Regency Surrender: Rebellious Debutantes: Lord Havelock's List / Portrait of a Scandal

And also, she’d like to see how he reacted when she walked around wearing a nightgown that revealed as much as it covered. With her hair loose, she suddenly decided, and flowing unbound all the way down her back to her waist. She’d wager he wouldn’t reprove her for not being modest. Given the way he was watching the blankets now, which were only just covering her breasts, he was more likely to enjoy the show.

But all she said was ‘That was very thoughtful of you.’ Because, to be fair, it did sound as if he’d actually thought about how she might feel. This once.

‘I will join you in a moment.’

After catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she had to steel herself to walk into the next room. It wasn’t as easy to walk about wearing attire that was outrageously seductive as it had been to roll about on the bed stark naked.

But she wasn’t, most definitely wasn’t, going to let him get away with claiming he wanted a modest bride, when his behaviour earlier had shown it was the exact opposite.

She made it to the threshold, and paused, certain that her face had gone the same shade of scarlet as the silken wrap. For it wasn’t only her husband who could see her in her scanty nightclothes. But also the two waiters who were setting out their supper.

‘Ah, here she is now,’ he said, drawing the eyes of the two male staff in her direction. Her face went a shade hotter as they looked her up and down before swiftly bending their heads to concentrate on their tasks.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, she now noticed that he wasn’t fully dressed at all, but only wearing his breeches and the shirt he’d earlier tossed on to the floor.

‘You can be off,’ he said to the waiters, without the slightest hint of self-consciousness. ‘I will serve my wife.’

She supposed people who worked in hotels must be used to having guests who wandered around half-dressed, at all hours of the day. Who’d very clearly spent most of the afternoon in bed. But she couldn’t bring herself to look their way as they melted out of the room, dreading what she might see written in their faces.

‘You certainly look like a bride now,’ said Lord Havelock, in a tone that had her lifting her head again. Just as she’d hoped, his eyes were gleaming with appreciation as they roamed her diaphanous gown.

‘How do you feel?’

Embarrassed. Rather foolish. Out of her depth, for trying to play the wanton, only to run aground on the shoals of slippery-eyed waiters.

He crossed the room to her, tilted her chin up with one finger and planted a brief kiss on her flaming cheek. And she no longer felt anything but aware of him, standing so close. His warm breath on her face. And the way he’d made her feel in the bed that was only a few faltering footsteps away.

But before she could summon up the words to express even a tithe of what she was feeling, her stomach rumbled. Rather loudly.

He grinned. ‘Hungry! Good. So am I. I hope you like what I’ve ordered,’ he said, taking her hand and leading her across to the table the waiters had been so busy over just moments before.

‘It...it certainly all looks lovely,’ she managed to stammer. The table had been set for two, with fine linen and sparkling crystal, delicate china and fresh flowers. The fire, she also noted, had been stoked up again so that the room was warm enough for them to sit about in a state of undress.

She was excruciatingly aware of his body now. Of exactly where it was and how it all felt. Whenever his legs so much as brushed against the hem of her nightgown, under the table, it brought back how they’d felt, pushing her own sleeker, softer legs apart. The muscles bunching and flexing as he’d...

He’d apparently lost the ability to talk, as well. In fact, the atmosphere reminded her very much of the time they’d striven in vain to make some sort of conversation over the supper table at the Crimmers’. Except that now it was charged with sexual awareness.

His as well as hers, she would stake her life on it.

He might be frowning as he spooned a helping of fricassee on to her plate, but it wasn’t the frown of an angry man. She’d spent years studying her father, learning his moods in the faint hope she could avoid the worst of them. And that frown wasn’t one of displeasure.

If anything, she would say he felt awkward. Though that was absurd! He’d wandered around earlier, ordering the waiters about as though it meant nothing....

But now they were alone.

And he’d readily admitted, that night at the Crimmers’, that he didn’t know how to converse freely with ladies.

Particularly not to ones he’d just married, apparently.

Perhaps it wasn’t so surprising he’d got friends to help him compile a list when he’d decided he had to get married.

Perhaps she’d overreacted when she’d found and read it. He hadn’t intended her to know he’d resorted to such lengths, after all.

And hadn’t she already decided that she ought not to dwell on how this marriage had come about? But to just make the most of what they had?

And when it came right down to it, wouldn’t she rather be married to him, with all his faults, than a glib-tongued man whose charm marked him down as a seasoned womaniser?

So she met his eye and gave him a tentative smile.

He smiled back, his shoulders dropping a good inch as some of his tension melted away.

I did that. I put him at ease.

Her aunt Pargetter had hinted that if their marriage was to be a happy one, it would be up to her. She hadn’t seen how that could possibly be true, but already, today, she’d made a start. She could have flung the list at him when he returned from the lawyers and demanded an explanation, and an apology. She wouldn’t have received one. Instead of making such wondrous love together, they would have had a fight. They wouldn’t be sitting here, remembering how good it had been, and wondering when they could do it again, either. They would be at daggers drawn.

Not that she would ever let him treat her with such disrespect in future. She was not a mouse. And she had no intention of letting him turn her into one. The thought she might ever end up like her mother, too scared to draw a breath without the permission of her tyrannical husband, had almost made her cry off altogether.

Except that she’d seen Lord Havelock was nothing like her father. And they weren’t eloping, in the face of opposition from both their families. They’d come together for very practical reasons.

Not that she felt very practical about him at this moment. Her mind was a whirling jumble of emotions and desire and, above all, hope.

All of a sudden, Lord Havelock broke into her musings by uttering an oath and throwing the serving spoon back into the dish with a clatter.

‘I should have taken you out to the theatre, or something, shouldn’t I? Not kept you cooped up indoors all evening, with only me for company.’

And that was the nub of the matter. He wasn’t an unkind man. Only a touch thoughtless.

And apparently willing to learn to do better.

‘It was just,’ he said, seizing her hand across the table, his face screwed up with contrition, ‘that I’d planned on getting an early night.’

When she flushed, and dropped her head to gaze at her plate, she heard him chuckle.

‘Not because of that. Well, not only that. You see...’ he gave her hand a slight squeeze ‘...we need to get on the road as early as we can, with the days being so short. I don’t want you to have to put up at any of the inns on our way. And if we make an early enough start, providing we don’t encounter any problems, we should be able to make it in one stage.’

‘Yes, I see. Well...um...’ Her heart was pounding so hard she was amazed he couldn’t hear it.

‘I...I don’t mind having an early night,’ she finally managed to confess, shooting him a coy look from under her eyelashes.

‘Well, yes, but that was before my patience ran out and I swept you off to bed the minute I got back from the lawyers. And...’ He cleared his throat. ‘It probably isn’t such a good idea to attempt... I mean...’ He coughed. ‘You are probably a bit... That is, I’ve heard...’ he flushed ‘...that the first time can leave a lady feeling a bit, um, sore.’