“Ah, good morning. I see you’ve met my great-aunts.” Bennet stood in the doorway, his expression slightly pained.
“Your bride is delightful,” Flora said, rising. She went about collecting her newspapers into a messy pile, then swept them up close to her chest. “I’ll be in the library.”
Bennet moved into the breakfast room so she could depart.
Minerva stood and plucked up one more nut, feeding it to George in her apron pocket. “I need to take George outside for a runabout. See you later, Prudence!” She wiggled her fingers in a wave and sailed through the doorway.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here to properly introduce you,” Bennet said. “I’m afraid I had urgent business to attend to, now that I have some money, thanks to your cousins.”
“Do you still have money, or is it all gone?”
He grimaced. “Much of it is spoken for, I’m afraid. But I did reserve a portion for a sound investment. I promise our future will be brighter than our present.”
Prudence hated that he was so stressed by the lack of funds. “Was it hard to sell so much of the furnishings?” she asked gently.
Bennet pulled out the chair next to hers at the small rectangular table and turned it toward her before sitting down. “Not as hard as having to tell debtors I can’t pay them. Or dealing with people who think this deficit is my fault and will no longer extend me credit. It’s frustrating, but it is the reality I must navigate.” He sounded completely resigned, but not sad. “How did you find my great-aunts?” Now he sounded a bit apprehensive.
Prudence turned on her seat to face him. “They were lovely, squabbling and all.” She decided not to mention Flora’s query as to whether she was expecting a child.
“Yes, I’m afraid they are still as sisterly as ever, but then they’ve lived together their whole lives.”
“Did they choose not to wed or—” Prudence shook her head. “Never mind, that’s not a question you need to answer.” She realized none of the women she’d met from his family had married.
“I don’t know that they chose that, but you’d have to ask them for certain,” he said. “I hope you didn’t mind their eccentricities.” His pained expression returned.
“Do you mean George the squirrel or the newspapers everywhere?”
He wiped his hand over his forehead, massaging it slightly. “I hope Flora wasn’t obnoxious. She can get carried away with her gossip.”
“She asked if I was really a companion.”
His mouth twisted. “I’m sorry if she made you uncomfortable.” He leaned forward and took her hand.
“What makes me uncomfortable is the feeling that you’re hiding something from me. The truth about Cousin Frances, perhaps?”
He stared at her a moment, his features tense. “Did they tell you about her?”
“Only that she makes her own soap that apparently doesn’t smell very good. I have the impression they don’t care for her very much. Oh, and the fits of pique that you all suffer. Except Judith. Do I have that right? Although, I’m not aware of you having fits of pique.”
Some of the color drained from his face, and she grew concerned.
“I wasn’t trying to hide her, exactly.” He spoke slowly, as if he were choosing his words carefully. Or trying to think of what to say. “I think I mentioned my family was eccentric.”
“Tell me about the fits of pique.” Again, he seemed uncomfortable. Prudence touched his hand. “If you want to. I don’t wish to cause you disquiet.”
He seemed to relax. “I love my family, but they are a great deal to handle. I suppose I was afraid you wouldn’t like them—and I wouldn’t blame you.”
“How could I not like them? Aside from the fact that they were actually quite endearing, I would love them simply because they’re your family.”
His features froze, and he seemed to not breathe for a moment. “Thank you.” He rose from his chair and cupped her face before kissing her. It wasn’t soft or sweet, but a ravishment that claimed her as his.
When he pulled away at last, she was breathless, her body quivering with desire. “May I escort you up to our chamber?” he asked. “Or should I close the door, toss up your skirts, and bury my face between your thighs right here?”
Slitting her eyes, she cupped his rigid cock through his breeches. “Perhaps you should just sit back down, and I’ll get on my knees.” She’d taken him in her mouth on two occasions during their journey to Aberforth Place and quite enjoyed the power it gave her. “You don’t even have to close the door because the table would hide my presence from anyone who came in.”
He groaned. Pulling her up from the chair, he kissed her again—this time hard and fast, his teeth knocking against hers. “Upstairs. Now. I can’t remotely behave myself, and I’d hate to shock the servants. We have so few, and if they left in disgust, we would have to resort to doing things ourselves.”
She stroked his nape, her fingers tugging on the ends of his hair. “You know I wouldn’t mind. I thought we agreed there would be worse things.”
Bennet lifted her into his arms, prompting her to squeal as she twined her arms around his neck. Then he strode from the room.
Yes, there were worse things, but right now, she couldn’t think of what those were.
Chapter 19
The thousand-pound gift from his new in-laws helped Bennet very much—but not nearly enough. He was able to settle all his father’s debts, which meant he wouldn’t bleed funds in that direction any longer. However, the estate did not provide enough income to meet his current demands, which included supporting Aunt Judith and Great-Aunt Esther in Bath, Cousin Frances, Great-Aunts Flora and Minerva, and, of course, Aunt Agatha. Never mind paying for a wardrobe that would befit a viscount and his wife or furnishing residences in which they could entertain. He could do without paintings, but an adequate table in the dining room might be nice. However, that was wholly unnecessary since they couldn’t afford to feed anyone other than themselves. Why would they need a table to seat twenty or thirty?
Prudence had been so wonderfully understanding and supportive. She hadn’t balked at the bare rooms or scoffed at the lack of retainers. As expected, she was ready to put on an apron and help. In fact, she’d done just that after taking charge of the ravishment he’d begun in the breakfast room. When she was completely satisfied—which had taken several positions, much to Bennet’s delight—she’d announced she was going to go clean something.
Thinking of her made him smile. Thinking of how he’d evaded her questions by seducing her made him want to smack himself.
He couldn’t avoid telling her the truth about all of them.
Tell me about the fits of pique.
He’d wanted to respond that she didn’t really want to know. Instead, he’d taken the coward’s way and hidden from the truth. Perhaps he ought to rehearse what to say. Mrs. Marian would probably help him if he asked. Hell, he didn’t even have the nerve to do that. What would his housekeeper say when he admitted he hadn’t told his new wife anything about the family illness?