On the way to his dressing room, he summoned Stinton and dictated a quick note to be delivered to Eva Galante. He would be a laborer again, and he didn’t mind a jot. Not when he was with Hortense.
How deep the troughs. How high the peaks. He’d never experienced this riot of ups and downs dependent upon another person.
So, this was infatuation? The mercurial emotion that made fools of men. No wonder poets dedicated untold numbers of lines and rhymes to it.
It was imperative he control it.
Or he would spook her like a skittish horse.
And, then, he’d lose the chance to make her his.
Hortense stood inthe receiving hall and reflected on how different Asquith Court felt now than it had the first time she’d entered through the servant’s door.
The grand entrance faced a magnificent marble staircase that led up to a wide landing where the stairs split to either side leading up to the next floor. A skylight allowed the sun to shine through, illuminating the vast space in a soft glow. At carefully chosen intervals, marble statues stood displaying their ties to the ancient pasts of Greece and Rome.
Nobs never met a classical statue they could resist.
Still, she could appreciate that different Asquiths had curated elements of the house through the centuries. This sort of space had ever made her feel small and insignificant. What was she to a man who possessed all this?
Under usual circumstances, the answer was that she was a nothing. Yet the man who owned all this had sought her out, repeatedly. And, two days ago, he’d made her his wife.
In name only.
Right.
That horse had already bolted from the stable.
Twice.
Her body had never felt so deliciously used.
She heaved a great sigh. How was it she kept falling into sexual congress with the man she should be viewing as a mark?
Her body refused to heed her mind was how.
The rapid clip of boot heels clicked smartly against marble. She turned to find Mrs. Blanche approaching. The woman who had hired her as a scullery over a fortnight ago hadn’t batted an eyelash when she’d become the marchioness. If Mrs. Blanche had an opinion about the strange turn of events, she’d kept it to herself.
“Do you require anything, my lady?”
My lady.
Instinctively, Hortense opened her mouth to correct the woman, then closed it. As much as it defied all belief, and for as long as she resided in this house,ladywas her identity. “I do not, Mrs. Blanche. I am awaiting the return of his lordship.”
Mrs. Blanche wasn’t quite finished. “Mayhap before tea we could consult about the week’s menu?”
“That would be most agreeable, Mrs. Blanche.”
It wouldn’t. Hortense knew naught about food beyond the sustenance it provided. Further, she likely wouldn’t be here to eat it.
Oh, that her gut didn’t twist at the thought. It would have to accustom itself to that reality sooner or later.
Her face neutral, Mrs. Blanche nodded and took her leave, continuing on with the myriad duties a housekeeper faced in the course of morning, day, and night.
It wasn’t long before another set of footsteps sounded, their tread heavier, but no less crisp and clipped. She would know the step of her husband anywhere. Sir Bacon’s tail began wagging, and she turned to watch his approach.
She gave herself a mental shake. Best not to dwell on her husband’s handsomeness, but rather focus on the task at hand. “How is it you manage to look aristocratic in what you’re wearing?”
He lifted empty hands. “A special talent?”
