This is more magical than the theatre itself.
“Ye are a torment, Benedict,” she whispered, her voice a fragile wisp of sound.
He shifted, leaning forward slightly. He lifted their clasped hands and brought her gloved knuckles to his lips, pressing a kiss.
“We are almost home,” she whispered, the thought of his bed, his room, her pulse hammering in her temples.
The carriage finally came to a smooth stop. The doors flew open, revealing the faces of footmen and the magnificent stone façade of Ealdwick Townhouse.
“I’ll take him,” Benedict said immediately, releasing her hand. He moved with swift, silent efficiency.
Isla carefully lifted Oliver’s head and slid out from beneath him. Benedict gathered the boy effortlessly, cradling his limp body against his broad shoulder. Oliver stirred slightly, burrowing his face deeper into his father’s coat, but did not wake.
They entered the vast foyer, and Benedict nodded to Isla as he approached the stairs. He took them two at a time, yet carefully ensuring the movement did not jostle Oliver.
Isla watched the powerful lines of his back, the way he protected his son. A deep appreciation for both swelled in her chest, mixing violently with the raw hunger he had kindled in the carriage.
For the first time in her life, she felt truly wanted.
They reached the top floor, the heavy, wool carpet muffling his heavy steps. Oliver’s room was dimly lit by a whale-oil lamp.
“He’s dead to the world, Miss Mary,” Benedict said to the maid who was waiting, his voice soft as silk.
“I can see, Your Grace,” the nurse replied. “If you’ll just place him gently… I will make sure he is fully settled before I retire below for the evening.”
Benedict walked to the small, four-poster bed. He lowered his son onto the mattress and removed his overcoat, leaving him in his britches. Then, he carefully pulled the blankets over the boy’s shoulders and tucked them under his chin. He spent a long moment simply watching Oliver sleep, brushing the hair from his forehead.
He felt then that Isla stood in the doorway, her arms wrapped around herself, scenting her jasmine perfume. As Benedict turned to leave, his eyes met Isla’s over the head of the sleeping child. The tenderness evaporated, replaced instantly by the dark, compelling desire she had seen in the opera box.
“Goodnight, Oliver,” Isla murmured, stepping into the room and kissing the boy’s temple.
“Goodnight,mo chridhe,” Benedict echoed softly.
He paused at the door, giving the nurse a small nod before ushering Isla out and down the hall to his quarters with a slow, deliberateclickof the latch. He leaned his immense height against the wood of the door.
“Will you show me now, Isla?” he asked, his voice gravelly. “What does my little duchess have planned for me?”
Isla took one step toward him, then another.
“I will think of somethin’, Yer Grace,” she said with a small curtsy, showcasing her generous bosom. “But I will need ye to teach me a bit more.”
“Come over to the chair by the fire and sit on my lap, good girl. I will show you a thing or two…”
Chapter Nineteen
“The last of the luggage has been collected and organized, Your Grace,” a footman said as he gave a small bow to Isla. “Mrs. Callahan has been notified and will be traveling ahead of you all to ensure arrangements are made before your arrival. I believe that will be all?”
“Aye! That is grand news,” Isla said. “I ken His Grace is eager for us to make good time back to the country. I will be with the lad in the drawing room should ye require anythin’ further for the preparations.”
“Very well, Your Grace,” he said with a small bow.
Two days had passed since their blissful outing at the theatre, and their departure for Ealdwick was imminent the morning after next. Isla was supervising Oliver through a particularly tedious lesson on Roman history when an unexpected arrival rang through the townhouse.
“Pardon me, Your Grace,” the footman said as he entered the room. “There is a Lord Lamfort here to see you.”
Lamfort? Aye, the portly gentleman who had caused trouble at the ball and whose very presence seemed to attract gossip…
Whatever could he want? And without proper invitation?
