Mary Jo Putney (27 page)

“I
’m much less beautiful than you,” Rob warned.

“No tattoos, but I have some scars. Also—my apologies for this—I’m showing clear indications of a desire to consummate our marriage again a time or two before morning. Not that I will. You need time to recover.”

“I’ll take those indications as a compliment,” she said. She loved the sense of play between them. When she first met Rob, he was all sternness and business.

He untied the sash of his banyan and pulled off the robe, turning to hang it on one of the hooks on the door. She’d never seen a completely naked grown man before, and the sight was intimidating, fascinating—and rather arousing.

As she’d guessed, Rob was all lean muscle, his torso a triangle from broad shoulders to narrow hips. She kept her gaze away from his erection; that was the intimidating part. Hard to imagine that such a large object had been inside her.

Reminding herself that after the first shock, she’d liked it, she studied the rest of him. He hadn’t been joking about the scars. She frowned. “Are those faint lines on your back lash marks?”

He nodded. “Acquired early in my days as a reluctant sailor. I fought and complained and tried to convince the captain that I was a kidnapped gentleman. He might have believed me since I spoke like a gentleman, but he wasn’t interested in how I came to be on his ship. He just wanted me to work. A flogging by the bo’sun got the point across.”

She gasped with horror. “How dreadful!”

“Floggings are common on ships. A wise man doesn’t court them,” he said tersely as he climbed the steps of the tub. He slid in at the opposite end, moving slowly so she wouldn’t be engulfed by a tidal wave, but the water rose to her chin.

They settled carefully, her drawn up knees tucked next to his. The tub did hold two people, but there wasn’t a lot of extra room when one of them was as tall as Rob.

She leaned forward and touched a gouged line on his upper left arm. “Is this a remnant of your Runner days?”

“I was grazed by a pistol ball. Luckily the man with the pistol was a terrible shot.”

“Your history is written on your skin,” she said. “Rather alarmingly so.”

“This is nothing compared to the scarring an infantry officer might have,” he assured her. He handed her one of the glasses of wine and took the other himself.

She tasted her wine. Red this time, since it wouldn’t stain if it spilled into the water. “This is life at its most splendidly decadent.”

“Splendid, yes.” He sipped his own wine. “Decadent, no. Having a watery wedding night with my exquisite new bride counts as an amazing gift, not decadence.”

She felt her face pinkening. “This is probably not a story to tell our grandchildren, though.”

“Definitely not.” He offered her the tray of tidbits.

She took another of the small ham and cheese biscuits. “Eating and drinking in a magnificent bathing tub suits my admittedly modest notions of decadence.” She took a cube of cheddar cheese with a dab of chutney on top. “By the way, I saw you and Adam and Kirkland heading into the house in midafternoon, and I didn’t see you or Kirkland again for quite some time. Is there anything I should know about?”

“Sorry,” he said apologetically. “I forgot to thank you for redecorating the study. It looks so much better that I almost didn’t recognize the room.”

“I’m glad you like it, since you keep ending up there. Later I’ll make it even more like the library.” She cocked her head to one side. “What about Kirkland?”

Rob sighed, losing some of his lightheartedness. “He thinks there might be French money behind the more dangerous Irish radical groups, including Free Eire. You spent days with them. Did you hear or see anything to support that possibility?”

Sarah frowned, trying to remember. Not easy when floating on a cloud of really fine claret. “I can’t think of anything, except that once I heard Flannery telling one of his men that by the time they arrived back home, the payment from Claude should have come. Since Claude is a French name, that might mean something.”

“It’s certainly possible,” Rob said with interest. “I’ll pass that on to Kirkland before he leaves tomorrow. Even tiny scraps of information can add up.”

Sarah yawned delicately and set her empty wineglass on the wide edge of the tub. “I’m finally getting sleepy, and you’re the most comfortable-looking thing in sight.”

It took some acrobatic ability, but she turned around so her head was at the same end as Rob’s. His arm came around her so that she lay along his body, half floating. “Bliss,” she murmured.

“You’re quite comfortable, too. So much softness.” He gently squeezed her breast.

She began idly stroking his chest, her fingers skimming the light texture of hair. Then she gave an experimental tweak to one of his nipples. It hardened immediately and he inhaled sharply.

“How interesting,” she said. “A similar reaction to mine.” She tweaked the other.

“You have a talent for this,” he said in a slightly choked voice.

“Do I? Then I should develop it.” She slid her hand down and gently clasped his “clear indication of desire.” It stiffened to rock hardness and he gasped.

She explored further, learning the shape by touch and discovering what he seemed to like best. Difficult, since he apparently liked everything. Rob’s eyes were closed and his breathing ragged as his arm clamped around her.

Knowing that she was creating such a powerful response made her feel intensely, wickedly female. It was also remarkably arousing. The heat growing in the hidden places she’d just discovered tonight made her hips start to pulse.

It occurred to her that if she wrapped her leg over him, they’d fit together very nicely. No sooner thought than done. She slid her leg to his other side and straddled him, half floating, her most intimate parts resting on his.

He gasped, “Dear God, Sarah!”

She slowly rocked, sliding up and down on that silken-hard shaft. He caught her hips and aligned them so he could bury himself inside her. They locked together so tightly that that spot of exquisite sensation rubbed hard against him with shattering results. She cried out, thrashing in the water as she lost control of her body.

He made a hoarse groaning sound in her ear, his body surging as mindlessly as hers. She might have drowned if he hadn’t held her head above water.

All strength dissolved and she lay limply on top of him, his arms locked around her waist. When she could breathe again, she said, “I really hope that we can keep this house and this bath.”

Rob gave a choke of laughter and kissed her cheek. “Sarah,” he said huskily. “My princess. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

She’d had a lot more good things happen to her than Rob had. But he was moving rapidly toward the top of her list.

After the water cooled, they emerged from the tub. Rob used one of the large towels to give Sarah a brisk rubdown that left her skin tingling. After drying himself, he carried her into her bedroom. Though it wasn’t actually necessary, she did love feeling his effortless strength.

She discovered that sleeping without nightclothes was another delicious decadence. In the future, nightgowns would be wiser since maids would enter early with chocolate or tea, but this night was theirs. She loved lying skin to skin with Rob within the protective circle of his arms.

One dim lamp had been left on as a night-light. As Sarah drifted toward sleep, she moved her left hand outside the covers and light glinted softly from her wedding band. Through the whole of her Irish adventure, she’d worn Mariah’s wedding ring, first as evidence that she was the duchess, and later to keep it safe.

Mariah had received her ring back gratefully even though Adam could have bought her a new one studded with diamonds if she’d wanted it. That simple gold band was priceless for what it represented.

Sarah closed her hand, instinctively protecting her ring and what it stood for. Priceless because it was a token of the vows she and Rob had made to each other.

She fell asleep smiling. It would be a while before she believed on all levels that he’d never leave her. But she already knew that someday she would.

R
ob woke the next morning with reluctance because the night without cares was over. He gazed at the brocade canopy above and thought of all that had to be done. The money he’d retrieved from Buckley was disappearing fast. If he didn’t hear from the family lawyer by tomorrow, he’d have to go up to London in person to find out what was going on with the Kellington finances.

The mere thought of all that made him tense. Then Sarah shifted in his arms and he moved his gaze from the canopy to her. She was soft and golden and utterly adorable. His tension disappeared. His new life might be demanding—but with Sarah beside him, it was all worth it.

 

 

Most of the houseguests were leaving. Some, like the Ashtons, had stayed longer than planned for the wedding. Patrick Cassidy was heading back to Ireland with Rob’s man Harvey to see what could be done at Kilvarra.

Patrick shook Rob’s hand in farewell, saying genially that Kirkland wasn’t a bad fellow, doubtless because he was more Scottish than English and hence kin to an Irishman. Rob suspected that in the future, his cousin would be sending information to Kirkland if he thought it would benefit both Ireland and England.

Rob also asked Harvey to see if he could find a pony named Boru that had been given to a yawl captain in Kinsale in partial payment for a boat. And if he found another good pony suitable for a little girl, by all means buy it.

After the last of the guests had been sent on their way, Bree approached Rob, her expression belligerent, as if she didn’t expect a good result. “Since there are no classes at the vicarage today, will you give me another riding lesson?”

Rob hesitated, thinking of all the other things he should be doing. Then he caught a look from Sarah that he interpreted as meaning that he should jolly well say yes. She was right. Estate work was endless, but his daughter needed attention now. “I’ll meet you at the stables as soon as you can change.”

She nodded, looking happier, and darted off to change. When she was out of earshot, Rob said to Sarah, “Bree seemed upset. Has something happened?”

“Not that I know of,” Sarah said, her brow furrowed. “But she’s gone through a lot of changes in a short period of time. At first, she was just grateful to be rescued from her horrid grandfather. Then there was the excitement of the wedding. My guess is that now life is settling into a new pattern and she’s uncertain how she fits in to Kellington. Particularly now that you’re married.” Sarah smiled a little. “Being your daughter, she’s facing it head-on rather than cowering.”

“In a similar situation, what would you do?” Rob asked. “Fight or cower?”

Sarah laughed. “I’d look small and harmless and charm my way through.”

“And you’d be very successful with that, too.” He couldn’t imagine anyone resisting her. Even his grandmother liked Sarah, though she tried to hide it.

He gave her a swift kiss on the cheek since anything more would get serious immediately. “I’ll see you later.”

“Smelling of horse,” she said amiably. “Until later!”

Bree reached the stables just after Rob. In a riding habit that fit, she looked like a proper young lady, though her language could still be hair-raising. He and Bryony had created this child, but Bree was her own self. “You’ve been doing well with paddock practice. Shall we take a ride out onto the estate today?”

“That would be bloody marvelous!” Then she winced apologetically.

When they were mounted, Bree on a placid, elderly mare, Rob headed them north along the cliffs, past the old ruined castle. His daughter looked a little nervous to be riding without a leading rein, but she had good balance and riding instincts. She’d be ready for a livelier mount soon.

As they walked sedately by the castle, he remarked, “Have you spent much time exploring the ruins? They’re really interesting, but they can be dangerous. Some of the old tunnels and walls are ready to fall. Don’t go there without letting someone know where you are. Better yet, go with a friend.”

She gave him a nod that he recognized as meaning, “I have no intention of doing what you say, but I won’t bother to argue.” He’d seen that expression on his own face when he was a boy. He hoped that if she wasn’t obedient, at least she’d be careful. “Did you enjoy being a bridesmaid?”

Since she shrugged without answering, he asked bluntly, “You seem upset. Why? I can’t help if I don’t know what is wrong.”

She glanced at him, her ice blue eyes unnervingly like his. “I s’ppose you and Sarah are going to have a bunch of bloody babies now.”

So that was the problem. “We hope to in time,” he said. “But you’ll always be my oldest child.”

“If you have daughters, they’ll be Lady Sarah and Lady Mariah,” she spat out. “Not ‘that bastard Bree.’ ”

He winced. “Have you been called that?”

“A boy from the village said that. But I punched him in the nose!”

Sarah was right that Bree was a fighter. “Fighting isn’t usually a very good solution,” he said. “People who throw insults want a reaction. If you smile and act as if you don’t care, they’ll probably go away and find someone else to insult.”

She frowned as she considered. “Mebbe, but I lose my temper when people are mean. ’Specially if someone calls me mum a whore.”

“I’d have trouble with that one, too,” he admitted. “Like most things, controlling one’s temper takes practice. If someone calls you a bastard, remember that a much prettier term is love child. You’re a child born of love. A lot of people can’t say that.”

She nodded glumly. “Mebbe, but I wish you’d married me mum.”

“I wanted to,” he said, wondering how many times he’d have to say that before she believed him. “I know you’d rather still have your mother, but you do have a father and a stepmother who will care for you.”

“Bloody Sarah,” she muttered under her breath.

Contrary to the good advice he’d just given, Rob’s temper flared. “Bryony!” he snapped. He caught the reins of her mare and swung around to face his daughter, his eyes blazing. “You will not speak of my wife in such a way. Sarah deserves respect and courtesy at the least, and a good deal more.”

Instead of cowering, Bree spat back, “What if I call you a bloody bugger?”

Rob released the reins. “Behaving badly does get attention. But behaving well will give you much more freedom to quietly do what you want.” Remembering Sarah’s words, he continued, “You’ve had many changes in a short time. That’s upsetting. But don’t lash out at people who don’t deserve it. If you have problems, bring them to me.”

Eyes narrowed, she asked, “What will you do to me if I don’t behave?”

How the devil should he handle a belligerent girl child? A thought struck. “Riding a horse requires calm and good sense. A rider who is angry or out of control shouldn’t be on a horse. Do I make myself clear?”

She looked appalled. “No pony?”

Hating that he had to say this, he said firmly, “Not if I feel you’re being a bad horsewoman. So work on your temper and your language, please. It’s one thing to use bad words by accident, but I recommend you cure yourself of the habit. Deliberately using bad language to insult is just crude.”

After a long pause, she nodded. “But you really are a bloody bugger!” Then she turned the mare and headed back to the castle at the fastest pace her mount would go, which wasn’t very fast.

Rob was torn between laughing and wanting to spank her. Neither would be a good idea. He followed, glad to see how easily she remained on the mare’s broad back.

Was parenting easier if one started with an infant so parent and child grew up together? He made a mental note to consult Sarah. She might not have raised a daughter, but she’d been a little girl herself.

One who drank brandy and got tattooed. At that, he really did laugh. Family life might be complicated, but it certainly was interesting.

He arrived back at the stables to find Bree grooming the old mare. She had to stand on a wooden box to do it. She eyed him warily as he brought his own mount in.

He said peaceably, “I need experience at being a father. You need experience at having a father. Shall we work on this together?”

Her small face dissolved into a smile. “Yes, sir!”

Rather hesitantly, he said, “I’ve been meaning to ask you if you’d be willing to take the name Carmichael. I don’t mean that you’d give up your mother’s name. You’d be Bryony Owens Carmichael.”

Bree bit her lip, looking ready to cry. “Too bloody right I’d like that!”

“Thank you, Miss Carmichael.” As Rob unsaddled his horse, he decided that they were making progress. At least, he hoped so.