A Lady of Persuasion (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #3)(58)

Bel breathed a sigh of relief. He was right, she didn’t feel up to a grand welcome just now.

“And”—Toby pushed open one half of a set of double doors—“I directed them to bring your things here for the time being, to my suite.” Ushering her inside with a rakish smile, he added,

“After all, it’s not as though we’re going to sleep apart.”

“We aren’t?”

“Well, I—” He paused. “That is, unless you wish to, in which case I’ll—”

“No,” she interrupted, sorry to have caused him doubt. “No, this is fine.” She wished she hadn’t blurted the question out, but it was something that had already been on her mind. They’d slept in the same bed every night of their marriage thus far, but Bel had been uncertain whether it was merely a honeymoon arrangement or a habit in the making.

The latter, she hoped. She liked having him nearby. Heavens, what a wanton she was becoming! She would have thought her desire for him might have waned, now that the elements of curiosity and novelty had been removed.

But no. Not waning at all. Waxing by the day.

“At any rate,” she said, “it looks as though four or five of us could fit in that.” She gestured toward the bed—an enormous, ancient four-poster affair with golden velvet draperies and a jewel-toned coverlet. It was a bed fit for a king … and a queen. And a handful of courtiers besides.

“Ah, yes. The ancestral bed.” Toby walked over to it and sat, bouncing on the high mattress.

“Now this bed truly is centuries old, even if Wynterhall is not. I think my great-great uncle must have built the entire house around it.” He patted the space next to him, and Bel accepted the invitation to sit. “Yes, this bed has served its purpose well. Generations of Aldridge heirs have been conceived under this canopy.”

Taking her hand in his, he flopped on his back, leaving her no choice but to do the same. She could hear the devilish grin in his voice as he said, “I shall do my best to make you pregnant in this bed.”

Bel’s cheeks burned as she stared up at the embroidered canopy. “What a thing to say.” She refrained from adding, if the past week had not constituted his best attempts at making her pregnant, she was quite uncertain what more to expect.

“But first,” Toby said, releasing her hand and struggling up on his elbows, “we really must have something to eat. I did give instructions… Ah, there it is. I knew she would not disappoint.” He rose from the bed. Bel turned on her side in preparation to follow, but he stilled her with a gesture. “No, stay right there. I’ll just bring the tray.”

“Are we to have a picnic, then?” Bel rose to a sitting position, kicking off her slippers and folding her legs under her skirts. She unbuttoned the restrictive spencer of her traveling habit and laid it aside, leaving her dressed in a chemisette and skirt.

“Just so.” Toby returned, balancing a covered tray on one hand. Bel drank in the sight of him. When this marvelous castle had come into view, she’d lost eyes for anything but Wynterhall. But now, Toby recaptured her full attention. With his untied cravat slung loose around his neck, his hair mussed, his skin aglow with sun and exertion … she could have told him to skip the picnic and proceed straight to dessert.

But that just wasn’t something Bel could say. She was a bit shocked at herself for even thinking it.

“Mrs. Tremaine will have my head,” he said, uncovering the tray and setting it in the center of the bed. “She’s likely prepared a ten-course feast downstairs, and here I’m serving you cold chicken and bread as your first meal at Wynterhall.”

“Oh, it’s perfect.” Bel broke off a piece of bread and bit into it gratefully. She reached for a leg of chicken. Until he’d placed the food before her, she hadn’t realized how hungry she was.

“Good,” he said, chuckling. “Good. Eat up, darling. This is why I requested simple fare. I knew you’d not eat a morsel if it was accompanied by too much pomp and display.” He sliced into a small wheel of cheese and held out a wedge to her. Her hands occupied with bread and chicken, she accepted the bite with her teeth.

Absurdly, her eyes misted as she chewed that little bit of cheese. Such an intimate, caring, husbandly gesture. He was right, she would never have accepted a bite of food from his fingers, had they been seated at table in an opulent dining room. Toby had known just the way to make her feel immediately comfortable in his home. She had simply grown comfortable with him.

After they ate, Toby cleared the tray and returned to the bed. “Now,” he said. “How are you feeling? Are you certain you are unharmed after the … after the incident earlier?”

“Yes, quite certain.”

“Shall I ring for your maid? Perhaps you’d like to undress, bathe, sleep …?”

“All three, eventually—but I’m in no rush.”

He cocked his head. “Are you still feeling frightened? Do you need me to hold you?”

She smiled. “I’m not frightened anymore.” But oh, how I need you to hold me.

“That’s fortunate. Because I’m still a bit rattled, truthfully, and I think I need to be held.”

Reclining, he laid his head in her lap. “There, that’s much better.”

She smoothed the hair from his forehead.