“Shall I have to wait to find out what it is?”
“I believe it would be prudent.”
He chuckled. “Dare I suggest it might be the result of Marian’s advice?”
She shook her head with a smile. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Your Grace.”
His long fingers tightened around hers. “I’m sure you do, Nellie. And if you continue to look at me like that, I might drag you off in the middle of this dance. That will give the gossips something to talk about.”
Nellie stifled a nervous giggle. Could she bury her concerns and just enjoy what she and Charles had? She wanted to, so much.
The streets were dark on their way home in the coach, the streetlamps having been extinguished. The ball was held a fair distance from Mayfair. She was very aware of the man beside her. She wanted to draw him to her, to have him make love to her, while thoughts of his warm smooth skin beneath her hands, his mouth on hers, him inside her, made her restless. At home, in that bed all her concerns would come rushing back.
He tucked her hand into his. “Tired?”
“No.” She leaned close, and with a hand on his shoulder, whispered in his ear.
He laughed, then closed the blinds. Turning to her, his mouth found hers in a passionate kiss.
*
Nellie.Charles hadlong suspected she would be unpredictable. And she had been keeping him constantly on his toes. But he had not anticipated her request to make love in the coach. He found himself smiling as his pen hovered over the letter. His earlier concerns about Walsh, evaporating. In the dim light of the coach lamps, he and Nellie had made urgent and passionate love. His bold and beguiling wife had climbed onto his lap and rode him until he groaned. He would have difficulty meeting the smug gazes of his coachman and groom this morning.
His thoughts drifted. Nellie’s soft body beneath his hands, her sweet breath on his neck, her mews of pleasure. She would be awake now, and perhaps… A desire to go to her had him half out of his chair.
“Your Grace?”
Charles sank back down, reluctant to let go of the memory. “Yes, Barlow?”
“You asked me to tell you if more roses were delivered.”
Charles glared at his secretary. “And were they?”
“I believe so, Your Grace.”
“The housekeeper has them?”
“They were sent to the duchess’s suite, Your Grace.”
“The deuce!” Charles stared at him. “Why were my instructions not carried out?”
Barlow gulped audibly. “Her Grace requested roses to be sent to her. It appears she is fond of the flower.”
Was this coincidental? Nellie could not possibly know who sent them. But it could not continue. He removed the still unopened perfumed letter from the drawer of his desk and shoved it into his pocket. He would have this out with Angelique today. He left the letter he was writing, his train of thought lost, and nodding at the pile of correspondence, climbed to his feet. “This can wait, Barlow.”
“There are several more to be signed, Your Grace and that matter from…”
“I am aware of it. We’ll attend to them later.”
Barlow bowed. “Very well, Your Grace.”
“Have a cup of tea, Barlow.” Charles had been harsh with the man. “I’ll return at eleven.”
He took his hat, gloves, and cane from Grove, who after a glance at Charles’s expression, knew better than to offer him a cheery good morning, then he strode off down the street.
Chapter Seventeen
Nellie yawned andstretched her arms in the wide bed. Peter barked from his position on the end, pleased to see a sign of life. She leaned over and rang the bell for Lilly, hoping she was within earshot.
