“He probably thought itwasthe footman with the maid in the shrubbery,” Lucien chuckled.“Well, it establishes our reputation as romantics.” He looked at her,still smiling but thoughtful. She could see the passion in his eyes andyet he was once more in control of himself, and she was glad of it.Someone had to be in control in these wild waters, or they would surelydrown.
For all that, she wanted to be in his arms again.
He made no move in that direction and merely held the door for her topass through, then locked it after them.
They went through the parlor to the small hall. He picked up the lampset ready for them there and carried it as they walked up the stairs. Thelamp formed a globe of light in the dark of the quiet house, as if theylived inside their own magic circle, alone.
Though they walked apart, Beth was aware of him as if they touched.Surely he would come into her bedroom now and complete the swirlingmadness they had started with that kiss.
Did she want it? Oh, she didn’t know. It terrified her and yet drew her. . . One thing she knew, she wanted it done. They couldn’t live on thisknife edge much longer. Surely once it was done they could relax and becomfortable again.
He entered her bedroom but only to put the lamp down on a table there.He turned to look at her and Beth fretted over what she should do.
“You look terrified again,” he said.
Beth tried to protest, but her voice formed an unconvincing choke outof her denial.
“It is doubtless very foolish of me,” he said with a whimsical smile,“but when I love you first, my angel, I want my wife to be that fierytermagant who called me a baboon.”
She watched helplessly as he strolled towards the door.
He turned and cocked an eyebrow. “I could be seduced out of that, ifyou wished to try.”
At that moment, deeply stirred by the teasing humor in his blue eyesand driven by strange forces within, Beth would have made the attempt ifshe had any notion of what to do. While she was struggling to think of aprovocative remark, he quietly left.
Collapsing sadly on her bed, Beth had to admit he was right. On theirwedding night he had called her a wounded bird and though this time atHartwell had been a time of healing, she still felt bruised in her spirit.She did not fear him anymore, but she didn’t have in her the spirit tocall a marquess a baboon. If that was the Beth he wanted, it would take alittle while yet.
She could not bear to disappoint him.
Chapter Sixteen
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Lucien chose to ride back alongside the chariot. Despite the way theirsuperficial friendship had grown, it was just like the first journey theyhad made and the rift was almost as great. During their journey fromCheltenham Beth had readSelf-Control,but she no longer had any taste for LauraMontreville. What had that arid search for unimpeachable virtue to do withthis . . . this roaring passion? Instead she spent the hours in seriousthought.
There was something very precious almost within grasp. She thought itmight be that ideal, friendship within marriage. She had imagined,however, that it would be separate from more earthy passions and mighteven be jeopardized by them. Now she saw it was quite the opposite. Theincompleteness of their marriage formed a barrier to their trueharmony.
She must apply herself to that and not let any trivial qualms on herpart, or on his, interfere. She laughed at the folly of it all. Afteryears of warning girls to avoid lustful men, it seemed to her ridiculousthat she couldn’t quite manage to get her husband into her bed.
The duke and duchess welcomed them back to Belcraven House. Beththought she detected concerned scrutiny, particularly from the duchess,but Lucien’s parents were both too courteous to be blatant about it, andthere was enough natural ease between herself and Lucien to reassure.
Once in her bedchamber, Beth considered the unlocked doors between herand her husband. Only her dressing room lay between their bedchambers. Nota great distance and yet seeming very far. It should not be so terriblyhard to just walk through those doors tonight and say, “Make love to me,Lucien.”
It was quite beyond her. She must look for a more subtle approach thanthat. What a shame there weren’t books of instruction on seduction.
A knock on her dressing room door made her start. At her nod Redcliffwent to open it. Beth’s heart was pounding even as she acknowledged thatit was highly unlikely that he be coming to seduce her in the middle ofthe afternoon.
He had changed from his dusty riding clothes into formal Town wear ?pantaloons, Hessians, dark jacket, and, for the first time in ten days, ahigh cravat. “Imprisoned again,” he remarked when her eyes noted it. “Idon’t know why women complain about the dictates of fashion. At least noone expects you to strangle yourself and wear all this lot on a hotday.”
“How true. But no one expects you to go around in a thin layer of silkin the middle of January.”
“We should turn eccentric and develop a new style of rational dress. Iwonder what it should be.”
Beth considered this. “I see no reason why men should not havesummerwear made out of fine cotton with a low, open neck as ladies have.Already the loose Cossack trousers are becoming fashionable, and they lookvery comfortable.”
“Look dashed silly if you ask me. . . . But the ladies could have theirwinter ball gowns made of wool and velvet and incorporating a cape andhood, ready for the draughtiest situation.”
“I shall design one today. But perhaps,” she suggested naughtily, “itwould be simpler if women took to trousers for the winter and men toskirts for the summer.”
