Page 51 of Only Scandal Will Do

She did not like the sound of that. What was he going to propose?

“I thought you might like to tour the house and stables. There is a connecting walkway so we will not get very wet.” There was a hopeful look in his eye that she did not really want to contemplate, but his benign suggestion reminded her she should be shown the rest of the house.

“That will suit me well enough this morning,” she replied, carefully keeping enthusiasm out of her voice. It was becoming harder and harder to remember to dislike the marquess in his current mood. He was quite handsome, with that small smile still turning up one corner of his full, sensual mouth.

She caught herself staring and dropped her gaze to her plate. He might have gotten his way as far as their marriage was concerned, but she would resist his seductive charms until she could better gauge his true nature. A resolve she already found difficult to maintain.

When Dalbury finished eating, he offered his arm and they set off to explore the wonders of the larder and kitchen, drawing room and receiving room, ballroom and stable. He proved an able guide, giving just enough information about each room without becoming tedious.

Despite her determination, Katarina found herself impressed with the townhouse: the structure, dating back to 1725, was among the earliest houses built on the fashionable square. It boasted seven bays and three stories of smooth gray brick. The appointments throughout were lavish but of impeccable taste, from the blue and gold relief work on the ceiling of the ballroom, to the rich Persian carpets strewn throughout the house, to the delicate peach and cream fabrics in the lady’s retiring room on the main floor.

There, Dalbury’s voice softened when he explained, “This was my mother’s favorite room. She wrote letters at that escritoire.” He motioned to the petite writing desk, its warm cherry tones glowing in the reflected light of the fire. “Or embroidered in front of the window. She would watch Juliet and me run to the park in summer.” A hint of sadness flickered across his face, drawing his brows and hollowing his cheeks momentarily. “But we must continue to the stables,” he continued, seamlessly changing the subject. “Our luncheon will be waiting for us soon.”

The stables provided a breath of fresh, if damp, air, and spacious accommodations for horses, carriages, grooms and coachmen.

“How many horses do you have, my lord?” These stables reminded her of life in Virginia, where she had grown up with horses. In spite of herself, she grew animated at Dalbury’s comments.

“There are two sets of matched carriage horses. And seven others for riding. This is my favorite,” he said, stroking the neck of a tall chestnut stallion, which stamped and swished his black tail. “I have had Saxon for five years now. The grooms said he missed me dreadfully when

I was in Italy last year. But I’m going to make that up to him, aren’t I, old boy?”

As if he understood, Saxon whinnied and lipped Dalbury’s arm. The marquess fished about in a pocket and brought out a couple of lumps of sugar. “No, I didn’t forget.” He offered the treat and rubbed Saxon’s nose.

“He’s magnificent, my lord. Have you bred him yet?”

The question slipped out, quite naturally. She had grown up with horses, talked about them constantly with her brother and father. But she winced as she realized her question might lead her husband’s thoughts along a similar line.

Dalbury’s eyes widened, but he didn’t seem offended. “Yes, twice. Over in the two end stalls are his progeny. Balthazar and Romeo.”

“Romeo?”

Dalbury grinned. “Only to annoy Juliet.”

“And does she ride him?”

His eyes twinkled, and her heart started pounding. “It sounds rather risque but yes, Juliet

rides Romeo every chance she gets.”

Kat dissolved into a fit of laughter and hung onto the stall for support. “You have a devilish sense of humor, Lord Dalbury. You quite put me in mind of my brother sometimes.”

She sobered a bit and asked, “Am I to be allowed to ride as well?”

Mouth pursed, he stepped back. “Of course. I am well aware of your fondness for riding and would certainly not deny you that or any other pleasure I might provide for you.”

Although she’d feared a leer at that last remark, Dalbury must not be playing that game today, for his face showed only an almost boyish hurt.

“Which mount should I take then, my lord?”

He surprised her by clasping her hand and leading her down the stalls to a tall roan mare with a white star on her forehead. “This is Stella.”

Immediately enchanted with the graceful animal, Kat stroked the proud neck. Delighted, she turned to Dalbury. “She is beautiful. You have had her long?”

“But two days.” He gazed deeply into Kat’s eyes, kneaded her hand in his strong fingers and in a low-pitched voice said, “I bought her the day we were wed. She is my wedding present to you.”

She formed an “O” with her mouth but no sound emerged. Her heart beat a staccato rhythm in her chest that she was sure Dalbury could hear. He simply continued to gaze at her, running his thumb lightly over her knuckles. As if bewitched, she drew closer to him, until only a hair’s breadth of space remained between them. Head tipped back, she stared into his warm, nutmeg-brown eyes. Breathing became little silent gasps, as she was afraid to draw a deep breath lest he notice her agitation. He raised a finger and smoothed a stray lock of her hair back into place then let his hand linger, cupping the back of her head. At his touch she began to tremble, in fear or something else, she did not know. Did not care.

Mouth suddenly gone dry, she swallowed, and parted her lips to speak. He hovered above her, his breath in her mouth hot, moist, sweet. She breathed deeply, aware as never before of the rich, comforting aroma of the stables mingled intimately with his distinctive scent of citrus soap and male musk. The rasp of his breathing sounded low and steadier than hers. The strong clasp of his hand around hers, the heat pouring through her like a molten river where they touched, sent a surge of longing throughout her body. If she just raised her head, even slightly, his lips would be on hers and--