“You are so perfect for me.”
He kissed her urgently, desperately, then he flopped onto his back and draped her over his chest. He stared at the ceiling, and his thoughts were practically bouncing off the walls.
“What was your opinion of it?” he asked after awhile. “Tell me the truth.”
“It wasn’t what I was expecting. I’d heard it was very physical, but I didn’t understand just how physical.”
“Are you sore?”
“No. It didn’t hurt at all.”
“You tantalize me so completely that I couldn’t restrain myself.”
“I didn’t want you to restrain yourself.” She sighed and said, “I’m happy.”
“So am I. No regrets, Caro. Promise me you’ll never suffer any.”
“Me? Regret marrying you? Don’t be daft.” She reached for his hand and linked their fingers. “Don’t you dare fret about this.”
“I won’t.”
“What do we do now?”
“We can doze for a bit, then we can try it again.”
“I’d like that,” she said.
“But dawn is about to break. If the sky starts to lighten, I’ll sneak out.”
“Good. I can’t have a housemaid find you in here.”
“I’ll vanish long before that can happen. You sleep in though—as late as you like.”
“I’ll miss you every second until I see you again.”
“Come down to breakfast whenever you’re ready. I’ll watch for you.”
“For the rest of our lives,” she said, “we’ll be able to snuggle like this all night, then have breakfast in the morning. Aren’t we lucky?”
“I never thought I was, but since I met you, my fortunes seem to be improving.”
“Mrs. Caleb Ralston. . .” she murmured, then she drifted off.
He nestled with her, listening to her breathe.
He was drifting off too—had she cured his insomnia?—and he glanced toward the window. The sky was brightening, and a bird chirped, so he had to get going. He eased away from her, and she was so exhausted that she didn’t stir.
He stood by the bed, gazing down at her as he tugged on his shirt and straightened his clothes. A wave of pride rushed through him. She was his, and she would be forever.
I love you. . .
He mouthed the words, then he spun and tiptoed away.
It would be a great day, the best day ever, and he couldn’t wait for it to arrive.
“Where is she?”
“How would I know?”
Gregory glared at his father, wishing the man would cease his nagging. Gregory’s hangover was particularly brutal, and the slightest noise sent jolts of pain shooting behind his eyes.
He was back at Grey’s Corner, in the dining room and trying to have some breakfast, even though it was one o’clock in the afternoon. He’d had to flee the city, and there had been nowhere to go but to his father’s house.
For some reason, creditors were hounding him all over London. He couldn’t round a corner without some oaf jamming legal papers into his hand. Numerous humiliations had piled up, the worst being his eviction from Caleb Ralston’s gambling club.
After suffering Ralston’s perfidy, word had spread that he couldn’t pay his bills, that he wasn’t nearly as wealthy as he claimed to be. In a pathetic instant, his social standing had plummeted into a void from which it would never recover.
He’d begun to fear he was about to be arrested. It was a felony to defraud a merchant, and he’d received several notices of hearings where he’d been accused of being a flagrant debtor. He wasn’t an aristocrat who could thumb his nose at a court order, and there was no judge in the kingdom who would show him any mercy, so he would hide at Grey’s Corner until the worst had passed.
“She didn’t visit you in town?” Samson asked.
They were talking about Caroline who’d managed to run away. Gregory was actually a tad impressed by her brash escape. No one could explain how she’d accomplished it, and no one had a clue as to where she was. Someone had to be providing shelter, but who could it be?
“I told you I didn’t see her,” Gregory said. “Give it a rest, Father. Please.”
“Dammit. I was hoping she was with you.”
“Why would she have been? It’s clear she wants nothing to do with me.”
“Whose fault is that?” his father sneered.
“Don’t blame me for the fiasco. I treated her as I always have. She has become a stranger we don’t know at all. I can’t fathom what’s come over her.”
“Can’t you? You are a drunken, gambling-addicted sot. What sensible girl would agree to have you?”
Lucretia had traveled with him, and she was seated at the table too. At the insult, she bristled and had the temerity to say, “I’m happy to have him by my side, and I consider myself to be eminently sensible.”
“Mrs. Starling,” Samson said, “I’m discussing a family issue with my son. Your opinion is neither necessary nor required. Depart my presence at once.”
“I haven’t finished eating.”
Samson slapped a palm on the table, the sound echoing off the high ceiling, and he turned to a hovering footman. “Grab Mrs. Starling’s plate and teacup and carry them up to her bedchamber. She can enjoy the remainder of her meal in the privacy of her own room.”
The footman blanched, peeked from Samson to Lucretia, then to Gregory, seeking guidance, and Gregory said, “Go upstairs, Lucretia. I can’t abide this bickering. I’ll be up in a few minutes—just as soon as Father has vented his wrath.”
She never liked to be bossed, so they’d have a fight later on, but at the moment, he was feeling too poorly to worry about her wounded feelings.
She threw down her napkin and stood so rapidly that her chair tipped over. “I’m trying to remember why I journeyed to the country with you.”
“You’re here because we’re devoted companions.”
“Keep telling yourself that’s true, Gregory.”
She stomped out, and an awkward silence ensued. There were two footmen lurking, and they appeared relieved when Samson shooed them out. They scurried away and shut the door, so he and his father were alone.
“Why are you involved with that obnoxious strumpet?” his father snidely
