Page 24 of Seducing the Marquess (Lords and Ladies in Love 1)

The next morning Lady Wentworth stood in the drawing room, where most of the guests had gathered, to announce they would all enjoy a picnic. She went on to assure the ladies there would be plenty of shade to protect their fair skin, and servants to fetch and carry so they need not exert themselves.

Eugenia studied Devon from where she sat on a settee near the French doors as he leaned against a pillar in the elaborate room and spoke with Lord Bessborough. She still had to bite her lip to keep from laughing over his debacle the previous evening. She had no idea why he had ended up in the predicament at the dinner table, but it had been so unlike him to cause such a scene.

Later that evening, as they mounted the steps to their bedchamber, he’d brushed it off when she’d questioned him about it. She’d seen him more than once studying her and Lord Fordwich, who she’d discovered was a lecher underneath that shy façade. A number of times she had been forced to lean away from him when he insisted on mumbling in her ear.

Nothing the man had said was worth a whisper, but politeness kept her from stabbing him in the leg with her dinner fork. She also sincerely doubted there was a problem with the catch on her necklace that he’d insisted on correcting. It had most likely been him attempting to “fix” her necklace that had instigated Devon’s mishap.

Instead of Devon helping her to undress as she’d planned, he managed to snare another of the guest’s maids to assist. He must have stood at the top of the stairs and grabbed the first servant who’d wandered past. Her nightly ministrations complete, she’d climbed into bed, expecting him to join her, but awoke in the middle of the night to find him snoring softly alongside her. Annoyed that she had fallen asleep before he’d retired, she slid over and enjoyed the warmth from his body.

Once the sun had risen enough to peek through the drapes to wake her, however, he’d been gone. How he’d managed to dress without her hearing him remained a mystery. There were still a few more nights to the party, and she hoped to use the advice from her book to at least make it difficult for him to continue to treat her like a fragile doll.

And she definitely did not want him searching for another mistress. She had no idea how long such a process took. It frustrated her that proper women knew so little of the workings of the darker side of life. How she wished she could merely tell Devon she would be his mistress from now on.

Lady Wentworth clapped her hands. “The carriages are ready to drive us to the lake. Ladies, gather your things. I think the gentlemen have decided to ride horses to the picnic.”

Eugenia walked with Lady Jane and Lady Mildred to the carriages. Devon took the reins of one of Wentworth’s geldings from a groom, swung his leg over the horse, and settled into the saddle. Eugenia couldn’t help but appreciate how he sat a horse. She felt decadent admiring the ripple of muscles from his powerful thighs and tight bottom as he controlled the animal with his knees. Luckily she had brought her fan and made use of it.

The ladies all climbed into the carriages and, with squeals of laughter and joking, they were off. The men galloped ahead, then pulled back to chat with one or two of the ladies. Within ten minutes they arrived at the picnic site.

The servants had been busy. This was not at all similar to the wonderful alfresco meal she and Devon had shared. Under lush shade trees, tables and chairs had been set up, covered with linen tablecloths, fine china, crystal, and silver. At one time Eugenia would not have even thought twice about it, but now she was seeing life in a different way—thanks to her book—and this hardly seemed like a picnic. She’d enjoyed her time with Devon, sitting on the ground and eating from the basket. Most likely the other ladies would be scandalized to know she’d enjoyed such a thing.

It seemed she was now questioning just about everything in her life. All matters she’d taken for granted. How she’d been raised, what her parents’ expectations had been for her life. The type of a marriage she’d been trained for. Why women

couldn’t enjoy the marriage bed the way men did. Maybe everything she’d learned her whole life had been a lie. A startling thought, that.

Although she had joked with Devon, perhaps one day a woman would sit in Parliament! The outrageous thought had her cheeks flushing. She darted a look around as if her ruminations were visible on her face. No one paid her any attention, except Devon, who had handed the horse’s reins to a groom and headed in her direction.

Her heart fluttered, and she felt like grinning. Ordinarily, he would have joined the other men and allowed one of the footmen to help her out of the carriage. “Thank you, my lord.” She took his hand and stepped down.

She drew in a breath when he kissed her hand. “My dear, perhaps after five months of marriage you might call me Devon, rather than ‘my lord’?”

Eugenia just stared at him. Had he found her book? Things were certainly changing between them. Smiling brightly, she took his proffered arm and strolled with him toward the picnic area.

Leaning close to her ear, he said, “I think I prefer our picnic yesterday.”

For the first time in her life, she felt like a young girl in love, one of the silly chits who graced the ballrooms each new Season. She had to quell her desire to giggle and flirt. With her own husband!

“Say, old man, how about a game of pall mall?” Lord Darby addressed Devon, with Lords Althrop and Spencer behind him, mallets and colorful balls in their hands.

“Do you mind, my dear?” Devon turned to her and patted her hand that rested on his arm.

Feeling a bit miffed since she’d only just gained her husband’s attention, she started to answer her usual, “not at all, my lord,” but then, before she even gave it proper thought, said, “May I play as well?”

Of course, she’d seen women play pall mall, but she had never been one to engage in any game more strenuous than whist.

“Ho. Competition between the spouses?” Lord Althrop said, slapping Devon on the back.

“Are you sure?” Devon asked. It was hard for her to ascertain if it was surprise or irritation on his face. Never before had she inserted herself into an activity where she had not been invited.

“I have never participated before, but I’ve seen it played any number of times.” At numerous picnics she would have liked to play, but Mother had always reminded her that true ladies did not partake in any sort of activity that would cause fatigue. As if walking around with a mallet in one’s hand and tapping a ball was strenuous. Why had she blindly accepted all of that? She raised her chin. “Yes. I would like to try it.”

Once the game began, she realized this was the perfect time for her to use her newly gained skills to disturb her usually unflappable husband. “Can you show me how to hold the mallet?”

Devon walked behind her, surrounding her with his arms. He wrapped his hands around hers on the mallet. “Here, move your hands a bit,” he murmured.

The warmth of his breath on her neck produced a wave of gooseflesh, definitely distracting her. In retaliation, she purposefully shifted her hips to rub her backside against his leg as she rearranged her position. Devon jumped back as if burned. She bit her lip to keep from grinning. “Like this?” Turning her head, she smiled sweetly over her shoulder.

“Yes. Yes. I think you have it now.” Devon stepped to the side as he watched her swing. “Very good, my dear. You are doing just fine.” He strode from her to lift a glass of ale sitting on a small table near where they played, finishing it in one gulp.