Page 41 of The Secret Word
He smiled sleepily, and placed a sweet, friendly kiss on the nearest corner of her lips. “I hope you liked what we just did.”
“You know I did,” she said. “When can we do it again?”
Chapter Sixteen
They returned reluctantlyfrom Harry’s hunting lodge at the end of the week. Chris had never known such a week. He had never spent so much time with another human being, let alone with a lover.
They had talked, they had read together, they had walked in the country lanes, they had played card games and chess, they had tried to identify plants and wildlife—the country offered varieties of both that were never seen in London. And they had spent hours in bed, Chris teaching Clem the ways of passion, and discovering new pleasures himself as he did so.
For Chris, swiving had always been recreational. He had always thought it important to consider the pleasure of his bed partner, and he did, but the goal—the reward, as it were—was his own release.
Bedding his wife—his love, his partner for a lifetime—was very different. The goal was no longer pleasure, though pleasure there was, more than he had ever known for him, and he could not doubt hers, either.
Pleasure was important. Chris had fended off advances from several married women in his former neighborhood, all of whom justified their straying with disparaging remarks about their marital experiences. He was certain that the very least he owed his wife was his full attention to her needs in passion. Butphysical intimacy with her was more than mutual pleasuring. It was respect. It was love. It was union.
As the minister had said in the church, they had become one. A married couple. For as long as they lived, she would be his only lover, and he hers. What happened between them in bed was both a celebration and a reflection of what they were becoming together.
After the idyll of the last week, it was down to earth with a bump, when they walked in the door of their townhouse and were presented with the mail that had arrived for them while they were away.
Chris glanced at his three, ascertaining that they were from his mother’s brother Lord Crosby, Wright, and his grandfather.
He opened his grandfather’s letter first. It was a demand for compensation, since by marrying Clem, Chris had apparently lost his grandfather an extortionate amount of money.
Chris wouldn’t even bother replying. With any luck, the other party in the marriage agreement Chris hadn’t signed would run Grandfather out of town.
Lord Crosby’s letter was simply a reminder to Chris to make an appointment so that they could arrange the transfer of authority for Chris’s holdings from Lord Crosby, as trustee, to Chris. Holdings? That sounded as if there was more than the estate.
He expected the letter from Wright to be another irritation—annoying if not as infuriating as the one from his grandfather. But it was simple and matter-of-fact.
“Christopher.
You may have tomorrow to settle into your new townhouse.
I will expect you at ten o’clock on the following day, ready to start work.
Wright.”
“Here,” he said to Clem, handing her all three letters. “Grandfather is up to his usual tricks and can be ignored, Lord Crosby wants me to make an appointment to talk about giving me my inheritance, and your father expects me at work the day after tomorrow.”
“Mine are mostly invitations,” said Clem. “Lady Halton and Lady Crosby have both arranged gatherings of the ladies of their families, and Aunt Fern wants to take me visiting.”
She did not sound as if she thought that was a good thing. “You do not have to go if you don’t want to,” Chris pointed out.
Clem, though, thought she should put in the effort. “They are family, Chris. And they are trying to be kind.”
“But you will have time to come with me to meet Lord Crosby?” Chris asked, and so it was with Clem at his side that he entered the Thurgood London townhouse the following day.
“How charming to see you, Mrs. Satterthwaite,” said Lord Crosby. “I am sure my wife is at home, and some of my daughters. Shall I ask a footman to conduct you to see them?”
“I’d like Clem to stay for our meeting, my lord,” said Chris. “She has an excellent business brain, and I value her input, especially on matters that affect us both.”
Lord Crosby was taken aback, but too polite to say more than, “Oh, capital,” sounding as if it was anything but. “Please take a seat, then, Mrs. Satterthwaite. I shall send for tea.”
“Please,” Clem said, “Call me Clem, or Clementine, if you prefer.”
While they waited for tea, Lord Crosby asked a couple of polite questions. How was their new townhouse? Had she received an invitation from his wife, who had said she would write?
“Good, good,” he said, vaguely, when Clem had replied that the house would be very comfortable once they had it arranged to her liking, and yes, she had replied to the invitation and was looking forward to the gathering.
