Chapter Twelve

Leicester Square

That evening

 

Cornelia was not herself at dinner. Preston hoped she had not taken ill. She toyed with the food on her plate, declined dessert, and responded with few words when questioned. He had news he was anxious to share, but sensed that this wasn’t the right moment. Not in the dining room with servants about. What if she did not share his enthusiasm?

As they left the dining room, she reached for his shoulder and requested to speak with him. Hope surged through him. Did she want to talk to him about whatever was bothering her? Even though he might not like what she said.

Now that he understood Cornelia’s reasons for not wishing to marry and produce children, he intended to give her as much time as she needed to reach a decision about their marriage. Meanwhile, he was determined to offer her husbandly attentions—small touches, kisses on the cheek or hand, and light touches to her waist when ushering her into the dining room or, as now, when they ascended the stairs to their private rooms.

They reached the sitting room and he opened the door for her. “I have news,” he said as she brushed past him.

She whirled, eyes wide. “Oh yes, you were to call at Whitehall today. I’m sorry—I had forgotten. Did the Home Office offer you a position?”

He opened the door to their sitting room, which separated their individual bedchambers, and waited for her to proceed.

“They did, indeed. And I was most fortunate to encounter Admiral Heaton, your father’s protégé. He gave me a list of several men he believes capable of replacing me on the sea voyage to India. I shall remain a partner in the venture, but without the obligation of traveling there myself.”

She faced him. “But Preston—are you certain you will not regret passing up this opportunity?”

He clasped her shoulders and looked directly in her eyes. “In truth, Cornelia, I would be miserable every hour of every day I was apart from you.”

She gasped. “Oh Preston, I—”

He pressed two fingers over her lips. “Let me finish. Do you not know by now how much I love you? How much I want to be a true husband to you, to have a marriage like William and Joanna’s? But I love you too much to impose upon you.” A cold emptiness wound through his soul at the thought of losing her. He swallowed. “If you think there’s a chance you might return my regard—no, even if you do not—I would like to continue our marriage. For as long as you wish it.”

To his surprise, she smiled, tipped her head up and kissed him. Heart hammering, he pulled her close and returned the kiss in full, gratified to feel her soft tongue brushing his lips. He responded in full measure, intoxicated by the sweetness of her mouth, the dark passion in her eyes, the familiar scent of violets he would forever associate with her.

Finally, he pulled away. He needed to hear the words. “I assume this means you no longer wish to dissolve our marriage?”

She flushed. “Yes, I mean, no. I—I knew I loved you since—oh, I do not know—perhaps as far back as our honeymoon in Brighton. I mean, who wouldn’t love a man like you? The way you find beauty and joy in small things. I’m never so happy as when I’m around you.”

He wanted to spin her in a dance around the room. “Ah Cornelia, you don’t know how happy you have made me.”

“No, let me finish. I fell even more in love with you after seeing how quickly you dashed to your brother’s side in his time of need, your willingness to put aside your own plans and wishes to fulfill your duty to your heritage.” She grinned. “I thought I had married an irresponsible rogue who would leave me to my own pursuits. I wonder if that fellow ever existed.”

He winked. “Are you accusing me of marrying you under false pretenses?”

She shook her head. “I had secrets too, as you know.”

He pulled her against his shoulder. “I know how difficult it was for you to share them with me, my darling. But it gave me hope that you were beginning to overcome the shame that’s followed you for so long.”

She began to cry into his waistcoat. He led her to a settee and hugged her with one arm while he clasped her hand with the other.

“Have you begun to overcome the shame, my dear?”

She took a deep breath and straightened. “I think so. I hope so. Preston, I want to tell you what happened at the Foundling Hospital today.”

* * *

Cornelia held back tears as she concluded her tale about Miss Smith and Eliza. “She was heartbroken to leave her child, but she could not see any other way. She wants the babe to have a better life than she had.” Cornelia swallowed. “Oh Preston, I do not think I could ever be so unselfish.”

His eyes widened. “Does this mean…?”

Her heart hammered against her chest. “I want a baby. I want your baby. The child will be beautiful because we will love it to distraction. That is all that matters, isn’t it?”

The heat in his eyes sent a wave of pleasure through her.

He rose and picked her up in his arms as though she were lightweight.

“Preston? What are you doing? You will injure yourself.”

Ignoring her, he carried her to his bedchamber door.

“I suppose you want me to open it?” she asked.

He grunted.

Her head whirled. Good gracious! How did the room get so hot? She opened the door.

He crossed to the bed and deposited her onto the mattress.

“Preston?”

She watched in fascinated interest as he untied his cravat and tossed it on the floor. Next, he unbuttoned his waistcoat, then his shirt, and began tugging at the fall of his pants. Her pulse skipped a beat. He is beautiful.

“Preston, what are you doing?”

Don’t be silly—you know what he’s doing!

She couldn’t concentrate on anything but him. He was magnificent. Cornelia gazed at his muscled chest with its scattering of dark hairs, his narrow hips, and—oh my! Was that…?

“Uh, Preston—” she said shakily.

He dropped onto the bed beside her. “It’s time to stop talking.” He eyed her lips hungrily. “This is our honeymoon. The real one. Do you not think it’s about time?”

She did.

 

 

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