The look in Colin’s green eyes sent shivers up and down her spine. His arms trembled beneath her, and
Gillian automatically looped her arms around Colin’s neck and held on. “What name?”
Colin leaned so close his warm breath caressed her cheeks. “We seem to be causing a bit of a stir among our temporary staff.”
Suddenly recalling where she was and why, Gillian blushed and hid her embarrassment by pressing her face against Colin’s neck.
The brush of her lips against his neck sent a fresh, sharp jolt of awareness through him. “Shall I put you on your feet, my lady?” he whispered, “or would you like me to carry you on our first tour of our new home?”
“Would you carry me?” she whispered back, “if I didn’t want to walk?”
“Indeed, I would, my lady.” Right up to bed. Once the idea lodged itself in his brain, Colin had trouble forcing it aside.
“Then maybe you had better set me on my feet.”
Colin blinked. Was it possible she’d read his mind? He bent and placed Gillian on her feet. “There you go.”
“Thank you most kindly, my lord.” Gillian smiled a little smile reminiscent of the one Colin had seen on da Vinci’s painting of the Mona Lisa hanging in the Louvre.
“You are most kindly welcome, my lady.”
Gillian noticed movement out of the corner of her eye and realized the staff her mother and father had hired stood waiting patiently for the new lord and lady of the house to remember their presence. She walked over to the butler. “Forgive us for keeping you waiting.”
“Of course, my lady,” Britton answered. “May I offer felicitations to you and to Lord Grantham on your wedding day on behalf of the staff?”
“Thank you,” she replied.
The butler nodded. “With your permission, Lady Grantham, I would like to present the staff.”
Gillian nodded, then greeted each member of the staff as Britton introduced them.
There were ten in all. The butler, Britton; the housekeeper, Mrs. Evans; Mrs. Donnelly, the cook; two footmen, Tanner and Norris; Banning, an upstairs maid; Hill, a downstairs maid; Ridley, a cook’s helper; and the scullery maids, Pilcher and Salton.
“We understand that your mother, Lady Davies, hired us as temporary staff,” Britton said.
“That is correct,” Gillian said.
“Am I given to understand that our positions may become permanent pending your approval?” the butler asked.
Colin gave a slight shake of his head, but Gillian didn’t notice.
“Yes,” she answered.
He hated to contradict his bride in her first official task as Lady Grantham, but Colin couldn’t allow her to retain the staff unless they met his approval. “Pending our approval and references and recommendations from trusted staff,” Colin added.
Britton bristled. “We all come highly recommended and with references from the Domestic Staffing Service on St. James.”
“I’m pleased to hear it,” Colin told him. “But Lady Grantham and I require that our staff receive additional security clearances from Mr. Wickham at Bow Street and an unnamed private firm.”
Gillian looked askance at her husband.
“Forgive me for treading on your role as mistress of this house, but my connection with the War Office requires that my household staff meet higher standards than most.” Colin took hold of Gillian’s hand and brushed his lips over her knuckles in a gallant gesture meant to allay his bride’s questions as he repeated the reply he and the other Free
Fellows had decided upon when they began their clandestine operations on the government’s behalf.
Even the best domestic staffing services fell prey to liars, thieves, charlatans, confidence men, and agents of foreign governments. And the War Office had learned long ago that one of the most effective means foreign and hostile governments used to gain sensitive information was to provide domestic help to London’s elite staffing agencies. Spies oftentimes masqueraded as footmen, valets, and private secretaries. For what better way for a spy to gather information than to have it handed to him on a silver salver by the gentleman who employed him?
“I apologize, sir, for my brusque manner,” Britton said. “I wasn’t aware of your connection to the War Office.”
Colin nodded. “No apology is necessary. My wife’s mother, Lady Davies, was unaware of the additional requirements—else she would have informed you of it when she offered you employment here.”
“I understand completely, sir,” Britton assured him. “And I don’t foresee any difficulties in meeting your additional requirements as my father, my grandfather, and my grandfather’s father served as butler to some of the finest families in the land.”
“Thank you for your understanding,” Colin replied.
“Will you be bringing additional staff for whom we should prepare?” Britton asked. “A gentleman’s gentleman, lady’s maid, private secretary, or driver?”
Colin looked to Gillian. “I will not, but Lady Grantham may.”
Gillian nodded. “My lady’s maid, Nadine Lavery, will join the household when Lord Grantham and I return from our honeymoon.” She smiled at the butler. “I confess that my curiosity is beginning to get the best of me. If you would be so kind as to show us around, Lord Grantham and I would like to inspect our new home.”
Britton bowed. “But, of course, my lady. Follow me.”
Colin offered her his elbow. “Shall we?”
Herrin House was a magnificent example of a redbrick Tudor-style town house. The tour of the house started downstairs in the kitchens and the wine cellar, included a brief look at the butler’s quarters and pantry, and the housekeeper’s apartment and sitting room. Although they didn’t explore it, Gillian and Colin paused to survey the small courtyard area connecting the kitchen to the gardens beyond, then moved up to the ground-floor dining room and the first-floor drawing rooms, study, music room, and library. When they concluded their tour of the first floor, Britton led Gillian and Colin up to the second-floor bedrooms, the third-floor nursery, schoolroom, children’s bedrooms, and governess’s quarters, before concluding with a brief inspection of the servants’ quarters and storage attics.
From basement to attics, the house was beautifully appointed with fine furniture, carpets, window hangings, tapestries, and exquisite examples of needlework. The entryway, the staircases, and the drawing-room floors were of white marble. The paneling, trim, mantels, and banisters were made of fine English oak, and the fireplaces in the lower floors were faced with white marble, while the bedroom fireplaces were all faced with exquisitely painted tiles. All the beds—even those in the servant’s quarters—were hung with curtains that matched those at the windows, and the library contained floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with leather-bound volumes of every description.
Herrin House was clearly the house of an educated gentleman of refined tastes and old money. Its only shortcoming was an overabundance of heavy masculine furniture and the lack of any real feminine or family touches. And those shortcomings could be easily remedied with a few new furnishings and judicious redecorating.
Gillian loved it. And Colin was awed by her father’s incredible generosity. They left the attics, where a collection of ancient furniture, trunks of clothing, and wrapped paintings stood sentinel over the lower floors of the house, and retraced their steps past the third-floor nursery and schoolroom, back down to the second-floor suite of rooms that belonged to the lord and lady of the house.
Colin discreetly dismissed the butler as Gillian left his side and entered the sitting room.
The sitting room connected the master’s chamber to the lady’s chamber on the north side of the suite. The valet’s room and the maid’s chamber and a series of built-in armoires connected the chambers at the south side.
The spacious sitting room was comfortably furnished with a damask sofa, wing chairs, and a chaise longue that promised a relaxing evening spent reclining before the fire. The sitting room and the l
ady’s chamber were the only truly feminine rooms in the house. The walls of both were papered with a soft, butter-colored silk, and the window dressings and bed curtains were of heavier silk a shade darker than the butter-colored walls. The furniture was painted white and trimmed in gilt. The color scheme created the illusion of sunlight streaming into the room through the mullioned windows. And the polished rectangular mirror hanging above the mantel reflected the light and completed the illusion of sunlight. The sitting room and the bedchamber attached to it were the warmest, most welcoming rooms in the entire house and, other than the library, Gillian’s favorite.
She walked to the center of the sitting room and executed a series of graceful pirouettes.
“I take it you’re pleased.” Colin stood in the doorway, watching, as his bride danced her way around the bedroom.
“More than pleased.” She danced over to him. “I’m thrilled. Isn’t it the most wonderful house you’ve ever seen?”
“It is that,” he agreed, more than a bit tempted to join his bride in her dance of delight. “I admit to pinching myself more than once to make certain this isn’t some kind of dream.”
“The house?” she asked.
“The house. The wedding.” He smiled at her. “You in that dress.”
“Me? A dream? A nightmare, perhaps, but not a dream.” She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue and self-consciously patted several stray tendrils of hair back into place.
“You obviously haven’t looked in that mirror.” He nodded toward the mirror hanging above the mantel. “Or you would see what I see.”
“What do you see?” She knew she shouldn’t ask, but she couldn’t help it.
“The loveliest bride any man could ever want,” Colin said softly.
“I think that’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.” Gillian blinked away a sudden rush of tears.
“I meant every word.”
“Except the part about wanting me,” Gillian said. “You can’t tell me that you went to my father’s house hoping to find a bride.”
“No, I didn’t,” he answered. “But don’t think that means I don’t want you.”
Gillian blinked at the honest reply he didn’t bother to couch in polite, gentlemanly phrases. She saw in that moment that her new husband was exhausted. His green eyes were streaked with red and underscored by dark bruising circles, and she recognized the tired lines bracketing his mouth, and the golden stubble emerging on his cheeks and chin. “It’s been a long day already,” she said. “And it’s only half over. You must be tired...”
“I am tired,” Colin said. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I want you very much. In every way it’s possible for a man to have you.”
He wanted her. But she didn’t appear to want him.
“It’s our wedding night,” she replied hesitantly, casting a nervous glance toward the doorway of the lady’s bedchamber. “You’re legally entitled to take whatever you want.”
Colin gritted his teeth. He didn’t need any more temptation. The sight of her in that pink confection of a wedding dress was enough to do him in. He was trying to be sensible. And considerate. Didn’t she understand the danger of inviting him to share a night in her bed? He had willpower, but he wasn’t made of stone. What happened to taking one thing at a time? And not looking too far ahead?
“I thank you for your gracious offer, and I’m quite certain I’m going to regret it in the morning, but I think, perhaps, I’ve taken enough for one day.”
Gillian frowned. “I don’t understand.”
Colin exhaled. How could he explain without insulting her? He had taken her dowry. Taken a wife. And taken a house. He didn’t want to take a lover who didn’t want him. Because he wanted her. There was no doubt about that. But there was a great deal of doubt on his part as to whether or not she wanted him. Not her husband. Not her bridegroom. Not Lord Grantham. Or the man she knew as Colin Fox. But him. Colin McElreath.
He had to know that she wanted him—and him alone—because once he made love to her, there could be no going back. Colin took a deep breath. For the first time in his life, he understood the frenetic society in which he lived. Arranged marriages to barely met strangers were hell. And arranged marriages formed the basis for society as he knew it. A society filled with shallow, cynical, empty people leading shallow, empty lives. Christ! Colin raked his fingers through his hair. When had he become so damned philosophical? What difference would it make if he and Gillian became empty and shallow people populating the ton? He could seduce her. His body ached for release. He could woo her with soft words and equally soft touches, but for what purpose? To get an heir? There were far too many unhappy, unwanted, and unloved heirs in London as it was. Better to wait. Better to protect himself. Better to get to know one another before the deed was done. Before he gave his heart to a woman who might not want it.
“I know it’s our wedding night, and I know the law entitles me to take what I want, but I would rather forgo the consummation of our vows until we’re better acquainted.” Colin said the right words as he met her gaze, but he hoped she would hear otherwise. “If you’ve no objections?”
Gillian couldn’t hide her surprise or her relief. “No, of course not.”
Disappointment hit him with the force of a blow, and Colin released the breath he’d been holding and did the finest bit of playacting he’d ever done. “There’s no rush.” He shrugged his shoulders in a studied show of nonchalance. “We’ve plenty of time. We’re married until death us do part.”
Gillian stood on tiptoe, wrapped her arms around his neck, and hugged him. “You’re the most understanding man I’ve ever met.”
Her firm breasts pressed against his chest. Colin felt the twin points through the silk of her wedding dress, and his body responded. “I’m not that understanding,” Colin murmured, as he leaned down and covered her mouth with his.
Gillian sighed. His kiss was warm and wonderful and welcoming. She closed her eyes and allowed him to work magic with his mouth. She couldn’t form coherent thoughts. All she could do was feel. And kissing him made her feel more than she’d ever imagined.
It was impossible to keep her distance. Every instinct she possessed urged her closer, and Gillian obeyed her instincts. She took a step forward and found herself held firmly against his chest as Colin deepened his kiss, tightening his embrace around her waist in a fluid motion that sent her senses spiraling. His kiss was everything she’d ever beamed about, everything she’d ever hoped for in a kiss. It was soft and gentle and tender and sweet and enticing and hungry and hot and wet and deep and persuasive at once. It coaxed and demanded, asked and expected a like response, and Gillian obliged.
She parted her lips when he asked entrance into the warm recesses of her mouth and shivered with delight at the first tentative, exploratory thrust of his tongue against hers. She met his tongue with her own, returning each stroke, beginning a devastatingly thorough exploration of her own.
Colin bit back a groan of frustration. He promised himself he would wait. Promised himself he wouldn’t rush her. He was going to be a considerate lover and allow her to set the pace of their lovemaking—even if it killed him. With that thought in mind, he let his arms fall to his sides and abruptly broke contact with her lips. He drew in several ragged breaths as he leaned his forehead against the top of her head and struggled for control. Mon Dieu, but he loved kissing this woman!
“Colin?”
He was gratified to discover that Gillian’s breathing was nearly as labored as his own. “Yes?”
“Would you mind very much if we stayed here tonight?”
He groaned.
“I know we aren’t going to—” she broke off, searching for the words. “Share a bed...but... well, even so, we could have a nice dinner and conversation...” She looked up at him. “It won’t be much of a wedding night for either one of us if we spend it traveling to Bedfordshire in a coach.”
Colin refrained from pointing out the f
act that it wouldn’t be much of a wedding night either way. “The staff at Shepherdston Hall is expecting us tonight,” Colin reminded her. “And I would hate to disrupt their routine for no reason.”
“You’re right.” She looked at him. “It’s just that...”
“We don’t have to spend our whole fortnight at Shepherdston Hall,” Colin said. “We can spend a few days and return here, if you’d like. It shouldn’t matter whether we spend a fortnight at Shepherdston Hall or only three or four days, so long as we remain in seclusion.” He looked her in the eye. “But we need to go there—at least for a few days.”
He saw the disappointment in her eyes, and he understood that she was eager to begin making a home for herself at Herrin House. “I suppose so, but...”
Colin snorted. Blister it, but he should have realized how tenacious she could be! She was Baron Davies’s daughter. She had either inherited the trait or she’d learned it at her father’s knee. Either way, she wanted—no, demanded—an explanation. Well, hell, the least he could do was give her one, whether she liked it or not. “Gillian.” He said her name softly, clearly enunciating each syllable. “Servants talk.”
“And?” She didn’t understand the point he was trying to make.
“Tonight is our wedding night, and the fact that we’ve decided not to consummate our marriage vows might give rise to speculation we could both do without.”
“Shepherdston Hall has servants, too,” Gillian reminded him.
“Yes, it does.” Colin nodded. “But the staff at Shepherdston Hall is entirely trustworthy. We don’t know if the same can be said about this one. If we’re not going to do what newlyweds normally do, then we’re safer not doing it Shepherdston Hall.”
Gillian took one last, longing glance around the sitting room. “I didn’t think about that,” she admitted. “I only thought how nice it would be to spend the night under our own roof.”
Colin silently echoed her sentiment. He wasn’t looking forward to the journey any more than Gillian was, but everything he’d told her was true. The announcement of his marriage to Gillian Davies had appeared in all the morning papers and would also appear in the evening editions. Their wedding was public knowledge now. Since newlyweds were expected to take some sort of honeymoon and decline social invitations for at least a fortnight, honeymooning at Shepherdston Hall, far away from the prying eyes and gossip of London, was ideal. That was one of the reasons Jarrod had suggested it—that and the fact that Colin hadn’t had any place else to take her. If he and Gillian weren’t going to be doing what newlyweds normally did on their honeymoon, Colin thought they’d have a better chance of concealing it in the country.