Chapter Twenty #3
‘Yes, I know, I am an idiot.’ It was never usually pleasant, admitting to such a thing, even to oneself. For some reason it was easier to say with Calliope in his arms, her pulse surely jumping as was his own. ‘I’m a complete idiot.’
‘And a cad.’ Calliope’s voice was still muffled, but it was perfectly clear enough to hear the insults.
Montague smiled. ‘And a cad.’
‘And a rogue. And a charlatan.’
‘I think that’s going a bit—’
‘And a charlatan.’
His smile broadened. ‘And a charlatan.’
‘And I hate you, you know.’ Calliope inhaled deeply and pulled back so she could look Montague right in the face, though she did not attempt to leave his embrace.
Which was all to the good. He would not have let her leave.
‘You hate me,’ Montague repeated, searching those beautiful eyes for any truth in them.
There was none. Calliope scowled. ‘I loathe you.’
‘You loathe me,’ he said, his heart softening as he reached a hand from her waist to cup her cheek.
Calliope leaned into it, clearly relishing his touch. ‘I detest you.’
‘You even detest me?’ Montague said lightly, brushing away the single tear falling from her eye with his thumb.
The sounds of Brighton had fallen away as they stood here in the alley, and he could almost believe that they were in the middle of his meadow, just him and Calliope and the world of nature to witness their affection.
‘Only a blaggard would do something like that,’ Calliope murmured. ‘All my art, which you stole.’
‘I think you’ll find when you married me, I came into the possession of all of yours,’ Montague pointed out.
The glare that hit him was most impressive. The trouble was, Montague was too busy being distracted by the sensuous way Calliope was looking at him.
‘That’s outrageous and I’m not surprised you’re all for it!’ Calliope shoved him in the chest, just enough to make Montague step back.
His shoulder blades hit the wall behind him and for a moment, he was afraid his wife would use this moment to slip from his grasp.
He had no reason to fear. Calliope stepped with him, remaining in his tight embrace, pressing herself up against him and pinning him to the wall in an erotic display he could never have dreamed up even if he had wanted to.
Montague groaned.
‘You should have told me the truth. How you started your wife hunt, or whatever it was,’ Calliope said quietly, looking up into his gaze.
Guilt seared across his heart. ‘I completely forgot it when I fell in love with you.’
‘Flatterer.’
‘It’s true—’
‘Still. You should have told me your ridiculous idea that I was this Glenarm person,’ Calliope said fiercely, leaning against him as Montague tried not to think about her breasts, and how tender they must be, and how much he wanted to taste them again.
‘You and your idiot mind, concocting such a fantasy.’
‘I still wonder why there are so many similarities between…’
‘Montague!’
Montague grinned. ‘You know, I do love you, Calliope.’
She sniffed, though she remained in his arms. ‘You have a very strange way of showing it.’
‘Well, then I suppose I will need a lifetime to make up for it,’ he reasoned blithely, joy soaring within him as he saw just the hint of a smile.
‘I cannot possibly do that.’
The joy faltered. ‘You…you can’t?’
‘No,’ said his wife flatly. ‘I am going to be far too busy being a famous artist.’
His jaw dropped. Well, she was, wasn’t she? She had the talent and far be it for him to attempt to stop her.
Calliope rolled her eyes and in that moment Montague knew he had somehow won her back. ‘You are truly an idiot.’
‘I know. I don’t know what you see in me,’ Montague said happily.
She shook her head with a wry smile. ‘You really don’t, do you? Montague, you’re kind and well-meaning—’
‘That means I get things wrong all the time, doesn’t it?’
Montague laughed as Calliope poked him hard in the chest.
‘You really are a dolt!’
‘Yes, I know,’ he said fondly, wondering just how long it would take them to get back to his house—their home—and rip all her clothes off. ‘Does that mean you’re going to spend the rest of your life improving me?’
For a moment, she appeared to consider. It was not a pleasant moment.
Finally, Calliope shook her head slowly. ‘No. No, I hate you just the way you are, Montague Donovan, Marquess of Laidley. I think I’ll keep you that way.’
The kiss was sudden and oh so welcome. Montague groaned with relief as Calliope pressed her lips upon him. She tasted so sweet, so rich, he could barely recall ever being without her. Her hands in his hair and his own cradling her buttocks, he had to work hard to remain standing.
Of course, there were other parts of him that were happily upright.
When the kiss ended, mostly due to lack of breath than lack of desire, Calliope glanced down at the place where their hips met. ‘Is that an extra-large paintbrush in there or are you just pleased to see me?’
Montague groaned. ‘If the rest of our married life is going to be full of jests like that, maybe I hate you again.’
‘Liar,’ teased Calliope, pressing a kiss to his mouth which promised more. ‘You can’t get enough of me and I you. I love you, Montague. And if you could just stop being an idiot, I’m going to kiss you again.’