“What did you mean, Walker, when you said that I was your wife and that we’ll not hide it?”
He sighed heavily and set down his cup, though he wasn’t surprised by her question. They had been so occupied by their lovemaking and then catching some much needed rest that they’d had little chance to talk.
“I don’t intend any longer to keep our marriage a secret. We’ll take whatever consequences that might come…though I believe once my father meets you, he’ll be glad we wed, I’m certain of it.”
“Truly?” Marguerite stared at him so soberly, her voice unsure. “I would never wish you to grieve him because of me…and he’s so very ill. I can’t bear that our marriage might cause him pain. We can wait—”
“Ah, woman.” Walker dropped the scone onto the plate and took her untouched tea from her to set it upon the tray. Then he sat down on the bed to draw her into his arms. “If my father sees me content and happy, he will be, too.”
Now tears glistened in her eyes. “You’re content?”
Her query almost a whisper, Walker hugged her closer. “Completely.”
“Happy?”
“More than I’d ever thought possible. Are you?”
Her quick nod reassured him, her womanly curves pressed against him wreaking havoc with his senses. He wanted so acutely to stay with her, but right now he wanted them safely back in London even more. A sharp rap at the door made him kiss her cheek and then release her and rise from the bed.
“Yes?”
“The lady’s bath, Lord Summerlin.”
He glanced at Marguerite, who had drawn the quilt more tightly to her breasts, and then back to the door. “You may come in.”
Lord Summerlin. As a pair of serving maids carried in a large metal tub, followed by several more with buckets of steaming water, Walker knew he must grow accustomed to that title just as Marguerite to Lady Summerlin.
So their marriage certificate had been inscribed, his name entered as Alexander Scott upon it. Yet to himself—and Marguerite, who had always called him by his American name—he would remain Walker Burke.
“I’ll return within the hour to fetch you. Will that give you enough time to get ready?”
Marguerite nodded, which made him head to the door behind the maidservants whom he imagined were hurrying to fetch more hot water. At least she would enjoy a decent bath before the grueling journey ahead of them—
“Walker!”
He turned around to find Marguerite running after him, nearly stumbling over the quilt dragging at her feet.
“Your scone.”
He couldn’t help grinning at her, glad at least that she no longer looked distressed.
He took the scone and pulled her against him to give her a rousing kiss. Then he left the room before the tantalizing thought of her glistening wet skin made him stay to share that bath with her!
***
“I’ll come back as soon as I fetch that last bucket to rinse yer hair, milady. Is there anything else you need?”
“No, no, everything’s lovely,” Marguerite murmured, sinking deeper into the tub of warm water that felt more wonderful than she could have imagined.
The maidservant smiled and curtseyed, and then left the room and quietly shut the door behind her. Marguerite closed her eyes and breathed in the fragrant rose-scented steam.
She’d already soaped herself and washed her hair and had two bucketfuls of heated water poured slowly over her, but she wouldn’t say no to another one. Not when she had a long two-day journey in front of her with no more time at the coaching houses than to find a privy and hopefully, a basin of water to soak a cloth and wash her face.
She felt as if she were in heaven after a breakfast of fresh-baked scones spread with jam and butter and several cups of tea and now this lovely bath. All provided for her by Walker, her husband.Her husband!
