Chapter 14
She was an exquisite beauty even amongst the exquisite beauties before him.
Stephan could have sworn that his heart stopped when he gazed at her slender form, her white gown sweeping over her delicate curves.
He wondered what it might be like to run his fingers through the burnished curls held together with pearl-tipped pins and how his lips might feel when pressed against that lovely, swan-like neck.
The Dowager Countess of Thornwall had halted before a marble sculpture of Aphrodite, entirely nude.
He straightened his spine, his heart thundering in his chest. Stephan had been invited to the museum to help with raising funding to increase the Greek aisle, but it seemed as though he had been waylaid along the way.
Was it foolish of him to think that the lady was lovelier than any bronze statue he might find in the aisle?
Likely. He was not marrying her out of any real affection, after all.
She was to be a wife of convenience, a means to give him the heir that he needed in order to maintain the wealth needed to sustain the dukedom.
Still…
A selfish, masculine part of him delighted in the thought of having such a beautiful wife.
It would be no hardship to take her to his bed each night and watch her come undone under his ministrations.
She continued walking, and he watched the elegant sway of her hips, the way her hands fidgeted, and her brow furrowing as she continued.
The lady did not seem aware of his presence, and he wondered what she must be thinking about for the matter to have captured her attention so thoroughly.
He approached her, a spark of mischief burning inside him. How long would it take the lady to realize that she was watched? Stephan had nearly reached her, could hold out his hand and touch her gown if he so desired, when she halted abruptly and gasped. “Your Grace!”
The Dowager Countess of Thornwall’s eyes darted about, as though she sought to flee but could find no escape.
Stephan grinned. “Why are you here, my lady? You ought to be visiting your solicitors.”
She straightened her spine, all impressions that she might flee banished at once from her face. “I have already visited several solicitors,” she replied primly. “Thank you for your concern.”
Stephan clasped his hands behind his back, although he ached to touch her. “Then, you are prepared to say yes?”
“I already told you that I would be, only that I desired agreeable terms for myself,” she said. “If you must know, I came here with my sister to ask if her husband would be willing to act as my trustee, and he has thankfully agreed. I will not ask you to wait much longer, Your Grace.”
“Good,” he said. “Because I do not have time to wait. I must have you with child as quickly as possible.”
“I am aware,” she said, dropping a hand to her stomach as if she was imagining the baby there. “And I have the same wish, simply not at the expense of myself. If I do not look after my own welfare, who will, Your Grace?”
When she was pregnant with his heir, he would look after her, but Stephan did not say so.
He had seen how her face changed when he last expressed a desire to see to her health while she was with child; she had been vexed by the suggestion.
Stephan did not quite know why she would be, but he knew that it was best not to provoke the woman.
“You seemed dismissive of the idea of having a home,” the Dowager Countess of Thornwall said suddenly. “Why is that?”
He frowned and looked askance at her. “You have a good memory.”
“Did you truly not miss it for the ten years that you were away?” she asked softly.
“If your definition of home is simply the place that I spent my childhood or most of my adulthood, that is a poor definition,” Stephan said. “I am not like Odysseus with a loving wife and son waiting for me.”
Her brow furrowed, and he gestured to the great bronze statue further down the aisle. The Dowager Countess of Thornwall walked to it, her eyes curious. It was Odysseus with his bow, preparing to shoot an arrow through the axes and reclaim his rightful place.
“When you return from war, nothing is the same anymore.” Stephan paused. “No, I suppose that is not quite true. Everything is the same, and the difference is entirely within you.”
She cast him an unreadable look. “I see.”
Stephan cleared his throat; he could too easily imagine the lady turning her next question into something he would rather not think about. “What about you?” he asked. “Do you believe that your late husband’s house is your home?”
She shook her head. “No. I have some fond memories of the place, but that is because I often host the CCC meetings there.”
“CCC?”
“Corset Chronicles Club.”
Right. She meant her bluestockings. “Do you believe a child will make it feel like a home?” he asked.
“I know it will.”
Stephan snorted and shook his head. “You have such a foolish view on things.”
His eyes wandered to Odysseus again. Had the statue been cast alone, or did it have a companion somewhere? A steadfast Penelope undoing her weaving or perhaps looking longingly for her husband?
“Foolish?” she asked. “You cannot know that a child will not be what I have longed for my entire life.”
“I can,” he said. “You seem to believe that it is so simple to find a home, just a matter of adding one more person, and you will have it. The truth is more complicated.”
“For you,” she shot back. “Clearly. But I do not see how you can know what will or will not make a home for me, Your Grace. Are you God, privy to all the thoughts in my heart and mind?”
Stephan shook his head. “You are a stubborn and single-minded woman.”
“I might say that you are a stubborn and single-minded man,” the lady insisted. “I suspect that you cannot even define home for yourself, yet you seem determined to argue with my efforts at definition.”
“I know what a home is.”
“Do you? If you did, I imagine you would know that every true soldier goes to war to protect home. Maybe you are more like Odysseus than you think.”
Stephan shook his head. Her idea of soldiers was a gallant and romantic notion, likely fed to her by aristocratic men whose greatest accomplishment was ordering about eager and desperate young men.
She had not seen the sailors who were young and inexperienced, foolish and eager to win glory for themselves without any idea of how treacherous the sea was.
The Dowager Countess had never seen a man die before, cursing his poor luck and the entire country.
He could not bring himself to tell her otherwise. Even if she understood that war was not everything she had always been told, Stephan knew that she could not truly understand it because she had never seen it—and for that matter, would never see it.
“We will have to agree to disagree,” Stephan said, stepping past Odysseus.
“That is for the best,” she agreed. “If we quarrel for any longer, I am certain to emerge victorious, and you will feel the worse for it.”
He smiled. She would not sway his opinion, but the Dowager Countess of Thornwall would certainly fight him to the bitter end if he wished to continue their argument. Of that, he had no doubt.
“Oh!” The lady stopped abruptly and put a hand to her collarbone, as if scandalized. “That is certainly not Odysseus.”
The statue was of a woman lounging on a bed, her entire body naked and arched as a man loomed over her. It was clear that the pair were about to engage in a passionate embrace, to put it delicately.
“Eros and Psyche,” he said.
“Yes, I believe you are right.”
Stephan glanced about them and noticed that no one else was nearby.
Feeling emboldened, he stepped closer to the Dowager Countess of Thornwall.
She tensed but did not insist that he move further away.
“Psyche was a beautiful woman, so much so that men were leaving their worship of Aphrodite for her—”
“I know the story,” she interrupted. “Aphrodite commands Eros to make Psyche fall in love with the most hideous creature imaginable, but he falls in love with her instead.”
Stephan shook his head. “You make it all sound terribly unromantic when you recount the story like that.”
“I was unaware that I wanted it to sound romantic,” said the Dowager Countess, a gleam of a challenge in her eyes. “I doubt that you would have said it any better.”
He took a deep breath and dared make another step to her. “I shall prove you wrong,” he murmured.
His breath fell against the back of her neck, and he smiled, observing the way the gooseflesh rose along her skin. “Will you?” she asked.
“The beautiful Psyche marries Eros,” he murmured, keeping his voice husky. “And they love each other very much. Every night, Eros joined Psyche in bed, and he shows her all his devotion.”
“Yes,” she said tightly.
Stephan raised a single finger and made a slow trail from Evelina’s jaw, down her neck and to her smooth, round shoulder.
Her breath hitched, and she clasped her hands together so tightly that the fabric of her gloves bunched a little around her fingertips.
“He would only come to her when it was dark, so she could not lay eyes upon him. Can you imagine what that would be like, my lady? Lying and waiting, leaving yourself open and aching for your husband’s touch. ”
He touched her sleeve, his fingers worrying the delicate beading woven into the fabric. Evelina hummed, the sound uneven. A delightful flush of pink had spread across her cheeks, and a quick glance revealed that her chest rose and fell quite quickly. Stephan smiled.
“I imagine that he would have touched her breasts first,” Stephan said. “He would have held them in his hands and kneaded them very gently, and he would have coaxed her lovely nipples into little peaks, as he has on this statue.”
“Oh, you…” she breathed, a shaking laugh following. “You are—you must not—”
“And she would ache,” Stephan continued. “She would need him so badly that she would lose all her eloquence. Her sex would ache and grow hot for his touch, and he would be so slow to fulfill her needs, making the desire between them grow and grow until she could bear it no longer.”
The Dowager Countess of Thornwall tore away from him and glared at him with a dark expression. “You are unkind, Your Grace.”
She was magnificent, lustful and wrathful, and Stephan could only smile. “If you are going to marry me,” he said softly, “it will be very soon. There is no need to delay. If it is only the difference of a day or so, no one will know. Will they?”
The Dowager Countess’s breath audibly hitched. “But there—where should we—”
Stephan grinned. “I know the perfect place.”