He chuckled, a rusty sound. “It was the largest hat I have ever seen.”
“The brim was designed to keep my face from the sun and stave off the dreaded freckles.”
“I adore your freckles.” He peered at her nose through the low light. “Where have they gone? I miss them.”
“I have not spent any time in the sunshine since I fell in love with a handsome rogue in Derbyshire.”
“We must rectify that. We should go to the country.” He had been happiest there, with her. The urge to return, to take Robby and enjoy the last of the summer together, rose within him.
“I would like that,” she said.
He pressed his face to hers, nuzzling her cheek, her hair. “Your freckles may have disappeared, but you still smell of roses and sunshine, and I still cannot get enough of you.”
He knew now that he never would.
“That is what you said to me on the lake that day.” She kissed his ear, his jaw.
Warmth flared, joining the love. His cock, trapped beneath all her layers of finery, twitched. “I meant it then and I mean it now. I love you, Tilly. I never stopped loving you.”
He would have said more, but her lips were suddenly on his, warm and lush and demanding. Words ceased to matter.
Chapter 18
I do believe I have the ideal solution for your particular problem. I will speak to my man and develop an arrangement which Your Grace shall hopefully find amenable.
~letter from Mr. George Shaw to His Grace, the Duke of Longleigh
For the first time, Tilly nervously awaited her husband in her apartments. Although tonight was not their wedding night, it may as well have been for the significance. After returning home from the Westmorland ball together, they had gone to the nurseries together to check on Robby. Their darling boy was already fast asleep. They had left him with quick, unobtrusive kisses to his curls, before parting to prepare for bed.
Adrian had gone to the guest chamber he had been occupying with the promise to join her soon. But after her lady’s maid helped her from her gown and worked to undo the intricate coiffure she had so deftly styled hours earlier, Tilly was now alone once more, pacing the Axminster, waiting for Adrian’s arrival.
Soon had not proven soon enough.
She ought to have been scandalous and hauled him straight into her apartments after their return from the nursery. She could have played valet well enough, and he damned well could have served as lady’s maid. Adrian, however, had been insistent upon the night unfolding as it should have done before.
“I’ll not make haste this evening,” he had said. “Tonight, I want to take my time. To savor you. To come to you as your true husband, and to make love to you in your own bed instead of in the guest chamber.”
And so she had agreed.
But each ticking of the mantel clock seemed a mockery. Every creak of her own bare foot upon the floor made her think it washim. It had been—a quick path to the mantel clock revealed—two minutes.
Oh.
Mayhap she was a bit overzealous in her anxiousness. It had seemed a lifetime. But in reality, not even half an hour had passed since she had arrived to be dismantled by her lady’s maid.
She made her way to the looking glass in her dressing area and inspected herself. Her hair was draped over both shoulders. Did it look better hanging over just one shoulder? Perhaps the right. She considered herself once more. No, the left.
Her cheeks were pale. She pinched them in an effort to bring sudden color. Her dressing gown was modest and buttoned. She glanced down. At least two dozen of them. What had she been thinking? Her fingers flew over them, undoing them in a hurried rush. She was halfway through when a knock sounded at the door, and she fumbled the buttons. Now she looked ridiculous, half her robe split open, the other half securely fastened.
Another knock, this one stronger than the last.
No hope for it.
He was here.
Her heart was racing. Thumping wildly. Excitement coursed through her. Clutching the top of her dressing gown together in the hopes he would not notice her half dishabille and think it odd, she hurried to the door.
With a deep breath, she threw it open.
