“Of course, but you haven’t told me what it concerns.”
“That’s because I don’t know.”
He leaned across and traced a finger down her cheek. “You have secrets, Nellie.”
“Everyone does,” she retorted, batting his hand away. “Including you.”
“I accept that,” he said dryly, unsure what she referred to. “I wouldn’t care if it didn’t affect us. But it does. You’re like a will-o’-the-wisp. I want a wife I can count on. When I take her in my arms, I want to be sure she welcomes me.” Maddened beyond thought, he moved over to her and took the glass from her. Putting it down, he eased her onto the rug and leaned over her. “I don’t want a wife who goes somewhere else in her mind when she’s with me.”
“That’s unfair!” She tried to pull away, but he held her lightly but firmly by the arms. “It wasn’t like that at the soiree, was it?” Her voice grew husky with emotion. “When we kissed on the terrace?”
“No,” he said softly. “It wasn’t. Shall we make sure of it?”
She gasped. “Someone might be watching us.”
“The ducks? My staff would not dare.”
He took her mouth more savagely than he’d intended. She resisted for a moment, then with a sigh, her hands slid around his neck and her fingers coiled in his hair. With a longer sigh, her mouth softened under his. He cupped a breast, delighting in its fullness, wanting to touch more of her velvety skin securely barred from him by the high-necked habit. When she didn’t try to move away, he kissed her again, slipping his tongue into her mouth, tasting champagne. And continued kissing her until she moaned.
“Nellie…” he murmured, breathing in her sweet scent. He longed to undress her, here in the warm sun, and make love to her, but dammit, he wasn’t a complete oaf. Before things got out of control, he straightened up and sat with a hand resting on his knee.
They stared at each other for a long moment.
“At least you aren’t repulsed by me,” he said with a twist to his lips. “But you have not been the most eager of fiancée’s, Nellie. Are you going to tell me why that is?”
“You are imagining it,” she said, her voice tight. “There is nothing.”
“Very well. I won’t rush you.” Charles swallowed hard and admitted he was doing a fine job of rushing her. He wondered why it mattered to him. He should be satisfied. He had wanted a marriage that did not claim his heart. But nor did he wish to play second fiddle to some other man.
He stood and held out his hand to her. “Shall we return to the house?”
She gazed up at him for a long moment, then gave him her hand.
Chapter Eleven
Nellie yawned. Shewas propped up in bed with a cup of chocolate, a pencil in hand, and a notebook beside her. The last few weeks, London had been in a fever of celebrations since peace was announced after the Battle of Waterloo. The metropolis was abuzz with those who’d come to witness the formal proclamation of peace and the Queen’s official welcome reception for the Duke of Wellington. Then there was the visit from the restored French king, fetes, the opera, and grand balls.
She had accompanied her parents every evening to parties, routs, and endlessly dazzling balls where red-coated officers, aristocrats, and the elite of society mixed with royalty, visiting allied leaders and politicians, the feted Duke of Wellington taking center stage.
Charles accompanied them whenever he could, but apart from a few afternoons riding in the park, she seldom had him to herself. She missed him. His duties in the Lords, as well as being at the beck and call of the Prince of Wales at Carlton House, took up much of his time. And would continue, she expected, for some months to come, but at least she would be at his side as his duchess.
Tomorrow was her wedding day. Her stomach tightened whenever she thought of it. And that seemed to be every few minutes. She picked up the notebook and forced her mind back to the list of last-minute things to check. But really, there was little left to do. Mama had risen splendidly to the call. All the invitations sent out had been accepted. The reception, which was held here at their townhouse, organized down to the last detail. Nellie’s trousseau was ready to be packed in the trunks. Her wedding gown and accessories laid out in readiness.
The end of the war with Napoleon had altered their plans. The demands made on Charles to be part of the reception for the important visitors to the city: the restored French king, the corpulent Louis XVIII, and the Tsar of Russia and his sister required him to remain in London for some time. When Charles was free of commitments, they hoped to spend a few weeks at Shewsbury Park before embarking on their honeymoon.
Nellie put down her cup. She and Marian were shopping this afternoon. As Nellie’s matron of honor, her sister had decided she needed a new hat.
The door opened, and Alice flounced in. “I am ready,” she announced.
“Are you, poppet? What for?” Nellie bit her pencil. Should she pack the red velvet bonnet with the long curling feather? Or was it not summery enough? It did go well with her pelisse. But her mother didn’t like the color. Nellie paused. She made a tick on her list. She would take it.
“To be your bridesmaid, of course,” Alice said with emphasis as if Nellie had suddenly turned deaf.
“No bride could ask for a prettier bridesmaid.”
“Charles gave Marian a diamond brooch and me a bracelet of seed pearls set in gold.” She held out her wrist to display the dainty bracelet.
“It’s perfect, but you should not wear it now. Wait until my wedding, poppet.”
