Secrets Of The Marriage Bed

She blinked. ‘I have never seen one, but I have heard of them, of course.’

‘Old Brewster, the inventor, gave me a demonstration. They are remarkable. Fascinating, in fact. Turned out to be a profitable investment, too.’ He smiled at her. ‘A kaleidoscope of butterflies.’ He nodded. ‘That is it. A perfect description.’

My word, her husband actually seemed to have a little romance in his soul. What a revelation. ‘I should like to see if your analogy is correct.’

He sipped thoughtfully on his sherry. ‘Perhaps one day you will.’

Silence fell, but it contained no awkwardness. She leaned back against the cushions. ‘How long will it take to reach Sackfield from here?’

‘Three hours if the weather remains fair. Can you bear it?’

‘I hope so. Though I find it tedious in the extreme to be imprisoned all the livelong day.’

An expression flickered across his face. She wished she could read him. She had no idea why he had reacted to what she had said, when he so rarely reacted to anything at all, or why was he being so charming now, when for days he’d been positively brusque in their dealings.

Could he be missing the company of his mistress? Another little stab of jealousy under her ribs took her aback.

She forced a smile. ‘Perhaps I will invite Robins to travel with me tomorrow as a diversion.’

He tilted his head, his eyes dancing with amusement, his lips curving in a wry smile. ‘You would prefer your dresser’s company to mine?’

Mouth agape, she stared at him. Now he wanted to ride with her? Because she’d been ill? Most gentlemen would run a mile. Perversity was this man’s middle name. ‘But—’ She swallowed her protest along with her frustration—something she knew all too well how to do in the face of a husband’s odd ways—and smiled instead. ‘I would delight in your company, Your Grace, if that is your wish.’ She’d be thrilled. It had been her initial plan, after all. ‘Though I do not wish to discommode you.’

If he came unwillingly, with ill humour, it would not suit her purposes at all, though teasing the man out of a bad mood might have rewards. Another man, perhaps. With Alistair she wasn’t sure how he would react. She wasn’t sure of anything with regard to her husband.

‘Thor will appreciate the rest.’

Of course, his horse. Well, that certainly put her in her place. She quelled the dart of pain and smiled brightly. ‘Then I will look forward to your company. We could read poetry to each other for entertainment.’

His expression of horror, quickly masked, made her want to laugh. It also made her feel a little guilty, but really, didn’t he deserve a little torment?

But perhaps he’d noticed her amusement, for he was now eyeing her speculatively, the way a fox might eye a henhouse. ‘I hope you will allow me to select something we will both enjoy.’

A quick recovery. Judging from the teasing light in his eyes he had something wicked in mind. ‘What do you suggest?’

‘Why don’t I surprise you?’

Everything that had come out of his mouth this evening had been a surprise. A pleasant one. The man could be utterly charming when he wished. ‘Very well.’ Though she sensed a trap, she thought it would be interesting to see what he had planned. Certainly she would far prefer his company to that of Robins. She could only hope he would not return to his usual taciturn self in the morning, because it was distraction she needed, if she was to survive more hours trapped inside a box on wheels.

Though hopefully she would not be ill again.

The door opened to reveal Grindle. ‘Dinner is served, Your Grace.’ He bowed them into the dining room.

‘Did you travel with your chef as well as with your butler?’ she asked, seeing the array of dishes awaiting them on the table.

Alistair raised a brow. ‘I have standards to maintain and a finicky appetite. Given my consequence, what else would I do?’

Her jaw dropped. She’d been jesting. ‘Really? Is that not doing it a bit too brown?’

He laughed and his face changed from coldly handsome to gorgeous and alive. Her heart tumbled, not at his handsomeness but at how approachable he seemed in that moment. An odd sense welled in her chest, a feeling of tenderness. A sense that behind the chilly demeanour resided a man who cared more than he liked to reveal. If she could find a way to reach that man... The idea caused her heart to still.

Hand on the small of her back, he guided her to her seat and held her chair. ‘I bring Grindle because he has family nearby and of course my valet and your dresser and a couple of footmen, but not my chef. The cook at Sackfield would not approve.’ He helped her to sit, leaning close enough for her to feel his warm breath on her cheek. ‘You know, your face shows your every thought, your surprise, your puzzlement.’

Glad she had her back to him so he could not read her most recent thoughts, she fought for composure as he moved to the adjacent seat. ‘I am glad you find me entertaining.’ And...there it was, sarcasm, her defence against hurt.

He moved around to his chair. ‘You have a saucy mouth.’

She froze, terrified that she had ruined the evening. ‘I beg your pardon. I did not mean to be rude.’ Or shrewish.

He frowned.

She held her breath. Would he send her from the room in disgrace as her husband had done on more than one occasion? She clenched her hands on her lap. Or would he find more subtle means of punishment?

He gestured to the table. ‘I hope you do not mind the informality. There are only the two of us dining and we can be more comfortable serving ourselves.’

Confused by the sudden change of subject, she nodded her assent.

* * *

Alistair couldn’t remember when he had enjoyed a dinner more. He’d thought he’d become immune to the need for companionship. Then Julia had come along and was giving life to feelings he’d frozen out of existence.

A tide of longing rushed along his veins and stole his breath. Longings that belonged to a time when he’d been young and naive. Before he’d understood how badly a man could be led astray by his primitive urges. Before he learned first-hand how easily women pretended they cared for a man to suit their own ends. Never again would he be taken in. Especially not by the woman who was now his wife.

Bleakness filled him. The idyllic boy he’d once been didn’t want to be always alone.

Alone was better than giving in to a weakness that could be used against him. He’d had enough of being used to last a lifetime.

Civility, common courtesy between them, had to be enough to see them through this marriage.

He picked up his wine glass. ‘To our summer idyll and butterflies.’

Her smile lit up her face, filled the dark-panelled room with brightness. ‘A whole kaleidoscope full of butterflies.’

Against his wishes, a chuckle rose up in his throat, the sound rusty to his ears. Life, the future, would be so much simpler if he liked her a whole lot less.

They each sipped their wine.

He carved the meat, she served the vegetables. He was surprised to see how much she ate, given her illness not so very long ago.

‘The food is excellent,’ she said as if guessing at his thoughts.

‘Yes. Bartlett’s wife has a reputation hereabouts.’

‘Needs must, given Your Grace’s finicky appetite.’

She was teasing again. When was the last time anyone had cared enough to tease him? And why did that matter?

‘I’m glad your appetite is recovered,’ he said.