He did have more patience than he pretended.
“You doted upon the child,” she countered without sting.
The day was too beautiful for anything but happiness. Flowers in bloom perfumed the air. Birds trilled from the trees, the sun shone high overhead, and all the world seemed more vibrant than it had ever been.
Isabella could not be certain if it was because she was wildly in love with her husband, because of the secret she had yet to reveal to him, or because Oxfordshire in summer truly was that much more glorious than London.
“I suppose Carlisle is in competition with Stanwyck for who has produced the most progeny in the shortest span of time,” Benedict said instead of answering her gentle charge. “To say nothing of Strathmore, who has one daughter already and a wife who isenceinte. Or Arden, with a son, and Winchelsea, with his two daughters.”
“My dear husband,” she said, tapping him again as they strolled down the gravel path overlooking the lake, passing a statue of Icarus. “It seems to me as if you are keeping tally of the offspring of everyone in our set.”
“I am not, of course,” he said stiffly.
She knew him well enough to know what the sudden change in his tone meant. “No need to be embarrassed, my love. If you wish to gossip like a dowager with nothing to entertain her aside from the gossip of others’ lives, I shall not comment upon it.”
She bit her lip to suppress her smile as she cast him a surreptitious glance. His handsome profile was lit by the sun beneath the brim of his hat. She could not help the corresponding tug of desire low in her belly, though she did her best to quell it. There was nothing she could do with such longing for hours.
Or at least until they finished their picnic luncheon.
Perhaps she could arrange for a nap.
Feign a megrim so that her husband would have to accompany her to her chamber?
That scenario certainly held possibilities…
“I do not gossip like a dowager,” he told her, casting a sulky look in her direction.
This, too, was like a dart fired directly into her heart. She swore, her love for this man grew every day. Even when he was surly as a bear, he melted her. “If you say so, my love.”
“See here, Wife,” he grumbled, “I most certainly do not.”
“I agreed with you,” she said lightly, enjoying teasing him.
“With tongue in cheek,” he accused without heat.
“I always defer to your superior judgment, Your Grace.” She batted her lashes at him.
“Ha!” He grinned at her, his gaze traveling to her lips. “Ever the saucy minx. If we were not about to descend upon this bloody picnic luncheon, I would kiss you senseless right now for your boldness.”
“Mmm,” she hummed, grinning right back at him. “And perhaps I would like that far too much, Husband.”
“How do you know?” His sensual lips pursed. “I did not tell you where I would kiss you yet.”
Oh, you wicked, wonderful man.
Of course, he would utter such suggestive words when they were all but upon the gathering. Her cheeks went hot. Between her legs, a steady ache thrummed to life. She was wet. All from his words. With a group of distinguished lords and ladies already settled upon the lawn, watching their arrival.
Her cheeks felt as if they were aflame, and she was certain she turned every shade of crimson in existence.
“You are flushing,” he taunted her quietly, so that only she could hear. “Could it be you are envisioning where, my love?”
Yes, she was. And he knew it.
“My elbow?” she suggested primly.
“You do have the most fetching elbows in Christendom,” he said with a gallant air.
“Or perhaps the tip of my nose?”
