Regency Surrender: Scandal And Deception. Marguerite Kaye
in the silk flowers.
The maid nodded, then grinned at her. ‘It is very pretty, your ladyship. And I think Lord Fanworth will like it very much.’
Apparently so. He had heard this interchange as well and had manoeuvred himself so he might stare at her through the open doors of the changing room.
His valet was there as well, framed in the doorway. His eyes were fixed rigidly on the floor as he removed my lord’s boots.
Before marriage, Margot had managed quite well in two rooms with no maid. How things had changed. It was a shock to admit it, but even with the new door, the situation in Fanworth’s house seemed rather cramped. If he wished her to dress as a lady and maintain a shred of modesty in front of the staff, there was no way to share a changing room with her husband and a servant a piece.
A short time later, Stephen dismissed his valet and appeared in the doorway of her room. He was wearing the same dressing gown she had borrowed on their first night together. Despite the sheer gown she was wearing, her skin grew hot at the sight of him.
He glanced at her maid with a raised eyebrow and made a little shooing motion to signify that the girl was dismissed.
‘We are not finished combing out my hair,’ Margot argued.
‘Let me help.’ He said it as if there was no greater joy than to wait upon her. Then he took his place behind her dressing table and picked up a silver-handled brush, drawing it slowly through her curls.
Her eyes met his in the reflection of the mirror. In reflex, her nipples tightened with desire.
He noticed and smiled. Then he quickly plaited her hair and offered his hand to lead her to the bed. They had not gone two steps before she had pressed herself against him, demanding and receiving a kiss. The rest of the short journey was a staggering, stumbling laughing tangle of bodies that collapsed as their knees made contact with the mattress. Only then did he part from her long enough to look into her eyes.
‘Your maid was right. I like this. Very much.’ His fingers danced over the lace yoke of her gown, touching skin through the netting.
‘You heard?’ she said.
‘It was impossible not to. We are rather cramped,’ he admitted.
‘And I suppose your valet heard as well?’ Worse yet, he might have seen her.
Stephen kissed her ear. ‘Barker does not see or hear anything I do not wish him to.’
How like an aristocrat, to think that he controlled the senses of his household. ‘All the same, I would feel more comfortable if we could seek out larger apartments, so that the poor man will have nothing to ignore.’
Her husband did not answer immediately. He had become distracted with the lace again, trying to taste her breasts through the mesh. When he finally raised his head, they were both quite out of breath. ‘Do not worry yourself over it. Summer is half over. We will not be here much longer.’
Suddenly, she was not the least bit distracted by his attentions. ‘And where are we likely to go?’
‘Where does anyone go? London, for the Season,’ he said, taking one of her hands and kissing her arm from fingertips to shoulder, lingering for a moment to toy with the bracelet still twined about her wrist. ‘And my home in Derbyshire for autumn and Christmas. The house there has all the room you could want.’
‘But my work is here,’ she said. She had waited patiently to be of age so that she might return from school and take up the family business. She had no intention to quit it in little more than a year. ‘I have a shop to run.’
‘We will be shutting that, at the end of summer, when we leave,’ he said, as though it was something that had been discussed and agreed upon.
‘Will we?’ she said.
‘It is only common sense,’ he responded, completely oblivious to her rising temper.
‘Is it?’ she said.
‘What else would we do?’ He was undoing the little pearl buttons at her throat, preparing to remove her gown.
What else would they do? She was not sure she had an answer to that. But she had hoped, when the time came, she would have some part in making the decision. She prepared her argument.
And then, she noticed, for the first time in ages, he had been speaking freely and ignoring the small stammers, just as she did when she listened to him. If she chose to fight him, now of all times, she might lose this closeness, yet again.
He had said they would not leave until the end of summer. That meant she had time to persuade him. And judging by the solid feel of his member pressing against her leg, she had means to persuade him that she had not yet exercised. She reached to his waist and untied the sash of his dressing gown. ‘Lord Fanworth?’ she said, teasing his lips with hers.
‘Lady Fanworth?’ he responded, capturing them so he might kiss her.
She pulled away. ‘Do you love me?’
‘Did I not tell you so?’ He seemed surprised that she would ask.
‘I wish to hear it again,’ she said.
‘I would rather show you,’ he said, stripping the gown over her head and tossing it to the end of the bed.
She placed her hand lightly on his lips, stopping them before he could kiss her again. ‘But first, you must say the words. It is our fourth night together, after all. If you wish me to release you from our agreement...’
He growled. ‘By morning, you will beg me to renegotiate.’
‘But tonight...’ she reminded him. ‘Arouse me with words.’
He gave in without further struggle. ‘I love you. I worship you. I adore you.’ He paused to kiss his way down her belly. ‘Since the first moment I met you, I have been yours to command.’
To test him, she spread her legs and guided his lips to where she most wished to be kissed. And as he promised, he worshipped her. Tomorrow, she would hold him to his promise and command that they keep her business. But tomorrow was a long time away. For the moment, she was lost in the present.
The next day, Margot glanced around the shop, as if she had never seen it before, trying to memorise every last inch of it. She meant to broach the subject of its future tonight, at dinner. But if Stephen was adamant that it was just a brief diversion to be cast aside at the end of summer, she must savour every moment here.
She smiled grimly. Of course, if he thought such nonsense, he did not know her as well as he thought. With the servants she had been firm. With Arthur she had been violent. But with her dear Lord Fanworth there was a much more pleasurable way to work him ’round to seeing things her way.
She had no intention of closing, now that business was increasing again. After the previous evening’s party, she’d had a steady stream of customers interested in seeing the source of the jewels that had been worn by the notorious Marchioness of Fanworth.
To ease their minds about a titled lady in trade, she had retired to the private salon and plied them with tea and cakes, before selling stock and taking orders. By mid-afternoon, she had rough sketches for several custom projects to give to Miss Ross so that the girl might practise carving wax for the moulds. The front counter had sold so many buckles, hairpins and snuffboxes that it had needed restocking twice. It was the most profitable day she’d had all season.
Fanworth would be appalled.
She smiled. It was good that she had not followed her first instinct and flatly refused to obey. After an hour in her gauze-draped bed, he showed no interest in discussing the demise of her life’s dream. After a week, it was possible that he would not even remember having suggested it. And after a