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“Shall I call for the carriage, my lord?” his valet asked, brushing invisible lint from Sylvester’s dark superfine jacket.
He would be traveling for several hours and did not anticipate being confined to a carriage. His mother would not take kindly to the fact that he had been in England for several days and had not paid a call upon her, so he’d planned a visit for today. She was not in town but with his sister in Hampstead where Hetty waited out the last weeks of her confinement. Despite the severe blows she had been dealt in life, she had rallied and had recovered. The journey had been arduous, but the support of her family and the lord who had refused to leave her side had allowed her to fight the despair with a strength he admired. “I’ll be riding.”
“Very well, my lord. I’ll inform the mews,” he said, no doubt eager to return below stairs and inform the rest of the staff the happy news of their master being in their mistress’s chamber.
His valet hurried away, and Sylvester exited his rooms. Striding down the hallway, he paused, thinking of his countess. It was normal for him to go about his daily business without informing her of when to expect him. Turning on his heel, he made his way back to her bedroom. As he opened the door the massive form of Gulliver shot through the entrance and down the hallway, no doubt to attend to his business outside.
Sylvester entered his wife’s bedchamber and faltered.
“My lord!” her lady’s maid said, dropping the soap she had been rubbing gently on her mistress’s shoulders.
Daphne had frozen, but she slowly turned her graceful neck and met his regard. They stared at each other without speaking for precious seconds.
“You may go, Letty,” his countess said.
The maid bobbed and hurried from the room, closing the door firmly.
His wife appeared delightfully rosy, her mass of silver-blonde hair loosely pinned in a topknot with several strands tumbling over her shoulders in beautiful waves. She blushed. He liked that. It hinted at innocence and an expressiveness he found vastly appealing. “Good morning, Daphne.”
An oddly penetrating gaze settled on him. “Sylvester.”
“I journey to Hampstead in a few minutes. To see my mother and sister.”
“And you are telling me this because?” Then she took the rose-scented soap and rubbed along her arms.
“It is what husbands do.”
“How remarkably fascinating and a decidedly odd notion. Are we to now inform each other of our daily outings?” she drawled, lowering her lids, but not before he saw the flash of anger.
Her eyes flared as he moved closer to the large tub. With a single word, she could arrest his advance, and Sylvester prayed for her to remain silent. “I would like our relationship to be more candid. Do you not agree, Countess?”
Amusement lit in her eyes and the smallest of smiles curved her lips. “No.”
He made no reply to that. “I may spend the night.”
“As you wish, my lord,” she said dismissively.
One step at a time. “Would you like to accompany me?”
The hand that had been rubbing the soap from her throat to collarbone paused. “To Hampstead?”
“Yes.”
Incredulity filled her gaze. “To see your family?”
“That is what I said.”
She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. “I regretfully must decline. My plans cannot be altered at such late notice.”
They stared at each other, and he allowed that the woman before him would never give him a chance to seduce her in their current state. She would try to foil his advances every step of the way. She did not want their marriage. He sat beside the tub, and it was then he saw the pulse fluttering wildly at her throat.
“If I should dip below the water and touch you, will I find you slick with desire?”
He wasn’t sure who the question startled more.
She stared at him, her lips parted, her breath shallow. Her cheeks turned a bit pink, and she looked away for a moment before answering. “You already gave your promise, husband, or does your famed honor not extend to this marriage?”
Then she smiled, a mocking glint in the depth of her dark brown eyes. “And I will never willingly come to your bed.” The naked, aching honesty in her voice was jarring.
“Let’s you and I bargain,” he said a bit hoarsely when her hand with the soap trailed over the globe of her breast and down to the dusky nipple peeking through the soapy film of bathwater.
Provoking amusement and pain glowed from her eyes. She was not at all comfortable with her nakedness, but it gave her satisfaction to know he was bound by honor to not touch her, no matter how tempted he became. He bit back a savage curse as her hands dipped low, past her breast and down.
His eyes were glued to the water, and he wished that soft white film did not obscure his gaze.
His mouth went impossible dry as his countess lifted a delicately arched foot over the edge of the tub. Then her hands went even lower. Sylvester snapped his head up and their gaze collided. He knew exactly where her fingers drifted, and suddenly he could imagine the pink folds she was currently rubbing with that bar of soap.
His hand tightened painfully on the edge of the tub, and her lips shifted upward ever so slightly, a clear indication she knew what he was imagining. Where had this boldness come from? A feeling of loss suddenly tore through him. He should have been there over the years to witness this stunning metamorphosis.
Another soft smile teased at the corner of her full mouth. “Let me hear of this bargain, my earl.”
He cleared his throat. “Our interests are diametrically opposed. I want my heir, and you want a divorce.”
She tilted her head slightly.
“Spend three months with me, as if the past does not exist, and give me the opportunity to change your mind.”
“That is not possible, my lord. I am undeterred.”
“You want a divorce because you are lonely…empty and dissatisfied with our union. We’ve never had an opportunity to see if we could have a pleasant marriage. If you determine after three months you are still not interested in granting me the privilege of your body and to share your life with me, then I will proceed with a petition to the courts.”
Her delicate brows drew together in a frown. “A pleasant marriage?”
The oddest sensation tugged deep inside of him.
“Yes. I hope you would perceive all the advantages attached to an agreeable marriage between us.”
She smoothed a stray wisp of a curl from her temple “And if I find it disagreeable…you will take steps to divorce me?”
He nodded.
For an instant, she looked utterly baffled. “On what grounds?”
“I’m a Carrington. I have no need to worry about grounds. I vow I will use my wealth and resources to ensure Parliament passes a private act granting us permission to divorce. You must, of course, allow this may take several months and your reputation will be in tatters by the end of it all.”
