Page 68 of The Devil to Pay

“Are you telling me how to undress you, Davenport?” he enquired mildly.

Selina considered this. “No.”

“Jolly good,” he replied with a grin, and proceeded to undress her with remarkable skill, though she did have to roll this way and that to allow him access.

She could not help but point out it would have been much easier if they’d just stood up, a comment that made him laugh a good deal for reasons she did not understand. In fact, there was a lot more laughter than she had anticipated as he muttered and cursed buttons and hooks and every dressmaker that was ever born, and generally amused her by being absurd, even though his fingers were skilled and made short work of every impediment they encountered.

Finally, she was left in her drawers and chemise and, though her cheeks were burning, and she was jittery with nerves, she was not afraid. Jules would take care of her, just as he had promised to do, and he would tell her what to do. He would not make fun of her or laugh unkindly if she did or said something ridiculous. So, all she had to do was let him love her, and that didn’t seem such a hard thing to do.

Chapter 21

Jules,

You asked me what in the blazes I was doing, “marrying that strumpet.” Maybe I shall tell you one fine day, if ever the burn of humiliation dies away, which I doubt. I was caught like a fat trout and now I have nothing left to do but repent at leisure, as the saying goes.

Yet, I hear I owe you happy tidings. Well, I offer you them with my whole heart old friend. For God’s sake, be happy, happy enough for both of us. For I am living a nightmare to which there can be no end. I am determined there will be no children from this marriage so my brothers will have to buck up and do their duty.

And yes, I know you would have helped, but there was nothing I could do that would not have been dishonourable.

I wish you every joy with your bride and your new wife. Perhaps you might bring her to Scotland to meet me. A visit here in the late spring would be romantic, would it not? I am eager to meet this lady who felled such a stubborn bachelor. Do not, I beg, give her to expect a meeting with my own lady wife. I shall not offer one to either of you.

―Excerpt of a letter to The Most Hon’ble Jules Adolphus, The Marquess of Blackstone (eldest son of Their Graces, Robert and Prunella Adolphus, The Duke and Duchess of Bedwin) from The Right Hon’ble Lyall Anderson, Viscount Buchanan (eldest son of Gordon and Ruth Anderson, Earl and Countess of Morven).

21st March 1845, Chartley, Upper Brook Street, London.

Jules stared down at his wife. A sudden shaft of panic speared his heart as he considered how easily he might have missed her, if she hadn’t written that review, if he’d not gone to visit Pip, if he’d not got the ridiculous idea in his head to take his revenge on her. So many things might have gone wrong, and yet here they were.

He had taken all the pins from her hair, and it spilled out over the carpet like liquid copper, fiery sparks glittering along the tresses as the firelight flickered and reflected in the coils. Jules had longed to see her like this, all undone, free of all restraints except those in her mind, and he meant to do away with those too.

“You looked so beautiful today,” he said softly, laying his hand on her chest. Her heart hammered beneath his palm and confirmed his suspicion that she was being brave and was not half so sanguine and relaxed as she made out.

She sent him a doubtful look, and he tweaked her nose. “Don’t look like that, it was the truth. You took my breath away.”

“I’m not beautiful, certainly not as lovely as Lady Haversham,” she whispered, and he saw the vulnerability in her eyes then, the part of her she hid from everyone but him.

“To the devil with Lady Haversham. I have eyes for no one but you, my own magnificent Boadicea. You have broken down my defences, laid siege to my heart, and taken everything I am for your own. And, for the record, I was never gladder of anything. I love you, you alone, you are all that I want. All I see is the loveliest girl in the world. I shall make you believe it, too.”

“Please do.” The words were faint but heartfelt, and Jules was more than happy to comply.

He bent his head and kissed her, smoothing his hand over the fine cotton of her shift to cup one splendid breast. A soft groan escaped him at the feel of her under his hands, her nipple drawing tight and pressing against his palm.

“All mine,” he murmured in her ear, pleased by the way her breath caught.

He stayed for a moment, toying with the taut little bud and watching the play of emotion over her face turn from embarrassment to something hot and curious.

“Come, sweetheart. I’m not really going to make love to you on the floor when there is a perfectly good bed waiting for us. But that’s not to say I won’t do it another day, just in case you were wondering.”

“I was,” she admitted candidly, which made him smile.

Jules helped her up and then watched, charmed and amused, as she rearranged the bed to her satisfaction, smoothing down the already turned down covers and plumping the pillows.

“Lovely sheets,” she said, smoothing a hand over them. “Far nicer than we have, though they were nice once, but they’ve been washed and mended so many times now—”

“Davenport?”

“Yes?”

“Hush.”