“What have you planned for us this evening?” Gigi asked.
Only with her did he find wheedling endearing. Then again, he was finding he liked most everything about her. He liked their banter, especially now that it was playful rather than antagonistic. While she could be as sweet as honey, her personality had spice, too. He was never bored in her company and liked the games they played. It was a novel experience to desire a woman and have fun with her.
“We’re here,” he said. “See for yourself.”
She dropped her hands, her eyes widening as she took in his temporary abode. Honeystone Hall was a handsome property located not far from the spa. In the moonlight, the limestone walls had a pristine, almost ethereal glow. The slate roof and decorative gables glimmered with a hint of frost. Woodsmoke wisped from the chimneys before melting into the black velvet sky. The mullioned windows beckoned with a cozy glow.
“You brought me to Honeystone Hall?” Gigi’s eyes were more brilliant than the stars. “I have passed this place many times but never been inside. I understand it is quite grand but has been vacant since the squire passed.”
“Come have a look.” He offered his arm.
She bit her lip. “I would like to. But the servants?—”
“I brought my staff from London. They are all longtime retainers, and you may rest assured when it comes to their discretion. I would never let harm come to you or your reputation, Gigi. Trust me?”
Nodding, she allowed him to lead her into the house. Since he’d only moved in a week ago, the décor remained that of the prior occupant. Luckily, he approved of the squire’s taste. The oak furnishings, brass fixtures, and forest-green upholstery created an ambiance of rustic luxury. There were well-appointed public rooms on the first floor and a dozen bedchambers on the second, as well as a separate servants’ wing.
Gigi looked around with open admiration. “What an agreeable home.”
Conrad found himself absurdly pleased that she liked it. Then and there, he decided to acquire the property. It would make a splendid wedding present for his new bride. He didn’t know when he’d started thinking of Gigi as his future wife. Once the idea had taken root, however, there was no resisting it. Their last steamy carriage ride had cemented it for him: he’d never felt that close to a woman, that crazed with desire for her. The notion of waking up next to Gigi every morning didn’t fill him with dread but anticipation.
At the same time, he sensed that Gigi wasn’t as certain about him. That was the way of nymphs: they tended to be elusive and mischievous, a bit flighty. If you didn’t secure their loyalty, they would run roughshod over you and flee with your heart. Thus, his strategy was to use everything in his power—passion, intimacy, gifts, whatever it took—to bind Gigi to him.
“Allow me to give you a tour,” he said.
He took her through the main rooms, enjoying her appreciation. Her delightful artlessness and buoyant spirit spoke of a nurturing upbringing, which fit what he’d learned about the Harrington clan. Her parents, the Marquess and Marchioness of Blackwood, were famous for their enduring love match, and her father was a war hero from his days of fighting Boney.
There was some gossip about her brothers: the middle one, a musician, had been injured in some accident which had ended his career as a maestro, and the youngest brother had gone missing for years after the disastrous military defeat in Kabul. However, the entire family seemed to have converged in Chuddums, and the locals credited their presence with the village’s reversal of fortune.
“The billiards room is marvelous,” Gigi exclaimed.
This room was his favorite of the manor, and he’d been so sure that she would share his opinion that he’d had the refreshments laid out here. She gazed rapturously at the coffered ceiling and dark paneled walls, trailing her fingers over the cognac leather seating before approaching the majestic billiards table that occupied center stage. Cushioned by an Aubusson, the mahogany table had carved acanthus leaves and other detailed foliage adorning the apron and legs, and the green baize surface was as smooth as glass.
Her eyelashes fluttered as she inhaled, taking in the scents of wood, leather, and cigar smoke. Watching her, Conrad felt heat rush into his groin. She was a sensual, unaffected creature, and there was a world of carnal delights he wanted to show her.
Down, boy. Play the proper host first. There is plenty of time for lovemaking.
That last thought was novel. With his other lovers, swiving had been at the forefront of his agenda. God knew he couldn’t keep his hands off Gigi, but with her, he wanted more. Her conversation and laughter, the way she’d made him feel when she said he was more than what others believed him to be.
“Would you care for refreshment?” he asked.
He gestured to the table set up by the hearth. Crystal, fine china, and silverware gleamed in the firelight. A tiered cart offered a savory collation and assorted desserts, and a bucket of iced champagne stood at the ready. When she went over to inspect the offerings, he saw her gaze linger on the squares of rose-flavored Turkish delights. Her blush was everything he’d hoped for and more.
“You think of everything, don’t you?” she mused.
“I do not believe in leaving things up to chance.”
“Some might say you have controlling tendencies.”
He thought she might be teasing him, but he’d never been one to shy away from the truth.
“Some would be right.” He lifted the bubbly from the bucket. “Champagne?”
“Yes, please.”
After filling a flute for her, then himself, he raised his glass. “To getting better acquainted.”
Smiling, she pinged her glass against his, and they sipped in companionable silence, broken now and again by a snap and crackle from the hearth.
