Page 38 of To Tame the Wild Rake
“Friday.” She closed the gap between them, returning his kiss with one to his cheek. “Yes, I will come to you for a week.”
“Excuse me for a moment, Cherry.” He lifted her hand and placed a kiss in the palm then left the room to open the door that blocked his personal suite off from the rest of the house. Sure enough, his butler was himself keeping watch over the door.
“Richards, no one is to come into my suite of rooms until I change this instruction, which will not be before tomorrow morning. Who apart from you knows of the lady’s visit?”
“Only Mullins, my lord, who was on duty at the door to the main house. And he does not know the lady’s identity. She kept her face covered.”
Mullins had been with Aldridge for several years, and had served his mother as a hall boy before that. “Very good. Will he forget her presence entirely if you ask?”
“Yes, my lord,” Richards assured him. “You and the lady will not be disturbed, Lord Aldridge.”
“Only in the event of a dire emergency, Richards. If the house is on fire, or the like. And in such a case, you are to come yourself. No one else.”
“Of course, my lord.” Not by word or expression did Richards hint at his thoughts on the topic, though Aldridge guessed that he disapproved. He ought to disapprove. But what was a man to do? His lady was resistant to his proposal, and this might be his only chance to persuade her to his point of view.
“I have asked the lady to be my wife, Richards. She does not like the idea of marriage, but I hope she will change her mind.”
Richards allowed a small smile to crack his butler’s visage. He bowed. “I hope she will, my lord. My fervent wishes for your success.”
Aldridge closed and locked the door. Richards had a key, but could be trusted not to use it except in need. It was unlikely that anyone else would even try, but the Lady Thirbys of the world could be cunning as well as tenacious, and his relatives could be unpredictable.
Now that he had decided to do this, his first consideration must be to protect Lady Charlotte’s reputation in every way possible. Locked doors and all.
She was staring into the fire, her hands clasped peacefully in her lap, but she leapt to her feet when he came into the room. She was not as calm as she appeared. He took a candle from the mantel and held out his hand to her.
“We will not be disturbed, Cherry. Will you come with me now?”
“I will set the fire guard,” she said, suiting action to word. Then she took his hand.
With the sense he was throwing someone else’s loaded dice in a wild gamble, with everything he possessed at stake, he led her from the room.
18
Who would have thought that the Merry Marquess had such a sober bedroom? Certainly not Charlotte, who had assumed the boudoir—the playroom, he called it—was where he slept. His actual bedchamber was even larger, but almost spartan in its appointments.
No. Perhaps not spartan, for everything was of excellent quality and in superb taste. Above wooden wainscoting, the walls were papered in a cream and gold strip. Dark blue drapes covered the window, and the colour was echoed in the striped bedspread that covered the bed, which was large, but not massive.
A pair of easy chairs, in a finer stripe using the same blue, cream and gold, flanked the fire, with a two-seater sofa upholstered in a paisley pattern that introduced greens and purples and other shades of blue along with the room’s signature colours. A small table sat by the window, where Aldridge perhaps ate breakfast or supper. No. Not Aldridge. She was about to be intimate with the man. For years, ever since he had invited her to call her by his Christian name, she had resisted calling him Anthony in her mind. But it was time.
She allowed Anthony to lead her to the sofa, and twisted to continue to examine the room while he lit several candles around the room and went to the large chiffonier, which held a tray with a set of decanters and several glasses.
The room had several bookcases, too, with books in an assortment of sizes and covers, so favourites, perhaps, rather than chosen for decor. And perhaps the objects scattered on various surfaces were also personal choices. A dish of coloured rocks. A row of elephants carved from a dark stone. A lacquered box painted with scenes in the oriental style. Scattered miniatures—Charlotte recognised Anthony’s half-sisters and his brother Jonathan.
Large watercolours in carved wooden frames hung on the walls. Haverford Castle, set on its cliffs with the sea behind. The house she was in, seen from the gardens that led down to the river. Barlow Hall in Yorkshire, which she had visited once with her mother. The others—or at least those well enough lit by candles to be visible—also showed mansions or manors in their grounds. Other Haverford Estates?
Anthony poured another two drinks and brought them to set them on the low table, then took his seat beside her. “There are some things I need you to agree to, Cherry. Guidelines, if you will.”
Charlotte nodded, cautiously.
“First, we do nothing that you don’t like. Stop me if I frighten you or go too fast for you.”
She nodded, but reminded him, “I am not a virgin, Anthony.”
He kissed her, another quick peck on the lips. “Your only experience was horrific. We need to make sure nothing we do is anything like what happened to you, so you will tell me if you are frightened or if you want to stop for any reason. Any reason at all. Will you promise?”
She nodded again, wishing he would just get on with it. Her body was a maelstrom of sensations; her brain seethed with so many conflicting emotions that she found it hard to focus on his words.
“Second,” he said, “and it is connected, you will let me know what you like. What you enjoy; what gives you pleasure. Every woman is different, and you and I will discover together the surest and best ways to bring your body to the sweetest of all destinations, that state of bliss the French callle petit mort, and that doctors call a paroxysm.”
