Page 23 of The Inconvenient Compromise
His arms closed around her completely, pulling her tightly to him as the aftershocks of pleasure rocked them both. For the longest time, they remained there, clinging to one another. Ragged breaths slowly settled into a normal pattern. Sweat dried on their skin. But neither moved. Neither of them was willing to break that spell.
It wasn’t until some time later, when he stirred within her, that Fiona pulled back to look at him. “Are you… again?”
He kissed her. “Again. And again. Until we are both wrecked from it. Even then, it will not be enough.”
Lucian rose from the chair, lifting her with him. It was instinct that had her locking her legs about his lean hips even as her arms encircled his neck. With each step he took toward the bed, Fiona’s own need—once sated—was reawakened.
One thought crept into her mind before feverish need drove her to the point of insensibility. She was glad it was him. She was grateful to have climbed into the wrong earl’s bed.
NINETEEN
Sunday—Afternoon…
Fiona was overseeing the unpacking of her clothing. A young woman by the name of Moira Nayland had arrived early that morning, sent by Sabine. The girl had been a ladies' maid to an elderly patron of her store who had recently passed away and was in need of employment. As Fiona had no maid, no servants at all, really, she was glad of her. For two days, they had been working to make the house livable—not because it lacked in the way of luxury and comfort, but because there was no staff to tend it.
With Moira’s help, the house was moderately staffed. Many of her servants who had worked for her previous employer were still seeking positions. It was a great relief to have them there, to know that she herself would not be the one in the kitchens attempting to put together a meal when she clearly had no idea what she was about. A cook, a parlor maid, a pair of footmen, and a housekeeper had all been hired. They would still need a butler, and she would have to do something about livery for the footmen, but the house was livable.
“I would have been utterly lost without you here,” Fiona observed, shaking her head. “I fear my husband has gotten himself a poor countess, indeed. I’ve no notion how to manage a household.”
Moira smiled. “Well, ma’am, I don’t think he’ll mind. With a face and figure such as yours to look upon, men will forgive many things!”
Fiona blushed. More new gowns had mysteriously appeared that morning. No doubt courtesy of hastily made-over items from Penelope’s rather extensive wardrobe and some of the new items that Sabine had quickly put together for her. All of them had been done in rich jewel tones—not a pastel in sight. Recalling what Lucian had said about Charlotte intentionally having her dress in an unflattering way. She’d known it was happening, but she hadn’t realized just how terrible it had been until she had a chance to see some of her own drab clothing next to the newer garments.
“I was thinking about the ball tonight… I need to change my hair, Moira.”
“Oh, no! You shouldn’t cut it!”
Fiona shook her head. Thinking of just how much Lucian seemed to enjoy her hair, cutting it was not an option. “No, not that. I simply want a more flattering style. Something less severe than how I typically wear it.”
Moira’s face simply lit up. “I can certainly do that, ma’am. I know just the thing. We’ll pin it up higher in the back here, but not so tightly. Keep it a bit softer, with a few curls to frame your face. It will be just wonderful.”
The door to the bed chamber opened, and Lucian entered. “What are you discussing doing to your hair? If you cut it, Fiona—”
“I’m not cutting it. Just styling it in a more flattering way,” Fiona answered with a laugh.
He nodded, satisfied with that explanation. “Leave us, Moira. There is a matter I need to discuss with my wife.”
“Yes, my lord,” Moira said, bobbing a curtsy and quickly making her way toward the door.
When she had gone, Fiona peeled an accusing stare at him. “You terrify the poor girl.”
“I’m entirely harmless,” he protested.
“You do not look harmless,” she pointed out. “Men like you gobble up little girls like Moira.”
“Not I,” he protested. “There is only one woman who stirs my appetites… and that is you. But I’m not here to frighten maids or even to indulge my desires. I’m here because I have something for you. You will need it for tonight.”
“I have everything I require,” she said. “Sabine has had it all delivered.”
He shook his head, then reached into his pocket and produced a small velvet box. “It’s time you had a proper wedding ring, Fiona. Not something we simply made do with.”
Lucian walked toward her then, stopping only when they were toe to toe. With a small flick of his thumb, he freed the latch on the box and pushed it open. Inside, nestled on a bed of silk, was a delicate gold ring. The slim band was etched with intricate scrollwork, and the stone was an emerald, flanked on either side by smaller diamonds. It was beautiful, but it was not ostentatious. Unlike the jewelry of many ladies ofthe ton, it was not about displaying one’s wealth. The ring, instead, was a perfect reflection of her own tastes. Even if she had chosen it herself, she could not have found one more suited to her.
“Lucian, it’s perfect,” she said. Her voice sounded breathless, tremulous. It wasn’t about receiving the gift, though she did love it. It was about the fact that this man, whom she had only known for a week, seemed to understand her better than anyone else ever had. He saw her. He knew her. And for whatever reason, he did not find her lacking.
“I’ve been looking at various jewelers since we returned to town,” he admitted, sliding his signet ring from her finger. After taking the ring from its box and slipping it on in place of the other, he explained, “I found that one this morning and knew that it had been made for you. But it is not your only gift.”
“It’s too much already!” Fiona protested.
