“Because without me, your entire fortune would have gone to your odious cousin Cecil.”
“Phillip,” he corrected automatically, “and I could have married anybody to save my fortune. Believe me, I had my pick of the litter in London.”
“Pick of the litter?” she gasped. “What a horrendous thing to say. Have you no respect for women?”
“When was the last time you went to London and took a whirl on the social scene?”
“You know I've never—”
“Exactly my point. Trust me, if you had a chance to meet most of the debutantes, you would know of what I speak. I found only one last year with more than half a brain in her head, and she was already in love with someone else.”
“Clearly a testament to the fact that she possessed more than half a brain.”
Charles allowed her her little dig. “Ellie,” he said in a soft, encouraging tone, “what reason could there possibly be for us not to make ours a true marriage?”
Ellie opened her mouth, but she couldn't figure out what to say. Everything she could think of sounded rather weak and lame. How was she to explain to him that she didn't think she was ready to be intimate because it was a feeling she had? She had no rational arguments, no sound and well thought out reasons, just a feeling.
And even if she could somehow convey this feeling, she suspected that she wouldn't be terribly convincing. Not when his constant sensual onslaught was wearing her down, making her want him.
“Ellie,” he said. “Someday you're going to have to face the fact that you want me.”
She looked up in surprise. Had he somehow read her mind?
“Shall I prove my point?” he murmured. Charles rose to his feet and advanced upon her. “What do you feel when I do”—he reached out and brushed his fingertips lightly across her cheek—“this?”
“Nothing,” she whispered, suddenly quite rooted to the spot.
“Really?” His smile was slow and lazy. “I feel a great deal.”
“Charles…”
“Shhhh. What do you feel when I do”—he leaned forward and captured her earlobe between his teeth—“this?”
Ellie swallowed, trying to ignore the way his hot breath caressed her skin.
He let one of his arms snake behind her, pulling her closer to the raw heat of his body. “What about”—he cupped her backside and squeezed—“this?”
“Charles,” she gasped.
“Charles, yes,” he murmured, “or Charles, no?”
She didn't say anything, couldn't have made a sound if her life depended upon it.
He chuckled. “I'll take that as a yes.”
His lips claimed hers in a hungry movement, and Ellie found herself clinging to him for support. She hated the way he could do this to her, hated herself for loving these feelings so. He was the worst sort of womanizer and had all but admitted that he planned to carry on affairs throughout their marriage, but he only had to touch her and she melted faster than butter.
It was, she supposed, why he had been so successful at womanizing. He had told her that he wanted to be faithful, but how could she believe him? Women must fall into his bed like dominoes—she herself was a perfect example. How could he resist them all?
“You taste like honey,” he said hoarsely, nipping at the corner of her mouth. “You taste like nothing else, like no other.”
Ellie felt herself tumbling to the bed, then felt his hard body upon hers. He was more than aroused; he was wild for her, and her feminine heart soared with the knowledge and power of it. Tentatively, she reached out and laid her hand against the strong cords of his neck. His muscles leaped under her fingers and she moved away.
“No,” he gasped, pulling her hand back to him. “More.”
She touched him again, marveling at the heat of his skin. “Charles,” she whispered, “I shouldn't be…”
“You should,” he said fervently. “You definitely should.”
“But—”
He silenced her with another kiss, and Ellie let him. If she couldn't speak, she couldn't protest, and dimly she realized that she didn't want to protest. She arched her back, instinctively moving toward his warmth, and gasped when she felt her breasts flatten against him.
He spoke her name, murmuring it over and over. She was losing herself, losing her ability to think. There was nothing but this man, and the things he was making her feel, and…
Ellie's ears pricked up.
…and a sound at the door.
“Charles,” she whispered. “I think—”
“Don't think.”
The knocking grew louder.
“Someone is at the door.”
“No one would be that cruel,” he murmured, his words disappearing into her neck. “Or that stupid.”
“Ellie!” they both heard, and it was immediately apparent that the voice belonged to Judith.
“Damn,” Charles swore, rolling off of Ellie. For no one else would he have been able to hold his desire in check. But little Judith's voice was enough to convince him that he couldn't put his own needs first just then. He sat up and buttoned his shirt. When he looked over at Ellie, he saw that she was hurrying to the door, righting her appearance as she moved. He had to smile at her attempts to smooth her hair. He'd certainly done a rather nice job mussing it up.
Ellie pulled open the door to reveal Judith, whose lower lip was trembling. She immediately crouched down. “Judith, whatever is the matter?” she asked. “Why are you so sad?”
“I'm not sad. I'm mad!”
Both Ellie and Charles had to smile at that.
“Won't you come in?” Ellie said, keeping her voice appropriately grave.
Judith nodded like a queen and entered. “Oh, good evening, Charles.”
“Good evening to you, too, Judith. It's fine to see you. I should have thought you'd be getting ready for bed.”
“I would have been, but Miss Dobbin stole my pudding.”
Charles looked at Ellie in complete confusion. His wife was trying to suppress an amused smile. Clearly she knew what this was about.
“Did she give you an excuse?” Ellie asked.
Judith's mouth twisted into a most annoyed expression. “She said I had misbehaved when we were practicing my letters.”
“And did you?”
“Maybe just a little bit. But certainly not enough for her to take my pudding!”
Ellie turned to Charles. “What was the pudding to-night?”
“Strawberry tarts with custard and cinnamon,” he replied. “It was quite nice, actually.”
“My favorite,” Judith muttered. “And Miss Dobbin's favorite, too.”
“Mine as well,” Ellie added, placing her hand on her stomach when it let out a loud growl.
“Perhaps you shouldn't have skipped the evening meal,” Charles said helpfully.
She shot him a waspish look before turning back to Judith. “I did promise to help you should this occasion arise, didn't I?”
“Indeed you did. That is why I am here. I deserve my pudding! And I can prove it.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Ellie could see Charles shaking with laughter. Trying to ignore him, she focused her gaze back on Judith and said, “Is that so?”
“Mmm-hmm.” The little girl's head bobbed up and down. “I brought a copy of my lessons. You can see that I got all of my letters perfect. Even Z, which is frightfully hard.”
Ellie took the piece of paper Judith had pulled from the pocket of her frock. It was a bit crumpled, but Ellie could see that Judith had written out all of her letters in both lower and upper case. “Very nice,” she murmured. “Although you show an extra bump in the ‘M.’”
“What?” Judith screeched, clearly horrified.
“I'm only teasing,” Ellie replied. Then she turned to Charles and said, “I'm afraid that you will have to excuse us. Judith and I have important business to attend to.”
“As master of this house,” Charles put in with a mock-concerned expression, ??
?I think that I should be apprised of any devious and underhanded plots that might be stewing.”
“Very well,” Ellie said. “We are going to sneak to the kitchen to secure another portion of dessert for Judith.” She paused as her stomach rumbled. “And for me, too, I should think.”
“I shall have to put a stop to this,” Charles said.
“Oh, Charles, you wouldn't!” Judith cried out.
“Unless I may be a coconspirator.” He turned to Ellie. “Besides, I should have thought you wouldn't want to go down to the kitchens on your own.”
She scowled at him. “Judith and I would do quite well by ourselves.”
“Of course, but it will be much more fun with me along.”
Judith took Ellie's hand and tugged on it. “He's right. Charles can be great fun when he chooses.”
He tousled her hair. “Only when I choose?”
“Sometimes you are a bit too stern.”
“I keep telling him the same thing,” Ellie said with a commiserating shrug.
“Now, now, Eleanor,” Charles chided, “You usually tell me the opposite. Perhaps if I were more stern with you…Hmmm…I might meet with more success.”
“I think it is time we were off,” Ellie said quickly, ushering Judith toward the door.
“Coward,” Charles whispered as he passed her.
“You may call it cowardice,” she whispered back, “but I prefer to call it good judgment. Judith is only six years old.”
“I am nearly seven,” the little girl announced.
“And she hears everything,” Ellie added.
“Children do,” Charles said with a shrug.
“All the more reason to be more circumspect with your words.”
“Are we going to the kitchen now or not?” Judith said with a little stamp of her foot.
“Indeed we are, poppet,” Charles said, sweeping forward and taking her hand. “Now then, we must be quiet. Very quiet.”
“This quiet?” Judith whispered.
“Even quieter. And you—” He turned to Ellie. “Pipe down.”
“I didn't say anything,” she protested.
“I can hear you thinking,” Charles replied with a wiggle of his eyebrows.
Judith giggled.
Ellie, God help her, giggled too. Just when she was determined to dismiss her husband as a complete ne'er-do-well, he had to go and charm her by turning their trip to the kitchen into a romantic adventure for young Judith.
“Can you hear me thinking?” Judith asked.
“Certainly. You are thinking about strawberry tarts.”
Judith gasped and turned to Ellie. “He's right!”
Charles looked Ellie straight in the eye, his expression frankly sensual. “Can you hear me thinking?”
She shook her head quickly.
“Probably not,” he agreed. “Else you'd have far more of a blush on your face.”
“Look!” Judith squealed. “She is blushing. She does know what you're thinking!”
“I do now,” Ellie retorted.
“What is he thinking?” Judith demanded.
“Goodness!” Ellie said quickly. “Are we nearly to the kitchens? You had best button your lips, Judith. Charles did say we need to be quiet.”
The trio tiptoed into the kitchen, which Ellie noted had been cleaned quite thoroughly since her last visit. It looked as if the burnt oven had been put back into use. She was dying to look inside and inspect the rack. Perhaps when Charles's back was turned…
“Where do you suppose Monsieur Belmont has hidden those tarts?” Charles asked Judith.
“Maybe in the cupboard?” she suggested.
“An excellent idea. Let us have a look.”
While the two of them rummaged through the cupboards, Ellie made a mad—but by necessity quiet—dash to the oven. She shot a glance over at her husband to make sure that he and Judith were still busy, and then quickly stuck her head inside.
She pulled back out just as quickly, but she'd had enough time to see that the oven rack had been reset in exactly the same position she'd put it in. “This is extremely strange,” she muttered under her breath.
“Did you say something?” Charles called out without turning around.
“No,” she lied. “Did you find the tarts?”
“No. I have a feeling the kitchen staff must have polished them off this evening. But we did locate a rather tasty-looking cake with butter-cream frosting.”
“Butter-cream, eh?” Ellie asked, growing quite interested.
“Mmm-hmm. I'm sure of it.”
Ellie believed him as he had one of his fingers in his mouth.
“It's ever so good, Ellie,” Judith chirped, plunking her finger down and scooping up a chunk of frosting.
“Aren't either of you going to eat the cake?” Ellie asked.
“No.”
“Not I.”
“That butter-cream frosting will make you both ill.”
“Sadly so,” Charles said, giving his finger another lick, “but oh, so very happy.”
“Try some, Ellie,” Judith said.
“Oh, all right. But only with a piece of cake.”
“But that will ruin the effect,” Charles said. “Judith and I were planning to strip the cake quite bare and leave a mystery for Monsieur Belmont in the morning.”
“He will not be amused, I am sure,” Ellie said.
“He is never amused.”
“Charles is right,” Judith added. “He is forever grumpy and likes to shout at me in French.”
Charles held out a frosting-covered finger toward her. “Try it, Ellie. You know you want some.”
Ellie turned beet red. His words sounded uncomfortably like those he'd uttered in her bedroom—when he'd been so handily seducing her. He moved his finger toward her lips, but she backed up before he could touch her mouth.
“Pity,” he said. “I thought you were going to do it.”
“Do what?” Judith asked.
“Nothing,” Ellie ground out, and then just to show Charles that she wasn't a complete coward, she reached her finger out to his, scooped up some frosting, and ate it. “Oh, my,” she uttered “That's delicious.”
“I told you so,” Judith said.
Ellie gave up any attempt at trying to be the dignified lady of the house. It took the three of them only two minutes to denude the entire cake.
Chapter 12
Ellie woke up the following morning feeling a bit more amicably disposed toward her husband. It was difficult to maintain a sense of disgust with a man who so obviously adored children.
So he didn't take marriage as seriously as she would have liked. That didn't necessarily make him a bad person. Irreverent, perhaps, but not bad, and after all those years with her father, Ellie was starting to think that irreverent might be kind of nice. Clearly Charles had a way to go before he would be a husband she could trust with her full heart and soul, but the previous evening's escapade with Judith at least gave her some hope that they might be able to make a decent go at their marriage.
Not that she had any plans to fall into his little trap and try to seduce him. Ellie had no doubt as to who would be in control in such a situation. A fat lot she knew about seduction. She could picture it easily. She'd lean in to give him a kiss—which was the extent of what she knew how to do, really, and within seconds the seducer would become the seduced.
But to be fair, Charles had held up his end of the marriage bargain. He had arranged Ellie's financial accounts to her satisfaction, and she was more than eager to get to work. Sometime during the night Charles had slipped a piece of paper under the connecting door with all of the information Ellie would need to take control of her finances. It was remarkably thoughtful of him to have remembered to do this, and Ellie resolved to think of this kindness every time she felt like strangling her new husband—an impulse whose frequency she hoped would decrease.
Ellie left to visit her new solicitor after eating a quick bite of breakfast. No toas
t, of course; Mrs. Stubbs steadfastly refused to make it, which Ellie thought was just a bit uppity for a housekeeper. But then again, if all she could expect was another brittle, charred square that looked as if it might once have originated from a loaf of bread, she wasn't certain it was worth the effort to argue about it.
Then Ellie remembered what she'd seen the night before. Someone had readjusted the stove to her specifications. If she knew what she was doing—and she was still confident she did—then the entire Wycombe household ought to be enjoying lovely toast slathered with lovely jam for the rest of their lives.
Ellie made a mental note to look into it when she returned.
Ellie's new solicitor was a middle-aged man named William Barnes, and it was apparent that Charles had made it very clear that his wife was in charge of her own finances. Mr. Barnes was politeness personified, and he even expressed a large measure of respect for Ellie's financial knowledge and acumen. When she instructed him to put half of her money into a conservative account and half into the risky cotton venture, he clucked approvingly at her appreciation of the value of diversification.
It was the first time Ellie had been able to claim credit for her financial expertise, and she found it a heady feeling, indeed. She liked being able to speak for herself and not having to begin each sentence with, “My father would like…” or “It is my father's opinion that…”
Her father had never had an opinion on money other than that it was the root of a great deal of evil, and it pleased Ellie to no end to be able to say, “I would like to invest my funds in the following way.” She supposed that most would consider her eccentric; women did not ordinarily handle their own money. But she didn't care. In fact, she positively reveled in her newfound independence.
By the time she returned to Wycombe Abbey, her spirits were high, and she resolved to improve her efforts to make the grand estate well and truly her home. Her efforts at the Abbey proper had thus far met with nothing but failure, so she decided to spend the rest of the day outside, introducing herself to the tenants. Such an outing would be a worthwhile venture; Ellie knew that landowner-tenant relations often made the difference between prosperous lands and poverty. If there was one thing she'd learned as the daughter of a vicar, it was how to listen to the worries of villagers and help them devise solutions to their problems. As the lady of a great estate, her power and position would be much increased, but Ellie felt confident that the process would be much the same.