Mastering The Marquess (Bound and Determined #1)(111)

Geoffrey had taken luncheon with his father—and it had not been horrible.

It had also given him something to think about besides his wife. These last few days of watching her recover had been hard. He was the one who’d put her in this position, who’d failed her, allowed her to be hurt.

But he’d had enough of such thoughts. Action was better, which was why he’d visited with the duke.

Granted, he now knew far more about llama breeding than he wanted to. And he wasn’t sure, but he might have approved the purchase of a new male and allowed that he might be let loose among the sheep on one of the northern estates.

Did he actually agree with his father that the beasts made excellent guard animals? He was afraid that he might. It had been years, if not decades, since he’d taken the duke’s word on anything, and yet he’d found himself believing him.

And when Bliss had come down from her room looking as if her night had been as long as his own, he had refrained from commenting, refrained from asking what trouble she’d managed to find. He hadn’t even commented that if her neckline were any lower she’d be popping right out. He’d merely looked away. There were some things no brother wished to see.

Would Louisa care? He’d done it for her—not that he would ever tell her. Her actions had made it clear that she wished him to get along with his family, and for her he was willing to try—to try anything. It might prove challenging, but was he not a man who sought out challenge?

He smiled to himself. That was a brave statement from a man who had just spent fifteen minutes standing at the foot of his own stairs because he did not know how to approach his own wife.

A loud meow drew his attention to the top of the stairs. Charlie, Louisa’s cat, sat there staring down.

“Was that an invitation or a warning, my boy?” Geoffrey found himself asking the cat.

The cat stared down, but did not answer.

“And why are you not in your mistress’s room, curled upon her bed? I do believe it is your prime napping hour.” Was he really talking to the cat? And how did he know that the cat was always asleep before the dinner hour? Had he truly paid that much attention?

Charlie meowed again.

“So you think I should get a move on?”

“Meow.”

Geoffrey laughed, long and hard. Yes, he was talking to the cat, and actually expecting an answer. Perhaps he was far more like his father than he knew. He didn’t even like cats.

He placed a booted foot on the first stair, and began his journey.

Charlie nodded his approval, and then turned and proceeded down the hall toward Louisa’s chamber.



Was she doing the right thing? She’d been tempted to put it off a little longer, to give life more time to settle into its usual patterns. But what were the usual patterns? And hadn’t they put things off too long already? Would their lives be different—better—today if they’d talked to each other honestly from the beginning?

There was no point in worrying. She was committed now.

It would have been easier if she’d spent the last nights in her husband’s bed, but she’d realized quickly that he was avoiding sleep for fear of accidentally harming her—at least she hoped that was why he’d been avoiding her. It was hard to miss the discomfort he exhibited the few times they’d talked. Madame Rouge had been correct. Geoffrey did feel guilty.

And so, Louisa had returned to her own bed to grant him a few days to come to terms with all that had happened, and herself a few days to recover. But now she was ready to return to his bed. More than ready.

Deep breath. Deep breath.

At least she didn’t hurt too badly anymore. Whatever magic herb Madame had given her to add to her bath had worked wonders. The backs of her legs and buttocks still ached, but everything else had become almost unnoticeable.

Looking about Geoffrey’s bedroom, she could only hope she had gotten it right. She’d debated whether to settle herself in her own room or his. Hers represented a place of safety to her and so she’d been tempted to stage the seduction there. But she would not be cowed. And perhaps he would be more comfortable in his own room.

And if Madame was right and Geoffrey was suffering from guilt—and based on his history with his mother it did not seem unlikely—then she needed to do everything she could to make him feel secure. It was an odd thought in regard to her authoritative husband, but she had seen so many signs of it over the last few days. He’d almost jumped at any chance to assure her comfort, to obey her wish.

She glanced about the room to make sure everything was just as she wanted it: the small fire laid in the grate—yes, it was much too warm, but it added a nice glow to the room; a light dinner under silver domes set on the table in front of it; the bed turned down and inviting; and the small pile of her favorite silk scarves on the table beside. She could only hope the maids had not imagined what she was planning when she’d asked for them.

Yes, everything looked perfect. She nodded to Marie and the other maid who’d helped with her plans, and with soft smiles they left the room, pulling the door closed behind them.

Now all she had to do was await her husband.

Or—the door handle turned—did she?



Swanston followed Charlie down the hall. The cat stopped before Louisa’s door, sniffed, and then moved on. He sat down before Swanston’s door, his tail thumping with impatience. He gave a single plaintive meow.