“That’s odd, because it was on that table beside the chair in your room.”
“Witch,” he hissed, lunging for her. Careful not to hurt her arm, he pulled her to the edge of the carriage, trapping her between his thighs. “It is not right to go through your husband’s things, wife. I am a man and should therefore be respected.”
She scoffed, and he wanted to kiss her until she lost all the stiffness in her spine. Then he’d undress her slowly and acquaint himself with every inch of her body.
“If you tease me, you will pay the consequences, Sophie,” he whispered against her lips. Patrick was then kissing her, long and deep.
He’d kept his touches gentle until then because of her arm, but in that moment, he could not hold back anymore. He only raised his head when he felt the carriage roll to a stop.
“We have arrived,” he said, his voice a rough whisper. “And yes, I enjoyed that book and the first nine.”
“Oh” was all she said.
Patrick climbed down and adjusted his jacket. He then reached out a hand to Sophie.
“It’s very grand,” she said, taking in the huge pale stone facade. He knew how many windows were on all three floors from this side and what pieces of furniture each held. This place had been heaven and hell for him growing up.
Heaven when he was allowed to play with his sisters, and hell when he was learning to be an earl.
“There are one hundred acres here,” Patrick said, swallowing down the emotion he always felt returning to Garland Hall. It felt different this time, though, because he wasn’t alone. Now, he had Sophie.
“My lord!”
“Ribble,” Patrick said as the door suddenly opened before them. “I would like you to meet my wife.” Patrick took Sophie’s hand and tugged her with him up the five steps to the door.
“Lady Coulter, how pleased we are to meet you here at Garland Hall.” His butler bowed deeply. “Please allow me to welcome you on behalf of the staff. I am afraid most have retired for the evening.”
“Thank you, Ribble.” Sophie stepped back onto Patrick’s foot.
“Your rooms are ready, my lord,” Ribble said, leading the way to a set of wide stairs.
The tiled floor was gray and white with an intricate pattern his sisters had spent hours playing on. Above them hung a chandelier his mother had loved, and the long, curving staircasehad a wooden banister Patrick had often wished to slide down—a wish he did not achieve until his parents had passed.
He watched Sophie walk around the huge entrance, taking it all in.
He knew Monmouth was grand, but not on this scale. He could only imagine how it looked to someone raised as Sophie had been.
He walked up behind her and placed his hand on her back. “Come, let’s find our rooms.”
“You have a beautiful home, Patrick.”
“So do you now,” he said, nudging her forward.
Sophie was silent as they climbed, her eyes going everywhere.
“I have taken the liberty of placing some champagne in your rooms, my lord, and a light repast,” Ribble said when they reached them. “Your maid has arrived, my lady.”
“Thank you, Ribble.” Patrick closed the door behind him after he’d followed Sophie inside.
“Patrick?” She turned to look at him.
“Yes, Sophie?”
“Where are my rooms?” she said, looking everywhere but at him.
“We will share this sitting room, and these are your rooms,” Patrick answered, moving to the left to an open door. “And that is mine,” he indicated, pointing right to another door.
She walked into her room, which was decorated in soft blue and buttercup yellow. The bed was piled high with pillows of silk and lace, and the cover had an intricate design that she bent to run her hand over. Above, a gossamer canopy hung from four turned wooden posts.
