Protection (29 page)

“One of the Worthington gowns?”

“Yes. One of the one’s I had modified so I could don and remove it myself.”

“Why did you do that?”

Lisa hesitated before answering. “In case I had to make my own way, without the aid
of a lady’s maid.” Nathaniel winced, and she rushed to add, “But it wasn’t necessary.
Let’s not focus on the reason
why
I have a gown that is easy to remove but the fact that it is.”

After undoing the first three buttons of the bodice, she slipped the sleeves off her
shoulders, leaving them beautifully bare.

“Won’t you become chilled?”

“Not if you keep me warm.” She stood and closed the distance between them. “I can
do the same for you if you would like to remove your own coat. It is rather restrictive.”

Moving as swiftly as the fashionable cut of his jacket allowed, Nathaniel wrestled
himself free—a task that normally required the assistance of his valet—then he grasped
Lisa’s hips with his hands. The fabric of her gown slid easily over her skin, his
fingers pressing into the flesh beneath unhindered.

“You’re not wearing any petticoats?”

“Or corset.”

“No corset?” Nathaniel’s brows disappeared beneath his fringe as he confirmed her
words with questing fingers.

Releasing a few more buttons on her gown, she leaned forward, giving him a tantalising
glimpse of her cleavage.

“Or chemise,” she whispered.

“Hell and damnation.”

“
Language,
Nathaniel.” Lisa giggled.

“Forgive me,” he sputtered, discomposed and aroused by the knowledge his typically
decorous young wife had the temerity to embark upon their journey wearing nothing
more than a flimsy gown beneath her coat for modesty.

Straddling his lap, Lisa went to work on removing his intricately tied cravat, a deed
she accomplished with little expertise but considerable tenacity. While he sat dumbly,
she applied herself to removing his vest and opening his shirt, pressing against his
groin as she wiggled and squirmed with her efforts.

“That’s better,” she whispered upon baring his chest to her appreciative gaze.

Embarking on a gentle exploration, her fingers brushed over his skin, their touch
feather-soft at first but becoming firmer as she caressed his rapidly warming flesh.

Nathaniel responded with a low and guttural groan.

“You like that?” Her fingers traced patterns in the hair upon his chest then trailed
a path down to the waistband of his breeches. “My hands on your bare skin?”

“You know I do.”

“I like it, too.” She undid the remaining buttons holding the front of her gown closed,
the fabric slowly parting to reveal her bare breasts . . .

The huge fireplace at Worthington Hall blazed, its golden glow reminding Nathaniel
of the way the flame from their carriage’s brazier had illuminated the gold in Lisa’s
red hair. His eager hands had dislodged the pins that held it in place, causing the
curls to tumble around her in disarray, something for which she had scolded him in
earnest when it came time to reorder her attire at the end of their journey. It had
been worth it, and since the encounter was one she had orchestrated, she could hardly
blame him.

Lost in the memory, the flickering light reminded Nathaniel of the way Lisa’s skin
had shimmered while she had taken him on a long, slow ride to ecstasy.

“Sweet perfection,” he murmured, momentarily forgetting time and place.

“Do I want to know what that comment is in regard to, or do I risk your formidable
wrath for asking?”

The burn in Nathaniel’s cheeks alerted him to the inconvenient blush Michael’s words
had triggered, and he speared him with a look.

“Don’t tease him, Michael.” Hugh grinned. “I’m sure he’s merely ruminating on the
joys of matrimony.”

“Or maybe
his comment was in reference to that remarkable soufflé Uncle’s chef conjured for
dessert,” Michael added. “Not only was he lost in thought when we approached, he was
practically salivating.”

“It was a delicious soufflé,” Nathaniel said dryly. “Though I’m fairly certain the
credit for its creation should rightly go to my wife, not Chef Peters. She disappeared
into the kitchens not long after we arrived this afternoon and returned smelling of
sugar and lemons.”

Michael snickered. “So I take it she
was
the inspiration for your words, one way or another?”

Nathaniel’s laughter joined his friend’s and cousin’s before their gazes sought the
beautiful women, similarly clad in taffeta gowns, congregated on the far side of the
room. Sensing their husbands’ interest, the ladies turned to meet their admiring gazes.

While Nathaniel’s primary focus was Lisa, he took note of the look Rebecca sent her
husband of three months. His muscles tensed, but he did his best to keep his hypocrisy,
tongue, and reactions in check. It was necessary for his peace of mind, however, to
avoid contemplating the reason Rebecca now glowed with the same happiness and contentment
that shone from Lisa’s face and simply be grateful she was enjoying her role as Hugh’s
wife.

Eleanor’s expression was more reserved, but there was no denying Michael’s and her
sojourn in Ireland had wrought a remarkable change in her demeanour. The look she
bestowed on her husband was surprisingly devoid of both disinterest and disdain. While
he doubted the acerbic edge to her nature would ever be entirely eradicated, for the
first time since he’d known her, other than during the short period when she had acted
to secure Michael’s attention, she treated her husband with something akin to respect.

Unable to restrain their curiosity, Nathaniel and Hugh had broached the subject with
Michael earlier, eager to know the methods he had employed to bring about such an
improvement in his wife. Unsurprisingly, Michael had remained tight-lipped, merely
stating he and Eleanor had come to an understanding. Servants’ gossip, relayed to
Nathaniel by his equally curious wife, had revealed a shared bed was part of their
new arrangement.

“I think it’s wonderful,” Lisa had informed him after Eleanor offered a more heartfelt
apology than the one she had given prior to their wedding. Setting aside her wariness,
Lisa was eager to encourage a friendship with the woman who had previously tormented
her.

“You are the most forgiving of creatures,” Nathaniel had murmured while nuzzling her
ear. “But do be cautious. Only time will tell if the change in Eleanor’s demeanour
is lasting or merely some sophisticated ruse whose purpose is yet to be revealed.”

“Oh, you.” Lisa had harrumphed. “You’re such a cynic, too often believing the worst
of people.”

Nathaniel had laughed aloud, pulling her with him to lie sprawled across
their
shared bed.

“I’d say it’s because I am a good judge of character,” he had argued, rolling to pin
her giggling form beneath him. “But it’s difficult for me to defend that position
when I was so easily fooled into believing you were a servant. I think the accusation
of cynicism is a tad harsh, considering I was willing to give up everything,
if necessary, to have you in my life.”

Lisa’s laughter had faded at his words, as all thoughts other than pleasing each other
fled from their minds.

“Time to open our gifts.”

Rebecca’s announcement drew Nathaniel from his reverie, and he strode to where Lisa
was standing not far from her father and his new bride, Penelope. Ignoring propriety,
he nuzzled her throat just above where the Marsden rubies nestled around her neck.

“Nathaniel,” she whispered, her words more sigh than rebuke. “You keep me under a
perpetual blush with your improper attentions.”

Glancing to the side, he was unsurprised to see the older couple smiling indulgently.

“Ah, but I like
your blushes, and I don’t think our current audience could care one whit.”

“True.” She relented, shooting her father an embarrassed smile before taking a seat
close to Nathaniel while Rebecca distributed the gifts.

The other couples seated themselves in the chairs drawn in a semicircle, with Penelope’s
two boys seated at her feet. They’d been given permission to remain with the adults
past their bedtime, to receive one gift each before their nurse collected them.

The presents exchanged—whether expensive jewels and gold or silver accoutrements,
or simpler gifts of hand-knitted scarves and caps, lace shawls, books, and trinkets—were
given with forethought and from the heart.

Lisa smiled at the sapphire necklace, bracelet, and earrings Nathaniel gave her before
giving him a look he was all too familiar with. He shrugged. She already owned more
jewels than she could possibly wear in one lifetime—her words, not Nathaniel’s—but
he liked to spoil her. The matching gold sleeve buttons, stickpin, and watch fob she
gave him were equally unnecessary, but he made a point of receiving them graciously.

It was only when the grander gifts had been exchanged, the boys bade good night, and
the other couples were reminiscing over glasses of eggnog, that Nathaniel quietly
handed Lisa his main gift. Worth far less than the jewels he’d had commissioned, its
value was in the sentiment.

“What’s this?” she asked when he passed her the plainly wrapped parcel. “Another book?”

Laughing, she gestured to the collection that had piled up at her side, her love of
reading well-known amongst the family.

“Take a look,” he replied, the huskiness of his voice giving away the gift’s importance.

Lisa eyed him curiously before removing the string and paper to reveal a leather-bound,
professionally printed journal. Her eyebrows rose, but then she read the gold-embossed
lettering on the front, and a soft gasp escaped her lips.

French Cuisine, adapted and illustrated by A. Barlow
, it read, with the year,
1831
, printed beneath.

“It can’t be.” She reverently turned the pages. “All the recipes from the journal . . .
the ones I translated into English. You’ve had it made into a book!”

Her eyes widened further to see the sketches she had drawn in the margins of her translated
recipes illustrating the pages, along with her own explanations and some of her original
recipes in a section towards the end of the book.

“This is the first edition of a small run,” he advised her quickly, addressing his
fear she might be disappointed he hadn’t included her in the process. “I know we said
no more secrets, but I wanted it to be a surprise. You can rewrite, add illustrations
and recipes, redo the whole thing if you like. It shan’t be for sale, of course, unless
you want it to be, but for your own personal use and to give as gifts to family and
friends.”

“Oh, Nathaniel.” She threw herself into his arms.

“You like it?”

“Like it? I love it!” She hugged him again before eagerly showing it to the rest of
the family.

Everyone was quick to express their approval and admiration, Sir George the most visibly
affected.

“A. Barlow?” He raised a brow.

“In case it falls into public hands this will protect Lisa’s reputation, not that
I give a da—
hoot
,
what anyone thinks. I’m incredibly proud of both Lisa’s culinary and artistic abilities.”

“You do realise you’ll never get her out of the kitchen now?” Sir George said.

“Excellent!” Michael raised a hand. “I volunteer to be the taste tester.”

“Michael Stanton, if you develop a paunch I will be most displeased.”

The laughter that filled the room was tinged with relief that Eleanor’s rebuke had
been spoken in jest and contained no little surprise at the degree of affection it
revealed. Snaking an arm around his wife’s waist, Michael pulled her to his side.

“Never fear, my dear,” he said. “Your wish is my command.”

“Oh pfft.” Eleanor’s cheeks coloured with an uncharacteristic blush.

“Any requests for tomorrow’s morning tea?” Lisa asked, looking over Rebecca’s shoulder
while she flipped through the pages.

“Sweetheart.” Nathaniel chuckled. “I think the kitchen, and
you,
may be a little busy tomorrow—it’s Christmas Day,” he added when her brow furrowed,
her blush rivalling Eleanor’s as the room filled with good-natured laughter.