The giggling woke her. Sadie opened her eyes to see Audrey and Hannah at the doorway. They were both blushing profusely, one equipped with a breakfast tray and the other fireplace cleaning tools. She lurched up, clutching the covers to her bare breasts.
“Good morning, Lady Sarah. Do you want us to come back later?” one of the twins asked, averting her face. Sadie’s eyes were clogged with sandmen, and her head ached a little. At one point in the evening, she and Tristan had woken, coupled again, and drunk most of the wine in the bedside bottle afterward as they talked. Or, to be fair, she had done the drinking and the talking. Tristan had proved to be a good listener, and an even better lover.
“Yes,” came the rumble beside her. Goodness, Tristan was still in her bed. Still naked. Still beautiful.
Sadie was famished. “Leave the tray. My husband will see to the fire.” My husband! Two very odd words she thought she’d never say. She lay back against the pillows and shut her eyes to the shaft of daylight which fell through the gap in the curtains. Then one of the girls pulled the curtains open, and she was blinded right through her eyelids.
“Very good, my lady. Ring if you need anything.” There was a rattle of china and scuttle of feet, and the door snicked closed.
“Who turned on the sun?” Tristan groaned.
Sadie cracked an eye open. “Shall I pour you some tea?” There was only one cup on the tray, but she was willing to share.
He sat up and stretched, his curly hair adorably disordered. “I prefer coffee in the morning.”
Something to learn about him. As she had done most of the soul-bearing in the wee hours, she had the feeling he knew most of her secrets, while he was still somewhat of a mystery.
“I can ring for some.”
“No. I have other plans to start the day.” He waggled one of his formidable brows and patted the space between them. “Unless you are sore. I’ve been a bit of a beast.”
Sadie covered her mouth. She needed to brush her teeth and make use of the bathroom before she thought of kissing or anything else. “I’m not—”
“I understand. Slip away and make yourself presentable. I will not pounce just yet. Toss me that roll before you go, will you? I won’t eat it all.”
Sadie pulled on a robe and left him getting crumbs in her bed. The mirror over the sink told her she suffered from an inadequate amount of sleep and too much wine. Her hair was knotted every which way. She made a halfhearted attempt to braid it, but soon gave up. She dealt with the business of freshening up, splashed water on her face and pinched her cheeks.
Tristan showed none of the ill effects of a sleepless night. His tan face broke into a devilish smile as she reentered the room, and her heart squeezed. Would he smile like that at her every morning? She might never leave her bedroom.
He held out the half-eaten roll in the palm of his hand. “I may have taken an extra bite.”
She wasn’t hungry anymore. Not for a roll anyway. But did people have carnal relations in broad daylight, with the sounds of a waking house all around them?
It seems they did. Tristan drew her down on the bed and ravished her mouth. He must have snuck into the bathroom while she was sleeping, for he tasted of tooth powder and smelled of her own rosewater. It confused her senses to be totally surrounded by roses. There were still a few rose petals trapped in the bedclothes, more underfoot.
“Mm. I could kiss you all day,” Tristan said, un-belting her wrapper and skimming his fingertips over her skin.
“Don’t you have work to do?”
“My work is right here, learning to be a husband. How am I doing so far?”
“Why, Mr. Sykes, are you fishing for compliments?”
“Of course, Mrs. Sykes. A man wants to know that he’s ruined his woman for any others.”
“Consider me ruined. Ooh, that tickles!”
They stopped talking and reverted to kissing. Tristan continued to tickle and tease until Sadie took charge. Tentative, she touched Tristan’s heavy cock. She must have held it properly, for Tristan twitched in a very gratifying manner and his kiss became wilder.
His member was so soft, yet so very hard. And large. It was difficult to imagine that it could enter her so effortlessly and cause her such exhilaration. She stroked him with increasing vigor until he shuddered and clawed her shoulder.
She was making him lose control. How delightful to know she had the same influence on him as he had on her. Things between them were beginning to get very interesting until a sharp knock on the door interrupted them.
“Fucking hell.” Sadie was not sure which of them had spoken. She grabbed her discarded robe as Tristan wrestled with the sheets. When they had both calmed themselves to some degree, she said, “Come.”
A sheepish Grimsby stood at the door, twisting his gloved hands. He looked everywhere but at the two substantially naked people on the bed. “I am so sorry to disturb you, but there is an altercation in the kitchen.”
Tristan’s eyebrows snapped together. “An altercation?”
“I cannot seem to stop it, sir, and I assure you, I’ve tried. No one can. There is some property damage, too.”
“What in blazes are you talking about, Grimsby?”
“Mr. and Mrs. Anstruther are having a disagreement.”
Anstruther? Sadie knew he never spoke to his wife. The two of them reminded her of the old nursery rhyme—“Jack Sprat could eat no fat, his wife could eat no lean.” Two more physically different people could not be imagined.
“We’ll be down in a minute, Mr. Grimsby,” Sadie said. “Stay out of the line of fire.”
As soon as the butler left, she burst into laughter.
Tristan was foraging around the floor for last night’s clothes, still semi-erect. “This isn’t funny, Sadie. Kitchens have knives.”
“Oh, pooh. They aren’t going to kill each other.”
“This is my fault. I told Anstruther to speak to her.”
“And so he should,” Sadie replied, pulling on a modest nightgown one-handed and covering it with her robe. “Do you know what happened between them?”
“Anstruther thinks Mrs. Anstruther is stepping out on him.”
Now Sadie roared.
“Just because they are not perfect physical specimens doesn’t mean they aren’t entitled to love,” Tristan snapped.
“Oh! I didn’t mean to laugh about that. I know there’s a lid for every pot. Everyone deserves happiness. Anstruther’s just so—bloodless. He hates women. Or maybe it’s just me.”
“He doesn’t hate you. And once he must have cared for Mrs. Anstruther, or he wouldn’t be so upset with her. Where’s my other shoe?”
“Never mind shoes. Time is of the essence before she throws him into the soup.”
They raced down the staircase in their jumbled and shoeless state. The clatter of thrown pots was clear from the hall as they charged toward the kitchen. A cluster of maids and footmen stood in the hall in a combination of fear and gossipy interest.
“Jezebel!”
“Stand still like a man so I can hit you!”
Tristan took Sadie’s arm. “Stay here.”
“I certainly will not!”
“You might get hurt, Sadie. See reason.”
“You can’t have all the fun.” A crash of china gave Sadie a pause. No. She was temporary mistress of the house, and she couldn’t have the servants fighting and breaking things. She shoved past Tristan and caught a flying wooden spoon with her good hand.
“What is the meaning of this?” How often had she heard her father use those words? She sounded just like him—there was a benefit in being a duke’s daughter.
The slate kitchen floor was littered with an array of cooking equipment and shattered crockery. Mrs. Anstruther’s face resembled a boiled beet, and Mr. Anstruther was glaring at her, his lantern jaw mulish.
“I—I beg your pardon, Lady Sarah. I’ll clean the mess up at once.”
“Never mind that. What did Mr. Anstruther do to provoke you so?”
“This isn’t my fault,” the man muttered.
“Oh? And whose fault is it? Bad enough you stopped speaking to me for no cause—but then, you never had much good to say anyhow. To think you believed I was carrying on with Frank Stanchfield! I should gut you like a fish.” The housekeeper eyed a block of knives, and Sadie hustled in front of it.
“The grocer? But he’s married,” Sadie said. Although who knew what really went on in villages such as this.
“Ask her how she got the food bills down!”
“By negotiating, you nitwit. With Bertha Stanchfield. I traded some of our kitchen garden produce to her for their personal use. I didn’t think your father would mind, Mr. Tristan, since it saved the household money in the end. Bertha loves her fresh vegetables. And she’s too busy at the store to make her own jam and grow her own herbs.”
“I saw you with him! You gave him a love letter!”
“It was a packet of sage. Honestly,” she huffed in disgust.
“He kissed you!”
“On the cheek, Harold. I’ve known Frank all my life, and Bertha’s my best friend. I can’t believe you could think so little of me. You could have asked what I was doing. You jumped to conclusions and we’ve wasted two years.”
“I think there’s a lesson to be learned here,” Tristan murmured into Sadie’s ear.
“For you.”
“I will never accuse you of consorting with Frank Stanchfield. The man is terrified of you anyway.”
“As he should be.” She turned and looked into Tristan’s amused blue eyes. “I will honor my vows. You needn’t ever worry.”
A ripple of emotion crossed his face. “As will I.” He clapped his hands, interrupting the silent standoff between the Anstruthers. If looks could kill.
“You two need to settle your differences like adults. The rest of you, please go about your business and leave the Anstruthers alone to deal with the consequences of their temper.”
And stupidity, Sadie thought, but she didn’t say it. Two years of not speaking! There was too much pride all the way around.
“I shall resign, Mr. Tristan,” Anstruther said.
“The hell you will. Now, go kiss your wife and make up. Grimsby, I hope we can persuade you to come with us when we build our own house. It won’t be quite on the same scale as Sykes House, but you won’t be ashamed to work for us.”
“We’re building a house?” Sadie asked.
“I am an architect. We can’t stay here forever. I bought a piece of land on the other side of the village near the stream some years ago. I can show you some preliminary plans I’ve fiddled with over the years. You’ll have input, of course.”
A house of her own. It was almost too much to hope for.