Page 35 of My Lord, My Rogue
Lord Gilbert had visited her father the day after the arrest of Stanton. The earl had been prepared to fight for her son’s care and his guardianship. However, Lord Gilbert was unlike her former husband. He welcomed Oliver and acknowledged the dowager had sought his interference in the guardianship. The woman had even threatened to testify the child was not related to her, if he declined to help her.
Not only had he declined, but he had turned the woman’s missive over to the Court of Chancery, who had shut down her claims. Her former mother-in-law had a ruthless and unkind reputation, according to his own wife of thirty years. They had been blessed with two daughters. He loved his wife and considered himself a rich man without the marquisate. His wife had encouraged a relationship between her husband and the young marquess, and the earl had sought his help as one of Oliver’s trustees, along with Benjamin.
“Hello, wife! You are awake,” Benjamin entered the room, still shaking dead grass from his clothing.”
“You are a mess! I confess I enjoyed watching the three of you.” She beamed.
“Yes. And you, my lovely bride, are a welcome sight for my eyes,” he said, reaching over and pulling her close. “I wanted you to sleep.” He glanced at her stomach and smiled. “It seems necessary you get as much rest as possible.” He grinned slyly.
“You know! How?” She pulled back and looked at him. “I have not been ill, and I barely show.”
“Ah . . . yet you have changed. I have taken great pains to memorize that beautiful body of yours from head,” he kissed her forehead, “to belly,” he leaned over and nuzzled her stomach through her night trail, “to your toes.” He inclined his head and she playfully swatted him, pulling his face back to meet hers.
“You rogue. Do not dare kiss my feet.” She laughed. “I have not yet bathed.”
He waggled his brows. “As it happens,” he said, flicking blades of grass from his waistcoat, “I need a bath.”
They had not bathed together, but the idea warmed her to her core. “Yes, my lord. I believe that would be a perfect solution to my poor, dirty feet.”
“Wonderful. Heed me, wife, and place a robe on,” he said, giving a good-humored chuckle. “Stephens will be leading the army of buckets this way. Once our bath is prepared, I will ensure no one disturbs us.”
A moment later a tap sounded on the door and she scurried behind the screen in their room and pulled on his burgundy velvet robe, tying it about her waist. “Come in,” she beckoned.
Three footmen walked in carrying water for the tub, pouring it in the copper vessel. She had tried the shower but had not enjoyed it as much as a bath. Their bathing rituals had therefore never joined. He favored the new shower contraption. She relished a bath.
“Put it over there,” her husband directed.
“Grabbing her favorite rose-scented soap, she stood by while the water filled the tub. When they were finally alone, she grabbed the robe’s tie and pulled.
“No. Allow me to disrobe you . . . slowly.” Her husband loosened her robe, then her night trail, dropping them in a pool at her feet, before pulling her to him and taking her lips. His warm breath fanned her neck as he kissed it. His lips blazed a trail of kisses from her neck to her breasts, sending shivers through her body and need gushing to her core.
“My turn.” She giggled, taking the waistcoat and opening the buttons, one by one. He had already divested his boots. “Now the trousers,” she murmured, opening the flap and pushing him out of them. His smalls were next. Her pulse quickened at the sight of him in only his shirt. Lifting his top, she buried her face in the perfect vee of thick hair on his chest. “I love to look at you, so you first . . . into the tub!”
Honora delighted in this spirited lovemaking between her and her husband. How had they not thought of a bath together? She watched him ease himself into the tub, slowly, for the water still steamed in the air. Biting back a giggle, she remembered an earlier discussion where he had gone to great lengths to explain the sensitivity hot water caused for the male. Finally, comfortable, he looked up and rubbed her belly. “I can see the change in your stomach,” he said, grinning.
She lowered herself into the tub, settling her body in between his legs, while he stroked her back and her tummy with the fragrant soap. “I brought a bar of your sandalwood in case you prefer it.”
“Thank you, darling,” he said, accepting the soap.
“Do you think it is a girl or a boy, Benjamin?”
“I am happy with either. Had the marquess not recognized Oliver as the true Aster heir, I was prepared to make him my own.”
Her heart soared with his words. Never had she thought Oliver would know a father, much less one so kind.
“Any child of ours would be loved to the moon. However, I would love to have a little girl with deep green eyes, like yours, and blonde ringlets about her face.”
“Does that mean you prefer a girl?”
He tweaked her nose. “It means I would love a girl . . . or a boy. It matters not what sex they are, as long as you are the mother.”
He splashed warm water about them both as he gently washed her breasts and the apex of her legs. “Let us focus on loving, my pet,” he said, lightly tugging her face toward him and lowering his mouth to hers.
Moving back from the kiss, he sat up. “I have a surprise and I feel the need of other, more intense activity.” He grabbed a nearby towel and wrapped her in it, picking her up and moving her to the front of the fireplace where a large thick bearskin rug had been placed, surrounded by pillows. “I saw this on my travels to London and purchased it. The rug arrived yesterday, and I have been aching to try it out.”
“Benjamin, you spoil me. I cannot imagine how my life became thus, but I am the happiest woman I know.”
“And I am the most satisfied of men,” he said with a smirk. Reaching over to a corner of the rug, obscured by a pillow, he withdrew a small red velvet box. “There is more,” he said, handing her the small box.
