Turning back, she found him with unerring accuracy. She ran her hand up his chest, his throat, his jaw, his cheek until she felt the patch. He snatched her wrist.
“Let me remove it,” she whispered softly. “You have the dark. You don’t need this. If I’m completely bare, so should you be.”
His fingers loosened their grasp. Ever so slowly she moved the eyepatch away. Before he could stop her, she pressed a kiss to the scarred flesh, not even certain he would be able to feel it.
“Mary,” he rasped.
“I’m yours,” she whispered.
Rolling her over, he proceeded to keep his promise. With hands, mouth, tongue he tormented her until she was certain steam rose from her flesh. She was ready for him long before he slid into her with a sureness that caused her to smile.
He was a masterful lover. She greedily felt for what she could not see: his muscles bunching with his efforts, his slick body moving in and out of hers, his tightened jaw, his damp hair. Pleasure spiraled through her as his grunts echoed around her.
When the cataclysm came, it hit them both at the same time. She held him close as his hot seed poured into her. His breathing harsh and heavy, he eased off her and brought her up against his side.
There she fell into a contented sleep.
Chapter 27
The days ambled along, each bringing a wealth of discoveries. Mary began to understand her husband’s true devotion to Pembrook. He began each morning with a leisurely ride over his domain. She often joined him. He spoke with the tenants. He assessed the possibilities for future income. He noted areas where improvements were needed.
He was much more comfortable here than in London.
He’d even been relaxed when they’d visited her father. But more important, Sebastian had managed to put the earl at ease. Before they left, her father took her aside to inform her that she’d married a good man.
Of that, she had no doubt.
Mary stood in the garden, taking delight in the new gardener’s efforts. Her father had been more than willing to let the young man go. He had also offered her half a dozen other servants, children to his longtime staff members who he’d simply never found the heart to relieve of their positions. But he had no need of them. She found a good deal of work for them to do here.
From her place near the hedgerow, she could see the stables, could see Sebastian talking with the head stableman and pointing out various horses. The recent arrivals—Tristan’s gift—had come thundering in this morning. Sebastian had removed his jacket earlier and rolled up his sleeves to inspect each animal. He wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty. She’d give him that. She couldn’t recall her father ever taking so much interest in the managing of his estate. He had overseers. They gave him reports. But Sebastian spoke with all the servants, issued orders, listened to their ideas. He wanted Pembrook returned to its former glory.
Not nearly as many tenants still worked the land but they provided the estate with a comfortable income. His other estates fared much better. Unlike Fitzwilliam, he did not need her dowry.
In spite of the tragic history that surrounded this place, he was at home here. She enjoyed watching him striding over his property. It was her true purpose in being outside when the gardener was perfectly capable of determining which type of flower should be planted in which spot. Sebastian loved Pembrook with all that he was, devoted himself to it. She tried not to resent that he wasn’t as devoted to her. She truly had no cause for complaint.
He came to her every night. Usually he stayed with her until dawn. But some nights he was restless and would return to his bedchamber so as not to disturb her. Her assurances that she was not bothered did not sway him to stay. On those nights she would hear him call out. She wanted desperately to go to him, but she knew he wouldn’t welcome her witnessing his nightmares.
“Your Grace.”
She turned and smiled at the butler. “Thomas.”
“The post has arrived. You and the duke each received a letter. I thought they might be important.”
She took the envelopes he offered. He had already slit them open, but she didn’t question if he’d read them. She knew he wouldn’t dream of encroaching on his lord’s and lady’s privacy. “Thank you.”
He glanced toward the stables. “It is good that His Grace is home.”
“Yes, it is.”
“If I may be of further service regarding the letters, let me know.”
He strode back toward the manor. Mary smiled as she saw the letter addressed to her was from Alicia. She slid the paper from the envelope and began to read.
My dearest cousin,
I hope my letter finds you well and extremely happy in your marriage. I have a bit of news. Lord Fitzwilliam has asked for my hand in marriage. I have said yes.
I know this must come as a surprise to you, but I rather fancied him for some time and thought you the luckiest of girls to have snared him. I cannot tell you how happy I am since he began to court me. He has written me lovely poetry and sends flowers every morning. He has even managed to sneak in several kisses. He is quite talented in that regard.
