His lust for her was beginning to become a problem, in fact.
In the days following his apology to her, they had settled into a pax of sorts. Catriona had thrown herself into being the mistress of Marchmont with a fervor that pleased him, though did not surprise him. She was capable, determined, and resilient, all traits he admired.
Her efforts with thepicarowere equally estimable. Olivia was at her side in the garden now, dressed as befit a young member of the fair sex. The dirty little squatter who had greeted him at the door had been replaced. Catriona had even hired a governess for the girl from the village, and the brat appeared to have begun learning her manners. It was remarkable, really, just how much his countess could transform in such a short amount of time.
Slowly, Marchmont was being restored. And slowly, day by day, the fractured pieces inside Alessandro were growing less sharp. Not precisely growing together, but getting smoothed soft, like a pebble in a stream. His anger was no longer as pronounced.
But she had yet to allow him back into her bed following their argument, and this, too, was a problem. A problem he would rectify today, for summer was giving way to autumn bit by bit each day, and he needed to travel soon if he wished to reach Spain before winter set in. He could not leave for Spain if he was not assured his wife was with child, and he could not be assured of a babe in her belly if he could not bed her.
Their impasse would naturally have to come to an end, and he had decided upon the means. Turning away from the window, he stalked from his study, in search of his butler. Johnstone, to his credit, was never far.
“Everything has been prepared as you required, my lord,” the butler told him.
“Excelente.” He smiled. “Thank you for your assistance, Johnstone.”
His butler bowed. “De nada, my lord.”
He sighed as he turned on his heel, in search of his wife, for there was truly no argument against having an accommodating butler. Indeed, part of him suspected he would miss the fellow when he returned to Spain. Part of him would miss a great deal of things.
Including her.
Ruthlessly, he banished the voice inside him that reminded him the way his wife made him feel. He was not meant to feel. He wasEl Corazón Oscuro, and he was not just the dark heart. He was altogether heartless.
Which hardly explained what he was about to do.
This was forhim, he told himself. He needed to bed his wife to get an heir, and courting her seemed the most advantageous means of achieving that goal. Also, the urge to return to the fancy of his youth undeniably drove him. Alessandro would never forgive himself if he returned to Spain without seeing one of the favorite places of his boyhood. For once he went back to war, he would likely never return again.
He found Catriona and Olivia not far from where they had been earlier in the gardens, cutting some roses. As his boots crunched on the gravel, his wife spun to face him. At such proximity, he could not help noticing the charming flush of her cheeks. Her eyes were startled, her lush lips firming into a line that was far from the welcoming smile he longed to see.
He bowed. “My lady. Miss Olivia.”
To his amazement, thepicarodipped into a curtsy.
“Very good form, Olivia,” his wife encouraged, smiling down at the imp.
Maldición, that was his smile, and he wanted it.
“Thank you, my lady.” Olivia beamed up at his wife.
Though her shorn hair peeped from beneath her bonnet, the lass was otherwise looking the part of English gentility. His wife was a miracle worker. What were the odds a devil like him would have found another angel to wed?
And yet, he had.
“What do you think of Olivia’s curtsy, Lord Rayne?” his wife prodded, her enthusiasm dimming noticeably when her regard was once more fixed upon him.
He cleared his throat. “Passable.”
It was the wrong thing to say. He knew it from the way Catriona’s brows drew instantly together.
“She has been working at it very diligently, my lord,” she added through gritted teeth.
Could she not see he was not accustomed to this? His interactions with thepicarohad been limited since his discovery she was a female. And he had been absent for much of his sister Leonora’s life. He had just spent the last few in bloody battles, at war. What did she expect of him?
“It is better than passable,” he tried again.
The child did not mince words. “You’re bollixing it up, m’lord.”
Catriona sighed. “Olivia.”
