Why fate had been so kind as to send him one of the few women-the only one he’d ever met-who seemed to think nothing of his baser instincts, indeed, seemed to delight in said instincts, he didn’t know. He was only glad he hadn’t been able to do anything other than marry her.
The thought of not having her as his wife was enough to make him tighten his arms; she murmured and wriggled; he eased his hold.
He glanced down at her, and could no longer recall why keeping his true self in check had once seemed so important. It had been his way for so long-as if keeping his true feelings, his true nature, suppressed was essential to functioning, to living his life.
Hiding that side of himself from her had never been an option; he’d stopped worrying about it on their wedding night. With her, being himself, his true self, simply didn’t matter…
He stared out at the night.
That was why, with her, he felt so complete. So whole. Being himself, with her, was permissible, even desirable. She delighted in calling the barbarian forth, delighted in throwing herself in his arms-delighted in giving herself to a maruading rapacious barbarian. And she couldn’t care less if he was incoherent at the time.
His lips curved in a smirk. Her own lack of coherence was telling-attempting any degree of conversation during coitus was wasted effort. He only had to touch her, and she became a totally sensate being-the only avenue of communication she was interested in was by touch and feel.
His gaze steadied on her face.
She was a field he would willingly plow for the rest of his life.
He didn’t think she’d mind.
Shifting his hand from her head to her breast, he continued stroking. She made a smoky, purring sound and shifted suggestively. He smiled and lifted her across him.
It was time to sow some more.
So he could reap the harvest of her loving again.
Chapter 16
“My lord, if I could have a moment of your time?”
Caught watching his wife, Gyles turned his head. Wallace had entered the breakfast parlor and stood by his side, a covered salver in one hand.
“Her ladyship’s, too.” Wallace directed a bow down the table.
The morning of the Festival had dawned misty but fine. The sun shone benignly on all those scurrying about the Castle grounds, setting up trestles and boards. Most of the staff were outside; only Irving and one footman were attending them. Wallace caught Irving’s eye; Irving directed the footman to the door, then followed, closing the door behind him.
“What is it?”
“One of the maids was instructed to fill the vase on the stair landing with autumn branches, my lord. To brighten up the spot for the Festival. When she tried to insert the branches, she encountered some difficulty. When she investigated, she discovered…”- Wallace lifted the cover of the salver-“this.”
Gyles stared at a crumpled scrap of green, sodden and darkened. He knew what it was before his fingers touched it. He lifted the fragments. The bedraggled feather, shredded of its fronds, hung limply.
Francesca stared. “My riding cap.”
“Indeed, ma’am. Millie mentioned to Mrs. Cantle that it was not in your room. Mrs. Cantle told the maids to keep an eye out in case it was elsewhere about the house. When Lizzie found it, she brought it straight to Mrs. Cantle.”
Gyles turned the remains of the cap in his fingers. “It’s been destroyed.”
“So it appears, my lord.”
Francesca gestured. “Let me see.”
Gyles dropped the wet scrap back onto the salver. Wallace took it to Francesa. Gyles watched her pick it up, spread it in her hands. The material had been ripped, the feather broken and stripped.
She shook her head. “Who… Why?”
“Indeed.” Gyles heard the steel in his voice. He glanced at Wallace. His majordomo met his gaze, his expression impassive. Wallace knew no more than he.
Francesca’s expression cleared. She dropped the cap on the salver. “It must have been an accident. Get rid of it, Wallace. We’ve more pressing matters to deal with today.”