Page 75 of Debtor’s Daughter

Maggie laughed, delighted, but protested as he continued on up the stairs. “You’ll hurt your back! Put me down!”

“I may not be as brawny as Cecil, but I am quite capable of carrying a featherweight like you, love,” Larkin reproved.

Still, he set her down as they came face-to-face with a blushing Priddy, who gave a giggle and rushed into the spare room that had been set aside for Maggie to ready herself.

Sending Larkin a look of amused mortification, Maggie scurried after her.

“Don’t be too long, love,” Larkin called after her, unable to resist.

Maggie gasped, knowing Priddy would have heard that too, and closed the door on him.

Laughing, Larkin went to see to his own preparations and prayed she really wouldn’t take too long to punish him for his cheek.

6th November 1850 Berwick Street, Soho, London.

Though Maggie rather regretted having arranged for Priddy to help her, for Larkin was certainly well able to play lady’s maid and undress her, she could not deny the sweet-scented bath that awaited her was very welcome. Also, taking a little time to reflect upon the wonderful day, and to prepare herself for the coming night, was not such a bad thing.

She was no blushing virgin, she reminded herself, and though her first marriage had been tragically brief, it had been a happy experience. She had no qualms about the coming night, knowing both she and Larkin were older and wiser and trusting her new husband implicitly.

So, whilst she fizzed with impatience, Maggie enjoyed the momentary respite after the excitement of the day and allowed Priddy to soothe her nerves by brushing out her long hair until it shone. Finally, however, Priddy was done, and she stepped back.

The nightgown was simple but lovely, a sheer fine silk edged with lace and tiny white bows. Maggie had fretted over wearing white on her wedding night until Aunt Connie had scolded her for being such a silly goose and observed she was unlikely to be wearing it for long.

“You look ever so pretty, Mrs Weston,” Priddy said, still blushing a fiery red.

Mrs Weston. The sudden change felt at once new and strange and utterly perfect.

“Thank you, Priddy. That will be all, but I should like to thank you for everything you’ve done for us. We shall miss you.”

Priddy grinned. “I’ll miss you too, especially that naughty scamp Master Gideon, but I’m that excited to work for Lady Belinda. Me, working for a real lady!” she said in awe. “Mr Weston was so kind to arrange it for me, and I’m that grateful. He’s a good ’un, missus, and I reckon you’ll be happy.”

“So do I,” Maggie said, giving Priddy an impulsive hug. “And I know you will be too. Good luck to you.”

Priddy bobbed a curtsey and left and a few minutes later.

Maggie heard the back door close. They were alone.

Steeling her nerves, Maggie padded along the corridor to where she now knew Larkin’s bedroom was. With a soft knock, she opened the door, her breath catching as she found Larkin waiting for her. He was standing by the fire that blazed in the hearth, a glass of brandy in his hand, and he wore the magnificent banyan she had seen once before.

Her breath caught. She bit her lip but was unable to hide her smile.

“What are you grinning at, wife?” he asked with amusement, though the words sounded somewhat breathless as he gazed at her. He set down his glass, not taking his eyes from her as they grew dark and hot with emotion.

“I’m so glad you wore that,” she admitted, hurrying to him and losing no time in wrapping her arms about him. “I’m afraid I’ve become a little obsessed with it ever since the day I saw you wearing it in the kitchen.”

“Obsessed?” he repeated, his dark eyes glinting wickedly. “I like the sound of that.”

“So you should. I’ve thought about it far too often, about this intriguing triangle of skin I could see here,” she added, trailing her long fingers through the hair on his chest as she had dreamed of doing ever since that morning. To her delight, he shivered.

“What else have you thought about?” he asked, his voice becoming pleasantly low and husky.

She pushed her hand beneath the wide sleeve, sliding it up his bare arm and delighting in the feel of hard muscle beneath her palm. “About the brawny arms I saw that day in the garden, when you brought Gideon home, and how it might feel to have them wrapped about me.”

His eyes darkened as he gazed down at her and excitement stirred low in Maggie’s stomach.

“You mean to say you’ve been ogling me and thinking wicked things,” he accused.

“I’m afraid I have,” she admitted, trying her best to look remorseful.