Having a husband who lovedher. Just as Soren loved Cassandra, and Leonie’s husband, Rochdale, all but worshipped her.
And yet, everyone envied Willa. Matt was a prize. She had become a duchess. The point game had gone to her.
So why did she feel sad?
It might have to do with the kiss in the coach. Her first kiss. She hadn’t known what she was about, but he had apparently liked it because he hadn’t stopped touching her since she’d kissed him. For most of the afternoon, when she had been with him, his hand had been at her arm or her waist, guiding her and moving her along until he’d swept her up and carried her to his bed.
Willa sat up on the mattress. His bedroom furnishings were dark brown against ivory walls. The bed itself had been made for a giant. It had a massive headboard that was almost black with age. The bedclothes were a dull gold. Someone, most likely Annie or Matt’s valet, had turned down the covers.
Rather bravely, she said, “What do you want me to do?”
He’d tossed his jacket onto a nearby chair and was tugging on the knot in his neck cloth when her question gave him pause. An uncertain look came into his eye, as if he, too, was feeling his way. And then he answered, “Let me take down your hair.”
The request was unexpected—and she couldn’t imagine anything she would more dearly love. The weight of it had added to her building anxieties. “Yes, please.”
He smiled and pulled his neck cloth free to join his jacket before offering his hand. “Well then, stand.” She thought he meant the floor until he helped her balance on the mattress. This way, she was taller than he was. He wasn’t so intimidating this way. Was that his intent?
He began removing the pearl-tipped pins.
She held out her hand to receive them just as she did with Annie. The familiar arrangement helped her relax. “There are plain pins in there as well.”
“I will find them.” His touch was gentle, his expression intent. He reminded her of a sculptor she’d once observed working on his art. The tension between Willa’s shoulders and neck began to unwind. “I’ve wanted to see your hair down since the moment we first met,” he said.
“I have too much of it.”
He smiled. “We shall see.”
Her gaze took in the room. This was obviously his domain. Just as she noticed when she’d visited Mayfield several months ago, there were signs of neglect and wear. A huge wardrobe took up a good portion of one wall. There was a washstand, a desk, chairs—all the usual items in a bedroom, including a privacy screen in one corner.
However, Willa’s personal effects were here. She was surprised. She had assumed she would have her own room. In fact, beyond his shaving gear, there seemed to be nothing else of Matt’s in this room. What brushes and small boxes and bottles were on the washstand belonged to her.
He had collected all the pearl pins and was now searching for the plain ones.
“I was thinking this was your room,” she said, “but my things are here.”
“This isourroom.”
She looked down at him. “We’ll share the same room?” She had never heard of such a thing. Her parents had separate suites of rooms.
“You are my wife, Willa. You sleep by my side.”
“Forever?”
“As long as our natural lives.” He pulled the last pin from her hair. It was as if that last pin held it all in place. Her hair tumbled down around her shoulders, flowing almost to her waist.
It was pure pleasure to have the weight of it off her neck. As she did every night when she took her hair down, she rotated her shoulders—and then stopped. Her breasts were at his eye level and they had his attention.
A warmth roiled deep in her lower belly and a curiosity in her mind.
His eyes had darkened with interest. He rested his hand on her waist. He raised his gaze to her. It was almost a sin for a man to have such dark lashes or such sparkling blue eyes.
“I want you, Willa. Do you understand exactly what that means?”
In this moment, it was as if they were the only two people in the world.
“I’m told to do what you tell me.” Her mother’s instruction didn’t seem daunting at all right now. “And I will, although I don’t know how good I will be at counting backward from a hundred.”
If she had popped him in the nose, he couldn’t appear more startled. “Count backward?”
