Brighter Than The Sun (15 page)

Ellie unfolded the sheet and looked down.

ACTIVITIES TO PURSUE WITH WIFE

1. A ride and picnic in the countryside.

2. Revisit the tenants as a unified couple.

3. A trip into London. Ellie needs new dresses.

4. Teach her to write her own lists. They can be devilishly entertaining.

She looked up. "Devilishly entertaining, eh?"

"Mmm, yes. I thought you might like to try something like 'Seven Ways to Silence Mrs. Foxglove.' "

"The suggestion has merit," she murmured, before looking back down at the list.

5. Take her to the seashore.

6. Kiss her until she's senseless.

7. Kiss her until I'm senseless.

Charles could tell the moment when she reached the final two items, for her cheeks turned delightfully pink. "What does this mean?" she finally asked.

"It means, my dear wife, that I have also realized that marriage is permanent."

"I don't understand."

"It is high time we had a normal marriage."

She colored even further at the word "normal."

"However," he continued, "in what must have been a fit of madness, I agreed to your stipulation that you be allowed to get to know me better before we are intimate."

By now she was beyond beet red.

"Therefore, I have decided to give you every opportunity to get to know me better, every last damned chance to grow comfortable in my presence."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Pick something on the list. We'll do it tomorrow."

Ellie's lips parted in delighted surprise. Her husband was actually courting her. She was going to be a wooed woman. She'd never dreamed he'd do something so perfectly romantic. Not that he would ever admit to a romantic bone in his body. Seductive, perhaps. Even rakish, devilish, or amorous. But not romantic.

But she knew better. And that was all that mattered. She smiled and looked back down at the list.

"I suggest number six or seven," he said.

She looked back up. He was grinning in that urbane, devil-may-care fashion of his that must have broken hearts from here to London and back. "I'm not sure I understand the difference," she said, "between kissing me until I'm senseless and kissing me until you're senseless."

His voice dropped to a husky murmur. "I could show you."

"I have no doubt you could," she returned, trying very hard to sound pert even though her heart was racing and her legs felt as steady as marmalade. "But I choose items one and two. It will be very easy for us to picnic and visit the tenants on the same day."

"Items one and two it is, then," he said with a smart bow. "But don't be surprised if I sneak up on you with number six."

"Really, Charles."

He leveled a long, hot stare in her direction. "And seven."

* * *

Their outing was scheduled for the very next day. Ellie wasn't particularly surprised by Charles's haste; he had seemed quite determined to do whatever it took to get her into bed. And she was particularly surprised at her own lack of resistance to his plan; she was well aware that she was softening toward him.

"I thought we might ride," Charles said when he met her at noon. "The weather is splendid, and it seems a shame to confine ourselves in a carriage."

"An excellent idea, my lord," Ellie replied. "Or it would be, if I knew how to ride."

"You don't ride?"

"Vicars rarely earn enough to afford mounts," she said with an amused smile.

"Then I shall have to teach you."

"Not today, I hope," she laughed. "I need time to mentally prepare myself for all of the aches and pains I am sure to acquire."

"My curricle is still not repaired from our earlier mishap. Are you up for a constitutional walk?"

"Only if you promise to walk fast," Ellie said with a mischievous grin. "I have never been terribly good at sedate strolls."

"Now why does that not surprise me?"

She looked at him through her lashes. It was a flirtatious expression that was new to her, yet it felt entirely natural in her husband's company. "You're not surprised?" she asked in mock astonishment.

"Let us just say that I have difficulty imagining you attacking life with anything less than complete enthusiasm."

Ellie giggled as she ran ahead of him. "Come along, then. I have yet to attack the day."

Charles followed behind her, matching her run with a gait that was half stride and half lope. "Hold up!" he finally yelled. "Don't forget that I am handicapped by the picnic basket."

Ellie stopped short. "Oh yes, of course. I hope Monsieur Belmont packed something tasty."

"Whatever it is, it smells delicious."

"Some of that roast turkey from yesterday?" she asked hopefully, trying to peer inside the basket.

He held it above his head as he continued down the path. "Now you can't run too far ahead. For I control the food."

"So you plan to starve me into submission?"

"If that is my only chance of success." He leaned forward. "I am not a proud man. I shall win you by fair means or foul."

"Does starvation count as fair or foul?"

"That, I think, depends upon how long it takes."

As if on cue, Ellie's stomach let out a loud rumble.

"This," Charles said with a slow grin, "is going to be very, very easy."

Ellie scoffed before she continued down the path. "Oh, look!" she exclaimed, stopping before a large oak tree. "Someone hung a swing from this tree."

"My father did it for me when I was eight," Charles recalled. "I swung here for hours."

"Is it still sturdy enough to use?"

"Judith comes here nearly every day."

She looked at him waspishly. "I'm a bit heavier than Judith."

"Not much. Here, why don't you give it a try?"

Ellie smiled girlishly as she sat down on the wooden board that Charles's father had used for a seat. "Will you push?"

Charles swept his body into a courtly bow. "I am your ever faithful servant, my lady." He gave her a starting push, and she began to fly through the air.

"Oh, this is lovely!" she shrieked. "I haven't been on a swing in years."

"Higher?"

"Higher!"

Charles pushed her until she thought her toes might touch the sky.

"Oh, that's quite high enough," she called out. "My stomach is starting to flip about." After she settled down to a more sedate swing, she asked, "Speaking of my poor, beleaguered stomach, do you really plan to starve me into submission?"

He grinned. "I have it planned to the last devious detail. One kiss for a piece of roast turkey, two for a scone."

"There are scones?" Ellie thought she might drool. Mrs. Stubbs might have problems with toast, but the housekeeper made the best scones this side of Hadrian's wall.

"Mmm-humm. And blackberry jam. Mrs. Stubbs said she slaved over a hot stove for a day to get it just right."

"Jam is not so very difficult," Ellie said with a shrug. "I've made it a thousand times. In fact..."

"In fact... ?"

"That's a wonderful idea!" she said to herself.

"I don't know why I'm dreading this," he muttered. "Well, in fact I do know. It could have something to do with the fire in my kitchen. Or the odd smells emanating from my orangery. Or perhaps the stew—"

"None of that was my fault," she snapped, stamping her feet on the ground and bringing the swing to a halt. "And if you thought about it for more than half a second, you'd realize that I speak the truth."

Charles decided he'd made a tactical error by bringing up her recent domestic disasters during what was supposed to be an afternoon of seduction. "Ellie," he said in his most conciliatory voice.

She jumped down from the swing and planted her hands on her hips. "Someone is sabotaging me, and I plan to find out why. And whom," she added, almost as an afterthought.

"Perhaps you're right," he murmured, not really meaning it. He just wanted to placate her. But as the words slipped from his mouth, they suddenly rang true. It didn't make sense that Ellie, who seemed so supremely capable in every way, would have set a kitchen on fire, singlehandedly killed every plant in the orangery, and mistaken salt for God only knew what else when she was preparing the beef stew. Even the sorriest dullard couldn't have accomplished quite so much in only a fortnight.

But he didn't want to think of sabotage, nor of fiendish plots nor dead plants. Not today, when he needed to concentrate all of his energies on seducing his wife. "Can we discuss this another day?" he inquired, picking up the picnic basket. "I promise I will look into your allegations, but this is too fine a day to worry over such matters."

Ellie made no reaction for a moment and then nodded. "I don't want to spoil our lovely picnic." Then her eyes crinkled mischievously, and she added, "Monsieur Belmont didn't sneak in any of the leftover beef stew, did he?"

Charles recognized her peace offering and took it. "No, I think you dumped every last bit of it out this morning."

"Ah yes," she murmured. "As I recall, even the pigs wouldn't touch it."

His heart wanned as he watched her. So few people had the ability to laugh at their own foibles. With every passing day, he was developing a deeper appreciation for his wife. He had chosen quickly, but he had chosen well.

Now, he thought with a sigh, if he could only manage to develop an even
deeper
appreciation for her before he exploded.

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

"No. Why?"

"You sighed."

"Did I?"

"Yes, you did."

He sighed again.

"There it is again," she exclaimed.

"I know. It's simply that..."

She blinked, a waiting expression on her face, and then finally she prodded him with, "Yes?"

"It's going to have to be number six," he growled, dropping the picnic basket and engulfing her with his arms. "I can't wait another second."

Before Ellie even had a chance to remember what number six entailed, his lips were on hers, kissing her with a fierce possessiveness that was achingly tender. His mouth grew more and more passionate, and his skin turned hot. Without realizing it, he backed her up against a tree, using its sturdy frame to press his body intimately against hers.

He could feel her every curve, from the lush swell of her breasts to the gentle flare of her hips. The wool of her dress was thick, but it didn't hide the way she peaked under his touch. And nothing could have hidden the soft sounds escaping her mouth.

She wanted him. She might not understand it, but she wanted him every bit as much as he wanted her.

He lowered her to the ground, hastily spreading the picnic blanket beneath them. He had long since disposed of her bonnet, and he now loosened her chignon, letting the long strands of hair float between his fingers. "Softer than silk," he whispered. "Softer than the sunrise."

She moaned again, a sound that vaguely resembled his name. Charles grinned, thrilled by the fact that he had inflamed her desire to the point that she couldn't even speak. "I've kissed you senseless," he murmured, his grin sliding into a lazy, masculine smile. "I told you I'd sneak in number six."

"What about seven?" she managed to get out.

"Oh, we're already well past that," he said in a husky voice. He lifted her hand and placed it to his chest. "Feel this."

His heart pounded furiously beneath her small palm, and she looked up at him in wonder. "Me? I did this?"

"You. Only you." His lips found her neck, distracting her while his nimble fingers worked on the buttons of her dress. He had to see her, had to touch her. He'd go insane if he didn't. He was sure of it. He thought about how he'd tortured himself by trying to imagine how long her hair was. Lately he'd been subjecting himself to an even more acute agony, spending his time imagining her breasts. The shape of the them. The size of them. The color of her nipples. The mental exercise always left him in a most uncomfortable state, but he couldn't seem to make himself stop.

The only solution was to get her naked—totally, thoroughly, blessedly naked, and then his imagination could take a break while the rest of him enjoyed reality.

Finally his fingers reached a button near the bottom of her ribs, and he slowly spread open the folds of her dress. She wasn't wearing a corset, just a thin cotton camisole. It was white, almost virginal. It excited him more than the most provocative piece of French lingerie ever could, because
she
was wearing it. And he had never, not once in his life, wanted anyone the way he wanted his wife.

His large hands found the bottom of her camisole and slid beneath, touching the silky warmth of her skin. Her muscles leaped beneath his touch, her stomach instinctively sucking in. He shuddered with need as his hands moved higher, molding themselves over her ribs, then inching even higher until they found the soft, womanly curve of her breast.

"Oh, Charles," she sighed, just as his hands closed around her and gently squeezed.

"Oh, my God," he replied, thinking he might explode then and there. He couldn't see her, but she
felt
perfect. Just the right size for his hands. Hot and sweet and soft, and damn it, if he didn't taste her right then and there, he was going to completely lose control.

Of course there was a very good chance that tasting her would also cause him to lose control, but he forgot that as he pushed her camisole out of the way.

He sucked in his breath when he finally saw her. "My God," he breathed.

Ellie immediately moved to cover herself. "I'm sorry, I—"

"Don't
say you're sorry," he ordered hoarsely. He'd been a fool when he'd thought that finally seeing her would end the erotic wanderings of his imagination. Reality was so much more exquisite; he doubted that he'd ever be able to resume his daily routine without picturing her in his mind. All the time. Just the way she was right now.

He leaned down and placed the softest of kisses on the underside of her breast. "You're beautiful." he whispered.

Ellie, who had never been called ugly but had certainly not spent her life receiving odes to her beauty, remained silent.