A little relieved, but not entirely at ease for the soft light that glowed in his grey eyes made her heart stand still, Lenore ventured, “I’m not…entirely sanguine as to how I shall manage in a carriage all the way to the Abbey.”

“We’ll travel slowly. No need to rush. We’ll only go as far each day as you can manage.” Jason scanned Lenore’s face, noting the circles under her large eyes, the absence of her usual sparkling glance and the frown, born of strain, that haunted her pale green gaze. She had pushed herself hard to fulfil his wishes. “No more arguments, Lenore. I’m taking you back to the country tomorrow.” With a smile to soften the absolute nature of that decree, Jason laid her hand down on the quilt. “Rest now, my dear. I’ll wake you for lunch.”

Feeling as if, somewhat against her will, a considerable weight had been lifted from her shoulders, Lenore watched him leave. He had not said what had brought him to her room at such an hour but whatever it had been, the outcome had never been in doubt. She had known all along that Jason was not the sort of inconsiderate husband who would take no interest in his wife’s health, even had she not been carrying his child. Given that his concern was real, albeit the sort of emotion a gentleman felt for one in his care, his determination to take her back to the Abbey was not to be wondered at. What she was far less sure about was whether he planned to remain there with her. And whether he had asked, or was thinking of inviting, others to join them in Dorset.

With a deep sigh, Lenore closed her eyes, luxuriating in the knowledge that she did not have to get up, get dressed and attend some luncheon party, pandering to the constant demands of her position.

As sleep hovered near, ready to claim her, she realised she did not know which she feared more—if Jason stayed at the Abbey, alone, in her company, would she be able to maintain the inner mask she wore constantly, the one that hid her love from his sight? Yet, if he invited guests to join them and the ladies, as so many ladies did, made a play for him, would she be able to hide the jealousy that, to her surprise, had started eating at her soul?

Dismissing the answer as one of life’s imponderables, Lenore slipped wearily over the threshold of sleep, into that realm where dreams were the only reality.

* * *

THEY REACHED the Abbey on the morning of the third day. As she emerged from the carriage and felt the flags of the steps firm beneath her feet, Lenore sighed deeply, relief and appreciation clear in her eyes as they met her husband’s. She turned to greet Morgan, then sighting Mrs. Potts at the top of the steps, she waved before placing her hand on Jason’s sleeve.

“Dare I suspect you are pleased to be home, madam?”

At his soft drawl, Lenore cast him a teasing glance. “Indeed, my lord. I have not forgotten I have yet to get far in my cataloguing of your library.”

“Ah, yes.” Jason returned her smile, no longer perturbed by her abiding delight in musty tomes.

At the top of the steps, Mrs. Potts sank into a deep curtsy. “Delighted to welcome you home, Your Grace, ma’am.”

“I’m delighted to be back, Mrs. Potts.”

“I should mention, Mrs. Potts,” Jason cut in smoothly, “that Her Grace is in dire need of chicken broth. I believe that’s what my mother swore by during her confinements?”

Mrs. Potts’s face lit up. “Dear me, yes! Wonderful for picking a lady up when the babe gets you down. Now just you come along, my lady. We’ll get you to bed straight away and I’ll bring you a bowl. You must be quite worn down with all that gadding about in London.”

Swept up by the irresistible force of Mrs. Potts fired with a zeal to tend to the well-being of the next generation, Lenore was parted from her husband. When she managed to get a look at him, on her way up the stairs, Mrs. Potts directly behind her, she saw a smugly satisfied smile on his face. Lenore shot him a speaking glance, which dissolved against her will, into a misty and grateful smile, before surrendering to her fate.

Indeed, she had need to recoup. The journey had been painfully slow. Jason had ordered that the carriage, the most well-equipped money could buy, should be driven at a spanking pace. That way, he had explained, the springs and speed took the worst out of the bumps. Even so, they had not been able to cover more than twenty miles without halt. Sunk in the luxury of her tub, filled to the brim with blissfully warm, scented water, Lenore closed her eyes and recalled her husband’s unfailing support. He had grown adept at gauging how long she could last, and organising their stops so that she could wander on his arm through delightful little villages, or stroll on a green. Their night-time stops had been at the best inns where her comfort had been assured. Always the best parlour and the biggest bedroom. Her only complaint was that she had spent the nights alone in the big beds, but she had accepted that philosphically. She had his company and his affection—she had no right to expect more.

The day passed swiftly. After the promised chicken broth, Lenore dozed for a few hours. Refreshed, she dressed and descended to the parlour. After an hour reacquainting herself with her household, her husband found her. At his suggestion, they strolled on the sun-warmed terrace. It had been weeks since Lenore had been conscious of the sun on her face; it seemed appropriate that it should shine on her return to her home.

Later, she poured tea for them both. The time flew as they entertained each other with wickedly accurate reflections on the ton’s notables. Then it was time for dinner, taken as had been their habit earlier in the year, in the smaller dining salon.

When the covers were finally drawn, Lenore sighed, deeply content, very glad Jason had insisted on bringing her home. When he raised a brow at her, she said as much, adding, “I already feel very much better.”

As she realised her motive in stating that fact, Lenore blushed. Abruptly, she took another sip of wine, hoping the candlelight would hide her reaction. Yet was it wrong for a wife to invite her husband’s attentions. Right or wrong, acceptable or not, she just wished she had more of an idea of how to go about it.

Despite her hopes, the candlelight was in no way dim enough to hide her blush from Jason’s sight. Her words, and her reaction, sent his hopes soaring. But still he moved cautiously. “We’ll have to ensure we do nothing to overtire you.”

Her

senses at full stretch, Lenore detected the subtle undertones in his deep voice. Hesitantly, she answered, “I don’t think anything I do here could overtire me.”

Ignoring the clamour of his desire, Jason smiled encouragingly, his eyes holding hers across the length of the table. “Perhaps you should retire early? There’s no reason to stay up. I expect I’ll come up soon myself.”

Finding her lips suddenly dry, Lenore had to pass the tip of her tongue over them before replying, her voice slightly husky, “Perhaps I should.”

A footman came to assist her to her feet. Jason stood, then, when she had gone, with one, last, lingering look, he subsided once more into his chair, waving aside the port, indicating instead the brandy decanter. Did she know what she did to him when she looked at him like that? What she would do to any man with the unspoken appeal in her large eyes? Suppressing a shudder of pure desire, Jason took a very large sip of his brandy.

Later, fortified by a large dose of the best brandy in his cellars, Jason eyed the plain panels of the door in front of him. Drawing a breath of purest satisfaction, he turned the handle and crossed the threshold.

From the depths of her feather mattress, Lenore heard him enter and could not quite believe it. Was she asleep already and dreaming? But no. The large male body, warm and hard, that slid into the bed beside her was no dream.

With a sound halfway between a cry and a sigh, Lenore turned to welcome him, only to find herself in his arms. They closed possessively, passionately, about her.

Tags: Stephanie Laurens Regencies Historical
Source: readsnovelonline.net