Chapter Twenty-Six
Lord Corombos politely offered us the use of his guest suite for as long as we wanted to occupy it, but we went home as soon as we’d managed to bathe and make ourselves presentable that evening—and I was sure that everyone, from Lord Corombos on down to the scullery maid, let out a sigh of relief as our carriage rolled out of sight.
The ride home left me oddly shy, in a hushed, fluttery way that might’ve resolved into happiness if I’d been less nervous.
Stefan loved me. He loved me, and while even I knew better than to believe vigorous, passionate lovemaking proved a damned thing, especially from a man as experienced in vigorous passion as my husband, his awkward silences in between spoke volumes.
Stefan always knew what to say. I’d never seen him at a loss, in public or in private, always with an amusing observation or a compliment or something clever and meaningless to smooth a conversation over.
But after he’d kept all of his promises, and had kissed and stroked and filled me to such completion that I didn’t know if I could ever move again, he’d had nothing to say but my name, now and then, in between softer kisses that felt more like confessions than caresses.
The way he’d kissed my fingers as he handed me into the carriage, the gleam in his eyes, the little secret smile as he let his lips linger, had told me he loved me more clearly, and far more believably, than hours of fine words.
What would he do once we were alone in our own home, in my bedroom? That flutter intensified as we stepped into the hall, the footmen gathering round to take our coats and tell Stefan how glad they were to see him well again.
And then Fritz stepped forward, clearing his throat. “There’s a matter for your attention, my lord,” he said. His glance at me held an apology, but no room for argument. “I don’t think it can wait. There’s also a messenger here from Lord Rathenas, although I think that’s slightly less urgent.”
If Lord Benedict’s messenger was the less urgent of Stefan’s pressing business, then…
I’d married a courtier and a spy, hadn’t I?
And that meant stifling my sigh and pasting on a smile as Stefan quickly kissed me, told me he’d be with me the moment he could, and strode off with Fritz in tow.
Hopefully no one stabbed him this time, and beyond that, I could wait a few hours.
But a few hours turned into the whole night, and then the next day.
I slept through most of it, exhausted beyond anything I’d ever imagined, but by the following evening I’d also written and sent a long letter to my mother—she had a few friends in Nevaia, and I had no doubt there were other, and highly colored, accounts of the duel on their way to her already—eaten my own weight in pastry, and drunk enough tea to float a boat.
Stefan had told me he loved me. He’d told me I was his life, damn it all! He’d shaken apart in my arms as he spent inside me, so deeply I still ached, wet and needy and soft, ready for him to take me again.
Eager for him to take me again, in fact, if he’d only come to me!
And yet here I sat, neglected, sipping a glass of light, fruity wine in a cushioned chair in the garden, listening to the birds chirping their way to bed as the sunset light cast a pink glow through the splashing fountain… well, all right.
Fine. It could be worse.
Footsteps on the gravel path perked up my ears, but I recognized Aldrich’s light step and fell back in my comfortable chair to sulk a bit more.
“The cook thought you might like to try this mint ice she made, my lord,” he said, and set down a tray with a silver bowl of the most delicious-looking thing I’d ever seen.
I could still sulk while eating it, couldn’t I? I’d give it my best.
“And Lord Stefan sent Fritz with a message. He’s going to be home in the morning, and asks if you’d be willing to go out with him tomorrow after breakfast. Dress for a formal call, he said.”
A formal call. A formal fucking call? Oh, Ennolu save me.
It’d be some intolerable friend of Stefan’s parents, most likely, or someone Lord Benedict needed Stefan to subtly interrogate, and I’d need to smile while everyone who spoke to me not-so-subtly accused me of using magic to assault Lord Griset and lure him into a duel, one of the stories Aldrich had told me had been most popular in the Nevaian gossip mill over the last few days.
And really, Stefan could return home to take me on some dreadful, stuffy visit, but he couldn’t come home a few hours sooner to be with me?
Not that he’d left me in the dark about his movements.
He’d sent me several messengers, and I knew he’d been with Fritz, pursuing a small group of Arthovi spies posing as merchants.
One of them had given him the wound that’d nearly killed him.
His associates had gone into hiding, and Lord Benedict wanted them found and interrogated.
I understood the importance of it, and I appreciated his trust in me.
That didn’t mean I wanted to spend the morning after he returned from his important mission on a formal visit.
“Is Fritz waiting for an answer?” I asked. Aldrich nodded. “Then tell him to tell Stefan I’ll be ready and waiting tomorrow morning.”
Aldrich trotted off, leaving me to my mint ice and my annoyance with my husband.
Gods, I just wanted him. Was that so very much to ask?
He’d told me he loved me, he’d made love to me in a way that forced me to believe him, and now I needed him to come home and ravish me. Damn his sense of duty, anyway.
But by morning, I’d resigned myself to reality. Maybe Stefan simply wasn’t a romantic type of man. He’d sweep me off my feet when he had the time, and otherwise, I needed to be patient.
Although even the thought of seeing him gave me that flutter again. Oh, I needed to go soak my head.
Instead, I had Aldrich help me dress with obsessive care in a green velvet corset that hugged my waist and an ivory shirt with more lace than strictly necessary. The suit that went with it possibly could’ve been tighter, but it would’ve cut off my blood flow.
“Lord Stefan’s waiting downstairs, my lord,” Aldrich said, stepping in from the corridor with my freshly brushed shoes. “And the carriage is waiting too.”
It took me a couple of minutes to get down the stairs. My hand shook where I rested it on the banister, and my breeches could’ve been painted on. But at last I turned the corner of the landing and saw him standing there.
Not talking to a servant, and not reading a letter, and not impatiently watching for the carriage.
Simply gazing up the stairs, his foot on the bottom step as if he’d been stopping himself from running up to find me, and waiting—waiting for me, exactly as I’d imagined that night months ago when I’d come down in my miserable cassock to go and have dinner with my miserable in-laws.
This time I was in silk and velvet, comfortable and safe, without any threats hanging over me, and Stefan…
I’d imagined, even then, that if he ever looked at someone the way the hero of Dignity & Desire looked at his lover, no one on earth could be more irresistible.
And I’d been right. He didn’t so much as blink, drinking me in with his eyes, and when he reached out his hand to take mine, he gripped my fingers as if he never wanted to let me go.
I gazed up at him, barely able to breathe, and it had almost nothing to do with the corset. The heat of his skin against mine arrowed straight down between my legs. He could’ve taken me there on the stairs, with the servants gasping in shock, and I’d have let him.
I’d kept telling myself that my curse was responsible for the way my body yearned toward him, the air between us almost a palpable barrier that pushed us apart unbearably. But the curse had nothing to do with it.
“Remi,” he said, sounding almost as breathless as I felt.
His gaze traveled up and down my body, his face flushing.
Oh, gods, I’d gone molten inside, and if he so much as kissed me, I’d fold to my knees and beg him to let me do anything he wanted…
“If we didn’t have an appointment to keep, I’d throw you over my shoulder and take you upstairs and keep you there for a week,” he said, in a tone of deep regret, and his hand tightened on mine.
“Come on. If you, ah. If this goes as planned, maybe you’ll let me keep you upstairs for the next few days, anyway. Three days is usually traditional.”
“Three days is for after a wedding. We’re already married. Stefan, slow down!” He ignored my protests, hustling me out of the hall and into the waiting carriage, leaping in after me and tapping on the roof. “Where are we going? And why three days?”
“You’ll see. I’m sorry to have left you alone for the last two nights. Forgive me? You had my messages?”
“Yes, but—”
“Benedict’s up north, as you know, and he’s having some trouble with the Arthovians.
The ones Fritz and I were chasing had a letter they were delivering to someone in Nevaia who’s passing information to the Arthovi government.
It was time-sensitive. Please forgive me.
” He paused for breath, and I blinked at him, unable to quite reconcile the urbane, unruffled courtier everyone in Nevaia would’ve sworn they knew with this earnest, pleading lover holding my hand and deigning to explain himself to me.
“You have my word, I wouldn’t leave you for a night, let alone two, without a very good reason. ”
The carriage rattled around a corner, sliding me along the seat and half into Stefan’s lap, and…well, why not? I wrapped my arm around his neck and pressed myself against him, tipping my face up so that our lips were only an inch apart.