Page 50 of The New Earl’s Convenient Wife

Chapter Fifteen

A few days later, wrapped in a thick robe, Juliana reclined in a chair near the hearth in their bedchamber, enjoying the warmth of the fire as she read The Iliad and waited for Rafe to return from his evening engagement. With his introduction to the Lords taking place tomorrow, she’d been happy to send him off to meet Hart and some Parliamentary colleagues to verbally rehearse the ceremony and give him a summary of the bills under consideration that he would hear discussed after he took his seat.

At least she could feel safe, knowing he would be with his male colleagues. Not at some entertainment where he might encounter Thalia.

Her initial alarm had eased somewhat, as they had attended a number of parties since Hart’s warning without crossing paths with the Earl of Altorn or his wife. She hoped that would remain the case for the remainder of their time in London.

It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Rafe’s vehement assurance that he no longer felt anything for his one-time love. It’s just that she suspected one never completely recovered from such a loss. She knew she would never get over losing Rafe, should he suddenly depart from her life.

She hated the idea that seeing the woman might revive his pain.

And she couldn’t quite squelch the fear, despite his assurance, that seeing Thalia again might somehow weaken the bond they’d built.

She shook her head as if doing so could dislodge the disturbing thought. Better to concentrate on what she could do to strengthen that bond…what she planned to surprise Rafe with tonight.

The presentation robe he’d picked up that day hung behind the open door to his dressing room, its red wool splendour reflected in the glow of the fire. And despite Rafe complaining about its high cost, it was splendid—that long sweep of crimson wool with its three gold-laced bars of fur on the right side indicating his rank of earl, its white silk lining, its black silk ribbon ties.

She wished she might be able to help him into it when he departed for the Lords tomorrow, but unfortunately, he wouldn’t don the robe until just before the ceremony. Which is why she’d planned for a special ceremony of their own tonight.

She recalled again the magical day he’d given her at the Royal Academy exhibition and then the visit to Turner’s Gallery. The incalculably precious gift of the Turner etchings he’d allowed her to purchase, which she’d already spent several hours studying and making copies of in her sketchbook. This had already fired her mind with ideas about the drawings she would make of her favourite subjects once they returned to Thornthwaite—the squirrels, the sea-birds, the otters. Another sketch, more wild and free against the soaring clouds, of the falcon in a dive.

She’d do some portraits, too, She had always drawn what she most loved…which was why the sketchbook now included several studies of Rafe.

She wasn’t yet satisfied with any of them. Perhaps she never would be with any she made of him. How could she ever adequately capture his warmth, his kindness? The way a mere glance from him could light her senses on fire?

Fortunately, as she wasn’t ready to show him any of her portrait attempts, she didn’t need a live model. She need only close her eyes to recall every dear feature of his face, every bold line of his body, while the echo of his voice, his laugh, filled her ears.

As she hoped, she thought, touching the slight round of her stomach, his child would soon be filling her belly.

She had picked up her book again, determined to while away what might be a number of hours before he returned—who knew how long his colleagues would keep him to ‘rehearse’—when she heard the sound of his footsteps approaching.

Pushing away any disturbing thoughts, she let delight and a wave of sensual awareness wash through her. The best part of the day was about to begin.

Spying her in the chair, he paused on the threshold. ‘Juliana! I thought you would be long asleep by now.’

‘I’m too excited about your presentation tomorrow to sleep,’ she said, walking over to embrace him. ‘I’m glad your friends didn’t keep you too late. You shall want to look alert and interested when you take your seat.’

He leaned down to nuzzle the bare skin at her neck. ‘Unless my wife keeps me up late. Which will make it worth arriving tired and muzzy.’

‘Well…maybe not too late.’ Detaching herself, she walked over to pour him a glass of wine and bring it back to the table beside the bed.

As was usual of late, they dispensed with their valet and maid in the evenings, enjoying the process of disrobing each other. He stilled while she pulled off his coat, untied his cravat, then knelt to pull down his evening trousers and slide off and remove them and his socks and shoes. As he stepped out of them, clad now in his long shirt, she waved him to the bed.

‘Make yourself comfortable while I put these away.’

‘Leave them on the chair. Haverton can deal with them tomorrow. If I must have a valet, I can at least give him something to do.’

‘He’ll need to brush the coat and shine the shoes, which should be sufficient employment.’

Though it wasn’t concern for the valet that led her to whisk the garments into the dressing room. Once inside, she dropped her own dressing gown onto the floor and carefully donned the heavy Parliamentary robe.

Tying the silk ribbons in front to hold it in place, she walked back into the bedchamber, her short stature increasing the length of the train sweeping behind her. Stopping by the bed, she said, ‘The material is so glorious, I couldn’t resist. Indeed, it’s quite a shame you must wear garments beneath it. So you cannot feel…this.’

Parting the robe so he could see she was naked beneath it, she rubbed the lining against her chest. ‘Silk…it feels so sensuous against the skin. But not as delightful as this.’

Pulling the robe father apart, she clutched the front and rubbed the band of fur over her breast, leaning her head back to enjoy the delicate softness of the fur against her nipple.

‘It’s a travesty to deprive the senses of this. Or this,’ she continued, rubbing the fur down her belly, to the junction of her thighs. ‘Softness without…increasing the desire for hardness within.’