He sat back in his chair, savoring the daydream. It was going to be a long, lovely night. Maybe even…
His eyebrows rose as he tried to remember his wife’s schedule for the day. Maybe even a long, lovely afternoon. When was she due home? And would she have either of the children with her?
He closed his eyes, picturing her in various states of undress, followed by various interesting poses, followed by various fascinating activities.
He groaned. She was going to have to return home very soon, because his imagination was far too active not to be satisfied, and-
“Gareth!”
Not the most mellifluous of tones. The lovely erotic haze floating about his head disappeared entirely. Well, almost entirely. Hyacinth might not have looked the least bit inclined for a bit of afternoon sport as she stood in the doorway, her eyes narrowed and jaw clenched, but she was there, and that was half the battle.
“Shut the door,” he murmured, rising to his feet.
“Do you know what your daughter did?”
“Your daughter, you mean?”
“Our daughter,” she ground out. But she shut the door.
“Do I want to know?”
“Gareth!”
“Very well,” he sighed, followed by a dutiful, “what did she do?”
He’d had this conversation before, of course. Countless times. The answer usually had something to do with something involving marriage and Isabella’s somewhat unconventional views on the subject. And of course, Hyacinth’s frustration with the whole situation.
It rarely varied.
“Well, it wasn’t so much what she did,” Hyacinth said.
He hid his smile. This was also not unexpected.
“It’s more what she won’t do.”
“Jump to your bidding?”
“Gareth.”
He halved the distance between them. “Aren’t I enough?”
“I beg your pardon?”
He reached out, tugged at her hand, pulled her gently against him. “I always jump to your bidding,” he murmured.
She recognized the look in his eye. “Now?” She twisted around until she could see the closed door. “Isabella is upstairs.”
“She won’t hear.”
“But she could-”
His lips found her neck. “There’s a lock on the door.”
“But she’ll know-”
He started working on the buttons on her frock. He was very good at buttons. “She’s a smart girl,” he said, stepping back to enjoy his handiwork as the fabric fell away. He loved when his wife didn’t wear a chemise.
“Gareth!”