They did.
Pushing into the sitting room, he found Louisa dressed in a silk frock cut low across her bosom. It was the color of a vibrant American Beauty rose and clung to her like a second skin before falling into a graceful sweep on the floor.
“The million-dollar rose,” he said, referring to the shade.
She grinned up at him. “Thank you for bringing my necklace. Would you do the honors?”
His wife turned her back to him, and Giles carefully removed the diamond collar from the box. According to Tiffany’s, who had brokered the sale, these jewels once belonged to the Duchess of Angoulême, daughter of Marie Antoinette. They had cost Mr. Thurston Reid a fortune to acquire.
“From one princess to another”, Giles’ father-in-law had boasted, never seeing the irony.
He and Louisa conversed as he dressed, with her acting as his valet since there wasn’t time to ring for assistance.
“I wager your mother did not approve of this frock.” He pulled on his trousers and shifted his braces over his shoulders. “It’s rather bold.”
Louisa smiled. “She did approve of it—in shell-pink, trimmed with rosettes. I really did look like a schoolgirl!”
“How ever did you change her mind?”
“I didn’t,” she said, helping him into his dinner jacket. “You’ll never believe it, but there was a worldwide shortage of shell-pink silk, and not one rosette to be found in Paris.”
“You’re right, Louisa. I do not believe it.”
She laughed, smoothing his white necktie into place. “Neither did Mamma. Thankfully, Monsieur Worth took pity on me and packed this version of the frock into the bottom of my trunk, where the ‘error’ wasn’t discovered until it was too late to send it back.”
“You ought to have conspired with your modiste sooner. I’ve never seen you looking prettier—not even on our wedding day, and you were particularly lovely then.”
Giles made one final pass in front of the mirror before he was satisfied. He wanted to look as good for her as she looked for him. Louisa always took the trouble to dress nicely, and he appreciated that effort. After watching her dress and undress for the last four days, he’d developed a newfound respect for women’s wardrobes.
He turned to his wife, marveling at the pale expanse of décolletage beneath a sparkling collar of diamonds. She was a goddess, a marchioness. A warrior princess in a jeweled breastplate.
He held his hands out to her, catching her waist and drawing her near. Sensual memories of the night before resurfaced, and Giles recalled the way she’d felt in his arms, sweat-drenched and writhing, clutching him to her breasts as she rode him, thrust for thrust.
Surely, it had not been a once-in-a-lifetime moment. He longed to experience their coupling again every night. He wanted Louisa—only Louisa—for the rest of his days.
She looked up at him as if she too shared the sentiment. Was there anything more delicious than being desired by one’s spouse?
Giles slid two hands to cup her jaw. His fingers fanned across her cheeks, tipping her mouth to meet his. He kissed her softly at first, breathing in her scent, savoring her taste. He slanted his lips against hers, feathering gentle nibbles at the corners of her mouth.
He recalled how he’d kissed her on their wedding night before everything had been ruined. He should’ve made her happy then, but there was no use looking back.
He wished to make her happynow.
“Oh, Giles…” She buried her gloved fingers in his jacket, curling them at his hips. She pulled him close, crushing her skirts between their bodies. Their embrace grew hungry, and their kiss robbed them of all sense of time and place.
Lord and Lady Granborough were expected. Their presence would be missed.
She pulled away breathlessly. “We have to go to dinner.”
He laughed and covered her mouth with his. “To hell with them, Louisa.”
She’d created a ravenous beast, and he was starved for her…but she was right. His wife was too beautiful, too brilliant to keep to himself. He ought to take her into dinner and watch her dazzle their fellow passengers.
Giles smoothed his evening clothes and offered his arm. “It would be my honor to escort an American Beauty.”
Louisa laughed in all her rose-silk, diamond-spangled glory and placed her hand upon his sleeve. Although they were dangerously close to being late for supper, he dared not rush one step of their journey. Tonight, the world—or at least theRMS Campania—would wait for them.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
