Before she could say a word, he had quietly closed the door between their adjoining rooms.
Of course, his departure was to be expected. She knew that no one but the poor actually slept together in the same bed: it was unhygienic, and led to restless sleep. Not only that, but one of her governesses had briskly told her that men smelled like goats in the morning and that if a woman didn’t put a door between herself and horrors of that nature, she might find herself pressed under an evil-smelling male body.
It didn’t sound nice when she first heard it, and it didn’t sound nice now. Perhaps it was all right, then, that James slept in his own room. But did he have to leave so quickly? While she was still feeling as if she could barely remember the day of the week?
Then it occurred to her that he might well have retired because after he achieved satiety, for want of a better word, the evidence was left on her sheets. Who wants to sleep on soiled sheets? Not she. Maybe in the future she would visit his room and then retire to her own clean bed.
That idea made her smile, even though she was now aware that her body seemed to have some new twinges in place where there had been no twinges before. Luckily, her mother had been thorough in explaining what happened in the marital bed.
It was all the way she had described, more or less. Her mother had said that a husband touches his wife down there, for example, but James hadn’t. And she’d implied—though she didn’t say it directly—that a wife might do the same for her husband. But since James hadn’t . . .
They had kissed for quite a long time, and then he rubbed her breasts, and he braced himself over her (a happy tingle coursed up her legs at the memory), and finally he pushed inside, which wasn’t all that comfortable. After that, it was over quickly.
She did like it, almost all of it, particularly the part where he kissed her so urgently that they were both moaning, because that made her feel like a bit of paper about to go up in flames.
Though she hadn’t, of course.
And now she was a married woman on the very first morning of her married life. Which meant, among other things, that she would never wear a string of pearls, or a ruffle, or a white dimity gown again in her life.
Amélie had carefully draped Theo’s monstrosity of a wedding dress over a chair. She climbed out of bed and wandered over to take a look. It was the last, the very last, piece of clothing that her mother would have the pleasure of choosing for her. That, if nothing else, deserved a celebration. With a grin, Theo pushed open the tall windows looking down onto the formal garden that stretched behind the Duke of Ashbrook’s town house, and snatched up the gown.
At that moment there was a brisk knock, and the door between her and James’s bedchambers opened. He was fully dressed in his riding habit, complete with boots and a whip, and she was barefoot in her negligee, her hair loose and billowing down her back.
“What on earth are you doing?” he asked, nodding at the wedding gown in her arms.
“Throwing this horror out the window.”
He reached her shoulder just in time to watch it fall. The top layer caught a little wind on the way down. “I hope that wasn’t a symbolic representation of your attitude toward our marriage?”
“Even if it were, it’s too late,” Theo said. “You’re too heavy for me to tip out the window. Just look at that. It looks like a drunken meringue.” The dress settled with a flourish of lace on top of the boxwood hedge below.
“I suppose there’s no call to wear such a thing more than once,” James commented, a familiar note of wry amusement in his voice.
Theo felt a wash of relief. If they could just go back to being themselves, to being comfortable together rather than all this . . . this hotness and awkward feelings, it would be so much more agreeable to be married.
“I intend to change the way I dress,” she said, grinning at him. “I may throw everything I own out this window.”
“Right,” James said. He sounded utterly uninterested.
“Including the garment I’m wearing at the moment,” she said with distaste.
At that his face brightened a little. “Do you intend to toss your negligee this minute? I could help you disrobe.”
Theo grinned at him. “Fancy a look at your bride in the daylight, do you?”
But he had a little frown between his brows. Theo had to stop herself from reaching up to soothe his forehead. “What’s the matter?” she asked instead.
“Nothing.” The corner of his mouth twitched, so she reached out a finger and touched him there, just enough to make it clear that she knew his expressions so well that lying to her was of no use. Then she leaned back against the windowsill and crossed her arms, waiting.
“I was wondering if you could spend a few hours with me and Mr. Reede, the estate manager, before luncheon.”
“Of course. How can I help?”
“My father has turned over the estate to me. After my ride, I’m going with Reede to the docks, as we have a ship there, but we should be back in an hour or two.”
“Your father did what?” Theo repeated, scarcely believing her own ears.
James nodded.
“How in the bloody hell did you talk him into that?” she demanded.
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “I asked your mother to insist on it in the marriage contract. She understood absolutely; she’d heard about various rash investments of his.”
“But you never said anything about that to me! Nor did my mother!”
“I had made Father promise that I would inherit the estate on my marriage, rather than on his death. But I wasn’t sure he would actually follow through unless it was legal. Your mother was entirely in agreement, so she played along.”
Theo nodded. “And she specified that you had to bring me into conversation about the estate.”
“No, she said nothing of the sort. I had the papers drawn up so that you and I are both executors.”
This time Theo’s mouth actually fell open. “You did what?”
“It’s entailed, of course. You cannot sell it, any more than I can.”
“This was my mother’s idea?”
“No. Actually, she wasn’t enthusiastic, and my father was apoplectic, to put it mildly. But I forced it.” A gleam of satisfaction shone in his eyes. “You know I’m hopeless when it comes to numbers and the like, Daisy. But you’re not. We can think together about what’s to be done. We used to come up with all sorts of ideas, remember?”
Theo gaped at him. She’d never heard of an estate administered by a woman. Well, at least by a woman who wasn’t a widow.
“I’m at my best out-of-doors,” James continued doggedly, “and if you tell me to pick the best horse in a race, I can do it with a fair degree of accuracy. If you think we should improve the breeding stock of the sheep on the estate, I can certainly do that. But sitting in the library and listening to a string of numbers? I’ll go mad.”
“I’m happy to come,” Theo said. She felt almost as if she were going to cry. “I’m just—I’m so honored that you wish me to help.”
“No reason to be,” James said, a trifle sharply. “You might as well know now that my father’s nearly driven the estate into the ground. It’s your inheritance that has to get it solvent again. So it’s only fair that you be part of it all.”
Theo blinked at that revelation but pushed the thought away for the moment. “I don’t think there are many men who think as you do,” she said a little mistily. “As long as you know that I didn’t learn double-entry bookkeeping or anything truly useful from my governesses.”
“You can learn. From what my father has told me, my mother ran the estate while she was alive, and she wouldn’t have had any training, either. And I’ll be there, Daisy. I just don’t want to do it without you.”
“All right,” Theo said. She felt a burst of happiness so acute that she couldn’t say another word.
But her new husband merely stood there, looking rather awkward. Finally he said, “Was last night accept
able? You aren’t injured, are you?”
“James, you’re turning pink!” Theo exclaimed.
“I am not.”
“You really must stop fibbing,” she observed. “I can see through you every time. And to your question, yes, it was surprisingly nice. Although I have thought of one thing we should do differently.”
He instantly looked wary. “What?”
“I shall come to your bedchamber, rather than you coming to mine.”
“Oh.”
“How often does one do this marital business?” Theo asked, with some curiosity. James looked rather staggeringly delicious. In fact, she could quite imagine kissing him at that very moment. But, of course, one didn’t do that sort of thing spontaneously, and certainly not during the day.
“As often as one wants,” James replied. His cheeks were undeniably rosy now.
She dropped into a chair. “I realize that I do have a question about last night.” She waved her hand at the chair opposite. “Please sit down.”
He sat, if with obvious reluctance.
It was strangely wanton to sit opposite a man—her husband—while wearing nothing more than a light silk negligee. Early morning sunlight streamed over her shoulder and played on her hair, and even though her hair was an odd color, it always looked best in natural light, so she pulled it forward over her shoulder.
“Last night was the first time I made love to anyone,” she announced, rather unnecessarily, but she wanted to make the point.
“I know that.”
“I would like to know how many women you have made love to.”
James stiffened. “More than enough.”
“How many?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“Because I just do. It’s my right to know, as your wife.”
“Nonsense. No one tells his wife that sort of thing. You shouldn’t even ask. It’s not proper.”
Theo crossed her arms again. She’d noticed that it made her breasts plump up. “Why won’t you tell me?”
“Because it’s not proper,” James repeated, starting up from his chair. His eyes were fiery, and Theo felt a glow of excitement. She loved it when James lost his temper, even though she hated it when his father did. He bent over her, bracing his arms on her chair. “Why do you want to know? Was there something about last night that made you feel that my experience was insufficient?”
Enthralled by his darkening eyes, Theo fought the desire to pull him closer. Or break into laughter. “How would I know if last night was insufficient?” she said, choking back a giggle.
One hand closed around her neck with slow deliberation. “You’ll probably be the death of me.” A thumb nudged up her chin. “Were you satisfied last night, Daisy?”
She scowled at him and shook her head, dislodging his hand. “Theo.”
“How can I not think of you as Daisy when your hair is all about your face like the petals of a flower?” He crouched down on his heels before her chair and picked up a thick curl. “It’s glossy, like sunshine.”
“I prefer to be addressed as Theo,” she told him, once again. “And it was very nice last night, thank you. I asked about others because I want to know something about you that no other person knows.”
James was looking at the lock of hair he held with as much concentration as if he held strands of gold, but at that he met her eyes. “You know everything about me.”
“No, I don’t.”
“You’re the only one who knows me,” he said quietly. “All there is to know about me that matters, Daisy—I mean, Theo. I’m rotten with figures. I’m good with animals. I detest my father. I can’t control my temper, and I hate the fact I inherited that trait from him. I’m possessive. I’m intolerable—you’ve said that many times.”
“You love your father, too,” Theo pointed out, “however much you rage against him. And I still want to know the answer to my question.”
“If I tell you, may I have a lock of hair?”
“Goodness, how romantic,” Theo breathed, a thrill going straight to her toes. But a pang of common sense intruded. “If you cut one from the back, where it won’t show.”
James pulled out a penknife and moved behind her. “Not too much,” she entreated him, pulling her hair up and then letting it fall down the chair back. “Amélie will be terribly cross if I have a bald spot.”
He ran his hands through her hair and then said, quietly, “You were the second, Daisy. And the last.”
The smile on Theo’s face came straight from her heart, but she thought the brevity of his list was probably not a matter for celebration, to his mind at least, so she said nothing. She tilted her head back and saw that he had cut off a thick lock of her hair. “What on earth are you going to do with that? I’m dazzled by this sentimental streak of yours, James.” She reached up toward him. “What about a good morning kiss, then? For the one person who knows you best and still signed on to a lifetime of tolerating intolerableness?”
His eyes were still dark and troubled, but he leaned over and dropped an upside-down kiss, a soft and sweet one, on her lips.
“Actually, I’d prefer the other kind.” She felt her heartbeat start a tattoo in her throat.
“The other kind,” James said slowly. He drew the lock of hair through his fingers, then put it on a side table and drew her to her feet. “One kiss. Then I must make my way downstairs.”
For all that, he took her mouth slowly, as if they had all day to do nothing but taste each other, come together like silk and velvet.
At some point the door opened, and a maid squeaked something. The door closed again, and still they kissed.
James’s mouth kept sliding to her jaw, to an eyebrow, to an ear, always coming back, taking her mouth again. Theo began a rambling sort of monologue, a shivering, breathy series of comments that made little sense, until she found herself saying, “I cannot believe I didn’t know I felt like this . . . What would have happened if you hadn’t realized in time, James? What if I had managed to entice Geoffrey to the altar?”
He pulled his mouth away. By now she was clinging to him, trying to fit all the curves of her body to the hard places in his, trying to climb up him like a cat, her breath coming in little sobs.
But he thrust her away, putting the chair between them for good measure. “James,” she said, her voice threaded with desire.
“Don’t.” His voice was hoarse too, but there was something strange in his expression, a kind of agonized rage in his eyes.
“What on earth is the matter?” Theo asked, suddenly aware that there really was something the matter; James wasn’t simply in an odd mood.
“Nothing,” he said, with patent falsehood. “I must meet the estate manager. I don’t want the man to think that the whole family is cut along my father’s pattern. He sometimes keeps Reede waiting for days after summoning him.”
“Of course,” Theo replied. “Still, I know you, James. There’s something really wrong, isn’t there? Please tell me. What is it?”
But he turned and fled, and she spoke to the closed door.
Eight
Amélie’s horrified cry at discovering the wedding dress serving as a perch for a pair of London sparrows was matched by her despair as Theo tossed dress after dress behind her on the bed.
At the end of it, Theo had almost nothing to wear, but she had a growing sense of excitement.
When she finally managed to dress in one of the few gowns left to her name, she wandered down to breakfast. James had not yet returned from his trip to the wharf, and no one else was at home. “Where is His Grace?” she asked Cramble, allowing a footman to spoon scrambled eggs onto her plate.
“The duke went to the races in Newmarket and won’t be home until tomorrow.”
“And my mother?”
“Mrs. Saxby left early this morning for Scotland; I believe she is paying a visit to her sister.”
“Of course! I entirely forgot,” Theo said. “Yes, I would like two pieces of that ham, t
hank you. Cramble, would you please send a footman to Madame Le Courbier and inform her that I will pay a visit this afternoon? And since I am alone, I would love to see a newspaper.”
“Only the Morning Chronicle has been delivered, Lady Islay. I shall bring it to you immediately.”
Theo almost didn’t catch his answer, lost as she was in the surprising pleasure of being addressed by James’s title. She never thought of James as the Earl of Islay, but of course he was. Then the butler’s comment dawned on her. “No other papers? How very peculiar. Couldn’t you send someone out for them, Cramble?”
“I am very sorry, my lady,” he said. “I am afraid I am unable to spare anyone from the household at the moment.”
“Perhaps this afternoon,” Theo said. “Surely Town Topics will be delivered at some point?”
“I shall ascertain,” Cramble replied discouragingly.
Theo began to think about the whole vexing question of the estate. She had no problem believing that her new father-in-law had lost a great deal of the estate’s fortunes. He was an irascible, gambling fool, and even if she hadn’t reached that conclusion herself, her mother had said so, forcibly, at least once a day for as long as she could remember.
Still, she was rather surprised that Ashbrook had agreed to give over the reins to James. He must have been pushed to the wall, which suggested the estate was in truly bad straits.
Once James and the estate manager returned from their errand, she joined them in the library to find that the meeting had an air of crisis. James had clearly been tugging at his hair, as his short Brutus looked much more disarranged than was fashionable. The estate manager, Mr. Reede, looked both aggrieved and defensive.
“Gentlemen,” Theo said, walking into the room. “Mr. Reede, how kind of you to join us.”
“It’s his bloody job,” James snapped, “and if he’d been doing his job a bit more keenly, we might not be in the straits we are.”
“Begging your lordship’s forgiveness,” Mr. Reede said, “but may I remind you that I had no authority to stop His Grace from any of the decisions that you disparage.”