Page 68 of The Lady’s Guide to Deception and Desire
She was looking into his heart.
Did she see what was there?
“Rosie.” He blinked, resting his cheek against her hand. “You saved me.”
“I suppose I did.” She smiled, and her eyes were softer than he’d ever seen them. “But you saved me right back.”
She lowered her lips to his. “That’s what people do when they love each other.”
There was no more need for say anything.
Their kiss spoke for them.
Chapter 24
Little more thanfour weeks later, the bells rang out from the tower of the church of St. George in the parish of Studborne, proclaiming the wedding of Miss Rosamund Jane Burnell and Benedict Henry Studborne, newly duke of the same.
The fact of the marriage taking place so soon after not one, but two close family deaths was a talking point over teapots not just in the village, but as far afield as London itself.
No one can act just as they please without the world at large having an opinion.
Nevertheless, since the gentleman in question was now to be addressed as Your Grace, and was very well thought of by all who knew him—including the Reverend Nossle—the ceremony passed without unwanted intervention.
In fact, when the couple emerged into the early winter sunshine, there were several cheers in their honour. The staff of the abbey had each been given a handful of rice by Mrs. Penhorgan, which they threw as the duke and his duchess passed through the lychgate.
The village children gawked, then squealed with excitement as Lord Studborne extracted a large number of pennies from his pocket and cascaded them from the rear of his garlanded equipage.
The horses took up a merry trot, the bride and groom waved, and more than one young lady among the crowd indulged a wistful sigh over how handsome the new duke looked in his morning suit.
It did seem rum that he’d chosen his consort from among the residents of the former colonies. However, it was generally agreed that the young lady was fair in looks and disposition, and her bridal costume—a slim-fitting confection of white silk adorned with tiny pink rosebuds—was most fetching.
“I’m so happy,” said Rosamund, touching her knee to that of the man she could now call husband.
“That makes two of us.” Benedict’s arm curled around her waist and he rubbed his nose to hers. “You know, most of them are thinking you’re already carrying the next heir.”
Something about that notion gave Rosamund more pleasure than mortification. “We shouldn’t wait too long before making it true.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” Benedict gave her the sort of kiss that didn’t happen often in an open carriage, and didn’t stop kissing her until their wheels crunched to a stop before the abbey.
As Benedict had given the staff a full day off in celebration of the nuptials, Thomas was obliged to jump down from beside the driver and open the double doors, allowing the duke to lift down his bride, carry her up the front elevation and across the threshold.
No wedding breakfast was arranged. There would be plenty of time for musical evenings and soirees and balls. For now, the newly-weds wanted only to be alone.
Rosamund had asked Mrs. Penhorgan to look after Pom Pom and Cerberus for the day, besides placing a platter of cold delicacies on the side-cabinet of the duke’s chamber, along with a bottle of champagne. They were also to have a fire set, which they’d light themselves.
The new mistress of the house couldn’t help but giggle as her groom took the two flights of stairs at an impressive clip.
On reaching the room, Rosamund excused herself behind the screen, to make free with the chamber pot.
She heard the crackle of the fire as Benedict attended to it, then a clatter as his shoes were shed. There was a deal of grunting. From behind the screen, she saw his jacket thrown across a chair.
Was she supposed to do the same? Without his assistance, it would be impossible. Her costume was far too close-fitting. She wouldn’t even be able to untie the laces on her white kid boots without help.
Reappearing, she was taken aback to see that Benedict had divested himself of not just some but all of his clothing.
“Goodness me.” Rosamund took in all before her.
So this was how a man looked beneath his clothes: long and lean, his skin taut over fine muscles.
