Page 68 of Lady Fiona's Tall, Dark Folly
He put down his fork and pursed his lips. Then he considered the ceiling and as Fifi began to chuckle, he asked, “Who is it?”
“A friend of your father’s.” She took a sip of her wine. “And mine.”
“His name?”
“He’s perfectly respectable, my dear.”
“You go alone with him?”
“His widowed sister will be along. His cousin, too. We are a party, darling.”
“A party,” Rory repeated, then in spite of himself he began to chuckle. “You won’t tell me his name?”
“The Duc d’Avergnon.”
“The Frenchman?”
“Yes, dear.”
“He recently was invited to return to his estates. During the war, he was—”
“A spy for us, yes,” his mother said with sensuous pleasure. “He has estates near Toul.”
Rory looked bewildered. “The new king says he may take them back. Will he? Why does he go to Venice?”
“Because I requested that we go, my dear.”
“You? Requested?”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“Because it is a very long tory, Rory. I will tell it later…perhaps.” She winked at Fifi. “I wish we might enjoy the day.”
She refused to say more.
That night,when Rory and Fifi left their chair on the veranda, they retired to the master suite together. Forgoing maid and valet, each of them agreed to service the other this special night. So off they went, laughing like children, running up the stairs together.
His rooms had belonged to his father and mother, but had remained empty of inhabitants since his father’s death. He’d told Fifi he wished her to redecorate as she wished. She had not yet begun. But in the meantime, he’d authorized the purchase of a new bed for them.
One look at it and her eyes went wide. “My, my. I have not ever seen one so large.”
“Tall and wide. I thought it a fine dimension. I’ve had too much of rough nights in drafty tents or on rocky ground.” His gaze turned grim beyond the bed to fragments of his years at war.
He spoke rarely of those memories, yet she’d seen them cross his visage and kill his good humor. As he did so often for her, she did for him and went to embrace him and shoo away the ugliness. “From this day forward, we’ll be together here in warmth and comfort and love.”
He kissed her deeply, undressed her and adored her, as she did him.
The next morning, she rose first, scampering from the bed, her body tingling with the languid excitement of sexual repletion. Grinning, she spread wide the draperies to let in the bright sunshine of their future.
At once, he stood behind her, his arms binding her to his hard naked body. “That was a night to remember.”
“Ah, but I fear I am not who you married, dear sir.”
He turned her, looked her over with wickedness in his intent. “I dare say, this woman resembles Fiona Fletcher, the Countess of Charlton. Who is she, if not mine?”
“She is the woman whose life you have changed by your kindness and regard.”
“And I am the man whose life you have changed by your humor and your strength.”
Her throat clogged with love for him. So in love with her husband, she led him back to bed where, uninterrupted by obligations, by others or by old hatreds, they celebrated who they were together in body and soul, to mark a grand beginning.
