“Good morning, my love,” whispered Benedict into her ear, kissing her cheek tenderly and taking advantage of the pillows.Waving a hovering servant over to pour him some wine while he reclined at her feet and nibbled on a sandwich.
Benedict had gone out early this morning to survey the estate. His steward was excellent of course, but now that he was here for the summer, Benedict wanted to reacquaint himself with all aspects of his responsibilities. There was much to be done, and he was surprised at how quickly he was coming to enjoy the work. Benedict gazed out over the reflecting lake, losing himself in the perfection of the moment.
Whoever thought this would be his life one day? One of country bliss with a wife waiting for him at home.
His heartbreak over his parent’s death had followed him all his adult life, and it was hard sometimes to allow himself to be happy. Benedict never thought he could live up to the man his father had been, and visiting Oak Ridge House had once been a painful reminder of all the things he and Honora had lost so tragically.
But now, here he was. A husband to an amazing, gorgeous woman who had agreed to marry his fool self. And in front of him, a home, where before had stood an empty shell of a building, housing only the ghosts of memories.
All that was missing was the sound of little feet running exuberantly around the halls, laughter ringing out across the gardens…
Benedict looked up at Emmaline, just staring at her in satisfied contentment.
Her brow was furrowed in that adorable way it did when she was concentrating. Her full lower lip caught between her teeth as she leaned close to the canvas and added a touch of white with a tiny brush.
He wondered if she was happy.
Emmaline looked happy, but the adjustment to life as a Viscountess had been difficult at first. She was much more atease out here away from the pressures of town. Although of course she put on a brave face when they had to be in town for the sitting of parliament and other social events.
Benedict had lost his passion there a bit, he must admit. He felt a newfound sense of purpose here, although Silas teased him mercilessly for rusticating in the country. Strangely, Benedict was starting to see the pressures of town as a distraction from the life they were just starting to build.
“Benedict?”
He started, lost in thought, as Emmaline called him back from his reverie.
“Shall we go in, dear? The light has changed,” Emmaline said, smiling at him in that indulgent way that indicated she knew he had been wool-gathering. She untied her apron, wiping her hands briskly with a cloth. A servant hurried over with a basin and soap, helping her cleanse her hands in a more ladylike fashion while Emmaline rolled her eyes at Benedict again.
He rose with a chuckle and Benedict pulled her hand into the crook of his arm possessively as they walked back around the lake towards the manor. Emmaline glanced up at the motion with a cheeky smile, leaning close.
“I want to show you something in the studio,” said Emmaline as they entered the grand hall, unpinning her bonnet and handing it to the footman with a sweet smile.
“Does that mean I finally get to see what you have been working on all these months?” teased Benedict, trailing after her as she climbed the stairs towards the sunny set of rooms in the East Wing she had appropriated.
“It is an anniversary gift,”she whispered, turning him towards the draped artwork arranged in the centre of the studio and nudging him forward.
Benedict flashed her a surprised grin, then pulled the cloth away dramatically.
He blinked at the painting for a long moment, completely taken aback.
“You do not like it?” asked Emmaline, anxiously peering up into his face.
“On the contrary, my sweeting, I am simply taking a moment to appreciate the sight before me.”
It was a self-portrait of Emmaline, but not one meant for the public rooms.
Oh no, his wife was a surprisingly naughty creature who had painted herself reclining on a richly draped bed in all her naked, voluptuous glory.
“You did say many times that you wish I could be the subject of such a painting,” she murmured shyly, reaching out to trail her finger along one unframed edge.
“This is what you have been doing, all those mornings and nights locked away in here?” asked Benedict, growing impassioned at the scandalous thought of his wife painting away in the nude.
“Yes,” she said with a husky note to her voice, flashing her eyes at him in a sultry manner that sent all the blood in his body straight to his already stiffening cock. “You do have a lot of very useful mirrors lying around the place that I appropriated for my study.”
“Good God, woman,” growled Benedict, “I know what use I would put them to right this minute.”
He glanced around hastily, spying the draped daybed she had used to pose herself for the portrait.
“I want to see you lying there, just as you did for the painting,” he said, taking her by the shoulders and urging her towards the setup, already working on the tiny buttons on the back of her dress.
