Charles sat at his desk and took out his estate books. They usually held his interest, but he found it impossible to focus. He moved uneasily in his chair. His lovely wife was upstairs, but she needed time, and rest, after such a taxing day. He sighed. “Bring me an ale, will you, John?” he asked when the footman answered the bell.
Charles forced his attention onto his books and took up his pen.
Chapter Thirteen
In her dressing room, Nellie luxuriated in a perfumed bath, allowing the warm water to ease the tension from her limbs. Lilly then assisted her into a gown of russet silk and dressed her long hair in a loose bun.
The sitting room was cast in soft twilight when Charles entered through his bedchamber door.
A table laid for supper was placed before the brocade sofa.
When Charles joined her, she smelled his spicy soap, and the familiar heavy sensation settled low in her stomach. He had come from his bath and was dressed dishabille, in a royal blue silk banyan over his open-necked shirt, snug fawn pantaloons, and backless shoes. He arranged his long legs in the space, so big and masculine; he reminded her of a large jungle cat. A lion, perhaps. So sure of his control over his pride. She almost giggled as nerves made her tremble.
A pair of footmen entered, carrying trays of aromatic dishes. “Leave the bottle of wine. We will serve ourselves,” Charles said.
They bowed and left the room.
Charles poured them both a glass of wine as she served the meal. He leaned back to watch her. “Tell me something about your childhood.”
Nellie placed a portion of roast beef, potatoes, and peas on each plate. “I preferred to be outdoors rather than sewing or painting.
“I can picture you, a little hoyden, I suspect,” he said, as she placed the plate in front of him.
Nellie laughed. “I had a favorite old oak tree in the garden. I used to climb it with a book and an apple. I fell out of it once and skinned my knee. I still have the scar.”
“May I see?” he inquired politely.
She laughed and shook her head. “Mama despaired of me. I wouldn’t keep a hat on outdoors and freckled every summer.”
“Any freckles now?” He leaned over, his blue eyes roaming her face.
“Copious applications of lemon juice,” Nellie said with a grin.
“Ah. But not so effective. I’ve spied two tiny golden freckles on your nose.” He reached over and touched them lightly with a finger. “I’ve discovered I approve of freckles.”
She smiled wryly and handed him a napkin. “I am to believe that?”
He chuckled. “I wonder if there’s any more? I shall have to do a thorough search for them.”
She blushed furiously. “I don’t believe I have.”
He raised his eyebrows. “But you’re not sure?”
She caught her lip in her teeth, trying not to smile. “No.”
“Then, I see it as my task. I am an earnest fellow. Most thorough.”
Was it possible to giggle and shiver at the same time? “Your meal is getting cold,” she said reprovingly.
He laughed and took up his cutlery.
For a while, they ate in silence.
Nellie drank from her wine glass. She could visualize the small boy in this large man beside her. All lanky limbs and tousled black hair. “What were you like as a lad? I have revealed my failings, so it’s only fair that you tell me.”
“Foolishly adventurous,” he admitted, cutting a piece of meat.
“In what way?”
“I liked to swim in the lake. I almost didn’t make it back to shore once. I was smart enough not to go in during the winter.” He grinned. “Cramp.”
Nellie ate some potato, finding this side of Charles completely irresistible. “Were you rescued?”
“My dog, Samson, swam out to me. I was afraid he’d go under, so I simply had to make it back then.”
She smiled approvingly at him.
“I liked to ski in winter.”
“Where?”
“At Shewsbury when it snowed. I fashioned skis from wood and tied them on with twine. Skied down the steepest hill.”
Nellie laughed. “How enterprising.” She could visualize him skiing down that hill the horses had struggled up when they’d visited his estate.
“I was what is called a neck or nothing rider. Fell off one of Father’s hunters and broke my leg when I was eight.”
“Your father didn’t scold you? Try to rein you in?”
“Certainly not. We were put on a horse as soon as we were out of swaddling clothes. Taught to jump soon after.”
“Well, I don’t believe I shall let my son…” Flustered, she pushed away the vision of that small boy holding his French mother’s hand. She bit her lip, annoyed with herself.
He reached for the bottle and poured her another half glass. “You were saying?”
She avoided his caressing blue eyes. “A family tragedy. My cousin, William, died after a fall from a horse when he was twelve.”
Charles gave a sharp intake of breath. “It happens. But death can claim a person’s life in many ways. One might become ill.”
Nellie watched the expression play over his face, a deep sadness, he quickly shrugged away. She placed a hand on his arm. “Oh, Charles. Your brother, Michael. I am clumsy.”
“No, sweetheart. That’s one thing you’re not.”
“I was saddened to hear of his death. He was far too young.”
“Thank you. But Michael would disapprove of me talking about him on my wedding night.”
Her gaze moved from the heated expression in his eyes to his mouth. Recalling their passionate kiss on the terrace, a throb settled low in her stomach. She put down her knife and fork, suddenly unable to take another bite. She picked up the wine glass and took a good swallow.
Charles leaned forward and took her glass from her hand. He put it down. “Nellie? Shall we retire?”
Her pulse skittered. “Yes, Charles.”
He opened the door to a bedchamber and took her hand to lead her inside. She was barely aware of where
