Chapter Thirty-Four
Lord Kendrick, Duke of Alton
After paying the hackney driver, I joined Lillian on the stairs to our London house.
“I believe it is customary for the groom to carry his bride over the threshold.” I slid my arm around Lillian’s waist and pulled her tight to my side. She’d been quiet for most of the journey to London from Liverpool, and I wanted to lift her spirits.
“Are you teasing me?” Wide eyes met mine and a pretty flush touched her cheeks. In the month we were in Scotland, I had seen Lillian begin to shine. She had free reign to write and follow her physical passions. Now that we were back in London, she’d been more subdued. It pained me to see her thus.
“No. I’m perfectly serious.” Gripping her waist, I bent and caught her under the knees. I lifted her into my arms. Her green traveling skirt caught on my wrist, the material riding up to expose her silk stockings
Her eyes widened at my bold move and her laughter floated in the air. She wrapped her arms around my neck, the light back in her smile. “I pray you don’t hurt yourself.”
“Never.” I stared at the closed door for a moment before I met her amused regard. Her lips were upturned and I couldn’t resist kissing her sweet mouth. She returned my kiss without a second of hesitation. Sounds from across the street faded intothe background. Contentment washed over me. I would never tire of kissing Lillian.
Someone cleared their throat, and I broke the kiss. A passing couplewas strolling by the front of the house, the man tipping his hat. His companion giggled.
Lillian buried her nose in my neck. “I think we are creating a scene.”
“I believe you are correct. Will you knock on the door? My hands are full.” I rested my head against hers, pleased by her teasing. She’d been depressed over leaving Colt and I couldn’t blame her. It had been hard to leave him behind, but he had chosen his path. I had a life with Lillian and an estate of my own to run. Responsibility was a constant yoke around my neck and although I had technically been in Scotland on business, the entire month was spent in profligate pleasure.
“You should put me down. You might hurt yourself.” She used her foot to tap on the door, her green poke bonnet brushing my cheek.
“You are light as a feather, I—”
The door opened to reveal Frank. The butler lifted one trimmed eyebrow, a light of amusement in his gaze. He stepped aside while I entered with my bride. “Your Graces. Welcome home,” he said.
“Thank you, Frank. It is good to be home.” I nodded to the servant before I strode down the hallway, Lillian still in my arms.
“We are over the threshold. You may put me down now if you wish,” she said, her breath warm against my ear. Despite her words, she continued to cling to my neck.
The house smelled the same, a mixture of clay and lemon wax. The warmth of the wooden floor was a far cry from the cold stone floors of the Scottish castle. In a true twist, it reflected the two separate parts of my life; the old and the new. “I’m afraidthat isn’t possible because we have yet to reach our destination. Frank, the door to my studio.”
“Of course, Your Grace.” He rushed ahead of me and opened the requested door. With a quiver to his mustache, he asked, “Would you care for refreshments to be brought in?”
“We will ring when we’re ready,” Lillian said, a knowing look in her eye. Our minds and bodily cravings were often in sync and I wanted to be alone with her, more than I needed to breathe at this moment.
Frank nodded as he bowed himself out. “Very good, my lady.”
I stepped into the studio, the familiar room welcoming me. My work space looked much the same as I left it. The wheel had been cleaned in my absence and the shelves were empty, just waiting for me to start making pots again. I listened for the door to click shut before I strode to the seating area in the corner. Two chairs flanked the fireplace with a shaker style table positioned between them. A stack of books were neatly placed on the matte finish. Colt had often commandeered one of the chairs as I worked on my art. An unexpected catch caught in my throat and I swallowed. The room seemed empty without him. “I can’t decide what I wish for more, to sculpt you, or bed you.”
Soft lips explored my jaw, her fingers anchored at the nape of my neck. Lillian’s seduction was a welcome distraction. I sat in the chair, her bottom snuggled in my lap.
“I vote for bedding,” she said.
“I second your motion.” I moved my arm from beneath her legs and my elbow knocked into the books. One long, slender journal fell to the floor. She glanced down, and the eagerness drained from her face. Sadness returned, a noticeable hitch in her breath.
