“Well, now you’ve done it,” Plum told her reflection, “you’ve frightened your maid. She probably thinks you are already mad. She’s probably right. Stupid, stupid Plum. What am I going to do? How am I ever going to tell Harry — a marquis, for heaven’s sake, he’s almost royalty — the truth about me?” Plum looked away to the door connecting her bedchamber to her husband’s, giving it a righteous glare. “Although I don’t know why I should feel guilty about this. After all, it’s his fault, it’s all his fault. If he had told me before we were married who he really was, then I would have told him who I…who I…oh, pooh. I don’t know what I would have told him.”
Plum rose from the small gilt dressing table and fidgeted with the ribbon on her night rail. It was an old night rail, patched and mended and somewhat frayed on the bottom, not at all the sort of night rail a real marchioness would wear, especially on her wedding night, but it was all she owned, and she was pathetically grateful that Edna had found a rose-colored ribbon to replace the bit of braided cloth that had previously graced the neckline. “You are a coward, Frederica Pelham. You are nothing but a base coward, and you have no right to whine about anything because this is what you wanted.”
The scent of jasmine carried on a warm evening breeze hung heavy on the air as she gazed out the window at the blackness beyond. Because they had arrived after dark, she hadn’t had much more than a glimpse of Ashleigh Court as Harry had brought her home, but what she had seen stunned her almost as much as the carelessly tossed out fact that he, Harry, her lord and master, was truly a lord if not her master. True the house and grounds were horribly ill-kept, but Harry had reassured Thom (Plum being at the time too stunned by the marquis’s revelation to do much but sputter, “But, but…”) that he had plans to renovate and rejuvenate the once-proud estate, and he looked forward to the help and advice of his new wife.
“A wife who doesn’t deserve to offer any advice or help,” Plum said sadly to herself.
“You think not? I’m of another mind. I’ve always felt that a home needed a woman’s touch to keep it from being too utilitarian.” Harry strolled into the room through the connecting door, clad in a heavy gold brocade dressing gown that reached to his feet. He stopped next to her and looked out the window, sighing as he did. “There’s so much to do here, I would appreciate your help, but if you’d prefer not to take the house in hand—”
“Oh, no, I’d be happy to…my lord.”
Harry smiled as he turned to face her, a smile that would seem to be made up of mundane things like lips and eyes and adorable little crinkle laugh lines, but the sum result of it was so astoundingly wondrous, it melted all of Plum’s internal organs. Or that’s what it felt like happened. She couldn’t believe that simply by standing beside her he had whipped her traitorous, not-in-the-least-bit-sorry-she-had-married-him-despite-the-fact-that-she-hadn’t-told-him-the-truth-about-her-past body into a frenzy of want, need, and unbridled anticipation.
She had been far, far too long without a man in her bed.
“Are you still having difficulty with the marchioness idea? I am very sorry I didn’t tell you before we married, Plum. It wasn’t well done of me at all, but you see, I thought it might scare you off, and”—he took her hand, his thumb stroking over the backs of her fingers in a way that set alight all of the previously melted internal bits—“I wanted very much to have you legally mine before I bared my breast of all my secrets.”
A warm puddle of happiness did much to soothe her guilt. If he wanted her so much, perhaps the incident in her past would mean nothing to him? She hoped so. She prayed so. She also prayed she would survive the look of mingled desire and admiration that glowed from behind his spectacles. Plum had seen just such a look in the eyes of her first husband, and although it pleased her then, now she found herself responding to it with so great an enthusiasm, she thought her legs were going to give out. “It was a bit of a surprise, my lord—”
“Harry, please.”
“—Harry, but I can assure you it wouldn’t have sent me screaming into the night had you told me before we were wed. Indeed, the fact that you were baring your secrets to me might have induced me to bare a few of my own.”
“Would it?” Harry said, his gaze dropping to the thin lawn of her night rail where it covered her breasts, breasts that were brazenly pushing themselves forward and clamoring for her to walk them into his hands. “And what secrets could a woman such as you have to bare?”
It was the word bare in combination with the avid way he eyed her breasts that sent the few wits remaining her flying straight out of her head. “Oh…I’m sure I have some…”
“Yes, yes you do have some. You have lovely some.” Harry’s eyes glittered brightly as he looked at her breasts.
Plum frowned down at them, unsure whether she should affect maidenly mortification about the fact that her nipples were hard little pebbles against the soft linen, clearly outlined, right there for anyone to see, or to indulge in the wanton thrill of knowing Harry could stir such a reaction in her as to set her ablaze with the need to rub herself all over him. She decided that although the maidenly route was probably for the best, wanton was closer to her true nature. At least she could be an honest wanton. She took a step closer to him. “I assure you I have secrets, Harry. In particular, I have one secret. I was married—”
The words dried up on her lips as he — still staring at her breasts much in the manner of a starving man deposited at a feast — spread the fingers of his left hand and gently cupped her right breast.
“Yes, you told me you were married, and if you will recall, I told you that your past was of no concern to me.”
A tremor of heat rippled through Plum starting at her breast and ending at her womanly parts, which were now tingling for all they were worth. She closed her eyes and shuddered with pleasure, her back arching of its own accord, pressing her breast hard against his hand.
“Are you cold?” Harry asked hoarsely.
She opened her eyes as he rubbed his thumb across her aching nipple. “No. Not cold. Hot. Very hot.”
“Hot, yes, so hot, I can feel your heat. I wonder if your other—” Plum moaned as he placed his right hand on her other breast. “You are very hot. Feverish, almost. I believe the best thing for you would to be freed of the restriction of clothing.”
“Do you think so? Do you think that might help my…fever?” Plum ignored the fact that she was babbling like an idiot, too overwhelmed with desire and lust and a variety of other emotions all related somehow to the wonderful tingling going on in her breasts and nether parts.
“I do, I do indeed believe it will help. As your husband, it is my duty to see to your welfare, thus I must demand that for the purpose of your continued good health, you remove your night rail.”
What a wonderful man! How thoughtful he was! How concerned he was for her health. “Oh,” she breathed, thoroughly enjoying how her breasts moved against the palms of his hands.
Harry’s eyes widened behind his spectacles. “NOW!”
“Oh!”
His hands still warm on her breasts, he leaned forward, his hair brushing her jaw as he kissed a hot trail along her collarbone, down to the top of the night rail where the pretty rose ribbon held the garment up. She breathed in the scent of him, part lemon shaving soap, part something earthy and arousing, and entirely male that was solely Harry.
“I will be happy to assist you if you are unable to disrobe by yourself.”
Plum looked down to where Harry was pulling away from her, one end of the ribbon clenched firmly in his teeth. “This is wicked, you know, utterly and wholly wicked. We have only known each other for two days, and we’re about to…you want to…and I would dearly love to…in bed. Together. With all our bare skin showing!”
The ribbon fell from his mouth as he looked up, a grin so endearing on his face, she wanted to grab his ears and kiss him until his spectacles fogged up. “Yes, I know, it is wicked, isn’t it? Delightfully so.” The bright glint in his eye slowly darkened with a shadow of doubt as he took a step backward. “You do want to do this, don’t you? I’m not rushing you? I meant to tell you that I wanted a wife who desired a physical relationship, but at the time…er…I…eh…and today, when you said you had been married, I assumed that you’d want to…uh…”
Plum smiled a wry little smile as her breasts, heavy and hard and greatly missing his touch, pushed themselves with eagerness back into his hands. “Yes, I very much want to be a wife to you in all ways. It’s just that I have only been with my first husband, you see, and we were together only for six weeks—”
Harry gently kissed the words from her lips. “You don’t have much experience, I understand completely. You need not be worried on that account — we will discover this new territory together.”
Plum was about to object to the ridiculous idea he had about her sexual naivety when his mouth closed upon hers, driving all thoughts but those of a carnal nature from her mind. His mouth was sweet and hot and fi lled her with the need to taste him. Without waiting for an invitation or even permission, she slid her tongue into his mouth, capturing his delighted moan, pressing herself against him in an attempt to get closer. His hands slid from her breasts to her back, one tangling itself in her hair, the other grasping her behind, pulling her hips tight against him. Even through the heavy brocade of his dressing gown she could feel how aroused he was. His tongue twined around hers in a motion remarkably similar to the sinuous grind of his hips. She slipped both hands around his neck, pressing herself tighter against him, clutching his hair as she mapped out the terrain of his mouth, wanting to burn up with the heat he generated deep within her, needing to burn bright, unable to stop until she had merged with him, joined with him, his heat feeding her flames—
“Papa, Ratty is asleep and won’t wake up.”
Plum thought she was hallucinating for a moment, but the way Harry stiffened against her alerted her to the fact that she hadn’t imagined the childish voice behind her. With much regret, she separated from him, turning to face the small child who stood in the doorway to Harry’s room, a limp brown object held carefully in his hands. He eyed her with bright curiosity. “Who’s she? Is she going to be my new mama?”
Mama? As in…mama? Plum blinked in surprise.
“Er…yes. My dear, this is McTavish, my son.”
He had a son? And he hadn’t told her? Plum shook the cobwebs of astonishment from her mind, and smiled at the tow-headed boy. “Hello, McTavish, I’m very pleased to meet you. Yes, I am going to be your mama. What’s that you have?”
The boy pushed the brown object into her hands. “It’s Ratty. He’s asleep. He won’t wake up.”
Plum, no stranger to rodents after having lived with an animal-obsessed Thom for the past few years, did not shriek or object to the obviously dead rat she found herself holding. In fact, she was rather proud of how quickly she had assimilated the information that Harry had a child he had forgotten to mention during his secret baring. She moved quickly to step into the role of mama to his sweet, motherless child. “I’m afraid Ratty has been called to heaven by the angels, McTavish. Do you see how his chest isn’t moving? That means he’s not breathing. I’m very sorry. Ratty looks like he was a good companion.”
McTavish’s lower lip emerged, and his eyes clouded for a moment, then just as quickly the tears were gone and the lip was retracted. “Can I have a kitten now, Papa? You said I couldn’t have one because it would eat Ratty, but now Ratty’s gone to heaven, so can I have a kitten? Can I? You said I could! Can I?”
Harry sent Plum an apologetic look that begged her forgiveness for his lapse in not mentioning he already had a child. She returned it with one that said although she would have preferred being told earlier, she understood, and was more than happy to be mother to his adorable son. His responding look offered fervent and profound thanks for her complete acceptance of his hitherto unmentioned son, along with general admiration for her maternal nature, and the promise that he would give her many other children of her own. At least that’s what she thought he was trying to convey; truthfully, he looked more concerned than anything else, but she was sure she had read the emotions so plainly visible in his lovely, changeable eyes. What man didn’t want his new wife to love and adore his child?
“We’ll talk about it later, son. Here, you take Ratty and put him in a box. We’ll have a funeral for him in the morning. Give it to Gertie on your way back to bed.” Harry pushed the small child toward the door, giving Plum another apologetic look over his shoulder.
“I want a kitten! You said I could have a kitten, and I want one. I want one now!”
“Later,” Harry hissed, and tried to shove the boy through the opened door.
McTavish grabbed the door frame with the hand that was not holding the rat. His hazel eyes, so very much like his father’s that it tugged on Plum’s heartstrings, pleaded with her from across the room as Harry tried to pry the five pudgy little fingers off the door. “Mama, I want a kitten. Papa said I could have one.”
He called her Mama! She melted into a big puddle of maternal goo. “And so you shall have one, my sweet little lamby-cake. The first thing in the morning I will take you to find a kitten all your very own. It will be our special time together.”
“Later,” Harry snarled, prying the last finger off the door frame.