They had never walked faster to a bedchamber. Rather than be interrupted by staff, he and Delilah played valet and lady’s maid for each other, although on this occasion they did take care with the garments.
His wife pulled back the quilts and linen sheets, and leaped into bed. “I must say, that wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it might be. Your mother, Judith, and Preston have been so welcoming, and today the Archbishop was gracious, and the guests mostly polite. Of course it helps that you are a duke, and everyone wants our money for their causes. But still. A good first step…brrrr it’s freezing. Hurry up and warm your Christmastide bride, husband.”
“I really need to install a proper bathing area with a permanent tub, like you had at Golden Square,” he mused, climbing into bed beside her.
“Yes. You do. I would happily forgo the Tunbury diamonds for a bath we can relax in. We are, after all, a very modern couple.”
“We are indeed,” he said, leaning over to tuck a lock of dark hair behind her ear. “A duke and a pleasure club madam who wed for love on Christmas Eve. Almost enough for me to change my mind about December being the worst month of the year.”
“Almost?” said Delilah with a laugh. “Do you require further coaxing, Your Grace?”
Bennett nodded solemnly. “A great deal, I’m afraid.”
“A lot of love.”
“All you have to give,” he murmured, settling himself on a pile of pillows, then lifting her onto his chest. “And that’s non-negotiable.”
Delilah rubbed herself against him. “So masterful. I may have taught you too well.”
“Hardly masterful, I’m practically a virgin. Decades of practice required before I could even think about claiming such a lofty level of expertise.”
His wife rolled her eyes, then squeaked as Bennett turned her onto her back and kissed her thoroughly. Never would he tire of this closeness, this wonderful intimacy. How laughable that he’d even considered marrying without love or passion. But each day was better than the last, and he couldn’t wait to show her the world. Well, Great Britain and France at least.
They would be remaining in town for the next few months while he attended to his duties in the House, and Delilah settled all final matters with the Temple, then they would undertake an extended tour of his estates. He’d promised her Paris in the spring, Dublin and Edinburgh in summer, and even though he’d visited them before, he couldn’t wait to see the magnificent cities through her eyes. No doubt Delilah would have a list of risqué or even downright wicked sights to see.
“I love you,” she whispered, twining her arms about his neck as his caresses grew bolder. “So much.”
“My Delilah,” he said, both humbled and elated at winning the heart of the perfect woman for him.
His to love, forever.
Nicola Davidson worked for many years in media and government communications, but hasn’t looked back since she decided writing erotic historical romance was infinitely more fun. When not chained to a computer she can be found ambling along one of New Zealand’s beautiful beaches, cheering on the All Blacks rugby team, history geeking on the internet, or daydreaming. If this includes dessert—even better!
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A Scandalous Secret
by Laura Trentham
Chapter 1
Thomas Garrick stood sentinel outside Sir Hawkins’s study. His stance was deliberately casual, but he remained on alert at all times, even in the London town house Sir Hawkins and his family called home. He didn’t try to be intimidating, yet the young scullery maid gave him a wide berth on her daily chores. He’d made the mistake of smiling at her once. She’d acted like he was planning to gobble her up and spit out her bones.
He was often stationed outside Sir Hawkins’s study in case he was needed to confer on operations, deliver sensitive messages, escort Sir Hawkins to and from Westminster, or less often these days, safeguard Lady Hawkins or Miss Hawkins on their errands. Garrick was the only man Hawkins trusted with his family, life, and secrets.
The Hawkins’s only child, Victoria, traipsed down the stairs in a long-sleeved frock of buttercup yellow, glowing like she had swallowed the sun on the chilly winter day. Her unruly black hair had been braided and pinned up, but sprigs had escaped to curl around her temple and nape. Her complexion was rosy and betrayed her forays into the garden without her bonnet even as the weather had turned colder.
Watching her from under his lashes, Garrick remained perfectly still so he could study her unawares for as long as possible. A pensive expression had settled on her features, but it was not truly at home there. Victoria’s disposition was usually as sunny and optimistic as her frock. What was she considering with such focus that she still hadn’t spotted him only an arm’s length away as she took the last step?
“Good morn, Miss Hawkins,” he said formally.
She jerked away from him as if she expected an attack, her hand at her throat. He straightened and touched her elbow, surprised at the vehemence of her reaction. She grasped his forearm and moved closer to him. It was his turn to stifle surprise.
The touch was intimate, and she didn’t let go, not even when their gazes clashed. He found it impossible to plumb the depths of her dark blue eyes for her thoughts. She had been a mystery to him since the day Sir Hawkins had brought him into his home like a stray puppy. His interactions with the opposite sex had been nonexistent at the orphanage, and memories of his time before tragedy befell him had faded.
Since reaching manhood, his experience had broadened, of course, but she was still more fascinating and complicated than any woman of his acquaintance. Her nature was in turns bubbly and introspective. The superficial facade she presented to her callers was often undercut by wry observations that reminded him of her father, whose intellect and logic made him a formidable weapon as England’s spymaster.
Only inches separated them. For his own sanity, he’d done his best to keep his distance the past two years. She was a lady whose mother expected her to marry into the ton to broaden and expand the family’s connections. The orphaned son of a blacksmith did not qualify.
While it was winter outside, her scent was summer—honeysuckle and heat. He cursed the leap his heart made into a faster rhythm. Victoria was off-limits. Sir Hawkins was his employer. No, he was more than that. He was both mentor and a father figure. Sir Hawkins had plucked him out of poverty and deprivation. It was not being melodramatic to say Garrick owed Sir Hawkins his life and livelihood.
The cynical part of Garrick that had blossomed in the orphanage understood the way Sir Hawkins had saved him meant his loyalty to the man knew no bounds. It was a wise, if cold-blooded, ploy on Sir Hawkins’s part.
Would Sir Hawkins mourn if one day Garrick lost his life in service to Crown and country? He thought so, but Sir Hawkins would replace him within the week nonetheless. Garrick alternatively admired and despised the pitiless mentality Sir Hawkins possessed.