Page 83 of How to Cross a Marquess (The Way to a Lord's Heart 3)

“He could have paid someone.”

“Right. Would he have known the…sorry tale well enough?” Whenever the topic of the letters came up, Roger sounded guilty.

“He makes sure to hear everything.” But William had reported that Wrayle wasn’t much more popular in the village than in the castle. Would anyone have passed along a stale bit of gossip, which was what the story had been before the letters revived it? It didn’t seem very likely. Fenella was disappointed to see the holes in her theory. She would have liked to place the blame squarely on Wrayle rather than one of her neighbors. “Well, if it was him, he won’t be sending any more. William won’t give him the opportunity.”

Roger came out of the dressing room in his shirtsleeves and stocking feet, and Fenella was distracted by how very handsome he looked. “Macklin’s lad Tom is still on the track of the letter carrier,” he said. “He’s certain he’ll find something.”

“Tom is a kind boy and seems intelligent. I like him. But”—she sighed—“best just to get on with life, I suppose. It’s not as if I have nothing to do.”

He bent to kiss the back of her neck. “And you are doing it all splendidly. You are a superb mistress of Chatton Castle, as I knew you would be.”

Fenella met his gaze in the mirror. “Why? What made you think that the girl I was, or even the woman I became, would besuperb?” There was a hint of challenge in her voice, as if the accolade was inappropriate.

She never quite seemed to see what a marvel she was. Roger didn’t understand that. It seemed so obvious to him. And she wasn’t easily fobbed off with empty compliments either. On the one hand, that was good, because he could never think of any empty compliments. On the other hand, it presented difficulties, because he had to find a way to put her wonderful qualities into words. That would require a speech, as she had so many, and the chances of him saying it right were slim. Perhaps a distraction? He held her eyes in the mirror as he undid the top button of her gown. A small smile curved her lips, as if she knew what he was doing and didn’t mind in the least.

Roger undid another button. Together, they’d developed a glorious nighttime ritual, an undressing game that drove both of them wild. Slowly, and deliciously, until they couldn’t wait a moment longer to leap into bed. He undid another button. The sleeve of Fenella’s gown fell off her shoulder, and he dropped a kiss on the bare skin. He heard her breath catch and reveled in it, as he did every time he was able to make that happen.

Roger was making a study of his new wife’s body, on a quest to discover everything that brought her pleasure. It was the most enchanting study he’d ever undertaken. And he felt he was doing rather well—certainly better than he ever had in school, he thought with a smile.

Another button. The bodice of her gown slid down. Fenella rose and let the garment fall to the floor. Now there were lacings and a petticoat and stockings, in an escalating pattern of arousal. Her fingers went to the fastenings of his shirt. Which had to be taken slowly, in concert with his efforts. Because when she moved on to the breeches, well, that was usually where the game broke down and they tumbled into bed.

They’d found their way to a heady combination of breathless need and tenderness and shattering release. Roger reveled in it, and he was pretty certain she did as well. She seemed to have dedicated herself to a similar sort of study from her side. He was undoubtedly a very lucky man, he thought, before a flood of desire wiped all thought away.

Sixteen

“A friend of mine is arriving in the neighborhood tomorrow,” Macklin told the assembled party at dinner the following evening.

Roger’s mother had joined them for the meal, as she often did. It was another boon of his marriage that she and Fenella liked each other so well, Roger thought. “Indeed?” she said. “A happy coincidence.”

“She’s taking part in the pageant at Lindisfarne,” Macklin replied. “Giving a reading fromMacbeth.”

“You know the famous London actress who’s performing?” Fenella asked.

The earl nodded.

“How…unexpected.”

“That I should know an actress?”

“Well, yes. And call her a friend.”

“I was acquainted with her husband first. He’s a prominent banker. My banker, in fact.” Macklin smiled. “Mrs. Thorpe is a respectable married lady, despite what some may think of her profession. I seem to say that each time I mention her.”

“I thought the actress coming was called Simmons,” said Roger.

“She uses her maiden name for the stage.”

“And her banker’s name for society,” said Fenella.

“Precisely,” replied the earl.

“Where is she staying?” asked the dowager marchioness.

“An inn near the island, I believe.”

“No, no, she must come and stay with me,” replied Roger’s mother. “It will be so amusing.”

“She would be a charming guest,” said Macklin.