Chapter 5
Mary was first to wake. The fire in the kitchen had gone cold, so she wriggled backward, curling into the heat of his body. He growled a little in his sleep. The hard, hot ridge of his erection jutted against her thigh. Apparently, one part of him was awake. A large part.
Her own intimate places softened. She felt a keen, hollow ache of curiosity.
Slowly, stealthily, she turned to face him, trying to muster the courage to steal a peek under the quilt. However, her carnal investigations were set aside when she glimpsed his face.
He looked so different in his sleep. Less troubled, more vulnerable. She stroked the thick, tawny hair back from his brow.
There it was, the tiny sunburst scar just beneath his hairline.
She remembered the night he’d been given that wound. Mary had been the only one awake, sitting in the kitchen with a cup of tea and reading over some papers. Sebastian had stumbled into the house well past midnight, his eye blackened and blood streaming from his hairline down to his chin.
Mary had set her work aside at once. She’d cleaned his wounds and applied a poultice to his blackened eye. He’d told her he’d been in a fight—someone he knew from Cambridge. But the story was just a story. He knew she’d noticed the remarkable similarity between the sunburst cut on his brow and the sunburst shape of his father’s signet ring.
And she knew Sebastian had noticed the work that kept her up late. She’d been correcting the errors in contracts her father had drawn up for a client. That was the time when his mind had just begun to fail.
They had these little secrets, the two of them. Always unspoken, and yet always understood.
She pressed a kiss to his scar.
He stretched and yawned, then turned to stare up at the roof above. “I was hoping this cottage had been a nightmare.” He rose from bed and went to retrieve his trousers. “I’m going to walk Shadow into the village and find the smithy. Once he’s been shoed, I’ll ride back and we’ll leave for Ramsgate at once.” He pulled his shirt over his head. “Stay abed. Get some more sleep.”
Mary nodded in drowsy agreement and drew the quilt up to her chin.
However, the moment the door closed behind him, she jumped out of bed. She excavated her simplest, plainest frock from the depths of her trunk, dressed in haste, and had a look around the cottage.
Last night, she hadn’t explored any of it, aside from the kitchen and the small room she now understood to be Dick and Fanny’s bedchamber.
The cottage wasn’t large, and it had been sorely neglected, but with a bit of work it could be a charming home. Downstairs, she explored a parlor with a large fireplace ideal for cozy nights in, and a dining room nowhere near large enough for a party, but more than sufficient for two.
A library rounded out the ground floor, and it was Mary’s favorite room yet. Bookshelves covered the walls from floor to ceiling, and a massive mahogany desk lodged by the window, issuing a dare: Just you try to budge me.
She’d no desire to make the attempt.
Instead, she took a seat at the desk and ran her palms over the glossy wood. When she inhaled, her lungs filled with the scents of leather and tobacco and old books. A powerful wave of memories crashed through her.
The library was so much like Papa’s.
Henry had never taken an interest in the law, but Mary had loved watching their father work. She’d steal out of bed on nights when she couldn’t sleep, tiptoeing through the house to his study. There, she’d find him poring over a legal reference or a making notes on a contract. He didn’t scold her or chase her back to bed. Instead, he’d take her onto his lap and explain whatever task lay before him—in simple, but never condescending, language.
Her father had believed girls should be educated in all the same subjects as boys, and he’d encouraged Mary to form her own opinions and share them with confidence.
Most importantly, he’d always made time for her.
Sadly, his time on earth had been much too short. She missed him every day.
Swallowing back the lump in her throat, she left the study and made her way up the stairs to explore the cottage’s bedchambers. There were three in total. Two small rooms, and a larger one for the master and mistress of the house.
She went to the window and opened it wide. A breathtaking view greeted her. The blue-green sea, frosted with whitecaps and sparkling with sunshine.
Beautiful.
She pressed a hand to her heart. In no time at all, she’d fallen in love with this cottage. It was the perfect place for a honeymoon.
They would not be leaving for Ramsgate today. Not if she had anything to say about it. However, if she meant to convince Sebastian, she had no time to waste.
She went outside and found the well. Once she’d drawn a full pail of water, she took it in both hands and—rather than carrying it inside the cottage—proceeded directly to the barn, where Dick and Fanny Cross lay snoring atop a mound of straw.
She dashed the water over them. “Wake up.”
The caretaker and his wife jolted to life, sputtering.
“You will not find me an easy mistress to please,” Mary said, “but at the moment I am your best friend. If you want any hope of keeping your posts, you’d best rouse yourselves and prepare to work your fingers to nubs. Do you understand me?”
The caretaker struggled to stand. “Yes, milady.”
“Good.” She set the bucket at the caretaker’s feet. “You can begin by drawing more water and bringing it in to the kitchen. Fanny, gather up brooms, rags, soap, and some vinegar.”
Fanny nodded.
“This cottage—or at least a fair part of it—will be presentable by the time your lord returns.” Mary arched an eyebrow. “Or prepare to face the wrath of the demon’s consort.”
Within an hour, they had the kitchen swept and the cobwebs knocked from the corners. Mary had scrubbed the panes of the windows with vinegar and a drop of lemon oil. Dick brought in eggs from the henhouse, and Fanny produced bread, a slab of bacon, and some butter. In the cupboard, Mary found a jar of preserves and a locked tea caddy. She broke the rusted lock with a knife and was rewarded with a small stash of serviceable, if a bit stale-looking, tea.
By the time she had the kettle boiling, eggs and bacon frying, and bread sliced for toasting, her hair had begun to come loose, and perspiration dotted her brow. She meant to wash her face and pretty herself before Sebastian returned, but she didn’t have a chance. The clop of Shadow’s freshly shoed hooves on the lane told her he’d already returned.
She patted her hair, hastily untied her apron and cast it aside. At the last second, she adjusted the bouquet of wildflowers she’d picked on a whim earlier and crammed into a crockery vase.
As Sebastian came through the door, she clasped her hands together and tried not to appear as anxious as she felt inside. How silly, that she’d be nervous. But perhaps it was natural. This was her first morning as a wife, and she found herself eager for her husband’s approval. Maybe he’d be impressed by everything she’d accomplished in only a few hours, and then he’d embrace the idea of domestic bliss.
My darling, you’ve worked a miracle. I can’t imagine how I ever lived without you. Truly, you are the best of wives.
“Good morning.” She smiled and prepared herself to receive his praise.
Instead, he shook his head. “Mary, what have you done?”
*
Sebastian gestured broadly at the kitchen. “What is all this?”
As he watched, the smile faded from her face. “It’s breakfast,” she said. “And we did a bit of tidying up.”
The kitchen hadn’t merely been “tidied up.” It had undergone a complete transformation.
The spiders had been evicted from the corners, and the thick layer of dust had vanished from the fireplace mantel. The smell of fresh sea air breezed through the open window, and a pair of lacy curtains fluttered in the wind. Everything in the place had been scrubbed and polished to a gleam. Even the floor looked to have been scoured.
She must have worked every blessed minute he’d been away. Yet more impressive, it would seem she’d convinced Dick and Fanny Cross to do some labor, too.
The prettiest thing in the room, of course, was Mary herself. She was lovely as a Dutch painting. She’d dressed in a sage-green frock with cap sleeves and delicate lace edging. Her skin seemed to glow in the morning light, and her cheeks had a fetching blush. She wore her auburn hair in a loose, haphazard knot, and stray wisps had curled at her temples and the nape of her neck.
“You look as though someone stomped on your new hat,” she said. “Don’t you like it?”
“It’s not that I don’t like it. You shouldn’t have put yourself to all this trouble, that’s all. We’re leaving for Ramsgate this morning.”
“Yes, about that…” She chewed her bottom lip. “Let’s at least have breakfast first. I’m hungry. And if I’m hungry, you must be starving.”
Sebastian was starving. He hadn’t had a bite to eat since breakfast yesterday, and that might as well have been last year. But since that kiss last night, another sort of hunger was tormenting him. He was ravenous for his wife.
While she loaded a plate for him, he washed his hands. Then he sat down to a feast. Fried eggs, bacon, toasted bread with butter and jam. How had she managed all this?
Eat first, his stomach growled. Talk later.
He attacked his food, downing four eggs, two rashers of bacon, and six points of buttered toast in a matter of minutes.
She filled his teacup for the third time. “Feeling human again?”
“Mostly.”
When she bent over the table to pour his tea, he could glimpse not only the sweet, abundant curves of her breasts, but the dark, secret valley between them. If he didn’t know better, he’d have thought she meant to give him the tempting view.
“I’ve been thinking.” She propped an elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hand. “Instead of going on to Ramsgate, perhaps we could stay here.”
“No.” He drained his tea and set down the teacup with authority. “We’re not going to spend another night in this cottage.”
“But—”
“I’m taking you to an inn. Or a hotel. The finest establishment Ramsgate has to offer, whatever that might be.”
And wherever they stayed, he would demand the best room. Not merely a room, but a suite. An apartment with a soaking tub and a private dining room.
And, most importantly, separate bedchambers.
Last night, that simple goodnight kiss had nearly been his undoing. This morning he was slavering like a dog, after just one glimpse of her breasts. If he shared a bed with her again tonight, he’d risk losing all control.
“But Ramsgate is so popular this time of year. It will be full to bursting with ladies on holiday. Too many prying eyes. Someone will recognize us, and then the rumors will be all over England.”
“Unless we’re visiting the shops or the seaside, we won’t attract notice.”
She laughed to herself. “Sebastian, you are like a walking exhibition of Grecian sculpture. Wherever you go, you attract notice. Once we ride into town together, we may as well put a notice in the The Times. Can’t we remain here and avoid the gossip? In just one morning, I’ve already improved the kitchen. Give it a few more days, and this cottage will be positively charming, you’ll see.”
He relented. “Very well. If that’s truly what you want.”
“It’s what I want. If it weren’t, you know I wouldn’t hesitate to tell you.”
“This is true.” He tapped a finger on the table’s edge. “But I have one condition. We must do something about our sleeping arrangements.”
“I wholeheartedly agree.” She pushed back from the table. “Which is why I’ve something to show you upstairs.”