Fifteen

Devonworth hadn’t considered how the night would proceed until the very moment he knocked on the door to his wife’s room. His mind had been consumed by work and the anger the damnable rumors swirling about their marriage induced. Her soft voice beckoning him inside had him realizing that he was out of his element. The huskiness of the sound in the stillness of the night roused things in him that were not meant to be awakened tonight. Or by her. He waited a beat, until the flutter of his heart settled, before turning the latch and stepping inside her room.

He had timed his arrival so that her maid would still be attending to her. It couldn’t hurt to have the woman witness him in the room. While he despised the rumors outside his home, there was nothing he could do about the talk belowstairs. He trusted Mrs. Anderson to keep a tight rein on the talk so it didn’t get out of hand. It was only natural for the servants to discuss things, even personal topics. As it happened, he needed them to talk about this particular night. Once the consummation of their marriage was assumed, he’d dismiss Polly.

“Good evening,” he said.

Cora looked over at him from where she sat at her vanity table. Monroe gave a brief curtsy and kept her eyes lowered. A blush made the maid’s ears turn red. He’d come in wearing his dressing gown and slippers, but the girl had never seen him in anything less than his daily attire. It wasn’t helped by the fact that there could only be one reason why he was here in his wife’s room so late.

“Good evening.” Cora smiled at him. To the maid, she said, “Thank you, Monroe. Go ahead and retire for the night.”

Monroe inclined her head and bid them both good night before she hurried out of the room. After the door was firmly closed behind her, he said, “It’s an odd feeling, isn’t it?”

“What’s that?” Cora rose from the low-backed chair.

She wore a blue wrapper that tied in the front over what appeared to be a white nightdress. It cinched in at the waist, revealing more of the shape of her body to him than he had ever seen before. That night in the corridor when he had arrived home late, her nightclothes had been more flowy than fitted. Her figure was slight, but attractive, with long limbs and a bosom that was pleasingly full. Corsets could embellish even the sparsest frame. When he realized he was a bit too preoccupied with the apparent softness of her breasts and the curve of her hips, he glanced downward. Bare toes peeked out from beneath the hem of the wrapper. It was that unexpected nakedness that made something like desire zing through his belly. She was nude beneath her clothes, he was here in her room, and they were alone.

And she was his wife.

No. This would not do. He dragged his attention away from her and to the other side of the room. An array of wallpaper and fabric samples was laid out there.

He had to clear his throat before he could answer her question. “The feeling of relying on a servant to put gossip to rest while simultaneously not wanting the servants to gossip about us. The situation is unwinnable.”

She laughed softly, and the very intimacy of the sound made the fine hairs on his body rise. Her tread was so soft across the carpeted floor that he didn’t notice her approach until she spoke next to him. “I suppose I have to agree. I’m not used to managing servants or running a large household, so it’s all new to me.” Instead of looking at him, she stared at the samples. Her hair was in a braid that draped over one shoulder. The gaslight picked up all sorts of gold and red tones in the tresses.

“You didn’t have servants in New York?” He was almost certain Vining had told him that they lived in a respectable, if unfashionable, home.

“We did sometimes, but it wasn’t a very formal arrangement. Mrs. O’Brien was our housekeeper. Her nieces worked with us, too. Different ones during different seasons when there wasn’t farmwork to be hired for in Pennsylvania and upstate New York. Once they married, it was just her until we sold everything.”

“No footmen?”

“We hired a handyman for tasks we couldn’t take care of ourselves.”

“Your father didn’t leave enough to see you comfortable?” Vining was still making inquiries, but nothing unusual had been unearthed. Devonworth couldn’t get over the feeling that there was something more to her that he didn’t know. But then, she was all but a stranger to him.

“We were comfortable. But no, there was no excess.”

“Except for the dowries.”

“Except for the dowries,” she acknowledged.

He glanced back at the wallpaper. There had to be at least a dozen samples in various colors and patterns. One in particular drew his eye. “I like this one.” He picked up a purple sample. It was similar to the color of her ball gown with a thin vine and leaf pattern running through it in gold. “It reminds me of your gown.”

She smiled and blushed prettily. “You remember.”

“It was only last night. I’m not so old that I’m forgetful, especially when you looked so beautiful in it,” he teased her.

Her eyes widened at the compliment, and she seemed tongue-tied. “Thank you,” she finally murmured.

She walked over to her writing desk, her hips swaying subtly beneath her wrapper. He had the urge to touch them, to span the breadth of her waist with his palms.

“Thank you for this.” She picked up the fountain pen. “It was very thoughtful of you.”

“I didn’t think you had one. You’ll need it when you help me with my speech. As I said, you had very good insights. Would you consider helping me add them in?”

Placing the sample with the others, he walked over to join her.

“Do you mean now?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Why not? I assume I’ll be here for at least an hour. I can’t have anyone thinking I don’t do a thorough job of bedding my wife.”

Her eyes widened, and something tightened low and deep in his belly. He was pushing things, he knew, but he didn’t want to stop. Part of him wished he was here to properly consummate their marriage. “We can spend an hour or so together several nights a week.”

“Yes, I’d like that.” Her breath was shallow, and he was almost certain her eyes were dilated.

But that wasn’t why he was here. He took a step back from her and said, “Wait here.”

He hurried to his room, opening the door slowly to make certain his valet wasn’t lingering about, and retrieved the leather case with his papers that he had left there earlier. When he came back, she was sitting at her writing desk. The only other chair in the room, a small wingback, had been moved to sit adjacent.

“Come sit.” All business again, she indicated the chair. “Tell me why this bill is important to you.”

He told her about the unprecedented growth of the urban population. People were leaving their homes in farming communities to move to the cities for work. As industry thrived, more work opportunities in cities brought men and women into the urban centers. More housing, typically in the form of terraced homes, had been built because they could accommodate the greater number of people in the smallest area. Often these had been built without thought to water or sewer access. To make matters worse, not many in government or those landlords in charge of building terraces seemed particularly concerned, due to the high cost of building and maintaining clean water access. He, along with several others in Parliament, looked to change that.

She asked a few appropriate and intelligent questions for more information, and then she said, “None of that answers my original question. Why is this important to you?”

“I should think that’s obvious. I have a responsibility to make lives better for people.”

“Obviously, I understand that, but from what I can tell, many of your associates don’t agree, or at the very least are ambivalent. Why do you feel so passionate about it?”

He knew what she was getting at now. “I’d like to believe it’s the fact that I have empathy for those who have no choice. Perhaps that is some of it, but I think it comes down to my father. I was only a few years old when there was a cholera outbreak in Soho in London. A Dr. Snow traced the outbreak to a well on Broad Street. Over six hundred people died, most within a radius of that pump. The others had access to the pump because they had passed through the area. No one believed the good doctor. At that time, most still believed that sickness was caused from vapors in the air or even the will of God. That He was punishing the working poor.

“The sad fact is that even when Snow presented his practical evidence, people chose not to believe him. Even when Pasteur’s scientific evidence confirmed this new germ theory a few years later, those in power didn’t want to go to the trouble and expense to change things . . . my father included.”

“Your father?”

“By all accounts, he couldn’t be bothered to care. He voted against any sort of measure that would change things. I suppose you could say that I’ve made it my mission to right all the wrongs that he made.”

“I wasn’t expecting that. I guess it’s fair to say you didn’t get along with your father.”

He gave a mirthless laugh. “It’s fair to say that, yes. I didn’t actively despise him while growing up. I knew very little of him, to be honest. I saw him a handful of times during the year.”

“What are your memories of him?”

“He was cold and a man of little humor. He demanded much from those around him, no one more so than me.”

“I’m sorry. That must have been terrible to grow up with a father such as him.”

“As terrible as having no father?”

She shrugged. “I think so. In many ways, I can make Mr. Dove into the sort of man I want him to be. I don’t have many memories of him to mar that.”

“Why do you call your father Mr. Dove?”

She glanced away, sheepish. “I don’t know. I never thought about it. It’s how my mother always refers to him, so it’s how my sisters and I talk about him.”

“Do you wish you would have known him?”

“Of course, but only if he was nice.”

He smiled at that, taken in by the charm of her. She most definitely wasn’t what he had expected, but she was entertaining, to say the least.

“I’ve been thinking,” she said, and looked away again, unable to hold his gaze. “If we were truly consummating this thing . . . wouldn’t there be sounds?”

“Sounds?” He glanced to the bed as he realized what she meant.

“Yes, sounds and other signs that we had enjoyed ourselves.”

He laughed, but it was to cover up the visual in his mind. He wondered what she would look like lying beneath him. Would she close her eyes as he entered her or keep them wide open? What sounds would fall from her lips as her body clenched him intimately? He stood abruptly when his cock woke up at the musings. Perhaps David was right and he really did need a woman.

Walking over to her bed, he launched himself to bounce into the center, startling a laugh from her. “Like this?” he asked and bounced a few more times until the bed squeaked and creaked. She covered her mouth to keep her giggles contained. “I suppose we should muss the sheets a bit.” He moved around until the sheets were well creased and tugged the blanket and counterpane from the end of the bed. Then he stood and surveyed his work.

“There. Now it looks like we’ve properly completed the task.”

“You were very thorough, my lord . . . and quick,” she teased.

He gave her a mock glare and took hold of the bedpost. He proceeded to rhythmically shove it against the wall lest anyone believe he had taken his pleasure too hastily.

She bit her lip and a blush stained her cheeks as she watched the bed doing what it would be doing if they were indeed having sex. It did nothing to lessen the state of his semi-arousal.

“There,” he finally said, and turned to her to give a little bow.

She mockingly clapped at the performance as she approached him, making certain she wasn’t too loud. “Very good. I think they’ll have no need to question your fortitude after this.”

“One more thing.” He reached up and untied the ribbon that bound her hair. Her eyes widened, but she didn’t step away or stop him. He did what he had been wanting to do for so long he couldn’t remember when the urge had started. He freed her of her braid and ran his fingers through the silk of her hair. He loved how it felt in his hands. Unfortunately, so did other parts of his anatomy. He dropped it when a tug of desire pulsed low in his groin. If he didn’t cease, he wouldn’t stop with her hair. He’d have her hips in his hands to hold her as he pressed himself—

“There.” He stepped away and slipped the ribbon in his pocket. “Monroe will have no reason to question things.”

“I suppose not, but there is the minor issue of . . .” She looked at him as if he should know what she meant.

“Of what?” he asked when it became apparent that she wouldn’t continue.

“The virgin’s blood,” she whispered.

“Do you think they’ll expect that?”

She shrugged. “They might question . . .”

“It’s barbaric,” he muttered. Walking into the bathing chamber, he retrieved a cloth from the chest of drawers and wet it. Bringing it back to her, he said, “Can’t we pretend that we tidied up?”

She nodded as relief spread over her face. “Yes, we can. That makes the most sense.”

He, too, was relieved. There was no way in hell he was enacting the thing to that degree of authenticity. “Good.” He tossed the cloth to the floor and bowed his head. “I’ll leave you, then. It’s been enough time. Keep my speech. Next time, we can go through the first couple of pages.”

She nodded, too relieved to see him to the door. “I have more notations to make. Until next time, good night, Devonworth.”

He hated that she had reverted to his title instead of the name she had selected for him. But it was that strong emotion that caused him to accept it. He couldn’t bear to grow too attached to her. She had already made her feelings clear on the matter of their relationship.

“Good night, Cora.” He retired to his room certain this had been one of the stranger but more delightful nights of his life.