Page 50 of Scandalous Nights With the Earl

‘My lord.’ Her words were soft as she removed her hat and coat, and he hung them on the stand near the door. Tonight she was wearing an emerald-green silk gown, her hair loosely caught as it fell long down her back. The silk suited his intentions, as it was fastened at the front with only very few buttons, the neckline low and unfussy.

She didn’t appear as nervous as she had been this morning as he led her through to the dining room, the table set up already with a variety of cold meats, breads and warm vegetables beneath silver hoods.

‘The cook prepared a meal before she left.’

‘It looks tasty.’

As tasty as she was in the silk beneath the candles, her skin glowing and the slender column of her neck on show.

She was glancing around at the ancient family portraits on the walls now which were interspersed with landscapes of the Elmsworth estate through the different seasons. The colours were dark and sombre, he thought as he interpreted it all through her eyes; a room that caught the tones of his childhood and all of the loneliness there.

‘If paintings could talk, what stories these might tell,’ she said and smiled. ‘My parents had no interest in their ancestors, so it is lovely to observe all yours.’

A different way of seeing it all, then, but he was glad there was not a portrait of himself and Gretel on display. Crossing the room to find two glasses, he filled them with brandy. After he handed one to her he held his own up.

‘To us.’

He clinked his against hers even as he wondered just what that meant. Us? They had made no promises and demanded nothing from each other that might constitute a future. It was simply now. This moment. This night.

She wore no jewellery at all. Nothing she might leave here, no careless bauble that could be found and commented on. Nothing to trace what might happen between them. His body stiffened at the thought. He felt as much of a virgin as she probably did, years of celibacy, and now this.

He could not think of Gretel, either, because today he wanted her somewhere else, in a space that he did not inhabit. The freedom from his past made everything even sweeter as Willa’s perfume filled the space like an elixir. Gardenias and traces of violets.

‘I have it on good authority that my presence at the Kellands’ ball last night has dampened all rumours about me. I shall not be hounded from London, after all, and I have you to thank for making me at least turn up and not surrender by retreating to Elmsworth.’

‘I can’t really imagine you doing that.’

‘Oh, you might be surprised. People have often disappointed me.’

‘I know that feeling well.’ She made an effort to keep the anger from her words, given their present situation, for she did not wish the promise of delight to be reduced by a poor mood. No, she wanted everything he might show her about the pleasures of the flesh and the excitement of more. She shivered with the thought of it.

He led her over to the table and saw her seated. Then he took up his own place opposite. The light from the candles brought out the many shades in her hair, caramels, browns and chocolates. He loved the depths of her, the golden eyes and the gold too in her skin, a woman of contrast and aliveness. The rise of her breasts was easily seen over her decolletage. More temptation.

She was quieter tonight, her quick-fire wit buried beneath silence, and, picking up a plate, he offered her a selection of the meats. She took a few of the slices and watched him do the same. Then he removed the heated silver hoods and laid out the stuffed potatoes, threaded beans and caramelised carrots. Another board held warm freshly baked bread and softly whipped butter.

He had asked the cook to prepare a meal that could be placed on the table before they ate and he’d wanted a menu that was simple. This fare was exactly what he had ordered but he could barely taste it, other thoughts so much closer than food.

‘My friends the McAllistair sisters, whom you met at Elmsworth Manor, visited me today. They are shifting south to live.’

Ordinary words. He shook his head to concentrate and gave her an answer.

‘It will be warmer at least.’

‘I think the London house has become too big for them, but they have so many things that they will have to leave behind here it seems a shame.’

‘The world turns, I suppose, and people have to adapt.’ As he was trying to. Her lips were full and so very kissable.

‘Yet there are times when I wish it might simply stop.’

Did she mean now? He looked up. The piece of lamb he was chewing became drier and he swilled it down with the brandy. Perhaps he should have waited to eat until after the ‘delight’ but that seemed so calculated and deliberate somehow he had not thought to suggest it.

He didn’t want to frighten her or rush her, that was the problem. But she, too, had put her eating utensils down and wiped her mouth with a napkin, her tongue running over her top lip.

Fire coursed through him as he caught her glance and then he was standing next to her, helping her to do the same, taking her hand and laying a kiss in her palm.

‘I want you, Wilhelmina.’

He could no longer pretend interest in ordinary conversation or food.