Page 39 of A Baron's Scandalous Quill
William sighed as he watched his friend go.
Does he disapprove? Does he think poorly of me for it?
Yet he had no further time to think on it, for Becca was getting increasingly closer to the house. He hurried to the door, opening it wide and allowing her into the house.
“Good morning,” she called as she stepped in, struggling with her bag. He reached out and took the bag from her at once, their hands clasping together over the strap. “Oh,” she gasped, looking at him with those blue eyes wide.
“Good morning,” he said, neither one of them letting go. He just stared at her, feeling his stomach leap in excitement.
“Ahem.” Henry cleared his throat, and William took the bag from Becca as she stepped back. In surprise, they both turned to see Henry hovering further down the hallway. “Lunch will be served in an hour in the dining room, my lord.”
“Thank you.” William nodded to him. Henry left, but before he turned away, William could have sworn he saw a small smile on Henry’s face.
“Well, that gives us an hour to do some more research then.” Becca removed her spencer jacket and bonnet, then clasped her hands together. “Forgive me, Will, but where is your father’s bedchamber?”
“Bedchamber?” At the mention of a bedchamber, heat had shot through William.
“Yes. I have noticed that papers seem to be missing from what we have collated. I suspect your father had been hiding them somewhere.”
“Well then…this way.” William led the way up the stairs. He slowed his pace a little, looking around him, but neither Henry nor anyone else in the staff seemed anywhere nearby, meaning they could easily walk through the house and look for the bedchamber.
When they reached the room, William hesitated, his hand over the doorknob of the bedchamber.
Becca stood beside him. She didn’t hurry him or ask what was wrong; she just stood there patiently.
“It’s not easy,” he said quietly. Just as with his father’s study, when George had died, William had ordered this room to be locked and not cleared out. This room had always been out of bounds to him, and he had no real wish to see what was inside now.
“Then perhaps we should put you more at your ease first.” Becca’s hand slipped into his own. When her fingers entwined with his own, he gripped her tight.
He realized abruptly that she didn’t just bring lightness into this house, something he had been longing for; she brought a steadiness, too. It almost felt as if nothing could go wrong if she was here. She was capable, strong, and able to stand on her own two feet. Having someone with such strength beside him meant more than he could put into words.
“How?” he asked quietly.
“Well, what is in this chamber?” She pointed toward a door on the other side of the corridor. “It looks a fine one.” Still holding onto his hand, she angled her head, peering better to look through the open door and the décor.
“It is mine,” he said, watching as her eyebrows shot up.
“You like light, do you not?” she whispered.
“I much prefer it to the darkness and shadows that seemed to follow my father everywhere.”
“Then perhaps for a minute, we should be in the light.” She took the bag from his shoulder and left it on the floor, leaning against his father’s bedchamber door, then she nodded at his room.
Such heat shot through him, such need, he couldn’t stop himself. He glanced up and down the corridor once, but finding it was completely empty, he led her toward his chamber. So many times, over these last couple of weeks, had he imagined having her in this room. To actually have her here now was a dream made into reality.
They stepped into the room, and he closed the door behind them, clicking it softly shut.
She released his hand and walked around the room, her eyes darting from one fine furnishing to another. His bed was made of duck-egg blue covers, with a richly ivory white blanket at the foot of the bed. There were two vast ottomans as well, all made with white material, and the one dark thing in the room, a mahogany coffer, he hadn’t thrown a pale blue tapestry-like blanket over it, so he didn’t have to look at the darkness.
“It is a beautiful room,” she whispered, moving around the chamber as she admired it. Her hand trailed from the white curtains on the poster bed to the blue covers on the mattress. He followed her, unable to stay away from her. “Will,” she whispered, turning to face him.
“Yes?” He stopped in front of her.
There was tension in the air now. It seemed to hover there in the space between them, for they hadn’t touched each other, not quite yet.
“You showed me something last week,” she whispered, stepping toward him. “A pleasure like no other.” She tilted her head toward his, her lips so close he could kiss her at any second. “Surely, it is your turn to experience such a thing?”
He blinked, sensing what she was offering. She wanted to pleasure him as he had done her.
