He had not missed, in the furor of the days following Beatrice’s death, when their family and friends had arrived at Barlowe Park and taken charge of the disastrous situation, the manner in which Grey had looked at Mrs. Beasley. There was something there, unlikely or not. He hadn’t the presence of mind to pursue it with his old chum then, but he was going to have to remind him of all the reasons why it was a terrible idea to attempt to debauch one’s friend’s domestics.
“Mrs. Beasley?” Izzy repeated, her brow furrowed. “Do you think Greymoor has a romantic interest in her? She is young and beautiful.”
“Too young to be a housekeeper,” he agreed. “And I fear his interest is not entirely romantic. Or chivalrous.”
“Oh dear,” Izzy fretted, nibbling on her bottom lip. “You do not suppose he will cause any trouble for her whilst he is in residence, do you?”
“He is honorable,” Zachary reassured his wife.
At least, I think he is honorable, he thought, wisely keeping the last to himself.
But he had no wish to think ill of his friend, for it had been at Grey’s urging that they had returned for an extended honeymoon to Haines Court. And he was bloody glad they had. Removing themselves from the horrors of what had happened had been wise.
“I trust your judgment,” Izzy said, rising on her toes to press her mouth to his.
The silken glide of her breasts against his chest made him briefly forget what the word judgment meant. When this kiss ended, they were both breathless.
“I cannot believe we missed the grotto on our first stay,” he commented lightly, trying to keep from ravishing her there in the midst of the pool. “Had I known how beautiful it is at night, lit with candles like this, I would have brought you here every night just to admire you like this, naked and glorious in the water.”
“I am hardly glorious.” She wrinkled her nose. “I am only a lady whose kissing abilities, or lack thereof, rivals her abysmal taste in gowns.”
He recognized what he had said to her that regretful day. How could he not? If only he could give himself a swift kick in the arse.
“Damn,” he muttered. “You will never let me live down those words, will you?”
“Never,” she agreed cheerfully, grinning up at him unrepentantly.
“I love your gowns,” he said penitently.
“Mmm.” She kissed his cheek. “I am glad.”
“And I love your kissing abilities.”
She brought her mouth to his, kissing him soundly and leaving him truly breathless before pulling away, her smile wide and satisfied. “You should. It is required, as my husband.”
“And I love you,” he added, kissing her smiling lips. “I love you more than words can convey, and more than I ever thought possible. I love you, and I do not deserve you. I never have. But I’ll not lie. I’m damned happy Arturd Penhurst did not know what a diamond he had.”
“You do know his name is Arthur,” she pointed out.
“Just as I said.” He grinned back at her, unapologetic.
“Oh.” Her gaze dipped to his mouth. “There is that cursed dimple that makes you so irresistible.”
He was aware of the dimple, but to his recollection, this was the first time she had told him about its effect upon her. “Now that I know its powers, I will be sure to unleash it at every possible opportunity.”
“Wicked man,” she said, without heat.
“And proud of it,” he agreed. “Shall I prove just how wicked I can be?”
“I thought you would never ask.”
Still grinning, he lowered his head and took her lips with his.
EPILOGUE
Agony.
Sheer.
