Embracing Ashberry (17 page)

“I still don’t have the need for such a fine
cabinet,” she shrugged, “But I realized this morning that I didn’t
have anything in which to keep your mother’s jewels, or the
beautiful pin you gave me, when I was not wearing them.”

“The cabinet, Ella dear, is large enough to
keep the family pieces and whatever else I buy for you over the
years.” He came to stand beside her, taking her arms and turning
her to him before leaning down to kiss her forehead. “I’m glad you
like it—I thought we’d move it to Ashberry Park with us, as we'll
be there most of the year.”

“I do love it,” she replied quite seriously,
“It was wonderful of you to think of it and I wouldn’t have chosen
anything nearly this fine for myself.”

He nodded, wishing she would smile but
understanding that she intended him to know she was in earnest. He
took his thumbs and lifted the corners of her mouth to form a smile
on her lips and the smile that followed was quite natural. “Dinner
is usually in an hour,” he said softly. “There’s no need for your
finest gown—I expect it will just be the two of us this evening.
Sebastian and the boys drove up to Harlan Chase today. I imagine
they are quite enjoying themselves and will stay for a few more
days before returning to London.”

“Do you usually eat dinner here at the
house?” she asked, the normalcy of the question giving her the
opportunity to step back.

Ashberry didn’t answer for a moment, but
simply watched her. “I will when you do,” he finally said.

Ellie understood his answer to mean that he
preferred otherwise. “You don’t need to entertain me,” she started
to say, but then stopped herself, adding more slowly, “Oh, the
besotted groom?”

The marquess smiled, as if to affirm her
question, but wished desperately that he could lift her in his arms
and carry her into the bedroom, where dinner would not be a
necessary excuse for interacting with his wife. “I will see you
soon, my dear,” he said simply, stepping back and moving through
her boudoir to his own rooms.

After Wendy helped Ellie inspect the cabinet
more closely, she helped her to dress. “The marquess said I did not
need to be extravagant, Wendy,” Ellie told her. “It’s just the two
of us for dinner this evening.”

“Of course not, but you’ll want to look
pretty for him, I know,” Wendy said knowingly, in a way that Ellie
could hardly deny. “Especially after the footmen carried in that
pretty cabinet he bought for you. Isn’t it wonderful?”

Ellie agreed, hardly surprised to find
herself gowned in burgundy velvet skirts and a fitted bodice of
cream satin with burgundy embroidery. It fit her well, gracing her
curves as much as any garment would and the neckline was perhaps
more daring than most she owned, for it opened in a square deep
enough to allow the tops of her breasts, pushed up by the corset,
to beckon temptingly. The sleeves were fitted of burgundy velvet
and the wrist cuffs of cream satin. Wendy took down her hair and
brushed it thoroughly, leaving a tendril hanging below each ear as
she braided her lady’s locks and then arranged the plaits into an
elegant knot.

She was dressing it with Ellie’s pearl
hairpins when Ashberry came casually through the dressing room
door.

Ellie blushed when he appeared behind her in
the mirror, remembering clearly their morning meeting in the room.
He came to stand behind her, waving Wendy on when she looked as if
to flee. “You may finish, Wendy. I do not mind waiting for my
beautiful bride.”

The blush extended then down to her neck and
lower, until Ashberry was forced to wonder if it would extend even
further below her bodice. He had been earnest when he had told her
to go to no special effort but was glad he had passed the time by
dressing as well. “You look spectacular, my dear, but you didn’t
need to change for me, Ellie. You were lovely dressed as you
were.”

Ellie met his eyes in the mirror as Wendy
smiled. “Thank you, sir,” she said softly, her eyes focusing
suddenly on Wendy, who stepped back with a satisfied smile.

“She’s all finished, my lord,” the girl said
firmly, “If you are satisfied, my lady,” she added quickly with a
look to her mistress.

“It is very nice, but I’m afraid it was a
great deal of work for something that will simply be taken out in
only a few hours,” the marquess mused as Ellie nodded to her maid
in the affirmative. The comment reminded Ellie of Ashberry’s
earlier desire to brush his wife’s hair, and she blushed, so that
even Wendy saw it.

The marquess said nothing to the maid, who
turned away to hide her smile. He simply took his wife by the hand
and led her out of the suite and down the stairs. Dinner was ready,
so they went directly to the dining room, where the long
Chippendale table was set with a lonely place at each end. The
marquess led his wife to her seat at the end before looking toward
his own. At least ten feet separated the two place settings and
Ashberry frowned at the sight.

Ellie saw his hesitation and smiled
tentatively. “There’s no one here but the two of us,” she said, a
doubtful sound to her voice.

The marquess said nothing more, but led his
bride to the chair to his right at the head of the table. The
footman hurried to follow with Ellie’s plate and silver, but the
lord himself assisted his bride into the seat.

He decided she was lovely in the brilliant
candlelight of the room and the hint of her figure above the bodice
was almost enough to keep his eyes firmly fixed below her chin. He
couldn’t have said later what they had for dinner and was surprised
when Alexander brought the tray of decanters to the table. He
refused, his eyes suddenly on Ellie’s. “There’s no need,
Alexander.” To his wife, he asked, “Do you play chess?”

Surprised by the question, her brows creased
as she answered. “I do, though I’m hardly an expert.”

“Unless you wish for the two of us to
assemble in the drawing room and drink cups of tea while having
stilted and awkward conversation,” he offered, “I thought it might
be a way to pass the evening together.”

Ellie nodded. She hadn’t really considered
how she would spend her evenings and in fact, she could hardly
remember ever having spent an evening without the company of her
mother. “I don’t believe I’ve ever not spent the evening in the
drawing room,” she said, her voice showing a slight wonder. “Not
since I left the schoolroom. It’s not something I’ve ever thought
about, but I suppose there’s no reason for the two of us to go and
sit there and stare at each other.”

Ashberry nodded, turning to the butler.
“Alexander, have a fire lit in my sitting room upstairs and ask
Mrs. Shannon to brew her ladyship some tea. We will enjoy it
together, upstairs.” He smiled at his wife. “Perhaps you would like
to take a turn around the galleries and meet my ancestors?” he
asked gallantly.

They stood, together, while the footman held
Ellie’s chair and Ashberry took his wife’s hand and laid it on her
arm. From her side, he could see the mounds of her breasts just
pushed enough above the bodice that they gave shape to her cleavage
and he instinctively drew her closer, his fingers tightening as he
resisted the urge slide them down inside her gown.

His voice was slightly raspy as they began
their tour of the portraits that lined the conservatory walls but
her intelligent questions and obvious inattention to his baser
desires helped him to adjust to the tension that he anticipated
would be a normal state of affairs as long as Ellie slept in a
separate bed.

Playing chess was more difficult than he
expected. Ashberry corrected a few of her more amateurish mistakes,
using the game to distract himself from her, but each time he
looked up, his eyes were forced to pass over the tempting bosom
that rose and fell gently with each breath. He easily won the first
two games, but sometime during the third game, the marquess
realized he was spending more time with his eyes on his wife than
on the board. He found her facial expressions to be intensely
distracting, to the point where he had to sink deep into his chair
where the dim light of the room would hood his eyes from her
inquisitive ones.

It was still early for London when he
feigned sleepiness. Her eyes were beginning to droop and he knew
the task of restraining himself from a more intimate examination of
her curves was taxing his own energy. Solicitously, he guided her
to her dressing room. To his surprise, Wendy was already there,
waiting for her mistress. He almost dismissed her, but thought
better of it, murmuring instead to his wide-eyed wife that he would
wait for her.

Returning to his own dressing room while he
did, the marquess frowned at Griffin, who discreetly disappeared.
He fiddled with idea of undressing, but instead just removed his
coat and cravat before returning to her boudoir and settling into
the chair beside the fire.

It wasn’t long before she came into the
room, her eyes immediately seeking. He said nothing, just watched
her body move gracefully beneath the velvet fabric of her
peignoir.

She stopped in front of him, nervously
watching him, expecting him to speak.

Selfishness wasn’t a condition that Ashberry
tended to dwell in but he couldn’t stop the urge that swept through
him. He kept her standing there, waiting for him, as his eyes
slowly rose from the hem of her gown and up over her thighs and
narrow waist to the tempting roundness of her bosom. “I am more
tempted every minute I see you, Ella dear, to carry you into my own
chamber and keep you there in my bed.” Her eyes widened and her
fists clenched at her sides but she did not turn away. He pushed
her a bit more by adding, “The skin on your hands and face and
shoulders is so incredibly silky that my hands ache to explore
underneath your nightclothes and discover just how delectable the
rest of you is.” He laughed, the timbre low and husky. “I dare not
stand up, Ella, for fear I will break every promise I made to you
yesterday.”

The room was silent for a long minute before
he shifted in the chair, his head turning to face the fire that had
illuminated her in the room. “Get into bed while I collect myself.”
The words were quiet, nearly a whisper, but he knew she’d
understood perfectly. He listened to her obey, knew instinctively
when her peignoir slid from her shoulders and tensed as he listened
to her fold it neatly and lay it at the end of the bed. He bit his
lip, hard, as he heard her slide beneath the coverlet, drawing the
heavy quilt over her.

Even after she was motionless, he sat and
stared at the flames of the fire for several long minutes before
standing. Wendy had already drawn the curtains of the bed nearly
closed, so Ellie was mostly hidden. He strode purposefully to the
side, leaned over and kissed her on the forehead almost without
looking, then turned away from her. “Sleep well, Ella,” he said,
the agony in him apparent only by his gruff tones.

“Goodnight,” she whispered simply.

Then he fled.

* * * *

The next few days passed with little change
from that first day. Both husband and wife stayed busy during the
day but when evening came, they found themselves alone and
vulnerable to the emotions of the other. The kisses, at least in
any depth, had not been repeated, though Ashberry had taken to
kissing the corner of her mouth instead of the forehead. Ellie
approved of the change, the color of her cheeks notwithstanding,
but had no courage to tell him except by her acquiescence. Each
day, he seemed more tense, his jaw more square. She wondered if she
was the reason and hoped desperately she was not. Ellie, despite
her fears, wished for Ashberry to be content in their marriage.

Ashberry had absented himself from his
wife’s dressing room since that first morning, but had managed to
appear just as she exited her sitting room. They had, as of yet,
had no one disturb their solitude, though Ellie had gone to call on
Caroline Eldenwood, whose expertise in managing Ashberry House had
been well worth the outing, not to mention the advice she had
provided about Ashberry Park. Together, Ellie and Ashberry had
called on Ellie’s mother, who had been unwilling to broach any
personal conversation with the marquess in the room.

Ellie had been grateful for Ashberry’s
attentions that day, for he had stayed close by her side, his eyes
on her every move and word, his word and manner gentle and
tender.

On the fifth day of their marriage, they
descended the stairs together and shared their breakfast before
Ellie removed to the morning room and Ashberry to the quiet of his
study.

She sometimes wondered what he did there,
but found herself too occupied to actually investigate. As she had
told Ashberry that morning at breakfast, she would have been
surprised if they had been spared even one more day. Her mother,
Charlotte and Caroline all came to call late in the morning,
thankfully eliminating any opportunity for her mother to
interrogate her privately. When asked how the couple was adjusting,
she had simply colored very prettily, a reaction that was both
honest and capable of misinterpretation.

Caroline and Charlotte had given each other
a quite knowing look but her mother had peered much more
suspiciously into her face, so Ellie had added, “Ashberry is quite
a gentleman and has been very good to me.” Her mother had inspected
the jewelry and the accompanying cabinet with an approving eye,
while Caroline had simply humphed at her brother. “He never bought
us anything that handsome,” Charlotte had stated with a tilt to her
chin that Ellie thought might mean trouble for her husband.

The two sisters had joined them for
afternoon tea but Ellie’s mother already had an engagement. The
twins had quickly cancelled Ashberry’s plans for a decorous, light
tea that ultimately demonstrated his sisters’ comfort around their
eldest brother and former guardian.