Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

“ T he Earl of Charmaine said that Poppy is absolutely demanding yet another dinner with us,” Ezra stated, keeping his eyes on his diary as he sliced through his sausage. “Tell me we can host them the day after next.”

“No, no,” Lydia replied, shaking her head as she mirrored his body language, “We have the French gold merchant and his wife, the Barbiers, coming into town and staying with us for four days. She is very needy and requires my full attention, and as I recall her husband is quite the same with you now that he deems you his friend. It would not do well to bruise any egos.”

This was how nearly each one of their breakfasts had been conducted for the past six weeks. The two of them sat apart from one another, both studying their diaries closely to coordinate new plans of attack. Though the kiss on their wedding night had been an interesting one, Ezra had quickly discovered the next morning that his new wife cared not a whit for such things. Over her first coffee, she’d immediately begun discussing their course of action. During that first breakfast, he had tried to tease her and had called her a shrew. Once he saw just how seriously she took her role as his partner he’d stopped with that particular form of jest. That was a trait he could and did respect.

“Blast,” Ezra hissed, chomping down on a bite of hash, “You are right. The problem is, however, every time Poppy does not get her way she squeezes her husband’s nether regions and he then squeezes mine in the profit margins.”

From her seat at his left, Lydia’s head suddenly popped up as she snapped her fingers. In the six weeks that they had acclimated to their new lives, Ezra had come to enjoy such moments. It always meant she’d found a solution to his problem, which she had proven very good at solving.

“We shall play them off each other,” she explained, “Make them believe we coordinated it as a surprise gathering. Monsieur Barbier could surely benefit from another gem supplier anyway, and the wives are so alike that with the proper conversation topics on my part, I shall have them becoming best friends in no time.”

Both families are conceited enough to believe that we brought the other for their entertainment,” Ezra mused with a rueful grin, “Aside from the opera house, is there anywhere else we can take them? Somewhere public?”

“Sir Courtney and his wife are hosting a salon,” Lydia replied with a knowing smile, her eyes alight with a rather wicked and gleeful glint. “You know how he is with his homemade pear wine. With that and their usual form of entertainment, our guests will be knackered and joyful with the company.”

She loved this as much as he did, he realized, watching her practically glow from her chair. Lydia was indeed the gracious and beautifully mannered woman she boasted to be in public. But in private, she was cunning, quick, and just manipulative enough to make Ezra grin wickedly to himself whenever he thought about her tactics.

“Excellent,” Ezra stated, placing his silverware beside his now empty plate. “It shall work beautifully. I will have my valet send word that we are looking forward to receiving them both.”

“I agree,” Lydia replied, giving him a sly smile as she gathered her things and rose. “And I shall inform Mrs. Bonair that the maids should prepare an additional room and have the cook make some of those honey cakes Poppy seems to love. We never seem to have enough when she visits…”

In her excitement, Lydia did not seem to notice her footing in the way Ezra had. As she spoke, her voice suddenly became muffled as he focused on the fall about to occur. It all seemed to happen in slow motion; the way the heavy chair caged her one leg in; the way as she pivoted and caught her foot under one of the elaborate table legs. Before he knew it, Ezra was out of his seat, his arms sliding around her back as he heard her gasp of pain and felt her body pitch forward. In one swift motion, he had her foot freed from its pinned position and seated her on the table.

“Blast!” Lydia hissed, her hands flying to her bruised foot. “Stupid…clumsy…”

Annoyance flashed through him as he watched her roughly grasp her injured foot. He gritted his teeth and let out a low growl when Lydia released another hiss of pain.

“Be still,” Ezra barked sharply, catching her hand in a fierce grip.

He simply could not take her floundering anymore. As smart as she seemed to be, her touch was going to cause her more pain if she was not careful, and he simply could not have her injured right now.

Lydia’s eyes were filled with pain and narrowed at his sudden command, but she pressed her lips together and let him minister to her injuries. Drawing his focus back to her foot, Ezra slid off her shoe and stocking He heard Lydia’s breath hitch as he gently lifted her foot and inspected it. As a boxer and complete opportunist for a fight of any sort, Ezra had dealt with all sorts of wounds. He immediately knew from the bruising and swelling that all would eventually be well. Uncomfortable, but not broken. He let out a huff of breath, surprised at the relief he felt.

“It shall be sore for a day or two, but you shall be fine,” he told her, his tone its usual dull cadence.

Before he even thought about it, he slid one hand up her leg and gently massaged her calf. Her flesh felt warm and smooth beneath his palm. Pleasure skittered through his fingertips as he continued his massage, this time feeling her lean muscles twitch under his touch. He slowly raised his eyes to hers, though suddenly realizing what he had done, he pulled his hands from her leg and offered her one to help her to stand.

“Have one of the maids run to the icehouse for you and stay still until I return around four.”

He gave the command quietly and without feeling, though inside he was anything but numb.

Lydia blinked, as she too had been caught up in his touch. She shook her head as she protested, “But there is too much to be done! I have to go to the kitchens. I have a meeting in town with the modiste for my masquerade dress. Oh, and the…”

“ You have an entire staff of servants at your disposal,” he interrupted in a quiet but firm tone. “And you are the Duchess of Frampton. You should not be traveling to meet with anyone in the first place, it is they that should be coming to you.”

“My study has an adjacent room that has a spare desk. Have Mrs. Bonair set you up in there and she will make sure every person you are supposed to speak with today will find you.”

“I…thank you,” Lydia replied, caught off guard by his generosity.

Ezra felt uncomfortable with it as well and merely grunted in response.

“When I return I shall assess your foot again,” he said in warning, drawing his eyes down to the bruised appendage. “I will know if you follow my word or not, Lydia.”

“And if I do not?” Lydia asked tauntingly.

Ezra’s eyes flashed to hers again, lust barreling through him at her insolence.

“Then you will be punished.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Bonair, those curtains will be lovely for the Barbiers’ quarters; they do love the Fleur-de-Lis pattern. Have the servants change the rest of the tapestries and linens to match and have yellow roses and bluebells in vases.”

“A beautiful suggestion, Your Grace,” Mrs. Bonair replied with enthusiasm. “If that is all then, Your Grace. I believe we have finished.”

“I believe we have,” Lydia agreed, smiling back at the housekeeper, “Thank you for your dedication as always, Mrs. Bonair. You may go. I shall ring for Laura when I am ready to be taken to my quarters.”

“Very good, Your Grace,” Mrs. Bonair replied, curtsying, “And might I say, I most enjoy our work together. It is all quite exciting!”

“As do I, Mrs. Bonair,” Lydia beamed, beyond happy that she and the housekeeper worked so well together.

Mrs. Bonair smiled back, offered her another curtsy, and left.

Satisfied with the day’s work, Lydia sighed, leaned back in the massive chair and thought about her time in Frampton thus far. In the last six weeks, she had learned much about her new staff. Ezra, as she had expected, was a strict master. Yet, despite that, Lydia found that every person in his employ was deeply dedicated to him and their work. Mrs. Bonair had once told her that anyone not doing their part was swiftly terminated.

During her time in Frampton, she had only seen one servant dismissed, and when it was done, even the fellow servants seemed relieved to see the man leave. Following the servant’s dismissal, Mrs. Bonair had explained that their work was important and there was only room on staff for those with pure dedication.

Lydia came to realize that the staff did not fear Ezra. At least, not the sort of distress that most would think of. There were no crying maids running away from him like there had been at her father’s house. However, there was a healthy tinge of wariness hidden somewhere among the deep layers of respect they all seemed to have for their master. Such respect had created a deep loyalty within them that they in turn showed to her when Lydia had taken her place as duchess.

Then there was Ezra himself. Over the last few weeks, she had studied him and had come to know him better. She had learned to read his emotions (even though he put very little into his voice or facial expressions)and had learned to discern when he was in a teasing mood, or when he purely wanted to know about business and give commands that were to be obeyed, and when he did not wish to speak at all. During the times he was silent, Lydia wondered if he was fully present, for even though his body was beside hers, his mind seemed far, far away.

During those quiet moments, Lydia had begun to feel the urge to reach for him and comfort him, though she was unsure what she was consoling him about. Even when it was all she thought about she never found the nerve to try.

However, he was neither quiet nor teasing following the event with her ankle this morning. He had made it clear that he expected to be obeyed. At first, Lydia had nearly asked Mrs. Bonair to help her into the drawing room, just to rile up Ezra. She was not afraid of the punishment he had mentioned, and in fact, was quite curious about what it would entail. Nonetheless, Lydia found herself obeying Ezra’s orders, and he made his satisfaction known when he returned to the room a few moments later.

“Ah, right where you are supposed to be,” he mused, leaning his black suit-cladded muscular body against the doorframe.

Lydia smirked at him, dismissing the now familiar tingle she felt every time they talked.

“I hated the ice,” she retorted in a snide fashion. “The cold was harsh and made my foot go numb.”

“That is the entire point of the process,” he purred, leaning against the doorway. “When you receive a bruise it forces the muscles to swell and heat. Ice forces the muscles to cool and shrink back into place.”

Ezra’s calm, edifying responses were something that Lydia had come to enjoy. Though she had seen him become utterly ruthless with others a time or two since their marriage, he had not been so with her. Instead, he took the time to explain things to her and never in a way that made her feel dimwitted afterward.

“I suppose it was just discomfort then,” she sighed dramatically.

“Did you move today?” Ezra asked, getting directly to the point.

Lydia ignored the clench of her lower belly as his voice dropped to a deep, slightly condescending tone, and used her good foot to slide the chair away from the desk.

“See for yourself,” she offered with a flourish toward her foot.

Ezra pushed his shoulder away from the doorframe and casually strolled inside. He kept his eyes on her the whole time, a slight smirk perched on his chiseled lips as he rounded the desk, then dropped to one knee to inspect her wrapped foot.

Just as it had been that morning, Ezra’s touch was tender as he first undid the wrapping and then placed her heel lightly atop his bent knee. Ezra kept his eyes on Lydia for a moment longer, as if giving her one more chance to admit she disobeyed. When she only drew up her brow, Ezra’s lips twitched, and he dropped his gaze to her foot to inspect it.

She was surprised and deeply satisfied when Ezra finished his inspection and grunted approvingly.

“You were looking forward to punishing me, were you not?” She teased as he gently wrapped up her foot again. “Tell me, what did you have planned if I had disobeyed?”

Ezra’s little punishments were both infuriating and amusing to Lydia, and they were never what she expected. The first punishment she received was for going into Ezra’s office for a blank diary; too impatient to wait for his valet to bring her one. When he had found her looking through his shelves, he had said nothing after she’d offered her explanation. The next day though, he’d had hundreds of blank diaries delivered to her rooms, so many that they nearly filled the floor space of the sitting room even when stacked.

The words Do not disobey me again were inscribed beautifully with red ink on a card tucked into the singular diary left on her bed. She had smiled at the card, but she did not enter his office again without his permission.

Her most amusing punishment thus far was a week and a half ago, when she had ignored his request to wear a crimson red gown to dinner instead of the buttercream yellow one she had picked. As before, he said nothing and went about his business. But the next day, as her maid was helping her dress, they discovered he had gone into her closet and stolen every corset she owned.

He did not give them back until Alice, Duncan, Beau, and Juliet came for their visit four days later. It had been most annoying at the time, what with her and her maids flying about to fashion some sort of substitute garment, but she now thought it had been a rather clever play.

“Perhaps I would have stolen every pair of shoes you have so you could not walk anywhere,” he mused aloud.

Lydia shrugged as though unimpressed.

“That may keep you from leaving the grounds, Your Grace, but being barefooted is only faux pas when others are present,” she replied haughtily.

Ezra’s ice-blue eyes darkened as a subtle shift took over his features, making him appear less gentlemanly and vastly more rakish.

“Then an old-fashioned spanking will have to suffice.”

Ezra’s words and tone sent a shiver down Lydia’s spine as her imagination quickly worked the image up in her mind. She felt her cheeks flame at the thought and her fingers slowly began to curl into her palms as her middle and ring fingers worried her pale flesh. Ezra beast, yes, but would he take things that far?

She had learned how to follow along with his wry humor when he was in a playful mood, but there was no playfulness in his threats, only a warning and a promise of things to come.

Ezra suddenly cocked his head and drew his lips back from his white teeth, revealing a hungry, wolfish grin.

“Perhaps something like that would not be a punishment to you at all,” he mused, his hand traveling once more along her calf, massaging it meaningfully. “Perhaps you would…enjoy it.”

Like it had this morning, his touch sent a rush of warmth burrowing deep into her, and she fought the urge to let out a soft breath in her throat. Though they had not kissed since their wedding night, the memory had become a dream that visited her three to four times a week. It had been possessive and vicious, and yet somehow tender and deep.

“Well, I did not break your command, so it does not matter in the slightest,” she replied bitingly, sliding her foot off of his knee.

“No?” he mused, giving her a mock look of confusion, “But you were so curious before.”

“Consider my curiosity satisfied,” Lydia remarked with a huff, turning from him.

Ezra let out a low chuckle, but he rose from his hunkered position and took a respectful step back.

“I sent word to Barbier, and the Earl of Charmaine and they responded that they are most looking forward to the united visit. Is all ready?”

Lydia was grateful that he turned the conversation back to business, and yet she could not help but notice the lilt of disappointment she felt when he did so.

“Yes,” she replied, “The menus are set, the rooms are readied, and the entertainment is secured. I have three wives on a tight schedule during the day so you three gentlemen can focus on your business and, well, whatever it is you men do; but your impression of being a kind and doting husband must be spot on in the evenings.”

“Are they not always?” he replied in his usual bored tone.

Yes, Lydia would give him that. When needed, Ezra could put on a rather convincing show of being an honorable gentleman.

“Then we are set,” stated Lydia in a dismissive fashion. “I shall let you get on about your evening.”

Lydia then tried to stand on her own, but she had barely braced her hands upon the desk and chair when Ezra stepped in and lifted her as before.

“Enough of this,” she hissed in annoyance as her body instantly responded to his touch.

“I am fine. You said I only had to stay off it until four and I did! Put me down right now!”

“Make me,” Ezra chirped, but when she began to push at his chest he let out a warning growl as he carried her toward the stairs.

“You are an absolute beast!” she seethed, crossing her arms defiantly while still in his hold.

Ezra merely shrugged as he continued walking.

“You knew this when you agreed to marry me.”

Annoyed, livid, and embarrassingly aroused, Lydia bit the inside of her cheek and continued to mumble her dissatisfaction as he carried her into her rooms. Upon reaching her bed, he let her drop onto it, somehow keeping her foot elevated so it would not land with a soft thump like the rest of her body.

“You are no good to me broken and bruised,” he told her as she glared at him. “Take the rest of the day to let it heal. I will need you in the morning.”

“And if I do not?” she hissed.

Ezra gave her that wolfish grin again, and this time he leaned in so close to her face that she could feel his warmth and catch his musk. She breathed in the heavy, masculine scent, and though she was annoyed, the image of his lips on hers flashed through her mind again.

“Remember that punishment we were discussing?” Ezra whispered, his gaze riveted to hers.

She tried to come up with a sarcastic response but found herself unable as she became caught in his mesmerizing blue eyes. Instead, she only gave the slightest of nods. Would he truly spank her? And if he did, would he force her to lift her skirts? Heat flooded through her at the thought.

As if he was reading her mind, Ezra’s lips twitched, and he let out a low murmur of approval.

“I must confess,” he said, his eyes slowly raking down her figure. “I do enjoy this partnership that we have created. I truly suspect that if I had stayed with my original choice of Juliet, things would not be going so swimmingly.”

“That was almost a compliment,” Lydia retorted sarcastically.

“And I almost meant it,” Ezra purred with a playful if not dangerous look in his eyes as they made their way back to hers.

Lydia felt a fever pulse through her veins as Ezra continued to study her intently, and she knew he needed to leave soon. Their playfulness was fun, yes, but only to a certain point. Once they passed that, Lydia had noticed that her attention span shortened, her body tingled with heat, and her pulse seemed to slow and drum rhythmically in her ears. Goosebumps would then erupt, her skin would become hypersensitive, and a warm wetness that made her blush would form between her legs.

“You want something,” Ezra stated, and lowered himself to take a seat on the bed next to her.

Lydia jerked and blinked rapidly at their sudden closeness.

“I beg your pardon?” She breathed, sliding herself up onto her pillows. He was far too close.

“My accountant,” he stated flatly, still gazing at her intently. “He said you spoke with him about accessing my accounts.”

Lydia drew in a sudden breath, relief flooding through her so fiercely that she had to stifle a relieved laugh.

“Oh, yes,” she replied, gathering herself. She had nearly forgotten.

“I was having Mr. Porter show me the expenditures of the Earl’s and Barbier’s visits to try to gain an understanding of what I needed to request,” she explained, “and when I compared them, I realized that both families are quite expensive guests and there were several additional purchases that needed to be completed tomorrow.”

She paused, deciding that now was just as good a time to bring up the topic, and added,

“Also, when I first arrived you said I may change my rooms if I desire, and I have decided that I wish to do so. I want modern furniture, new wallpaper, tapestries, all of it, and I want it to be exactly the way I envision it.”

Ezra suddenly barked out a laugh, surprising her so much that she crossed her arms in annoyance and demanded to know what was so hilarious.

“You were so polite in the beginning but got rather demanding toward the end,” Ezra chuckled, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “You truly are the most interesting creature, Lydia.”

“I am not a creature, I am a woman,” she huffed, growing more annoyed.

“Not like any woman I have ever met,” he replied, a smile still lingering on his lips.

“Another almost compliment.”

“The way you point them out, I am beginning to think you might like them,” Ezra stated matter-of-factly, then, turning back to the matter, he said, “I shall permit you access to my accounts for our guests, which is a given. You have proven yourself worthy of my trust in such matters.”

Lydia knew that his words were not a compliment but a fact. She knew what she had to do to honor her end of their bargain, and she was determined to do it gracefully and with integrity. Thus far, she had done exactly that.

“And my rooms?”

That darkly handsome wolfish smile, one she was starting to see from him more and more, flashed back at her as he leaned a little closer.

“You shall have to make a trade for that,” he whispered, his eyes dropping to her throat.

Lydia felt a tremble pass through her as that undeniable lust for him began to rise again. Damn him! Why did he have to stare at me like that? As if I was a meal to be devoured?

“And what trade do you seek, Your Grace?” she asked. Though she tried to sound calm and unruffled, even she heard the slight tremor in her voice.

“Firstly, that you stop calling me Your Grace,” he replied.

His request caught her off guard. She had not expected something so simple.

“What do you want me to call you then?” She asked.

“I am your husband, after all,” he replied, his voice descending into a sudden serious tone. “And you are my wife. Calling each other “Your Grace” these past few weeks has been amusing, yes, but I tire of it now.”

Though she could have taken the opportunity to tease him about growing soft, Lydia chose not to and nodded her head.

“Very well, husband,” she replied smoothly. She tried to say the word as casually as possible, but as it left her lips she felt a soft tremble pass through her.

Something between a hum and a moan rumbled from Ezra’s chest as she uttered the word, and Lydia felt her cheeks heat up again. He needed to leave. Now.

“Well, if that is all,” she sighed, then forced a fake yawn. “I believe I shall retire early this evening.”

“I have one more request,” Ezra replied, his blue eyes darkening, and before she could ask what it was he added, “Allow me to help you change into your nightgown. Surely with your bruised ankle, the task would be difficult on your own.”

Anger and lust swirled together as Lydia suddenly pictured him undressing her. Her curiosity began to wage war with her determination to keep their relationship as professional as possible as she imagined what she would feel, think, and experience if a man like Ezra would do something so intimate to her.

There was time for none of that, though. For her anger, her lust, or her curiosity. He was teasing, surely. Drawing on her most wicked smile, Lydia drew toward him and, as sensually as possible replied, “And take precious time away from your beloved paramours? Come, husband. I am many things, but I am not greedy.”

Ezra’s expression drew back to its usual blankness as he let her catty comment hang in the air. Then a deep, purely amused chuckle tumbled from his lips as he grinned at her wickedly, shaking his head. Somehow, his reaction only made Lydia’s body react even more, and she cursed herself for her involuntary response.

“The access to my accounts is yours,” he said, continuing to chuckle as he rose from the bed. “For decorating, hosting, whatever you wish.”

Lydia couldn’t fight the sense of triumph and enjoyment she took from his reaction and managed a sly smile at him together with a seated curtsy.

“I do have work to get to,” he admitted as he reached her door. With a wry smile he added, “But I will find time to tell my paramours you send your regards.”

Lydia did not expect the tiny stab of hurt she felt in her chest at his jest, but she kept her expression steady and simply curtsied again from her seated position.