Chapter Fifteen

Fingers interlocked and head cradled in his hands, Landon stared up at the ceiling. If Mary was successful in her lessons, he'd end up with a wife he had no interest in. Meek, obedient, docile—those were definitely not the traits he wished Bronwyn to exhibit. His wife's bold fiery nature was one of her greatest assets. And if he wanted obedience, he'd purchase a hound, not expect it of his wife.

Mary was welcomed into the most elite circles, and Landon didn't question Mary's knowledge on the subject. However, he couldn't recall a time when Mary herself had heeded all the ridiculous rules she'd imparted during her etiquette lessons with Bronwyn.

Each night Bronwyn returned to their chambers in a state of pure flummox. His wife would stand at the end of the bed, hands on her hips, and in her best imitation of Mary, recite the day's lesson. Landon would listen to the preposterous rule and then proceed to expel the horrid concept from her mind. He had learned the first evening that simply informing his wife to ignore the crazed lessons would not work. Bronwyn had insisted she must master these lessons. So each night, he resolved to teach her why it was essential not to abide by the strictures, especially in bed. Yesterday's lesson that a lady should defer to her husband in all matters had required an extraordinary amount of patience on his part to exorcise the ideal. Finally, with the first streaks of light coming in through the thick window coverings, Bronwyn had taken command of their lovemaking and rode him hard until she found her pleasure.

Landon hugged his exhausted wife's limp form close. She was magnificent. But what he loved most was her sharp mind and unwavering determination. How was he to explain to her that these rules did not apply to her?

He had two options, put a cease to the lessons or instruct Mary to teach Bronwyn how to best navigate around the rules. Landon grinned as he ran his fingers through his wife's hair. Mary was a master at circumventing the rules. He'd see to it that Mary assisted Bronwyn to do the same, but one couldn't evade a rule if one didn't know it existed. He finally saw the wisdom in Bronwyn's insistence in learning all the blasted guidelines a lady should follow in the name of good manners.

Bronwyn's sleepy eyes blinked open. "Do you often watch me slumber?"

"I think best when you are near."

"I'm too tired this morn to spar with you."

Landon wrapped Bronwyn's tresses about his finger. "Should I have Peyton inform Mary that you will skip lessons today?"

"Absolutely not." His wife bolted upright and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Her long brown waves swished back and forth against the pale skin of her soft back as she twisted about.

"What are you searching for, wife?"

"My shift."

Admiring the view, he kept silent as Bronwyn stood and turned to rifle through the bedclothes. She placed her hands on her hips. "Do you happen to know where it is, my lord?"

The flush across her chest had his hands itching to reach out for her. He reluctantly paused his admiration of her glorious body. "I might." He grinned.

Bronwyn's eyes focused on the spot on his cheek where his blasted dimple resided. "You might. Was it not you who once said that evasiveness merely results in prolonged cross-examination?" Crawling on to the bed, Bronwyn tugged away the coverlet and sheets that kept him warm.

"I don't recall having said that. However, it does make sense."

Seated on her heels, her knees barely touching his side, Bronwyn lowered her gaze inch by inch until it landed upon his fully aroused member. It wasn't her glorious body that had blood rushing to his groin. It was the wordplay that had him at the ready.

Bronwyn raised her curious eyes to his. "How is it you never tire? You claim to have a lung condition, yet I am the one left breathless."

"Mayhap your attentions have healed me. Would you care to test my hypothesis?" Landon replaced his hands back behind his head, unwilling to negate the progress he had made the night before. His cock twitched, drawing his wife's attention. She shifted, her brown tresses flowing down her back—tempting him.

Bronwyn ran a hand straight down from his navel to cup his testicles and rolled them in her palm. Looking over her shoulder, she asked, "Do you or do you not know where my shift is?"

He cleared his throat. "I do."

Bending over him, lowered herself until her mouth was mere inches from the tip of his shaft. "If I let you have your way with me, will you tell me where it is?" She circled the head of his cock with her tongue.

With a groan, he replied, "I'll give it to you this minute if that is what you wish. I'll not delay you if you wish to leave."

"And what about you…your discomfort?"

"Wife, I've seen to it many a time. Do you wish to leave?"

Bronwyn took him into her mouth. He pressed his head further into his palms, preventing him from threading his fingers in her hair. Their first night of marriage, he had managed to learn many of Bronwyn's preferences. Stroking and tugging upon her hair was one of her favorites.

At the swirl of her tongue, he let out a low moan. He couldn't take any more without having his hands on her. He reached for her hips and shimmied under her, positioning her pretty, wet slit in front of him. A hand on each hip, he licked at her center. He started with long strokes of his tongue and progressed to circling and flicking her until her hips began to rotate. Her moans of delight set the pace for how fast or slow he moved his tongue over her.

Sliding one hand along her side, he reached between them to cup her breast and play with her nipple. Bronwyn continued to glide her mouth up and down his shaft, altering the pressure of her lips and how deep she would swallow him. His own hips jerked forward as his body sought release, but first, he needed to ensure his wife reached satisfaction. Gripping her bottom, he inched a finger closer to his mouth. His forefinger slid into her channel while his tongue flickered over her core. Bronwyn released him as she gasped. She was close. He kneaded her breast, and he continued to pump his finger as Bronwyn took him back into her mouth. If he pinched her nipple or tugged on her hair, she would reach her peak. He had played extensively with her nipples the night before, so he released his hold on her breast and wrapped his wrist and hand in her long tresses. Pressure mounted in his loins, and he reactively tugged on Bronwyn's hair. Her muscles immediately tightened about his finger, and he ejaculated into her mouth. He untangled his hand from her hair and ran his hand along her spine.

"Hmm." Bronwyn collapsed onto her side. "Perhaps I'll have to adjust the order of my preferences."

Chuckling, Landon retrieved his wife's flimsy shift from under his pillow and placed it against her hip.

Bronwyn grabbed her shift. "Lady Mary is going to have my head. A lady must be neither too early nor late. Punctuality dictates if one will receive an intimate invitation to tea or dinner rather than an invitation along with the masses to a ball or soiree." She pulled the shift overhead and swung her legs over the side of the bed.

"Speaking of engagements." Landon sat up and leaned back against the bed's headboard. "It is time we formally celebrate our union."

Bronwyn's back and shoulders stiffened. "We are to return to London?"

If he could see her expressive face, he'd know how best to answer. She jumped from the bed and spun to glare at him. "But I'm not ready. Lady Mary and I have barely begun."

Bronwyn's heaving chest, nipples pressed tightly against her shift, had his full attention. Her protests registered in the depths of his mind, but his body responded first. Blinking away his wayward thoughts, he hauled the tangled sheets up to his waist and smoothed out the material. "Not London."

Bronwyn narrowed her eyes. Pleased she had freely expressed her opinions, albeit nonverbally, Landon ignored his body's desire to haul her back to bed. "Archbroke has kindly invited us, the Network elders, and a few close friends, to convene at his country estate. We are expected to arrive by week's end."

Head tilted, Bronwyn asked, "Are you sure my dad accepted the invitation?"

"Why wouldn't he?"

"I'd not count on my dad agreeing to leave London to attend such an event." She shook her head and padded over to a fallen pillow.

"But you're his daughter…" The pillow hit him square in the chest.

Hands on her hips, Bronwyn said, "My dad is proud of me; of that I have no doubt. He fully supported the decision for us to marry, but he will not change his ways and hobnob with your lot."

"My lot?" His papa was a second son; the likelihood of him inheriting the Hadfield title had been a distant possibility until Theo's brother died four years past without having married or sired an heir. Who the bloody hell did she consider his lot? It certainly wasn't the lords who lounged about White's all day.

Bronwyn sighed and let her hands fall to her sides. "My dad is a tradesman and a loyal PORF supporter. He has sworn to protect and serve. He'll not elevate himself above what he deems his appointed position." His wife's voice resolute. "Once my dad places the mark upon me, he'll no longer view me as his daughter but as a PORF." Bronwyn touched the harp upon her bracelet and blinked back tears.

Landon reached out for her and she padded closer to the bed.

Holding Bronwyn's hand, he said, "When I asked you to marry me, I didn't know of your ties to the Network. And since then, I've failed to take into consideration the full ramifications of our union." He raised their joined hands and kissed the back of her hand. "I acted selfishly. I let my love for you blind me."

Her mouth fell wide open. "Did you say you love me?"

How could she not know the depth of his feelings for her? Her dubious expression confirmed his failure to show Bronwyn how he felt. His breath caught in his throat, but he managed to eke out, "I did." He wanted Bronwyn to return the sentiment, but she stood blinking as if his confession of love was the most befuddling thing she'd ever heard.

There was a scratch at the door, followed by Peyton's harried voice. "Bronwyn. Blast it. I mean, my lady. Lady Mary is waiting in the morning room."

They couldn't dally any longer. "You'd best go get ready." Landon kissed his dazed wife. "As soon as I'm decent, I'll let your maid in to assist." He turned Bronwyn by the shoulders and gave her rear a pat.

She took three steps forward before she swiveled back around and said, "I…I don't…"

He couldn't bear to hear the truth. Bronwyn didn't love him. Landon interrupted his wife and said, "Mary hates to be kept waiting."

A deep frown replaced Bronwyn's confused features. Turning on her heel, Bronwyn strode to the connecting chamber without another word. Landon leaped from the bed and hastily donned his breeches and shirt.

Damnation.

He was no coward. He'd hear the truth now. Striding to the door, he opened it to reveal an overwrought Peyton wringing her hands.

Taking pity on the poor maid, he said, "Please inform Lady Mary that your mistress will be along shortly." The maid bobbed and then rushed down the hall.

Landon leaned against the closed door and counted to thirty.

Always loved by those close to him, he had misconstrued Bronwyn's enthusiastic responses to him as affection. The barrister in him needed to gain all the facts in order to determine how to move forward. If she didn't care for him, he'd be patient. Perhaps over time, she could learn to love him. He pushed off the door and stood up straight. Taking a deep breath, he fortified himself for the worst. His sluggish feet dragged to the connecting changing chamber.