She shook her head. “Please. Can’t we....” Another sigh, this of frustration as she looked out that small window at the front of the coach again. Where the coachie sat and the groom, who only had to turn a bit to see right into the carriage. Where she sat, her body arching right into the busy hands of her new husband.
In the space between heartbeats, the heat died. Trying not to groan in frustration, she pulled away. “I’m sorry.”
He froze, his breathing just as harsh as hers. “Something is the matter.”
She gave a faint wave to the front of the coach. “I am not comfortable with an audience. I’m a very private person, if you must know.”
He stopped and just looked at her, his expression much softer. “It means we’ll have to wait. Servants. Dinner.”
She nodded, briefly closed her eyes and dragged in another calming breath, sternly telling various parts of her body to desistfrom all those feelings skittering through them. “I know. It’s just...”
He was still smiling. “You’re rather a private person.”
She scowled. “If you’re going to be disrobing me and licking me like a Gunter’s ice, then yes. I would much rather not do it in a public park in front of witnesses.”
Letting loose a bark of laughter, he dropped a final kiss on the top of her head and straightened. He didn’t remove his arm from around her, but with the other hand he tidied his hair and knocked on the roof. “Your wish and all that. Would you mind a bit of kissing on the way, though?”
She wouldn’t.
Grey hadto admit he was in awe of his new wife. He still felt as if his bones had melted and his cock had turned to stone long after Georgie had herself tidied and ready to meet Rob’s staff. Her hair was a bit disarrayed, and her lovely lips were plump and pink from a surfeit of kissing, but as they pulled to a stop in front of the tidy little brick three-story thatched cottage at the edge of Putney Heath, she was as comfortably put together as if she had come from morning visits. He was still busy commanding his cock to settle down. He knew the staff wouldn’t allow itself to notice his condition, but it didn’t help him support the dignity of the office and all that.
Fortunately, they had to wait a few moments to disembark so that the staff could line up on the stairs in two rows, neat and prim in Rob’s grey and maroon livery.
“Ready, wife?”
The groom opened the door and set down the steps. Grey waited for Georgie to take in one of her calming breaths beforestepping out and holding his hand out to help her down. She exited with a quiet grace that made him proud. Although the idea that the daughter of one of the premiere political earls in the land would not know how to greet staff was absurd.
The line of uniformed servants dipped in unison and a comfortably round middle-aged man with a bright red tonsure stepped forward. “My lord, my lady. Welcome to Cuckoo Cottage. I am Wren.”
Georgie almost tripped. Her eyes went a bit wider. The butler, whom Wren obviously was, smiled.
“Did he hire you for your name?” Georgie asked with a smile of her own.
“I sometimes wonder, my lady.”
They were introduced to Mrs. Wren, who was a perfect match for her husband, although with black hair, and then led on into the house.
“Your maid is already here, my lady,” Mrs. Wren said, bustling in ahead of them. “Would you care to freshen up? I can offer a tour of the house. His lordship particularly wanted me to point out the garden.”
Georgie brightened noticeably, which put another strain on Grey’s patience, since he knew it meant a further delay in what he really wanted to do.
“Thank you, yes,” Georgie answered the woman.
Mrs. Wren beamed. “And in a bit cook has gone out of her way to provide a special dinner.”
Which meant an even longer delay. Grey was beginning to feel positively grumpy.
“In that case,” he said, following his wife up the stairs. “I will take a brandy in whichever room leads out to the garden. Since I suspect that is the only tour she’ll need.”
“And the kitchen garden,” she offered with one saucy smile over her shoulder before continuing.
He thought he should thank Mrs. Wren for showing the way, if only for the chance to enjoy the sway of his wife’s sleek derriere as she climbed those steps like a dancer. Except focusing on that once again threatened hisamour propre. He deliberately looked away so he didn’t have to adjust his clothing.
It was going to be a long afternoon.
Georgie was feeling moreunsettled by the minute. It wasn’t the house; it was lovely, a simple cottage decorated for comfort rather than ostentation. It wasn’t Grey. He was going out of his way to ease her progress. It wasn’t even Rob Glenn’s instructions to his staff, who all seemed to be smiling like proud aunts and uncles.
The garden out back was indeed delightful, a riot of early color and scent with pinks and pasque flowers, verbena, and wisteria and two apple trees perfectly espaliered against a red brick wall. The kitchen garden was just as compelling, with enough herbs to stock a sizeable stillroom.
