CHAPTER 9
Jo’s first thought when she woke was that she’d once again slept through her husband’s departure. Except this time she knew he couldn’t have departed much more than a few hours ago. He’d been insatiable last night. But then so had she.
She was grinning like a fool when another, far less pleasant, thought hit her: Victoria was here.
“Ugh,” she said aloud, dropping back onto her pillow.
Don’t let her do this to you; don’t let the manipulative witch add to all the other difficult, unpleasant matters you need to deal with. The voice, for once, was kind and soothing.
And it was giving her excellent advice.
There was no reason to fear Victoria. Beau’s explanation last night had not only rung true; it had been heart wrenching. He did not love Victoria and he did not wish that the law allowed a man to marry his sister-in-law.
Jo would need to adjust to Victoria’s presence as the other duchess was likely to live with them at Wroxton Court.
Thinking about Beau’s castle made Jo think about her father, and thinking about her father was like a punch to her midriff.
He really was going to die without ever letting her see him again. It was hard to comprehend. Each time the thought came to her, it was just as painful and shocking as the first time.
Yesterday she’d seriously contemplated taking a hackney to his house and pounding on the door. They’d have to let her in, wouldn’t they? If only to stop the racket.
She groaned. But she’d promised her father. And while she wasn’t a gentleman, her word still meant something to her. So here she was, getting closer to leaving him every minute.
Mimi had already started on Jo’s packing and the trunks and boxes were a pointed reminder that the hours were ticking past, faster and faster.
Jo would leave and her father would die here alone.
Why was he doing this to her?
Because of her mother? Watching her mother wither away from consumption had been painful, but Jo had treasured those last weeks and months with her. Why did her father always believe he had to protect her from everything?
Jo contemplated pulling the covers over her head, but it was past nine already, time to get up. She shoved back the blankets and hopped out of bed just as the door to Beau’s dressing room opened.
“Good morning.” It was her husband, clad in yet another glorious robe, this one a dull gold and black. He was holding a tea tray in his hands. “I guessed you might be awake. I thought to surprise you.”
Jo gaped. Yes, she was certainly surprised.
His lips curved into a wicked smile and his gaze dropped to her chest.
Jo yelped and dove headfirst into bed, yanking the bedding up around her.
His warm laughter came closer and she heard the rattle of crockery before he said, “Come out of there. I’ve got your robe at the ready and I’ve closed my eyes.”
Jo’s face heated; how could she possibly be shy after the things they’d done last night?
“What are you doing here?” she asked rudely.
But he only chuckled again. “I was trying to be husbandly rather than draconian. Now come out of there.”
She emerged slowly to find him holding the robe, but his eyes were wide open.
“I thought you were going to close your eyes.”
“I did close them. I didn’t say I was going to keep them closed.”
Jo snorted, trying to slide from the bed and into the robe without exposing her body in the process, and making an acceptable job of it.
She tied her sash and his hands landed on her shoulders and turned her around.
“There—better?” he murmured, swooping down to kiss her with a mouth that tasted fresh, not like a stale trunk as she suspected hers did.
“You’ve cleaned your teeth,” she accused when he pulled back. “And your hair is damp.”
“Yes, I am guilty of cleaning myself,” he agreed. “Come,” he said, taking her hand and leading her toward the seating area in front of the roaring fire. “I am not only trying to be husbandly. I also wanted to demonstrate I’m not just decorative, but also useful. So I nipped down to the kitchen and fixed this tea tray.”
Jo gave a very unduchesslike snort. “You did no such thing.”
“Well, all right—but I did ring for the tray, which is quite strenuous.”
“Now that I believe.”
“I don’t know why you doubt my ability to do basic things like make tea,” he said. “I’ve been a duke for less than a year—and a spare for thirty-four years before that.” He stopped and cocked his head. “I just realized that I don’t know your age.”
“I will be twenty-four on my next birthday. I suppose most married couples—the ones who courted normally—know that kind of thing beforehand, don’t they?”
“Perhaps,” he drawled. “But I think we got to the more interesting parts of the marriage before most normal couples.”
Jo gasped.
“You really are quite amusing to shock, you know.”
“Well, I’m pleased that I amuse you.”
His eyelids lowered in a way that made her feel as if she weren’t wearing any clothing. “You do amuse me, Josephine. As well as intrigue, please, entertain, and arouse me.”
Josephine opened the teapot for the ninth or tenth time, the lid rattling noisily in her shaking hands.
Thankfully, he didn’t appear to notice.
“We were talking about something else when I became distracted. Ah, yes, my utility. I’ll have you know that I made tea for myself while trudging across the Continent.”
“What, twice?” she teased.
“At least three times.”
Jo’s face was not scalding, so she risked a peek at him. “You might have only been a duke since last August, but you have a very ducal air.”
He squinted at her. “By ducal you mean, er, what was it? Draconian and—”
“Dictatorial,” she finished for him. “How do you take your tea?” she asked.
“Light and sweet.”
Something in his tone made her look up; he was wearing a lazy, suggestive smile, his eyes hooded.
Jo swallowed and dropped her eyes to the task at hand. “How interesting—since you take your coffee black.”
When there was no answer, she looked up. His lazy smile was gone and his expression arrested.
“What is it?” Jo asked.
“You know how I take my coffee,” he said quietly.
“Well, yes, I noticed at breakfast yesterday.”
He nodded slowly but did not speak, so Jo resumed her work. “Did you ride again this morning?” she asked.
“No. Come look.” He held out his hand and pulled Jo up, leading her to the window.
When he yanked open the drapes, they both waved their hands to displace the dust.
“Good God,” he said, coughing. “That’s dreadful. Look outside,” he ordered.
At first she thought it was the thick cloud of dust motes. But then she realized it was snow—and a heavy snow, at that. The square below had already been cleaned at least once, but already more deep snow had accumulated: it was a snowstorm.
Jo looked up at her husband, who wore a slight, mysterious smile. “Do you think this will keep up?”
“The sky certainly has the look of it. If this continues we shall be snowed into the house.”
Jo’s face broke into a grin.
“I thought you might like that,” he said.
All this snow meant no travel.
Of course it also meant that Jo was snowed in with Victoria, but at least she didn’t have to leave London. Not that it mattered, since she couldn’t actually see her father, thanks to his orders.
A warm hand took her chin and tilted her face up. “If you wish to send another letter to your father, I can deliver it when I go out after breakfast.”
“Where are you going on a day like this?” Jo blurted before she could stop the nosy question.
But her husband did not look annoyed at her question. “I need to go to the Home Office to take care of a few details, and I also need to see my solicitor.” He hesitated and then added, “I’m terribly sorry about Victoria being here just now, and I shan’t make you manage her all day on your own. I’ll come back as soon as I’m able.” He hesitated and then added, “I know this is a rough time for you, Josephine.”
“It is. But—Well, you are being very kind.” Jo had wanted to say that being with him made things better, but she’d lost her courage at the last moment.
“And when I return, you might show me just how good you are at that—” He gestured to the heavy gilt and marble chess table her father had given her for her birthday last year. It was a gaudy thing that she’d only brought along because it reminded her of him.
“You play chess?” she asked.
“Yes, and charades and spillikens, as well. I assure you that I’m quite human when you get to know me.”
Jo laughed at his mock affronted look. “I didn’t mean to say it like that. I just wouldn’t have thought you’d had much spare time, being on campaign for so long.”
A shadow passed over his face. “Oh, there was always time. Too much, sometimes.” He shook himself and gave her a dry look. “I must confess I’m not very good.”
“Neither am I,” Jo lied. Her father loved the game and they’d played every night since she was eight years old. She was going to enjoy besting her magnificent husband for a change.
Jo held out his tea and he leaned forward to take it. He took a sip and gave her a look of pleased surprise. “Perfect, thank you.”
Jo felt far too happy for such mild praise.
“We shall have to eat dinner with Victoria, of course.”
“Of course,” she murmured, trying not to think about it.
“But I think we might be excused for retiring early. Right after dinner, in fact.” He shot her a wicked look that sent sparks of excitement throughout her body. “After all, it is our wedding holiday, my dear.”