Page 85 of Her Impeccable Scoundrel
Bluebelle Lodge
It was growing dark when Graeme handled the reins of the phaeton for the short trip from Risley Manor to Bluebelle Lodge. A lad came around to take charge of the horse, and Graeme helped Blythe down, her smile as wide as his must be.
A spring and summer courtship had just led naturally to a decision to call banns and marry at the parish church, with the wedding breakfast to follow at Risley Manor. The wedding night, however, would be spent at Bluebelle Lodge, where they’d first become friends so many years earlier.
Louisa and Samuel Stockwell had left the wedding breakfast early and were there to greet them on the doorstep.
“All is ready for you,” Louisa said, hugging Blythe, and smiling at Graeme, while a beaming Samuel offered his hand.
“There’s a tray in your bedchamber and a bottle of wine.” Louisa said. “If there’s aught else?—”
“Lady Chilcombe will know where to look.” Samuel tugged at his wife. “We shall be off my lord, my lady,” he added with a grin.
“Well,” Blythe said. She smiled up shyly at Graeme, looking quite unlike the bold young woman he’d first met so many years ago. Her marriage had made her more prudent. Her trust now was a precious gift he intended to treasure.
He pulled her close and dropped a kiss on her nose. “I’m famished. Despite all the food at the wedding breakfast, I’ve barely had a mouthful. Let’s see what they have for us.” And then he picked her up and carried her across the threshold.
The house was quiet. The servants had left them to fend for themselves, and the children were safely ensconced at Risley Manor. Lady Hermione had returned to her own home at the end of the Season, but she’d come for the wedding, along with a few members of Lord Loughton’s family. She’d be staying on at Risley Manor for a few days to supervise the nursery staff. As if Coralie couldn’t manage things herself.
The church had been jammed to the rafters for the wedding of the new Lord Chilcombe and the scandalous Lady Chilcombe. Blythe had made inroads among many of the local families, who’d thawed because of his efforts at hospitality and good manners, as well as to Blythe’s determined cordiality and kindness. It didn’t hurt that aside from a few items of clothing, everything needed for the wedding and breakfast was purchased locally.
He followed Blythe to the bedchamber that had been hers alone for several years. The servants had turned down the bedcover and laid out a negligee and dressing gown, both of fine red silk trimmed with black lace.
Graeme watched as she focused her gaze on the small table laden with food and wondered if she was purposely avoiding looking at the bed and dreading what was to come.
He went to help her with her pelisse, noticed her shiver, and pulled a shawl from a chair while she tossed away the skimpy bonnet she’d worn for the wedding. Then he went to stir the coals in the hearth and poke the fire to life.
When he turned, he caught her staring at the bed.
“That is one of my wedding gifts. Do you like it?”
She took in a deep breath and went to lift the negligee, putting the silk to her cheek and closing her eyes a moment.
“Yes,” she said. “I’ll change into it later.”
“Phew.”
Blythe laughed. “Did you think I’d wear flannel?”
He opened his arms and she came and settled against him. “Light the candles and lamps and I’ll prepare a plate for you,” she said.
“And one for yourself. You had no chance to eat. Why, even Mrs. Jarrow deigned to speak with you.”
Mr. Jarrow senior had died in early summer, and despite still being in mourning, all of the Jarrows had appeared for the wedding, young Mr. Jarrow serving as Graeme’s best man, and his sister as a bridesmaid alongside a very grown-up looking Coralie.
“I suppose I’ll need sustenance for the night to come,” she said, biting her lip and looking up at him through her lashes. Then she laughed. “Look at you, Lord Chilcombe. The look of shock. I’m not afraid of you, you know.”
“Well, I’m very glad to hear that.”
“Since the will was settled, you’ve barely touched me, Graeme, even though we’ve had plenty of opportunities alone. Instead of a tryst, you’ve discussed drainage and planting rotations. Or the roofs on your tenants’ homes. Or what sort of lessons Nicholas ought to have to prepare for school.”
“Ah.” His heart lifted and desire stirred a bit more insistently. “You would rather I had talked about your beauty, which grows more enticing every day. And about the fascinating color of your eyes, which one moment seem blue, and in another, gray. And then there’s your hair.”
He leaned close and inhaled. “Lilacs and oranges.” One pin slid out, and then another, until her chignon loosened and he was able to rake the other pins out and send her hair cascading down her back.
“And then,” he said, “there’s the shape of a goddess hidden, always hidden under too much muslin and wool.”
He caressed her neck and then kissed it, lingering there for long moments until she was breathing hard, and he was close to bursting.
