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“I love you,” he said. “As a Viking and an Englishman.”
She giggled at his seductive grin. “I love you, too.”
Yes, love. That was the other part of what she felt, aside from the lust and embarrassment and excitement and all of that.
“You needn’t untie me yet,” she said as he reached for the ropes. “I mean, if you don’t wish to.”
His grin widened. “If I had my choice, my greedy wanton, I would never untie you. But we’ve a crowd of friends downstairs who are doubtless worried about your well-being, not to mention my state of mind. And my valet is surely beside himself, that I haven’t called for his help in days.”
She sat up as he freed her arms. “Does your hair need combing?”
He turned and gave her a quizzical look as he untied her right ankle. “I imagine it does.”
“Because I can help you as well as your valet,” she said. “I mean, I am exceedingly good at combing hair. I wouldn’t pull your tangles or anything.”
He set to work on her left ankle. “I suppose you may comb my hair if you like. If it would please you.”
She was probably only imagining the color spreading across his cheeks. It was hard to tell with his tawny Viking complexion. He ran a great tub of warm water in his bathing room, and they sat in it together, and she did comb out his hair, all the long, wild glory of it, so different from her tame black locks.
He had commanded her, pleasured her, confounded her feelings, but in this simple, intimate act she finally began to feel like his wife. Not his duchess...she had always known she was his duchess. Goodness, it was an impossible fact to ignore.
No, she began to feel like his true wife, treasured and loved.
“I suppose I have made you more trouble these last few days,” she said regretfully, as they rose from the tub to dry off. “With the gossips and such.”
He gave her a wry glance. “I expect it’s only the smallest fraction of trouble you shall cause me over our lifetimes. Don’t fret about it. Everything will work out in time.”
“I’ll do what I can to fix things,” she promised. “I’ll be a perfect, obedient duchess.”
They were both laughing before she could finish. “I’ve heard that before,” he said. “But I would appreciate your best attempt. You needn’t be perfect.” He took her in his arms and gave her a noisy kiss. “Just love me. And stop hinting to the king that our marriage is forgettable and that you would rather be back in Wales.”
“I’ll try.”
He gave her bottom a hearty smack. “Don’t try. Do.”
Gwen sobered as they crossed into his dressing room. The shredded portrait still drooped in the corner. “What will you do about that? Our painting?”
“I don’t think it can be saved. Or should be saved.” He stared at it a long moment. “We’ve given one another a second chance. I suppose we’ll give the artist a second chance too, perhaps in the spring, if you don’t mind a bare mantel until then.”
“But in the spring...” She brushed a hand over her middle. “I might be expecting by then.”
He winked at her as he pulled on a shirt. “I hope so. Then the following spring we can have a family portrait made, in Wales, in our meadow, to create new memories there. Do you think that would be all right?”
Sometimes her husband came up with the best ideas. Gwen felt a warmth of happiness spread through her entire body, even to her toes. “I think that sounds wonderful. Maybe we can have a portrait made every year, as our family changes and grows. We can commission portraits until we’re wrinkled and old.”
“Absolutely. Very wrinkled and very old.”
Her husband was rapidly disappearing beneath layers of fine clothing, while she remained naked, wrapped in a towel.
“May I borrow your shirt again,” she asked, “so I can return to my chambers and dress?”
He tugged away her towel and looked her up and down. Oh, that look...it made her feel hot and lustful all over again.
“I think I would rather watch you streak naked across the hallway,” he said, pulling her closer to fondle her breasts.
In the end he didn’t make her do any such thing, although it was nearly teatime before they finally managed to present themselves to their company in the front parlor. The children were there too, playing and crawling about, fresh from their afternoon naps.
“Look who it is,” said Townsend brightly, as the ladies flocked over to Gwen.
“How are you, my dear?” asked Josephine.
“You look so well!” said Aurelia.
Gwen grinned at them. “I feel completely better.” She reached to clasp her husband’s hand. “Arlington has nursed me back to health.”
“I bet he has,” snorted Barrymore, who was promptly stifled by Minette.
“It’s wonderful that Arlington has got you feeling better,” said Minette, smiling between the two of them. “And Gwen, my goodness, your convalescence has suited you. You’ve got a glow.”
“Indeed she has. We’re overjoyed to see both of you in such fine spirits,” said Warren. “We are all of us happier than you can believe. Won’t you sit and have tea with us?”
They agreed that they would love to. Gwen turned to look at her husband, keeping hold of his hand. How pleased he looked, and how happy, just like a man in love. It seemed her maiden’s prayers in the meadow were to be answered after all.
I wish...perhaps...someday he might come to love me, if he’s the sort of duke who’s not too lofty to fall in love.
As it turned out, he was not too lofty a duke at all.
Chapter Eighteen: Epilogue
Six years later
The afternoon was glorious, the sort of sunny, breezy day that made one want to take off hats, gloves, coats, and bonnets, and simply exist in the green surroundings. Aidan clasped his wife’s hand in his lap. Now and again he turned to look at her, even though it made the artist pull a frown. They’d hired an Italian fellow this spring to paint them out in their garden, which was only appropriate. Their family was growing like flowers.
Gwen held the youngest, an infant cherub named Louisa Rose, who made his heart clench in paternal adoration each time she cooed or gripped one of his fingers in her little fist. Their dark-haired three-year-old, Gareth, cuddled between him and his wife on the picnicking blanket, content to play with his toy soldiers. Their oldest son squirmed with restlessness on his mama’s other side. He had been made to comb back his mop of gold hair and wear a handsome coat and breeches like a big boy, when he would rather muck about and play.
The strapping child was formally titled John Daniel Worthington Drake, the Marquess of Wescott, and would one day be the next Duke of Arlington, but for now, he most often answered to Jack.
“When will they be here?” he asked his mama. “We’ve been sitting here for hours and hours.”
“Not hours,” said Gwen, patting his hand. “Only a half hour or so. I know it’s a trial, darling, but we want to remember this beautiful day, don’t we? When we all sat together and picnicked by the flowers?”
“I don’t care about flowers. I would rather George come and play dragon-slayers with me.”
“That sounds like an apt game for the two of you.” Aidan patted his son to sustain him in these “hours and hours” of filial duty. “Have you heard of St. George and the dragon?”
“My friend George is not a saint,” said the boy.
“You can say that again,” murmured Gwen under her breath.
It was true the Warren children had a tendency to wildness. George, the oldest, was even blonder than Jack and known for relentless activity. His younger sister Ella was a tomboy of the first degree; Aidan suspected the unconventional Josephine encouraged her in this. Ella would doubtless join the boys in their dragon-slaying, while the youngest, Dennis, toddled behind, dragging his favorite blanket.
“John Daniel,” said Aidan, so his son would know he meant business. “You must sit straight and still beside your mama, or baby Louis
a will fuss. You must set the example for Gareth too. We’ll be done in another quarter hour.”
“But I don’t like posing for pictures, Papa.”
“Sometimes you have to do things in life that aren’t very fun. It’s a nuisance, I know, but big boys learn to put up with things. You’ll grow to be a grand duke someday, and people will want to know what you looked like when you were five years old. So you ought to put on your most handsome face and finest manners and sit as still as you can until George comes. It won’t be long now.”
Jack sighed, but stopped fidgeting. Aidan well remembered the burden of duty at that tender age. He protected Jack from it, to a point, but he would need self-discipline to succeed in his future endeavors, so Aidan occasionally put his foot down.
“Ba babba babba,” chattered Louisa.
