Chapter Thirteen
F elix didn’t mind the garden. He could breathe here.
And when Caro used their morning meetings there to spill words onto every wind, to unwind her daily plans for him to see, he could…
enjoy it. Yes, the house rose stern behind him and the folly winked at him from the back of the garden, reminding him of his failures, his weaknesses.
But he could put all that away. As he had done for years.
He’d told Caro that he would stay. He wanted to. He would .
“Are you listening, Felix?” She tilted her head in that adorable way.
“I am.”
“You were not thinking of our bed?” Such a sultry, satisfied smile.
Our bed. In the damn folly. If he’d been smiling, he lost it. Didn’t think he could resummon it. “I’m always thinking of our bed. Of you in it.”
That satisfied smile grew, but she reached for a pile of letters resting near the teapot. After reading through a few, she said, “Chloe and Garrett have accepted our invitation. Excellent. It will be their first visit to Hawthorne.” She picked at her serviette.
“Are you nervous?”
“I want them to like it. It is as much Chloe’s plan as mine. We had dreamed of running the house together, but now that we’re married… I do not know.”
“Because we will be living here?” The words were difficult to say. He almost… couldn’t believe them. He wanted her so badly, he’d take the damn house. But he didn’t want it. Couldn’t seem to recover from it.
She shrugged.
“There’s no reason they cannot live here as well. There’s room.”
“Perhaps. But… you will need to be in London some. After your grandfather…”
Dies. Yes, he would. The House of Lords was not an obligation he could ignore. “Most members of the ton split their time between the country and London.”
She nodded, nibbling her lip.
“You do not have to think of this right now. Despite his protestations, Grandfather is hale and hearty.”
“You never know. My father was hale and hearty, too. Then suddenly…”
He cupped her cheek. “You’ve enough to deal with at the moment. Leave these plans for another day.”
“I cannot.”
“You can.”
“I cann—”
“Plans do not solve every conceivable problem, present and future.” His parents had planned to extend the gardens the following year.
His older brothers had wanted to go to university.
His sisters had looked forward to a trip to Brighton in the summer.
Death had laughed in all their faces. “Do you remember the time you planned to run off with the Romany? I believe that plan had three different stages, and each stage had five different tasks?”
She bristled. “Excellent memory.”
His eyebrows bounced up. “That one never even made it past stage one.”
“I’m insulted.”
“Do you remember the one to find Grandfather a new wife?”
She scowled. “That was a good one.”
“If I remember correctly, it ended in much embarrassment for my grandfather and the good Lady Eugenia in an assembly room at a spring dance.”
She winced. “Must you recall all my failures? I knew at the time only that the lady was unmarried and quite nice. I knew she and your grandfather were good friends. Is it no wonder I encouraged them to dance.”
“What else did you do, Caro?”
Her cheeks flamed red. “I announced to the entire assembly that your grandfather should marry Lady Eugenia.” She buried her face in her hands and groaned. Her voice was muffled when she added, “Perhaps I should not have been so forceful. They were rather good at laughing it off, though.”
“I told you about her preferences. That very morning before the dance. I believe we were walking alone in the garden. The roses were pink, the sky yellow, your gown as white as your wide-eyed innocence.”
“Yes, yes. So you did.” She sat upright. “But I did not know what you meant . How was I to know that ‘she’s very close with her live-in companion’ meant anything other than friendship?”
“Perhaps I should have been more forceful. Still, you should have set sail for a different course. Your plans are written on stone tablets with no way to change them.” Life was not like that.
“They’re just that good,” she said. “Except that once, of course.”
He tilted his head.
“Or twice.” She sat taller. “My plans have improved with age.”
He pulled her onto his lap—his favorite place to have her—and several scones spilled to the ground, spoons and saucers, too. “Everything about you has improved with age.”
“The longer I am at Hawthorne, the more gaps I see in my plan for it.”
“Then find solutions. Later. No plan necessary. No lists, no tasks.”
She wasn’t listening. Reaching for the letters, she tilted that head, no doubt scowling, focusing, planning for all the things she couldn’t bloody control. None of it mattered. Why didn’t she see that? A growl grew in his belly along with a need to teach her, to show her, to make her understand.
Because she planned to move him back in there , and he…
he didn’t think he could. Every time he considered it, a fresh swipe of claw marks appeared over his chest, ripping through skin and muscle and bone, slicing through his heart.
She planned to control him, and he… he couldn’t even control himself.
He’d thought he could. But even that one razor sharp emotion he’d kept locked away since the day of her note asking for a kiss had been slowly rising, growing. He wouldn’t be able to control it soon, push it down and ignore it.
So she should not be able to control him.
He stood, taking her with him, pulling her off into the garden.
“Where are we going?” Her hand tight in his, she stumbled, righted herself.
“To practice a bit of spontaneity.” To prove to her chaos ruled and plans solved nothing.
And to help him forget. For a little while, of what he’d have to tell her, didn’t want to tell her.
She tugged away. “Spontaneous? Me? No!”
“Caro? Timid? Never.”
“Not if I have a solid plan in place!”
“Even if you do not. I’ll prove it to you.
” His hand firmly clasping hers, he pulled her beneath a large tree, a cracked stone bench resting at its trunk.
Branches hung low, cutting them off from the world, and the sweet warm smells of summer burned around them.
Shadows drenched bright blooms, and a tepid breeze rustled leaves, dropping one white petal.
It drifted, landing in her dark hair, an earthy summer star.
He sat her on the bench then stood before her.
Breathless, lips parted, face flushed, she looked up at him.
Her bodice was lower today, and her luscious breasts rose and fell, testing the boundaries of propriety.
The boundaries of his damn patience.
He placed a boot on the edge of the bench, right next to her skirts and leaned over her, caging her in. “I have a sudden and desperate need, wife. For you. Sate it.”
If spontaneity involved Felix standing like some demigod before her… she might be able to enjoy it. Broad shoulders, narrow hips, those shirtsleeves rolled to give her mouth-watering glimpse of his forearms, the light hair dusted there. He was imperious and impossibly beautiful.
She hiccupped. Not a real one, but a mortifying sound that revealed her surprise. “I… I do not know what to do.”
“You’ll figure it out. You’ve had a week in my bed, after all.”
“B-but that’s at night! And in the morning before we rise. The appropriate times for such… activity.”
“Any time is an appropriate time when your husband is hard for you, love.”
She knew her mouth was flopping open like a fish’s. She knew her gaze had traveled south to fixate on the growing bulge in his buckskins. Her heart thumped like a drum.
“We’re outside,” she said meekly.
He stepped closer. “Here. Now.”
She glanced over her shoulder and through the garden brush toward the folly. “We’re so close to the mattress. That’s the proper—”
His hand clutched the back of her neck, his body towering over her, crowding her. “The woman who dressed as a man to find a husband, hesitating to fuck in a garden?”
She squeaked. “That… that was planned .”
“Here, Caro-mine.” His voice softer. “Now. No plans.”
Seduction into chaos.
Seduction, too, into trusting him.
Holding his gaze, she dropped off the edge of every good plan and into an ocean of the unknown. Let the waves of lust guide her. And nothing else.
They guided, first, her fingers to the button of his fall. They shook, silly things. She’d touched him there, sliding her hand between their bodies as he kissed her senseless, stroking him and squeezing him before he thrust inside her, making her scream his name.
“Here?” She gulped.
“ Mm . Figure it out.”
Well, they were hidden. Good. But they were clothed. Not good. Unless… she could rub him through his breeches. Or she might guide his hand to her breast. Then—
“Stop planning, love. Do.”
“I do not know how.”
“You absolutely do know how. I’ve personal knowledge of it. What do you want ? Turn off your big, lovely brain and listen to your body instead. What does it scream for?”
She closed her eyes, imagined her brain quiet and floating far, far away. Felt her fingertips twitch. That’s what she wanted—to undo his fall. Right here. Right now.
So she did, one button at a time, earning a hiss and a curse. When she opened her eyes, she found his head thrown back, his lips parted, his shaft jutting out.
“You did not don smalls this morning.”
“They’re of an inconvenience,” he rasped, “with you around.” He tangled his hand in her hair. “Stop thinking, Caro. What do you desire to do now?”
“Taste.” She answered without thought and then gasped. She’d not known she wanted that. He’d tasted her several times in the last week and a half, each time better than the last, and she’d grown increasingly… curious to investigate him through similar methods.