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“Worse, perhaps,” she said, a droll smile on her face. As the smile turned wicked, she said, “At least you are young and healthy. My other options included a lord that I doubt could have performed his husbandly duties without dying to apoplexy. Can you assure me you will have no such concerns?”
He exhaled with a smile, shaking his head at her with a warning look. Shaking his finger at her, he told her, “Do not tease me regarding my abilities to perform my husbandly duties, Your Grace.”
“I have seen no proof,” she continued to tease. “I have heard that a husband might show his wife her own pleasures, but I have not yet experienced that.”
He felt a stirring in his trousers at her implications. Her easy stance coupled with her wicked teasing suggested that she finally started to feel more comfortable with him. Briefly, he considered if he might begin to give her a taste of these pleasures of which she had no knowledge. Her dress would be easy to remove, at least push off her shoulders, so that he could flick his tongue across the tip of her breast.
“Your Grace?” she asked.
He realized that he stared at her for too long. “I suppose you are right.”
“I am right?” she asked. “Were you even paying attention to what I was saying?”
“I was thinking of what you said,” he told her, clearing his throat. He stood, hoping she did not notice the discomfort he felt in his trousers. “Have you had tea?”
Her face fell, obviously disappointed in his change of subject. “No, and I had breakfast early.”
“Let us call for a tray. Perhaps you could join me on the back veranda in the shade?”
“That sounds lovely,” she said. He offered her his arm, leading her out of the parlor, grateful for the distraction to allow him to calm his arousal. As they passed a maid in the hall, Fergus asked her to tell the kitchen to send up a tray for tea.
“May I say, though…” he said suddenly, trying to grasp the words he needed without offending her.
“Yes?” she asked, looking up at him hopefully.
“Please stay out of my study. I like things a certain way, especially while I am working.”
Her face fell, obviously wishing he had wanted to say something else. Pressing her mouth into a thin line, she told him, “Very well.”
“I do like the flowers throughout the rest of the house,” he quickly added. “You are right that it does add life and color. I trust that you worked with the gardener to cut all the blooms, though, correct?”
“Yes, he said that it was a good time to cut this many, being the end of spring. The summer flowers will soon be in full bloom,” she said, almost defensively.
“That is good. If you enjoy having the flowers inside, then, feel free to direct him to make any additions to the grounds that you might wish.”
She nodded as he guided her out onto the veranda, to a table in the shade. Even in the shadow, the sunlight caught highlights in her hair as he sat down next to her, radiating off of her. He cleared his throat, and she turned her attention from the garden back to him.
“If I did come to your rooms tonight…” he started.
She raised an eyebrow waiting for him to continue the question. A maid from the kitchen stepped out of the back door, carrying a tray, and interrupted his question. He thanked the maid as she set the tray down, and Edwina began to pour tea for each of them as the maid left.
“You were saying, Your Grace?” she prompted him.
“It does not matter,” he said, shaking his head. The interruption made him nervous to continue his line of thinking. However, a mask dropped over Edwina’s face, and the moment felt broken to him, the teasing and sensuality of the earlier moment gone, unable to be brought back.
They made polite conversation about the garden, the household, and their family throughout tea. However, once the maid came back out to clear the tray, Edwina stood.
“If you do not mind, Your Grace, I think I shall take a rest for a while,” she told him as though she felt eager to get away from him.
Realizing that he had wounded her somehow, again, he sighed and smiled as genuinely as he could. “Very well, Your Grace. Thank you for taking tea with me.”
“You do not have to thank me,” she argued. “But you are welcome, nonetheless.”
She curtseyed to him, her back straight, and she left him sitting on the veranda. He sighed, wiping his hands over his face, wondering when he would learn how to stop offending his new bride.
