Page 96 of To Pleasure a Prince
“You are…”
He kissed her neck.
“…a very wicked…
He tongued her throat.
“…dragon.”
“Always,” he murmured, as he kissed his way up her chin to her mouth. “But only with you, my dear, only with you.”
The afternoon sun was dipping low on the horizon as they rode up to the main house. Marcus watched his wife, searching for any sign that she disapproved of his father’s fanciful renovations. But her face showed that she was as pleased with it as she’d been with the rest of his estate.
It gave him hope. Perhaps now she wouldn’t be so eager to return to town. She seemed to like what she had seen this afternoon. She’d exclaimed over the trout ponds, admired the vast barley fields, and questioned him on the efficiency of his dairy. Though her comments and queries had demonstrated how little she knew about running an estate, he could certainly not fault her enthusiasm.
But how long could mere enthusiasm last? Without help, she could not supervise the menus for meals, deal with correspondence regarding the hiring of servants, oversee the housekeeper’s ordering of supplies, and other such things.
She knew it, too. Already she wanted to escape duties that her inability to read would make more painful. It reminded him of his mother’s own cravings for the delights of town.
He shook off that thought. Regina differed markedly from his mother, despite their surface similarities. Look at her—even now her pretty cheeks were bright from their ride, her eyes sparkling with energy. Nothing like Mother, who’d found the estate boring and dreary.
Regina had a natural intelligence that delighted in any challenge—like learning to be lady of the manor. Besides, if she’d been so very happy in town, why had she sought the adventure of a courtship with him in the first place?
Yet he could not rest easy. It wasn’t that he minded taking her to town. Now that he wasn’t such an outcast, he might enjoy an evening at the theater or dinner at Iversley’s. But he could never be entirely easy with the cream of society, where he might encounter the prince.
Besides, he liked being a country gentleman most of the time. His only complaint had been the loneliness, and now that she was here…
But for how long? She had him trapped. He had no wish to stay in town all the time. If he kept her here by force, she would hate him. And if he let her go to town alone, how long before she found some companion—
Damn, this jealousy was a plague upon his soul. He wished he did not care what she did. But he cared too much. He was rapidly falling under her spell. He craved her more every day. He hated watching her suffer through her headaches, and he found himself willing to spend any sum just to bring a smile to her lips. If he didn’t watch it, she’d soon have him dancing to her tune just as Mother had done to Father, and then…
“Are you going to show me your gardens?” she asked, drawing her mount up beside him with a winsome smile that clutched at his heart.
Great God, she looked like a sunlit garden herself, with her hair shining golden beneath a blue bonnet that turned her grey eyes the color of sky, and her spenser embroidered with a bunch of little flowers. No wonder half the men in London had wanted her. Probably still wanted her.
His heart lurched in his chest.
“Marcus? The gardens? You do have some, don’t you?”
“Yes, of course. But they’ve been sadly neglected since Louisa left. They were hers to oversee, and our aging gardener has not carried on very well without her supervision.” He eyed her closely. “Do you like gardening?”
“I like other people’s gardening,” she admitted with a rueful smile. “But I’m not fond of dirt and bugs. If you had to depend on me to take your gardens in hand, they would soon look quite sad.” She sighed. “You chose a very ornamental wife, Marcus. I do hope you don’t come to regret it.”
“Nonsense,” he said through a tight throat, “I could never regret it. I can always hire a new gardener, if need be. But I could never hire a wife.”
A groom came running from the nearby stables, and Marcus dismounted. “Come, dearling, let’s stroll through my gardens, such as they are.” He handed his reins to the groom, then went to her side. “Perhaps you’ll find you don’t mind the dirt and bugs so much after all.”
With a skeptical look, she let him help her dismount, but she remained silent as they wandered through the neat little walks beside which grew a profusion of flowers that could benefit from an expert hand.
Not hers, however. She’d made that perfectly clear.
They had just rounded the knot garden and were descending a steep hill toward the roses when a bloodcurdling scream rent the air behind them. Both of them jumped and turned, just in time to see a child of about seven come sliding down the hill on his bottom, clutching his leg.
His profusely bleeding leg.
Marcus froze as he recognized the cook’s inquisitive son. But Regina didn’t waste even a moment. She flew to the sobbing boy and knelt at his side to examine the leg. As Marcus hurried over, she was already unwinding the scarf about her neck and tying it above the gash to provide a makeshift tourniquet.
“I-I’m sorry, m’lord,” the boy exclaimed, his eyes awash with fearful tears. “I only wanted to see…your lady, but I fell off the fence onto the tiller and it cut me.” He lifted a panicky face to Regina. “I’m gonna die, ain’t I, m’lady?”
