Mastering The Marquess (Bound and Determined #1)(83)

One more question among the many.

Rising from the bed, she grabbed Geoffrey’s robe and strolled to her own chamber. A pot of cooling chocolate sat upon the table. Should she instruct her maid to start bringing it to Geoffrey’s chamber? She’d spent the last two nights there. Was this a pattern for the future?

She poured a cup of the chocolate and mixed it with milk and sugar. Although somewhat tepid, the chocolate glided down her throat, coating it with rich sweetness. Each swallow restored a bit of life, renewed a bit of hope.

Reaching out, she rang for her maid, and asked her for a hot bath. She certainly needed one after last night. Every muscle ached and no matter how much she might have enjoyed the scents of their joining, some things grew quickly stale.

How should she scent the water? Her usual lemon soap and vanilla oil? It brought comfort and familiarity. She could use a few drops of the rose perfume. Geoffrey did seem to like it, but it was not a scent for day.

Lemon and vanilla for now, but she would need to visit the perfumer soon, perhaps even today. She felt a new woman, and a new woman needed a new scent.

“I’ll wear the yellow silk day dress, Marie,” she said as the bath was filled. “Do you know where the marquess is? Has he gone riding?”

Marie looked up from her task. “I believe that he is in the library, my lady. He rode early and then breakfasted. Now I believe he is closeted with his account books.”

“Thank you.” So he was here. There was no reason not to talk to him—except what did one say? This could be as awkward as her conversation with Lady Ormande. Well, perhaps that was unlikely, but it could still prove difficult.

But it was time to talk, time to face things straight on. The woman who had stood at Madame Rouge’s door a few months ago had done what needed to be done. It was time to prove that she was still that woman.

Dropping the robe, she stepped into the bath. Was there a better place to think than a tub of hot bubbles?



Geoffrey looked up as, with a light tap on the door, Louisa walked into the room. It threw him for the briefest of moments; no one entered this room without his summons. She, however, was not “no one.” He could picture her response if he told her to wait for his call.

She was lovely this morning, the light silk of her dress highlighting her pale complexion and dark, glossy hair. Her lips were red and slightly swollen. Her eyes were slightly shadowed, but that only added to her fragility and allure. Each step she took was chosen with care, and he wondered if he had left her sore. The thought should not have excited him, but his cock moved against his thigh. And her nipples. They’d been so chafed the night before; did the very touch of her chemise send ripples of sensation through her?

He smiled in acknowledgment, shifting in his chair, glad that the heavy desk kept some things from her sight. “And how are you this morning, my wife?” He gestured her to a chair.

She smiled back at him, and then chose a different chair, one more directly in his line of sight. “I am quite well, my lord. And you?”

“I am also well. I was concerned you might be … a trifle worn after last night.”

“No. I am quite well.”

A bird chirped outside the window.

The sound of hurrying footsteps sounded from the hall.

“The day is quite lovely, is it not, my lord? I do love midsummer.”

“Yes, early July is quite an accommodating time of month. I sometimes visit Risusgate so that I can enjoy the country when the weather is so fair.”

“And such a wonderful way to escape the coming heat.”

“Yes, the country can be quite a bit cooler, and there is always a good breeze.”

“I have heard that. I must confess that Brookingston’s home tended to be rather humid and damp in the summer. But the gardens were spectacular. My roses were among the best in the county.”

“And are you partial to roses?”

“Yes, although I’ve always preferred the whites and yellows to the reds and pinks. They seem so underappreciated.”

He stretched his legs beneath the desk. “I must confess I’ve never considered the appreciation factor of roses.”

“You should look about. Hostesses always have the reds and the pinks, and sometimes the whites, but almost never the newer yellows.” And then Louisa’s cheeks curved up, a smile lit her face, and a slow, rich chuckle fell from those full lips. “I can’t believe I am talking about flowers with you. I think we’ve talked more this morning than at almost any other time, and it has all been flowers and weather. That is not what I came in here to talk about.” Her face grew serious again, her lips losing their curve.

“I know.” He leaned forward. “And yet, it is not a bad thing to just talk about that which matters little. I fear I do not spend enough of my life in such talk.” He loosed a slow sigh. “I seem to spend all my time being serious.”

“Not all your time, I trust. You do seem to find time for some other … activities.” Was that a hint of the smile upon her cheek again? Did she have a dimple?

“No, I fear that mostly I have been serious about those activities also.”

“Truly?”

“Truly.”

The bird chirped again.

Three seconds.

Five seconds.

Ten.

Thirty.

He glanced at the door to the hallway. She had shut it tight behind her, and he knew his servants were too well trained to eavesdrop. “You are not sore from last night? I know you said that you are well, but I cannot help but worry. That was not how a gentleman should treat his wife.”