Louise Allen - Regency Pleasures and Sins Part 1

‘You just have to show him who is in charge,’ Nick said encouragingly.

‘That is the trouble, he knows.’

Nick laughed at her gloomy tone. ‘Never mind your fierce steed, what do you think of that?’

That was a perfect little gem of a house, all soft grey stone and sparkling windows, nestling in a fold in the hillside, protected by a grove of trees and with its own miniature lake reflecting it back to itself.

‘Oh, Nick, it is enchanting!’

‘I think so,’ he agreed gravely. ‘I am glad you like it. Wait until you see the inside.’

‘Are there staff in residence?’ There was no smoke rising from the tall chimneys.

‘No, I sent to have it opened up this morning, but it is completely unoccupied now.’

Katherine stared as they approached, trying to absorb every detail. Something about the little house tugged at her. Was it just that Nick was so obviously in love with it?

He halted in front of the portico and swung down from the saddle, looped his horse’s reins over the railings and came to lift her down.

Katherine slid out of the saddle as his hands clasped her waist. She expected to be set on her feet, but, instead, no sooner had her boots met gravel than he swung her round and into his arms.

‘Nick! What on earth are you doing?’

He strode up the two shallow steps to the front door and applied a shoulder to the panels. It opened smoothly on to a sunny hall with a gracious staircase winding upwards and dove grey and white tiles on the floor.

‘Nick?’ He was holding her very tightly. Katherine considered wriggling, then decided it was undignified. The fact that being held like this gave her a delicious sense of danger, of being mastered, she fought to ignore.

‘I am carrying my wife over the threshold; a good old English custom that I fear would have caused an uproar if I had attempted it at the House. And, in any case, this is my home.’

‘Yes, but we are over the threshold now,’ Katherine felt compelled to point out.

Nick simply ignored this observation and strode across the marble and up the staircase. Any gently bred young lady should be protesting at this point, remonstrating with the gentleman and, if necessary, struggling; Katherine was quite well aware of that. On the other hand, any young lady who did not revel in the fact that the strong arms of the man she loved were carrying her as if she was as light as a feather was devoid of all romance. Beside, to struggle on the stairs was an unsafe thing to do.

He would stop and put her down on the landing, she told herself, only to gasp as Nick simply pushed open another door and walked into a bedchamber. It was deliciously, sensuously feminine, a confection of amber silk and cream lace, warm old panelling and pretty furniture apparently gathered together with an eye to comfort and charm, not formality and status.

Nick lowered his burden reluctantly until Kat stood in the circle of his arm, gazing round at the room.

‘I thought—’ He broke off, surprised to find his voice husky when he had imagined it had recovered. ‘I thought you would like this as your bedchamber.’

‘Oh.’ What was she feeling? Her eyes were wide, the pansy-brown depths of them reflecting back the amber light. She moved back against him as she half-turned to look around her, the unexpected contact affecting him as even the feel of her in his arms just now had not. He felt his body tighten with desire and made himself breathe deeply to contain it. He must not frighten her at this moment, too much hung in the balance.

‘Nick, it is lovely, so very lovely. Look at the view!’ Kat half-ran to the window, heedless of the swirl of green skirts that followed her. He stayed where he was, looking at her.

‘I am.’

‘But you can see better here.’ Then she turned and saw his eyes on her and blushed deliciously. But she had become self-conscious now, and watchful. ‘It is all quite lovely, but of course I cannot stay here, Nicholas.’

So, he was ‘Nicholas’ all of a sudden. ‘Why not?’ Nick made himself lean against a bedpost rather than yield to the temptation to cross the room and show Kat precisely why she should stay.

‘Because of the annulment,’ she said, wearily. ‘How will it look if I live with you here, in such an intimate household?’

Nick refrained from pointing out that a few days ago she would never have dreamed of referring to a Queen Anne Dower House boasting fourteen main bedrooms as intimate. ‘How is your virtue any more at risk here than it is up at the house? All the servants will know by now that you slept in my bed last night; you cannot keep that sort of thing secret. And you were going to rely upon medical evidence if necessary, I recall.’

‘Yes.’ She winced. He could imagine just what an ordeal it was even thinking about that.

‘Let me show you round some more,’ he coaxed. ‘We will have a full household of servants, there will be room for John and Jenny …’ She was through the door into the dressing room, then through another door and into the master bedroom without baulking. Nick eyed the green brocade of the bedcovering, imagining white limbs against it, before he put a hard hold on his imagination and ushered her out on to the landing. The tension that vibrated from her was tangible, he felt it on his skin like the approach of a summer thunderstorm.

‘It would be kind if you would help me with the refurnishing,’ he said as they descended the stairs. Kat was visibly more relaxed away from the bedrooms and talk of furnishings seemed to help.

‘Of course,’ she agreed. ‘Oh, Nick, all these rooms are so lovely! They only need the lightest touch, but perhaps they are a little over-furnished and some of the hangings are rather heavy.’

Watching her moving gracefully around the salon, her fingers trailing over the backs of sofas, adjusting the position of an ornament, twitching a curtain, he began to relax. He had caught her with the charm of the house. Love my house, love me. He froze, eyes focused painfully on the green-clad figure. Love me. Is that what he wanted? Her love? Was that what he felt for her? Not just liking, not just desire—certainly not gratitude.

It had crept up on him so gradually he had not noticed, had not recognised it from that long-ago attack of calf love that had led to his exile. And he had managed to fall in love with one of the few women in the kingdom who could recoil at the thought of marrying the heir to a dukedom, a woman who fought tooth and nail for the right to bear her own burdens, however heavy and unfair and however easy it would be to surrender them.

Kat had stopped exploring and came back to stand in front of him, a frown between her brows. ‘But twenty-four days is not long if I am to order fabrics for you.’

‘Twenty-four days?’ He blinked at her. ‘Ah, until you leave.’ Over my dead body. ‘There is probably no need to order anything, just take what you want from the House. If you talk to Mrs Arbuthnot, the housekeeper, she will show you hoards of treasures, I am sure. I will ask Father which staff we can borrow for the meantime. I see no reason why we could not move in tomorrow.’ He watched the play of emotions on Kat’s face and decided to keep things light. ‘I am certain Mrs Arbuthnot will be over here with a positive army of maids to set about airing the bedchambers if that is what is worrying you.’

‘No, that is not what is worrying me,’ she retorted with that sudden flash of kitten claws that always enchanted him. ‘Although naturally the thought that you may succumb to rheumatics is a concern. Nick, I have never been in charge of more than six servants in my life—how am I going to manage however many this house will require?’