared up into his twilight eyes, and
shook her head. “I—I don’t know what you want from me, what I’m
supposed to do.”

His arms encircled her, and she felt
that
part of him through her nightrail, firm and hard. She
now realized she’d felt it many times before—whenever he held her,
kissed her, sat her on his lap—but she’d never realized what it
was. How embarrassing. How could she not have realized it? He was
exceptional in size.