Mastering The Marquess (Bound and Determined #1)(59)

Pushing herself up on the pillows, Louisa opened her eyes fully and looked about the chamber.

Aah, there was a tray on the table by the window. Light blue china domes, decorated with stars, covered the plates. The china matched the room. It was an amusing thought. Did Swanston have a different pattern for each chamber? Not that he would have chosen them; men didn’t think of such things.

Still, it was a lovely touch.

Smiling, she slid from the bed, letting the soft white folds of her gown surround her. It was amazing that she was still wearing it after the events of the night. Although nothing had been very adventurous—nothing like that other night.

The duke had been right: Swanston was a man of simple tastes. He liked everything quite straightforward.

A soft giggle slipped through her lips as she considered that phrase. Yes, straightforward was exactly how her husband liked it.

And while it might not be what she’d dreamed of after … She wasn’t going to think of that, not anymore. It was time to put the past in the past. She was married now. Swanston had been her choice, and she was going make it a good one.

The honey wood of the floors was warm beneath her feet as she walked to the table and poured chocolate and warm milk into a cup, adding a large scoop of sugar.

Perfect.

She lifted a dome and found two boiled eggs set in dainty cups and a rasher of bacon. A silver toast holder stood beside. Somebody knew that a bride was apt to be hungry in the morning.

She pulled out a cushioned chair and arranged herself so that she could stare out at the back garden as the sunshine falling through the window bathed her in its glow.

She stretched out her legs, curling and releasing the toes. A few more sips of chocolate and she would think about preparing for the day.

The thought stopped her. She hadn’t actually thought about what came after—and she was definitely in “after.”

If she was at home—in her house—she’d know what to do. First, she’d go over the menu plans with Cook. Then a general review of the household accounts and a discussion of staff and affairs with Mrs. Patterson, the housekeeper. Then it would be her secretary and a discussion of invitations and correspondence. She’d follow that with a good walk in the park, a few hours of reading or needlework, and tea with friends; then she’d dress for dinner and …

It had been a good life.

Nibbling another bite of toast—the apricot jam really was excellent—Louisa pursed her lips.

She didn’t suppose that life would actually be that different now. She still had to dress and she imagined she’d still have to choose what to eat. It might be more complicated in a house with a man, but she still remembered how to be sure that there was enough meat on the table and that the port decanter was full.

Her own house did present a worry, however. She hadn’t truly considered what she would do with it once she was married. It would have to be discussed with Swanston.

And where was her husband? She’d have to ask—after she finished her bacon.



Riding always cleared his head. A good canter through the park as the sun was rising could take care of even the worst overindulgence. Fresh air and exercise helped cleanse the soul—or so he’d been told. This morning, however, not even a full gallop through the morning mists was clearing or cleansing.

His head was still wrapped in cotton, his brain fogged. Swanston wasn’t even sure he could have separated up from down. And it was all his wife’s fault.

He’d been fine the night before, known just what he was doing, and now—blast!—now he just wasn’t sure.

If the night had been bad, been awful, he might have understood his unease. But it hadn’t been. It had been good—hell, more than good.

He hadn’t expected to enjoy such ordinary relations much at all, at least not beyond the orgasm. He’d expected to finish up and then return to his own bed, duty complete.

Instead he’d had a night like he hadn’t had in quite a while. He’d been randy as an old goat—and for his own wife.

Hell.

He had no idea what came next.

“Slow up there, Swanston.” The cry came from behind.

The gallop wasn’t doing anything for him anyway. Pulling the reins, Swanston slowed the horse as Duldon came up beside. “What?” He knew he sounded gruff.

“Now that’s not any way for a man to sound after his wedding night,” Duldon responded.

“And how should a man sound?”

“Not like he’s been sleeping on a bed of nails and is moving to one made of tacks.”

Swanston released a long sigh. “You do say the strangest things.”

“Don’t try to deflect my question.”

“I did not hear a question.”

“Was there some difficulty last night that has you looking so haggard and gray this morning? Perhaps things did not turn up—I mean ‘out’—as expected?”

Swanston dug his heels into the gelding, urging the beast to a faster pace. “I am not in the mood for your attempt at humor this morning.”

“That, I believe, is exactly my point. Should not a man be cheered after his wedding night? You won the lady—and her funds. Lady Brookingston was quite a prize.”

“Damn it, Duldon. You know better than to even suggest such a thing. And it’s Lady Swanston.”