Page 28 of A Lady, Her Lord, & Their Duke

Ara only did that when wrestling with troublesome thoughts.

“Thank you, Oakley,” Neville replied. “I shall go straight up, and yes, I would appreciate a bath before I turn into jam.”

After crossing the small entrance hall to the narrow wooden stairs, Neville took them two at a time to reach the upper floor faster. Then he near-sprinted to the master bedchamber and burst through the door. “My love?”

“In here,” called Ara, before walking out of the antechamber where her clothes were stored. “Oh good grief, Nev. What did they do to you?”

“Blackberries,” he replied ruefully. “Smuggled in under a waistcoat. Your father was very displeased—he thought he’d secured all potential weapons at the warehouse door.”

His wife frowned. “You know I believe in the cause with everything I have, but I do worry for your safety. What if one day it’s something more than rotten fruit or vegetables?”

Neville grimaced. The thought often crossed his mind, but he refused to dwell on it. Living in fear only drove a man to madness. “I cannot stop fighting because there might be a lunatic with a dagger or pistol lurking. It is only when support becomes too loud and overwhelming to ignore that change comes about. That was how we got the slave trade abolished, that is how we’ll get emancipation as well. Now, Ara, why are you cleaning out drawers?”

Arabella flushed, but before she could reply, footmen arrived to fill the permanent copper tub in the corner with buckets of hot water. Just as quickly, they were gone.

“Let’s get you scrubbed clean,” she said, bustling about for a towel, sponge and soap.

Obediently, Neville began removing his berry-ruined clothing, but once again, his wife was attempting a distraction. “What happened today?”

“I’m annoyed at myself. I still haven’t sent that box of treats to Eton for Toby. He is the heir and deserves much better.”

Her response was startling. The Michaelmas term, Toby’s first, would begin on September 1. The box wasn’t late. Was this about his mother’s awful comments? “Ara—”

“Also, today I called on Katie Whitmore and asked her counsel on permanent threesome arrangements,” said Arabella in a rush. “My mind is mud right now. Get into the tub so I can occupy my hands.”

Somehow his limbs moved, easing him into the delightfully hot water. But his own mind was spinning. What was Ara considering? Was this about Edmund, or another, future possibility? “Even if they are muddied, I think you need to tell me all your thoughts. Before you scrub the skin from my bones.”

Arabella sat back on her heels and exhaled slowly. “The past week has been very special. Hasn’t it?”

“Yes,” he agreed cautiously.

“We’ve enjoyed many playfellows over the years, but it has always been easy to bid them farewell. That is not the case with Edmund at all.”

Neville closed his eyes briefly, then covered her hand with his. “He could not be more different. This week, for the first time, I wanted to be part of an actual threesome. To submit alongside Edmund, yet assist you as well. I enjoyed spanking him. Fucking him. Watching you restrain and tease him. But we’ve barely scratched the surface and that is both exciting and alarming. Because it would stab me to the core if you thought I wanted Edmund instead of you. Or more than you. You’re the air I breathe, Ara. I simply could not imagine a world where I didn’t kneel to serve you.”

Arabella lifted his hand and kissed it. “Then, my darling, I think it’s time we went to Edmund and made our thoughts known. To find out his. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” he replied, grinning. “May I also humbly suggest that to ease your mind over Toby, we travel to Eton tomorrow and deliver the box personally? I know he would be thrilled to see his favorite person in the world, and he’ll have the box in time for term commencement.”

His wife harrumphed, but she was pink-cheeked and smiling. “Very well. Then we’ll visit Edmund. But first, I am going to wash your hair, Baron Blackberry. It smells like an old wine barrel.”

Neville nodded, abruptly more hopeful than he’d ever been.

Could this be their new beginning?

CHAPTER 7

Neville stared out the carriage window, drumming his fingers on his knee as every wheel turn took him and Arabella closer to Eton College. The school was actually located in Berkshire, not too far from Windsor Castle, about twenty-three miles from London.

On clear days like today, with thankfully no rain and just a scattering of clouds, it would take just over five hours each way. This included stopping for a change of horses at Arabella’s preferred inn, a well-kept establishment on the outskirts of Brentford. The inn not only had a large stable of experienced carriage horses, and a carpenter and blacksmith for any carriage issues, they were very efficient and obliging toward those with a warm smile and heavy purse.

To ensure he and Ara reached Stanforth House at a reasonable hour later, they’d departed London at dawn. But although the journey was barely a few hours complete, he was already hungry. And unsettled. If not for Toby, he wouldn’t set foot in this illustrious school again; attending as a King’s Scholar had been the worst experience of his life.

“Toby will have a much better time, my darling.”

He blinked at Arabella’s words. The way she deciphered his thoughts was bloody uncanny. “Because of you, he’ll be an Oppidan and my gratitude for that is boundless. It doesn’t matter how clever or good-natured a boy is, there is no life other than hellish for a King’s Scholar. The violence. The bullying. And there are so many boys to manage, the schoolmasters won’t do a damned thing about it. I think that is why Eton friendships tend to last a lifetime. They were forged in fire and that is no jest or exaggeration.”

Arabella pulled her lap rug higher to her waist. While it certainly wasn’t a cold day, there was a nip of pending autumn in the air. Really, it was always better to travel with extra cushions and rugs though, not just for warmth, but for comfort. The roads away from London were rather diabolical; even the most well-sprung carriage seemed to hit rocks and ruts with great precision. “Dare I ask what was the worst thing?”