Page 68 of Making of a Scandal
“But you’re so warm,” she murmured, wrapping an arm around his waist and draping a leg over his hips. “The fire’s gone out, but I hadn’t even noticed with you here.”
“I’ll be sure to start one for you before I leave. But you must let me go, otherwise, not only will we be caught, your lady’s maid is likely to get an eyeful. I’m going to want you again, and I doubt even her interruption would be enough to stop me. There will be plenty of time for lazy mornings in bed once we are wed. During our honeymoon, I refuse to let you leave the bed or dress until well after noon … and maybe not even then.”
She sat up, thankfully covering her breasts with the bedclothes. His goddess was far too delectable first thing in the morning, all that dark hair draping her shoulders, one bare leg peeking out from among the tangled sheets. He tore his gaze away and threw his legs over the side of the bed.
“And just where will this honeymoon take place?” she asked, watching as he slipped on his breeches.
“How do you fancy Paris?” he asked, striding to the hearth and shoveling coal into the grate.
“I’ve never been, but I think I would fancy it very much.”
“Then that’s where we’ll go. Though, you shouldn’t expect to see much of it. My rule against clothes will make it difficult for you to step foot outside the bedroom.”
She laughed, the sound low and husky, heavy with the remnants of sleep. It did things to him; things that made it increasingly hard for him to leave. He powered through his urges and continued dressing.
“We’ll go to your father after breakfast. Given your shameless seduction of me last night, I’d say it’s best.”
“If you expect me to apologize for it, I wouldn’t suggest holding your breath.”
He shoved his cravat into his coat pocket, not having the patience just now to fuss with it. “Then you don’t regret it? I don’t want to assume, but … you were a virgin, and … I’ve been led to believe there might be some …”
He waved a hand through the air, finding his lack of the right words had followed him into the morning. This was such new territory for him, this consideration and care for another person beyond the pleasures of the moment.
She rose, crossing to the screen concealing the washstand and taking up a gold silk dressing gown. Once shrouded in it, she came to him, wrapping her arms around his waist.
“I regret nothing, and neither should you. I do not feel as if I lost anything last night. I rather feel as if I gained something instead.”
Relief sagged his shoulders, and he returned her embrace. “Thank God.”
They pulled apart, and Dominick reluctantly began backing toward the door.
“I will see you in a few hours. Try to rest some more. And … perhaps a hot bath?”
She sank back onto the bed and nodded. “Both those things sound wonderful. Good-bye, Mr. Burke … for now.”
“Yes, only for now.”
Dominick tiptoed from the room with shoes in hand, looking forward to the day when he wouldn’t have to sneak about to be with her. It would probably be best for him to keep his hands off her until after the wedding, but such a feat seemed impossible. Perhaps a short engagement would be best. They could be wed as soon as the banns were read, and he wouldn’t find the limits of his patience tested too sorely.
He returned to his guest chamber without incident but found that his thoughts would never let him go back to sleep. Instead, he dug about in his trunk until he came out with the writing box he’d brought along and carried it to an armchair near the window. By the light of the approaching dawn, he penned a missive to Benedict, doing his best to explain the changes that were soon to come without disclosing that he’d already compromised Calliope. It was really none of the man’s business.
Sealing the letter and setting it aside for Thorpe, he then turned his mind to other practical matters. There was much to do to prepare for his new life, the most important being facing a reality he’d wanted to avoid. His uncle’s inevitable death would see him set up to provide for Calliope, and what had once felt like an unwanted burden was now a fortuitous blessing. It didn’t matter that she had no need of money; he would be damned if he married her without a home to shelter her and his own funds to shower her with everything she could ever want.
His return to London would change everything, starting with allowing his uncle to go over estate affairs with him so he was better prepared to receive what was coming to him. He found it easier to accept that maybe he wanted it after all; not just for the sake of his impending marriage, but also for himself, for the little boy who had been told he would receive nothing because he’d been born nothing.
The house began coming alive for the day, and Thorpe came to see to his toilette. He took pains with his appearance, finding for the first time that he actually cared about the impression he would make. It wasn’t enough for Calliope to accept and want him. He wanted her father to be confident in the man she would marry, and that meant putting his best foot forward.
“You seem distracted this morning, if you don’t mind me saying, sir,” Thorpe remarked as he deftly tied Nick’s cravat.
He grinned, and Thorpe seemed startled by his sudden laughter.
“I have good news, Thorpe. I’m getting married.”
Thorpe froze, hands still buried in the white linen, eyebrows slowly creeping toward his hairline. “Pardon me, sir, but surely you jest.”
Nick chuckled, slapping Thorpe’s shoulder. “I am completely serious. This afternoon, I intend to meet with the viscount and inform him of my engagement to his daughter. Aren’t you going to congratulate me?”
Thorpe offered him a rare smile. “Congratulations, sir.”
