Brighter Than The Sun (20 page)

"Certainly more so than the good reverend, your father."

"On that point, my lord, we are in agreement."

He leaned in until his nose rested on hers. "Am I really your lord, Eleanor?"

Her lips twisted into a wry smile. "Social protocol does seem to dictate that I refer to you as such."

He sighed and clutched his chest in mock despair. "If you dance as nimbly as you converse, I predict that you shall be the toast of the town."

"Certainly not if I don't purchase a new gown or two. It wouldn't do to attend every function in brown."

"Ah yes, the ever-so-subtle reminder to me to return to the subject at hand." He held up the paper in his hands, flicked his wrists to give it a little snap, and read, " 'Number Six: Discuss with her the terms of her new bank account.' "

Ellie's entire face lit up. "You're interested?"

"Of course."

"Yes, but compared to your finances, my three hundred pounds is a paltry sum. It can't be very important to you."

He cocked his head and looked at her as if she was missing some very obvious point. "But it is to
you."

Right then and there Ellie decided that she loved him. As much as one could
decide
these things, of course. The realization was shocking, and somewhere in her befuddled mind it occurred to her that this feeling had been building up in her ever since he'd proposed. There was something so very ...
special
about him.

It was there in the way he could laugh at himself.

It was there in the way he could make her laugh at herself.

It was there in the way he made certain to give Judith a goodnight kiss every night.

But most of all, it was there in the way he respected her talents and anticipated her needs—and in the way his eyes had filled with pain when she'd been hurt, as if he'd felt each and every one of her burns on his own skin.

He was a better man than she'd realized when she'd said, "I will."

He poked her shoulder. "Ellie? Ellie?"

"What? Oh, I'm sorry." Her face colored, even though she knew he couldn't possibly read her thoughts. "Just woolgathering."

"Darling, you were practically hugging a sheep."

She swallowed and tried to come up with a reasonable excuse. "I was merely thinking about my investment strategy. What do you think of coffee?"

"I like mine with milk."

"As an investment," she practically snapped.

"My goodness, we've suddenly grown testy."

He'd be testy, too, she thought, if he'd just realized that he was on a one-way path to a broken heart. She was in love with a man who saw nothing wrong with infidelity. He had made his views on marriage painfully clear.

Oh, Ellie knew he'd remain faithful for the time being. He was far too intrigued by her and by the newness of their marriage to seek out other women. But eventually he'd grow bored, and when he did, she'd be left at home with a broken heart.

Damn the man. If he had to have a fatal flaw, why couldn't he have chewed his fingernails, or gambled, or even been short, fat, and hideously ugly? Why did he have to be perfect in every way except for his appalling lack of respect for the sanctity of marriage?

Ellie thought she might cry.

And the worst part of it was that she knew she'd never be able to pay him back in kind. Ellie couldn't be unfaithful if she tried. Perhaps it was due to her strict upbringing by a man of God, but there was no way she could ever break a vow as solemn as that of marriage. It just wasn't in her.

"You look terribly somber all of a sudden," Charles said, touching her face. "My God! You've tears in your eyes. Ellie, what is wrong? Is it your hands?"

Ellie nodded. It seemed the easiest tiling to do under the circumstances.

"Let me pour you more laudanum. And I'll brook no arguments that you just had some. Another quarter dose isn't going to render you unconscious."

She drank the liquid, thinking she wouldn't mind being rendered unconscious just then. "Thank you," she said, once he'd wiped her mouth for her. He was looking at her with such concern, and it made her heart positively
ache,
and ...

And that was when it came to her. They said reformed rakes made the best husbands, didn't they? Why the devil couldn't she reform him? She'd never backed down from a challenge before. Feeling suddenly inspired and perhaps a little bit dizzy from having doubled her current dose of laudanum, she turned to him and asked, "And when do I learn the mysterious number seven?"

He looked at her with concern in his eyes. "I'm not sure you're up to it."

"Nonsense." She waggled her head from side to side and gave him a jaunty smile. "I'm up for anything."

Now he was puzzled. He blinked a few times, picked up the bottle of laudanum, and regarded it curiously. "I thought this was supposed to make one sleepy."

"I don't know about sleepy," she countered, "but I certainly feel better."

He looked at her, looked back at the bottle, and sniffed it cautiously. "Perhaps I ought to have a nip."

"I could nip
you."
She giggled.

"Now I
know
you've had too much laudanum."

"I want to hear number seven."

Charles crossed his arms and watched her yawn. She was beginning to worry him. She'd seemed to be doing so well, and then she'd practically been in tears, and now ... Well, if he didn't know better, he'd think she was out to seduce him.

Which worked rather well with what he'd written down for number seven, actually, although he suddenly wasn't too keen on revealing his amorous intentions while she was in such a strange state.

"Number seven, if you please," she persisted.

"Perhaps tomorrow ..."

She pouted. "You did say you wanted to entertain me. I assure you I shan't be entertained unless I know the last item on your list."

Charles never would have believed it of himself, but he just couldn't read the words aloud. Not when she was acting so strangely. He simply couldn't take advantage of her in this condition. "Here," he said, appalled by the embarrassment he heard in his voice and growing a touch angry with her for making him feel like such a ... such a ... Good God, what was happening to him? He was positively domesticated. He scowled. "You can read it yourself."

He placed the paper in front of her and watched while her eyes scanned his words. "Oh, my," she squeaked. "Is that possible?"

"I assure you it is."

"Even in my condition?" She held up her hands. "Oh. I suppose that's why you specifically mention ..."

He did feel a teeny bit smug when she colored beet red. "Can't say it, darling?"

"I didn't know one could do such things with one's mouth," she mumbled.

Charles's lips spread into a slow grin as the rake within woke up. It felt good. More like himself. "Actually, there's a lot more—"

"You can tell me about it later," she said quickly.

His gaze grew heavy-lidded. "Or perhaps I'll show you."

If he didn't know better, he could have sworn she steeled her shoulders when she said—or rather, gulped—"All right."

Or maybe it was more of a squeak than a gulp. Either way, she was plainly terrified.

And then she yawned, and he realized that it didn't much matter if she was terrified or not. The extra dose of laudanum was taking effect, and she was about to...

Let out a loud snore.

He sighed and pulled back, wondering how long it was going to be before he could actually make love to his wife. Then he wondered if he could possibly live that long.

A funny noise erupted from the back of Ellie's throat—a noise through which no normal human being could sleep.

That was when he realized that he had bigger things to worry about and started wondering if she was going to snore every night.

Chapter 18

Ellie awoke the next morning feeling remarkably refreshed. It was amazing what a little grit and determination could do for one's spirits. It was a strange thing, romantic love. She'd never felt it before, and even if it did make her stomach a little flippy, she wanted to hold onto it with both hands and never let go.

Or rather, she wanted to hold onto Charles and never let go, but that was a little tricky with the bandages. She supposed that this was lust. It was as unfamiliar to her as romantic love.

She wasn't completely certain that she could turn him around to her views on love, marriage, and fidelity, but she knew she could never live with herself if she didn't give it a try. If she wasn't successful, she'd probably be miserable, but at least she wouldn't have to call herself a coward.

And so it was with great excitement that she waited in the informal dining room with Helen and Judith while Claire was off fetching Charles. Claire was visiting him in his study under the pretext of asking him to inspect the work she'd done in the orangery. The small dining room was on the way from Charles's study to the orangery, so Ellie, Judith, and Helen were all set to jump out and yell, "Surprise!"

"This cake looks lovely," Helen said, surveying the pale frosting. She looked a little more closely. "Except, perhaps for this little smudge right here just about the width of a six-year-old finger."

Judith crawled under the table immediately, claiming that she'd seen a bug.

Ellie smiled indulgently. "A cake wouldn't be a cake if someone hadn't sneaked a little frosting. At least it wouldn't be a family cake. And those are the best kinds."

Helen looked down to make sure that Judith was occupied with something other than listening to their conversation and said, "To tell the truth, Ellie, I'm tempted myself."

"Then go ahead. I won't tell. I would join you, but..." Ellie held up her bandaged hands.

Helen's face immediately grew concerned. "Are you certain you're feeling up to a party? Your hands—"

"—really don't hurt terribly much anymore, I swear."

"Charles said you still need laudanum for the pain."

"I'm taking very little. Quarter doses. And I expect to be through with that by tomorrow. The burns are healing quite nicely. The blisters are nearly gone."

"Good. I'm glad, I..." Helen swallowed, closed her eyes for a moment, and then drew Ellie across the room so that Judith could not hear what she was saying. "I can't thank you enough for the understanding you have shown to Claire. I—"

Ellie held up a hand. "It was nothing, Helen. You needn't say anything more on the subject."

"But I must. Most women in your place would have thrown the three of us out on our ears."

"But Helen, this is your home."

"No," Helen said quietly, "Wycombe Abbey is your home. We are your guests."

"This is your home." Ellie's tone was firm, but she smiled as she spoke. "And if I ever again hear you say otherwise, I shall have to strangle you."

Helen looked as if she were about to say something, then she closed her mouth. A moment later, however, she said, "Claire hasn't told me why she behaved as such, although I have a good idea."

"I suspect you do," Ellie said quietly.

"Thank you for not embarrassing her before Charles."

"She didn't need her heart broken twice."

Helen was saved from further reply by Judith, who crawled out from under the table. "I squashed the bug!" she chirped. "He was huge. And very fierce."

"There was no bug, poppet, and you know it," Ellie said.

"Did you know that bugs like butter-cream frosting?"

"So do little girls, I understand."

Judith pursed her lips, clearly not happy with the direction of the conversation.

"I think I hear them!" Helen whispered furiously. "Be quiet, everyone."

The threesome stood to the side of the doorway, watching and listening with anticipation. Within moments Claire's voice became clear.

"You will see that I have made great progress in the orangery," she was saying.

"Yes," came Charles's voice, growing louder, "but wouldn't it be faster to have gone through the east hall?"

"There was a maid waxing the floor," Claire replied, very quickly. "I'm sure it's slippery."

"Bright girl," Ellie whispered to Helen.

"We can just cut through the informal dining room," Claire continued. "It's almost as fast, and ..."

The door began to open.

"Surprise!" yelled the four female residents of Wycombe Abbey.

Charles did indeed look surprised—for about one moment. Then he looked rather vexed as he turned to Ellie and demanded, "What the devil are you doing out of bed?"

"And a happy birthday to you, too," she said acerbically.

"Your hands—"

"—do not seem to be hindering my ability to walk in the least." She smiled wryly. "Rather remarkable, that."

"But—"

Helen, in an uncharacteristically impatient gesture, swatted Charles lightly on the back of his head. "Hush up, cousin, and enjoy your party."

Charles looked at the gaggle of females looking at him with expectant faces and realized that he'd been the worst kind of boor. "Thank you, all of you," he said. "I am honored that you have gone to such lengths to celebrate my birthday."

"We couldn't let it pass without at least a cake," Ellie said. "Judith and I chose the frosting. Butter-cream."

"Did you?" he said approvingly. "Smart girls."

"I painted you a picture!" Judith exclaimed. "With my watercolors."

"Did you, poppet?" He kneeled down by her side. "It's lovely. Why, it looks just like ... just like ..." He looked to Helen, Claire, and Ellie for help, but they all just shrugged.

"Like the stables!" Judith said excitedly.

"Exactly!"

"I spent an entire hour staring at it while I painted."

"An entire hour? How very industrious. I will have to find a position of honor for it in my study."

"You must frame it," she instructed him. "In gold."

Ellie bit back a laugh and whispered to Helen, "I predict a great future for this girl. Perhaps as queen of the universe."

Helen sighed. "My daughter certainly does not suffer from an inability to know what she wants."

"But that is a good thing," Ellie said. "It is good to know what one wants. I have only figured that out for myself very recently."

Charles cut the cake—under the direction of Judith, of course, who had very firm ideas as to how it should be done—and soon he was busy unwrapping his gifts.

There was the watercolor from Judith, an embroidered pillow from Claire, and a small clock from Helen. "For your desk," she explained. "I noticed that it's difficult to see the face of the grandfather clock across the room at night."

Ellie elbowed her husband gently in the side to get his attention. "I haven't a present for you just yet," she said quietly, "but I do have something planned."

"Really?"

"I shall tell you all about it next week."

"I must wait an entire week?"

"I'm going to need full use of my hands," she said, giving him a flirtatious look.

His grin grew positively wolfish. "I can hardly wait."

* * *

True to his word, Charles had a dressmaker come to Wycombe Abbey to go over fabric samples and patterns. Ellie would have to get the bulk of her new wardrobe in London, but Smithson's of Canterbury was a quality dressmaker, and Mrs. Smithson would be able to make a few frocks to last until Ellie could travel to town.

Ellie was quite excited to meet the dressmaker; she'd always had to sew her own dresses, and a private consultation was a luxury, indeed.

Well, not quite private.

"Charles," Ellie said for the fifth time, "I am perfectly able to choose my dresses."

"Of course, darling, but you haven't been to London and—" He caught sight of the patterns in Mrs. Smithson's hand. "Oh, no not that one. The neckline is much too low."

"But these aren't for London. These are for the country. And I've been to the country," she added, her voice growing a touch sarcastic. "As a matter of fact, I'm in the country right now."

If Charles heard her, he made no indication. "Green," he said, apparently to Mrs. Smithson. "She's lovely in green."

Ellie would have liked to have been flattered by his compliment, but she had more urgent business. "Charles," she said. "I really would like a moment alone with Mrs. Smithson."

He looked shocked. "Whatever for?"

"Wouldn't it be nice if you didn't know what all of my gowns looked like?" She smiled sweetly. "Wouldn't you like to be surprised?"

He shrugged. "Hadn't really thought about it."

"Well, think about it," she ground out. "Preferably in your study."

"You really don't want me here?"

He looked hurt, and Ellie was immediately sorry she'd snapped at him. "It's just that choosing dresses is a feminine sort of pastime."

"Is it? I was looking forward to it. I've never chosen a dress for a female before."

"Not even your—" Ellie bit her lip. She'd been about to say, "mistresses," but she refused to utter the word. She was thinking positively these days, and didn't even want to remind him that he'd once dallied with the demimonde. "Charles," she continued in a softer voice, "I'd like to choose something that will surprise you."

He grumbled, but he left the room.

"The earl is a very involved husband, is he not?" Mrs. Smithson said as he shut the door behind him.

Ellie blushed and murmured something nonsensical. Then she realized that she needed to act quickly if she wanted to get anything done while Charles was gone. Knowing him, he'd change his mind and come barging in at any moment.

"Mrs. Smithson," she said, "there is no hurry for the dresses. But what I do need ..."

Mrs. Smithson smiled knowingly. "A trousseau?"

"Yes, some lingerie."

"That can be arranged without a fitting."

Ellie sighed with relief.

"May I recommend pale green? Your husband was most vocal in his praise for that color."

Ellie nodded.

"And the style?"

"Oh, anything. Er, anything you deem appropriate for a young newly married couple." Ellie tried not to put too much emphasis on "newly married," but then again, she wanted to make it clear that she would not be choosing a nightgown on the basis of warmth.

But then Mrs. Smithson nodded in that secretive way of hers, and Ellie knew that she'd send over something special. Maybe something a little racy. Definitely something Ellie would never have chosen for herself.

Considering her lack of experience in the art of seduction, Ellie thought that might be for the best.

* * *

A week later, Ellie's hands were nearly healed. Her skin was still tender, but they no longer pained her with every movement. It was time to give Charles his birthday gift.

She was terrified.

She was, of course, rather excited as well, but seeing as how she was a complete innocent, the terror seemed to be the more gripping of the two emotions.

For Ellie had decided that her gift to Charles on his thirtieth birthday would be herself. She wanted their marriage to be a true union, one of mind, soul, and— she gulped as she thought this—body.

Mrs. Smithson had certainly lived up to her promises. Ellie could hardly believe her reflection in the glass. The dressmaker had chosen a gown of the sheerest pale green silk. The neckline was demure, but the rest of the gown was racier than Ellie could have dreamed. It consisted of two panels of silk, sewn only at the shoulders. There were two ties, on either side of her waist, but they did not hide the length of her leg, or the curve of her hip.

Ellie felt positively naked, and she gratefully donned the matching peignoir. She shivered—partly because there was a chill in the night air, and partly because she could hear Charles moving about in his room. He usually came in to bid her goodnight, but Ellie thought she might develop a case of mad nerves if she sat around and waited for him. She'd never been very patient.

Taking a deep, fortifying breath, she lifted her hand and knocked on the connecting door.

Charles froze in the act of removing his cravat. Ellie never knocked on the connecting door. He always visited her in her room, and besides that, were her hands healed enough to be knocking on wood? He didn't think she'd suffered any burns on her knuckles, but still...

He pulled the cravat the rest of the way off, tossed it onto an ottoman, and strode across the room to the door. He didn't want her turning the knob, so instead of calling out, "Come in," he simply pulled the door open.

And nearly fainted.

"Ellie?" he said, or rather, choked.

She only smiled.

"What are you wearing?"

"I... ah ... it's part of my trousseau."

"You don't have a trousseau."

"I thought I might be able to use one."

Charles pondered the ramifications of this statement and felt his skin grow quite warm.

"May I come in?"

"Oh, yes, of course." He stepped aside and allowed her to enter, his mouth dropping open as she passed by. Whatever she was wearing was cinched at the waist, and the silk clung to every curve.

She turned around. "I suppose you're wondering why I'm here."

He reminded himself to close his mouth.

"I'm wondering myself," she said, laughing nervously.

"Ellie, I—"

She shrugged off the peignoir.

"Oh, God," he croaked. His eyes rolled heavenward. "I'm being tested. That's it, isn't it? I'm being tested."

"Charles?"

"Put that back on," he said frantically, grabbing the peignoir off the floor. It was still warm from her skin. He dropped it and reached for a woolen blanket. "No, better yet, put this on."

"Charles, stop!" She raised her arms to push away the blanket, and he saw that her eyes were filling with tears.

"Don't cry," he blurted out. "Why are you crying?"

"Don't you ... ? Don't you ... ?"

"Don't I what?"

"'Don't you want me?" she whispered. "Even a little bit? You did last week, but I wasn't dressed like this, and—"