Chapter 19 Third Day of Wooing a Wife
Chapter nineteen
Third Day of Wooing a Wife
The next evening, Aubrey shifted against his pillows for what felt like the hundredth time, trying to find a position that didn't make his thoughts immediately turn to Eleanor's hands on his thigh and his… manhood.
It wasn't working.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face.
That small, satisfied smile as she'd tortured him with her calculated touches.
The way she'd let her fingers trail just slightly higher than necessary.
The deliberate slowness of her movements.
The absolute knowledge in her grey eyes that she was driving him mad.
His innocent bride. His proper, practical wife had boldly touched him instead of fleeing.
She had teased him… had enjoyed tormenting him.
Aubrey's body responded enthusiastically to the memory, and he cursed under his breath. His wife would be joining him soon for dinner, and he didn’t wish to be found with a stiff cock.
Again.
She might suspect he had some sort of green boy syndrome.
But the image of Eleanor leaning close, her breath ghosting across his skin, her hands moving with such agonising deliberation…
He groaned, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes.
This would not do. He needed to think of her properly, as a woman deserving of respect, admiration, reverence; as someone whose mind and kindness and strength of character were far more important than the way she'd made his entire body tighten with need.
Except he genuinely had no idea she possessed such a naughty streak.
His Eleanor. Shy Eleanor who blushed when complimented, who hadn’t been able to look him in the eye after the first few days of tending to him, had that wicked edge hidden beneath her practical exterior.
It was intoxicating. Maddening. Utterly unfair to a man trying desperately to prove himself worthy of her regard.
A knock at the door made him jolt upright, then wince at the pull in his hip.
"Enter," he called, grateful for the distraction.
His valet, Morrison, appeared with the satisfied expression of a man who had accomplished the impossible. "My lord, I've managed to procure suitable attire for this evening. Loose trousers as you requested, and a jacket that should accommodate your current... limitations."
"Excellent." Aubrey had insisted on dressing properly for dinner to Morrison's delight. If he was going to dine with his wife, if he was going to present his surprise, he would do it as a gentleman.
It took considerably longer than usual, and several moments where Aubrey had to grit his teeth against the discomfort, but eventually he was dressed.
Loose dark trousers that didn't press against his healing hip.
A white shirt. A properly tied cravat. And a dark jacket that made him look almost civilised despite being propped against pillows.
"Will that be all, my lord?"
"That will be all, Morrison. I'll ring if I need assistance."
The valet withdrew, leaving Aubrey alone with his racing heart and the hidden treasures beneath his bedcovers.
This had to work.
Liz had told him about the things she'd wanted but could never have because money was always too tight, priorities always elsewhere.
Aubrey had sent Morrison on a mission in London with explicit instructions and a blank check. His valet had arrived with a collection that Aubrey hoped would convey what words could not.
Another knock. Mrs Williams this time.
"My lord, Lady Madeley is on her way. I shall have your dinner brought in."
"Thank you, Mrs Williams."
Aubrey's hands tightened on the counterpane. His heart hammered against his ribs. He felt absurdly nervous, like a boy preparing for his first dance.
The door opened.
And Aubrey's mind simply... stopped.
Eleanor stood in the doorway wearing a silk dress of deep burgundy. It contrasted beautifully with her grey eyes and made her skin look luminous in candlelight.
She was trying to kill him. That was the only explanation.
"Good evening, my lord." Eleanor's voice gave nothing away, but Aubrey caught the slight flush on her cheeks. "Mrs Williams said you requested my presence for dinner?"
"Yes." Aubrey's voice came out rough. "Please, come in. Sit." He swallowed. "You look beautiful."
The flush deepened. "You've already said that."
"And I'll keep saying it until you believe me." Aubrey gestured to the chair beside his bed, where a small table had been set with their dinner. "Please. Join me."
Eleanor moved into the room and settled into the chair with elegance.
The candlelight caught the sheen of her dress, the soft waves of her hair—styled simply tonight, accentuating her delicate bone structure—and Aubrey had to forcibly remind himself that he had an entire evening planned.
He could not simply stare at her like a besotted fool.
Though he very much wanted to.
Dinner progressed with surprising ease. They'd fallen into a pattern over the past few days—Eleanor's initial stiffness giving way to something more natural as conversation flowed. Tonight was no different, though Aubrey found himself hyperaware of every movement she made, every smile, every laugh.
"Tell me about your childhood," Aubrey said as they finished the main course. "Before your mother passed. What was it like?"
Eleanor's expression softened with memory. "Happy. Chaotic. Liz and I were constantly in trouble for climbing trees or sneaking into Father's study. Mother would scold us, but she never truly minded. She said girls should have adventures too."
"She sounds wonderful."
"She was." Eleanor's smile turned sad. "She used to read to us every night. Stories about brave heroines and grand adventures. Liz always wanted to be the warrior princess, but I..." She paused. "I preferred the clever ones. The ones who won through intelligence rather than swords."
"Like you," Aubrey said quietly. "Solving problems with ledgers and negotiation rather than force."
Eleanor looked at him with surprise, as though she hadn't expected him to understand. "Yes. Like me, I suppose."
"What about you?" Eleanor asked, clearly eager to shift the subject. "What was your childhood like?"
Aubrey considered the question. "Privileged. Structured. My father had very specific ideas about what an heir should be. Latin at six. Greek at eight. Parliamentary procedure at ten. I'm not certain I had what one would call adventures."
"No climbing trees?"
"Once." Aubrey smiled at the memory. "When I was seven. My mother nearly fainted when she found me in the oak by the east lawn. I was confined to the nursery for a week as punishment."
"That seems excessive."
"My father believed in discipline." Aubrey's voice held no resentment. "He wanted me to be perfect. To never make mistakes. To be exactly what an Earl's heir should be."
"Did you rebel?"
Aubrey nodded. "I did when I became old enough to stand up for myself. I took every chance to choose something for myself instead of having it chosen for me. Turns out I chose poorly." He looked at her pointedly. “I should have known my parents would choose the perfect woman for me.”
Eleanor looked away first, colour flooding her cheeks. They ate in silence until Aubrey broke it.
"You have a dear friend in Steven Kedleston." The words came out sharper than Aubrey intended, edged with something he refused to acknowledge as jealousy.
Eleanor's eyebrows rose. "I do."
"He's been a good friend to you. Better than I've been a husband."
"Yes." Eleanor's voice was matter of fact. "Steven has been kind and supportive and everything a friend should be."
"Just a friend?" The question escaped before Aubrey could stop it.
"What else would he be?" Eleanor's tone was pleasant, but something flickered in her eyes—amusement, perhaps, or annoyance.
"He loves you." Aubrey forced himself to say it. "He told me himself. He would have married you if you'd let him."
"Yes." Eleanor met his gaze steadily. "He would have. And my life would have been much easier if I'd said yes."
Her words, because they were true, left him feeling bitter. "But you didn't."
"No." Something sad crossed Eleanor's face. "I couldn't. Because I was foolish enough to love someone else. Someone who I didn't know didn’t want me."
Past tense. Was foolish enough. Not am.
"Eleanor—"
"It's getting late," she said, standing abruptly. "I should—"
"Wait." Aubrey reached out instinctively, then stopped himself. "Please. I have something for you. A gift. Or rather... several gifts."
Eleanor froze. "My lord, you've already given me too much. The lady's maid, the gowns—"
"This is different." Aubrey felt his heart hammering now. "These are things you should have had years ago. Things you deserved but couldn't have. I—" He stopped, gathering courage. "I want to give them to you now. If you'll let me."
Eleanor's expression was wary. "What sort of things?"
"Come here." Aubrey patted the bed beside him. "They're hidden under the counterpane. You'll need to come closer to see them properly."
He watched her hesitate, saw the war in her expression between curiosity and self-preservation. Finally, curiosity won.
Eleanor moved to the edge of the bed, her movements cautious. "Where?"
"Here." Aubrey pulled back the blanket beside him, just a little to tease.
Then, as Eleanor took a deep breath, he pulled back the cover completely.
And watched Eleanor's face transform.
Spread across the bed were treasures from her childhood. The things Liz had mentioned. The things Eleanor had wanted but never had.
A porcelain doll with dark hair and a silk dress. "You told Liz you wanted one like this when you were eight," Aubrey said quietly. "But there wasn't money for such frivolities."
A leather-bound collection of novels. "Every story your mother used to read to you. Complete editions, properly bound."
A set of watercolour paints in a beautiful wooden case. "You used to paint, Liz said. But you stopped when you couldn't afford new supplies."