Vicar's Daughter to Viscount's Lady (Transformation of the Shelley Sisters 2)

Daniel looked doubtful. ‘I do not wish to bore Bella with such things, but if you insist…I was wondering if you are going to lease Fosse Warren. Or sell it, perhaps.’

‘One of your clients interested?’ Elliott enquired and Bella recalled that Daniel was a lawyer.

‘No. I am.’ Elliott stared at him and Daniel shifted, colouring up. ‘I thought I would try farming myself. A sideline, you understand. I don’t intend giving up the law.’

‘I had no idea the practical rural life held any appeal for you. Well, I am sorry, but I only intend to lease the house and pleasure grounds. I have hopes of a returning nabob or some cit wanting a country retreat. I shall retain the estate and the farms. But feel free to come and talk farming any time you want.’

‘Thank you, I will take you up on that. You’ll be putting a manager in?’

‘My steward is very competent, but I will be keeping a hand on it. I don’t want it neglected while I bring this estate around.’

‘Rafe was never one for rusticating, he always said the country was a dead bore,’ Daniel remarked as the maid brought in the tray.

‘A pity he did not delegate sufficient authority to Jim Turner for him to keep things running, in that case,’ Elliott said. ‘He’s a good man. If Rafe had trusted him, the land and the buildings wouldn’t be in the state they are now. Thank you, Arabella.’ He took the cup she passed him and smiled, a sudden flicker of warmth breaking through the intensity. He was still unhappy about leaving his own home, she thought with a sudden flash of insight. ‘The tenants’ cottages are a disgrace from what I’ve seen so far,’ he added, serious again.

‘I must start visiting the tenants,’ Bella said. Perhaps she could be helpful to Elliott in pointing out which were the priority cases if repairs were needed.

The two men moved on to speak of a local political scandal and Bella studied the two faces, so obviously related and yet so different. She was becoming used to seeing the likeness to Rafe in both men, although she was finding it harder and harder to recall his exact appearance, to remember his voice when Elliott’s deeper tones were in her ears all the time. Perhaps all her memories of those few days would blur mercifully, in time.

‘Where is Rafe buried?’ she asked and both men turned to face her, their faces as alike as brothers in their shared surprise. She should not have blurted it out, she realised, but she needed to know. She did not want to come across the grave unexpectedly and betray any emotion that might betray her.

Elliott recovered first. ‘In the family vault in the church where we were married,’ he said. ‘You will see it on Sunday, although the memorial is not finished yet, of course.’

‘Just a plain plaque?’ Bella enquired, trying to sound as though she was taking an interest in a total stranger’s grave. Rafe had lain so close to her when she had married Elliott. The thought made her feel cold. Perhaps it was best that she had not known.

‘I thought a plaque, yes. Name, dates, title and the family crest. White marble,’ Elliott added. She saw the way he was studying her face and wondered if she had said something that might betray her feelings to Daniel.

‘What, no statue of Rafe in heroic pose showing his best profile and with scantily clad maidens mourning at his feet?’ Daniel joked. ‘He’d have appreciated those.’

‘Calne.’ Elliott frowned.

‘My apologies, Bella.’ Daniel’s smile was rueful. ‘And I must be going. I keep forgetting that you are on your honeymoon, such a practical pair of lovebirds that you are—curtains and agriculture are most unconventional entertainments two days after the ceremony.’

He took himself off, leaving Elliott audibly grinding his teeth. ‘He is not usually tactless.’ He sat down next to Bella on the sofa. ‘I am sorry, did that disturb you?’

‘Talking about Rafe’s tomb? No, and I raised the subject after all, which was foolish of me. I did not want to come across it unexpectedly, that is all. I should have waited and spoken to you when we were alone. My thoughts and emotions are all over the place—is it my condition again, do you think?’

‘I imagine so.’ Elliott smiled and her heart warmed. He was so kind to her. ‘Not that I would know. I have considerable expertise with brood mares and pointer bitches, none at all with wives. Perhaps if you were to develop a wet nose, a glossy coat and a tail I might be better able to advise.’

‘Oh, Elliott.’ Bella dissolved into laughter. ‘Would you tell me sit if I did?’

He caught her in his arms and pulled her on to his lap. ‘Certainly—sit! I have never seen you laugh before. It suits you.’

Her giggles died away as she found herself held very close. There were laughter lines at the corners of those blue, blue eyes and Elliott’s lashes were dark and indecently long for a man. His arm was firm around her and she balanced securely, one hand pressed to his waistcoat, conscious of the strength of his thighs beneath her, the occasional flex of the muscles and the alarming realisation that Elliott was finding this arousing.

‘Elliott?’ She licked her lips and saw him watching her. His heavy-lidded regard stirred disturbing sensations deep inside. ‘Elliott…’ She leaned towards him and pressed her lips to his.

Everything about Elliott became tense, from his arms around her to the hard evidence of his sexual interest beneath her. Bella could almost hear him thinking before his lips moved under hers and he leaned back against the support of the sofa, bringing her to lie against his chest. It meant she was on top of him, in control of the kiss. It felt exciting and dangerous and wicked, even though he had not even opened his mouth beneath hers, even though his hands remained light on her back, quite still.

He

is leaving it to me, she thought and the sense of power eclipsed all the other sensations. Elliott wanted her and she was in command and she knew her kisses did not displease or disappoint him. It seemed to her, in a flash of insight, that this was a brave thing for a man to do, to abdicate sexual power to a woman. She could not imagine Rafe doing so for a moment and yet Elliott was not doing this out of weakness, but out of confidence.

Bella ran her fingers into the hair at Elliott’s nape, rubbing over the taut tendons, the muscle. She had the illusion that she could hold him like this, powerless in her grip, so she could pillage his mouth at her leisure. Part of her mind laughed at her—he could have her on her back in a moment—but the fantasy was delicious. As she probed at his closed lips with her tongue-tip and he resisted her she realised he was playing too.

Her fingers closed in his hair, commanding obedience as she slid her tongue inside his mouth. The tightness was exciting and his surrender, as he opened to her, delicious. Bella shifted so she cupped his face with her other hand, holding him while she explored, tasted, teased. His mouth was hot and slick and he tasted of tea and, under that safe, domestic taste, something male and dangerous and wild.

Panting a little, she drew back so they were nose to nose. ‘Take me?’ he suggested, his voice husky, his hands sliding down to the curve of her hips. ‘Here, now…’