Fueled by weeks of frustration and restraint, it was only a matter of minutes before pleasure overcame them both in a wet, swirling rush of sensation. As the spasms of ecstasy faded, Rose came to rest in a sobbing collapse onto Dorian’s chest.
“My wife,” the duke said again once he had found his voice, his tone now the same sure resonant rumble Rose recalled from the very first time she heard it.
Rose smiled into his chest, his shirt partly unfastened by her frantic hands and his skin damp with sweat.
“I am your wife and I love you, and you love me, and it is good. Don’t you ever forget that, Dorian.”
He laughed a little to himself and then stroked Rose’s hair, her back and then her bottom, half-exposed by her disordered skirts and unwillingness to move and dislodge his softening shaft.
“I won’t,” he promised. “I will never forget that you are my beloved wife and I will do all that I can to earn your forgiveness for my stupidity.”
“You’ve made a very good start,” Rose sighed contentedly and then looked up impishly into his eyes. “But don’t think your task will be done for a very, very long time.”
“I am glad to hear it,” Dorian growled, then rolled his laughing wife beneath him on the bed.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Ithink Magnus should invite Lady Helena to dance,” opined Rose, Duchess of Ravenhill to her mother.
“You mean Lady Helena, the younger daughter of Lord and Lady Copley?” Eugenia, Duchess of Westvale, queried doubtfully. “I hear she is a most accomplished musician and energetic dancer but…”
Rose looked once more across the ballroom to where the petite and dark-browed Lady Helena stood talking with her friends. The young woman’s hair was cut in a fashionable short crop, likely too fashionable for her mother’s generation, but only intriguing to Rose.
“Why not? Magnus likes to dance too,” she answered her mother. “The next measure will be a reel, I think, and would suit both of them.”
“I am here, you know, Rose,” grumbled Magnus beside her. “You and mother have been talking all night as though I am not present, or do not know my own mind. ‘Magnus might get along with Lady Penelope,’ ‘Miss Hawkins like country walks, and so does Magnus,’ ‘would that young dowager consider Magnus, do you think?’”
Rose giggled at her brother’s impression of their talking which was all too accurate and not seriously ill-tempered in delivery. With the recent improvement in the Duke of Westvale’s heath, Magnus knew that his mother’s mind had turned to matchmaking for her sons and that Edwin had already proved intractable on this subject.
“Oh, stop complaining and go and ask Lady Helena for the next dance,” she told him, with an affectionate pat on the arm. “I should like to meet her too, you know. Do tell her that.”
“Very well,” Magnus said, with a put-upon sigh,buta glance of genuine curiosity towards the young lady in question. “If I must. Only please don’t embarrass me before Lady Helena, if I do bring her over.”
“I promise I shall not ask after dowries or how she feels about children or…” his mother began to tease him and Magnus walked away rolling his eyes.
Rose slipped an arm through her Eugenia’s and stood in companionable closeness with her.
“Magnus will be next,” she said to the Duchess of Westvale, who nodded in agreement. “I know it.”
“Well, it certainly won’t be Edwin,” Eugenia sighed. “He told your father again this week that he has no intention of marrying and would be happy enough for the title to pass to your children or Magnus’, in due course. He seems to have washed his hands of the whole business of marriage.”
“Yes, he seems only too keen to delegate certain responsibilities,” Rose observed. “I do not know how you might convince him otherwise.”
“Seeing how well settled and happy you are with the Duke of Ravenhill ought to be convincing enough,” replied Eugenia, shaking her head ruefully. “But he views things in the opposite light. The happier you are, the less need there is for him to marry.”
Rose smiled, indeed feeling happiness through her whole body. She wore her blue gown from Madame Delacroix tonight and took pleasure in the diamonds sparkling on her bosom even though the décolletage felt lower than ever. Dorian would not be able to resist her later. He had barely been able to control himself in the carriage on the way here…
“How you are blooming, Rose!” her mother marveled. “I don’t think I have ever seen you look so well as you do now. It has done your father good to see it too.”
Rose glanced backwards to nearby seating, where her father sat alongside other frail and elderly guests, well propped up with cushions and blankets and enjoying the music. It was amazing that he had rallied enough to attend this ball at the Earl and Countess of Pelbroke’s house and Rose only hoped that the improvement would last. His physicians were pleasantly surprised and non-committal about the future.
“Where is Dorian?” Eugenia now asked, looking around. “I haven’t seen him for at least an hour.”
“Oh, he had some business to attend to,” Rose said airily. “I told him he might see to it and then return, especially since you and I are so occupied with finding Magnus a wife.”
Eugenia smiled and they both looked across at the dance floor where Magnus and Lady Helena were now lining up for a reel.
“Do they look well together, or is she too short for him?” mused the Duchess of Westvale critically, Lady Helena’s too-modern haircut perhaps too much for her to overcome. “Yes, she is quite short, isn't she?”
