Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

K idnapping one's wife should lead to a considerable amount of time alone with her. But Liam had not seen Cora since the day before, just after their arrival at Norton Hall. Instead, he'd been staring at the white and red mottled face of his estate manager, the dour Mr. Edmonds, who considered Liam, mostly, as a bug on the bottom of his shoe. If he could scrub Liam away with the thorough application of a boot scraper, he likely would.

"You are not attending, my lord," Mr. Edmonds said, each word echoing down the long hallway alongside the snap of his boot against the floor.

"I am attending, just not to what you've asked me to attend to. We solved the problem of hiring a new gardener ten minutes ago. In my study. Once you started in with ‘Lord Norton, you were not born to,' I left the room. I thought you'd understand such a heavy-handed hint, but here you are"—Liam sighed—"still going on about my woeful inexperience within the peerage."

Mr. Edmonds caught up with him and set his smaller legs to Liam's long stride. "But you were not born to it, my lord."

"But I was born with a brain, and that seems to be the important bit. I'm learning. I've not ruined the entire estate yet. Surely I deserve some praise for that?"

The only praise Mr. Edmonds offered was a tight, loud sniff. And when he started in again with, "My lord, you must understand you're not prepared to," Liam shut off his born-with brain to block out the man. If Liam was a bug on Edmonds' shoe, Edmonds was a fly forever buzzing in Liam's ear. Do this, be that, such a pity you can't. Liam didn't mind the chores of being a lord. He quite enjoyed the responsibility, the purpose of it all, but to have every decision and action questioned… if he could grow ten feet tall and smash Edmonds beneath his boot, he would. Where was the boot scraper?

No such fanciful solutions in reach, he threw open the gallery door at the end of the hallway and inspected the changes he'd ordered. The long gallery which had previously housed the Fletcher family art had been stripped of its paintings and sculptures and decorated in the current fashion. Because Cora had expressed an admiration for the room and because she had seemed lighter and brighter here. The only painting left on the walls was one that had made her laugh several long weeks ago. Yes, the room was exactly what he'd asked for. Nearly perfect except—

Mr. Edmonds' gasped, rushing around Liam and into the room. "Robbers! We've been robbed, my lord. The family art! It's gone !" The last word a wail that somehow suggested the missing art was all Liam's fault.

Well, this time Edmonds had the right of it.

Liam clapped him on the back. "No robbery. I've had the art moved."

"You've what?" Edmonds stormed across the room. "Where's the statue of the hounds?"

"In the attic."

Was Edmonds emitting that high-pitched whine?

Liam guided him toward the sofa. "Have a seat, man. Breathe."

As soon as Edmonds' arse hit the furniture, he popped back up. "Have you no sense of pride? No decency? To demolish generations of—"

"Bad taste in art?"

Edmonds fisted his hands at his sides and shook like a dog until the red washed away from his cheeks and his breathing returned to normal. "It is in your best interest, the best interest of your title and your progeny, to return this room to the way it was."

"No. Lady Norton needs a room all her own, a study, and she likes the light in here, likes the length of it for pacing. And I've demolished nothing. Simply moved things around a bit." He scratched at the back of his neck. Guilt prickled there like gooseflesh. Had he demolished something important to his heritage? He'd hate for Edmonds to be right.

Edmonds strode for the door. "Your grandmother will have much to say about this."

"If you plan on tattling, Edmonds, you'd better get to it."

Edmonds did not get to it. He turned in circles, mouth open, head shaking. "The room will have to return to its original state."

"Perhaps I was too subtle, Edmonds. Leave. Now." Liam's confidence surged at the steel in his own voice. His title had power; he could very well exercise it.

Edmund spun toward the door in bristling indignation. "Your grandmother will ensure the room is put to rights."

Liam waved him down the hall. "Give the old bird my regards!" Then he dropped to the sofa in the gallery with a growl. Edmonds' lectures, his conjuring of Grandmother, his disapproval and disappointment, it all rolled together with the frustration that had been coursing through him since their arrival yesterday.

His hopes of ravishing his wife immediately and thoroughly popped like a soap bubble. Instead of pleasuring her on the stairs, he'd shared tea with his family. Instead of bathing her, cleaning every delicate inch of her skin with his own damn hands, he'd made sure the nursery was in working order. And instead of sharing an intimate dinner for two in his chambers with his wife, he'd sat at a long table with her and six others.

Liam had harbored high hopes for after dinner, of whisking his wife upstairs and having his wicked way with her, but his mother had occupied much of Cora's time and attention, and Liam's stepfather had poured a constant stream of chatter right into Liam's ear. And that prickling guilt had kept him seated in the parlor, crowded round with family. Liam couldn't give offense to the man who loved his mother, who had picked up the pieces of his mother's heart, and put them back together, the man who adored Liam's brother and sisters as if they were his own children.

But Liam had not risked eternal damnation through the act of abduction only to be parted from his prey at his very destination.

He'd visited Cora's bedchamber last night. Well, almost. He'd stood with an ear pressed to the door that connected their rooms and raised his hand to knock. And Angus had strolled by whistling a merry tune. Liam had dropped his hand and waved. Awkwardly. Once his stepfather disappeared around the corner, he raised his hand once more, but there came his mother, yelling after Angus, and Liam had cringed and whipped his arms behind his back. He nodded, she winked, and when she disappeared, he beat his head against the door. An effective knock in that it succinctly displayed his emotional state. But she did not answer, so he'd tried the door, found it unlocked. And he'd found her sleeping, curled on her side on top of the covers, her head pillowed on her folded hands.

She, no doubt, had needed that sleep, as had he. He'd realized it was better that way. He refused to be close to exhaustion the next time he stripped her bare and tried his hand at bringing her body to life. She deserved more than yawns and sleep-heavy touches. She deserved his entire attention, his entire brain lighting up over the perfect way to light up her body.

Good intentions, however, did not lighten physical frustration.

But this turn of events was not all bad. It had given him time to inspect the surprise he'd begun for Cora before they'd both run off from Norton Hall like children escaping punishment. He stood in the middle of her surprise now, turning in slow circles, analyzing every corner of the room. When he had first arranged the surprise, this transformed space would have been perfect.

But he knew his wife better now. And the room, while lovely with its long row of windows down one side, lacked an essential quality he now knew necessary for Cora.

He went off in search of the butler and found him in his pantry.

"Pickings," Liam said.

"Yes, my lord?" The butler had a way of speaking without moving a single muscle, as if he conserved his energy for some inevitable emergency, and with the most economical movements possible, he stood from the silver spread across the table.

"I need a desk. A large writing desk with a large comfortable chair. Both stylish, naturally. For the art gallery. Well, Lady Norton's room. And bookshelves all along one entire wall. Perhaps also a wardrobe with a lock on it. Shelved."

"Yes, my lord. Anything else?"

"Make sure the desk is well stocked with writing supplies. Quills, paper, sand, inkwells. Everything she might need."

"Lady Norton is an avid correspondent?"

Liam gave a brief half grin. "Something like that." He slapped his gloves on his thigh and strode from the room. Now to find his wife and invite her to take a ride with him. He needed to move, to feel the wind in his face and a challenge in his muscles. The wind wouldn't be disappointed in him. His horse would pass no judgment. And perhaps neither would Cora. "Where is Lady Norton?"

"In the gardens, I believe."

Liam trotted off, down the stairs and out the back of the house into the gardens. They had been expertly laid out by some ancestor, sectioned into ordered rows, tree-lined paths, and shaded bowers, all giving way eventually to wide, rolling lawns that extended to a lake and boathouse. The first thing he heard was not the songs of birds but the cries of his brothers and sisters. Young Henry bolted up to him, grabbed him around one leg, and tugged so hard he almost brought Liam to his knees.

"Henry, do be careful," his mother called, running up with baby Flora in her arms.

"It's fine, Mother." Liam steadied himself. "He's trying to see if he can topple me. Usually, he can, but I have my mountain boots on right now, and you know what that means, Henry."

The five-year-old groaned. "Your mountain boots are no fair."

"Not fair? Did I not give you some to wear as well?"

The boy nodded until his hair flopped about his ears.

"Well, if you wish to be as steady as a mountain like me, put them on."

Henry mimicked putting on a pair of boots, then wiggled his feet into the ground in a wide stance. "Try me."

Liam put his hands on the boy's shoulders and pretended to work very diligently to move him to one side and then the other, to topple him backwards. Liam grunted and groaned and pretended the boy would not wobble. And then he stopped with drooping shoulders and a sigh and wiped the pretend sweat off his brow with his sleeve. "See, I told you those boots are excellent."

Henry giggled, then ran off.

"Where are the girls?" he asked his mother. "I hear them but do not see them."

"Take a few steps into the rose garden, dear, and you'll see them gathered round Cora like bees buzzing about a hive."

Liam did as she said, and there they were, a sweet little trio of bees indeed, leaning on their queen.

"Cora keeps looking longingly at a notebook she was writing in when we arrived, but she continues to let the girls bully her into telling stories."

"And where is Angus?"

"At the lake, swimming. He does not mind the cold. Never has."

"Neither have I."

"You should join him." Something odd and low in her voice, something a bit nervous he'd never heard in her tones before. "He was just saying this morning how he hopes the two of you can grow closer while we're here."

"I would like to know your husband better, too." He didn't want his mother thinking he disapproved of her second husband. The marriage had happened so quickly, but a year after his father's death, and then his mother had moved Henry and the girls to Scotland, where Liam could not follow, married as he'd been to his living. "I would join him, but I must steal away my wife."

His mother chuckled. "Of course. We are intruding and should not have come. But you would not believe the rumors I heard on the southern winds from London. I felt in my bones something had gone wrong. You would never act as they were all saying you were acting."

He did not contradict her. The rumors were wrong, but he had done wrong, and he would not deny it.

"I know you better," she said. "And I know you are eager to steal away your wife, but you'll have to peel off the terrible trio to get at her first."

"The girls have made a fast friend of her already?" What the hell, he'd missed a lot in the last day and a half.

"She gave them flowers at the wedding and made stout supporters of them all."

Liam rubbed his palms over his face. "I apologize for how busy I've been since arriving. I barely took a breath without Mr. Edmonds needing something from me." Or berating him.

"The life of a lord," his mother said with a sigh. "If I could have kept you from it, kept you in your uncomplicated little role as a vicar, I would have."

He squirmed because he'd been rather glad to put the vicarage behind him. He'd been bored, had felt trapped, everyone expecting a particular sort of behavior from him he'd never been sure he could perfect.

"Mags! Bethy! Mary!" His mother hitched Flora higher on her hip and waved her arm at the girls in the distance whose heads had popped up like foxes peeking out of their dens. "Leave Lady Norton be now and come along. No neglecting lessons even while visiting."

A chorus of groans as the girls stomped toward their mother with stooped shoulders and crossed arms. Liam patted each of them on their heads as he passed them on his way to Cora, who watched his approach with wide eyes that slowly narrowed the closer he came. She reached for the notebook lying closed next to her on the bench. Once she'd settled it on her lap, she bent over it, opening it and plucking a stubby pencil from behind her ear.

He took a step toward her, then hesitated. After all this time of chasing, he had her. And now he hesitated? Now his boots rooted to the ground?

Yes, now. Because after the bathtub, the brothel, and yesterday's conversation in the coach, he saw her differently. Wanted her differently, even. If she'd told him a week ago she wanted a physical relationship and friendship, he might have settled for that. It fit the parameters of a viscount's relationship with his viscountess, and it assuaged his masculine pride. It allowed him to give her what she desired yet also fulfill his duties. Friendly fucking—good enough for an accidental viscount and a banker's daughter, even one with interesting reading habits.

But he knew her better now, and that… changed things. Because he admired her passion for her art and found himself strangely overcome by the odd urge to hug the wounded daughter of rather questionable parents. He wanted to please her… outside of bed as well as in it.

"Are you going to stand back there all day, watching me?" Cora spoke without looking up from her writing.

He jumped, cleared his throat. "Ah, I've been thinking."

She glanced at him briefly over her shoulder. "Can you think seated?"

"It's not a superior thinking stance, but I can give it a try." He rounded the bench and sat beside her on the opposite end, draping an arm over the back of it.

"It may prove beyond your capabilities. It's an advanced thinking position, after all. I've mastered it, but you…" She heaved a sigh. "We shall have to see. May I inquire as to the nature of your thoughts, my lord?"

"I was wondering if you slept well last night."

"I doubt that. But I shall answer your question, nonetheless. Yes, I did sleep well. Unfortunately."

Concern scooted him closer to her. He bent to peer into her face. "Unfortunately?"

"Hm. Yes. I had rather hoped my sleep might be disturbed." She unbent from her writing and lifted a single brow. "But it was not disturbed. Not once."

He pulled at his cravat. "You expected me?" He'd done another thing wrong, hadn't he?

"Of course not, my lord. Why would I? The events leading up to last night certainly suggested nothing of the sort—an abduction, a visit to a brothel, my very clear agreement to allow you entrance to my bedchamber."

"I tried. You were asleep."

"You could have woken me up." Her voice contained the frosty snap of a winter wind.

But his ire was up now, too, and he countered it with a gust of his own. "And you could have come to me. Things are not as they were, as we thought they would be. My family is here, my brother and sisters running about, and Mr. Edmonds has become my shadow."

"The estate manager?" Her face softened. "Well, you must do your duty toward the estate, but…" Her voice became a whisper. "You could have woken me up."

On impulse, he reached for her hand, dragged it into his lap. "I'll remember that." He grinned.

"There is nothing to grin about, my lord."

"There is. We just argued with one another instead of running away. I think that's progress."

"I suppose it is. Shall we pat ourselves on the back?"

"I'll pat yours if you pat mine."

"And we can do this patting without our clothes?"

Damn. How could a single question make him hard? "Frankly," he managed to say through his sudden and choking lust, "I don't see how patting can be done with clothes." He needed her. Now. Her hand in his was small and graceful and gloved in lace. He wanted to strip that glove from her body with his teeth. Not here, though. Clutching her hand, he stood tugging on her to follow, but she stopped halfway, grasping for the notebook falling from her lap.

She shook his hand away and lowered to the bench once more. "Not just yet. I need to finish this scene."

He groaned and paced before her. "Write, then. Quickly."

"I can't write with you pacing like that."

"What scene is it?"

She blushed, a pretty rush of pink across her cheeks that made her look like spring itself. "A kiss."

He secured his seat beside her once more in a large swoop that brought his chest up against her arm. She startled, her eyes large and gray and luminous.

"Can I help?" he asked, sounding a little cheeky, giving a little cheeky smile, too.

He could see the no , right there on her pursed lips, and his hopes plummeted.

"Yes," she said, a shocking answer.

Thank God. No time to waste. He cupped the back of her neck, focused in on her lovely pink lips, and—

She placed her hand over his mouth. "It is a soft kiss. A chaste one." She scowled, dropping her hand to her lap. "There must be no hint of the bedroom in it."

"You dislike heated bedroom kisses?" He snorted. "A falsehood if I've ever heard one."

"It is not about my personal tastes. I think you can guess how I feel about those sorts of kisses. And those who listen to my poetry like them as well—kisses that are passionate and wild and stormy. Not… not…"

"Chaste and soft and innocent?"

She growled, her gaze ripping up the notebook perched on her thighs.

"Well," he said with a chuckle, "let's see if I can help you discover the pleasures such a kiss might hold."

She raised a brow. "Do you think you can manage? At the brothel…" She shook her head. "Never mind. I remember the night we consummated our marriage. Of course you can."

A direct hit to his pride, that. He kept his hand around her neck and finished the journey he'd begun earlier. This time she did not stop him, but he stopped himself, just as their lips were about to brush. "You shall pay for bringing up the past, my lady."

"How?" The word a breath.

"I shall kiss you until you forget it." He tightened his hand on her neck and pressed his lips to hers, keeping the kiss light while his hand held her hard. Not too hard. Just enough for her to know he was in charge. "A good kiss, I've been led to understand, is all about the journey. You must be relaxed and open to whatever happens next." He ran his knuckles down her neck, and she shivered, her jaw relaxing. "There you are, Kitten." Still, he kept the kiss soft and gentle, slowly tasting her, learning her, letting it unfurl like a flower on a spring morning, holding back the heat growing all over his body.

He must hold it back. She'd asked for sweet. Innocent. And he'd give her that. For now.

He kissed her until she kissed him back, her lips moving hesitantly against his, then with more focus as she attempted, it seemed, to put the shape of his mouth to memory. The gentler his touch, the more insistent hers. When her tongue flicked out to flirt with the seam of his closed lips, a shudder of desire ripped through him, and he pulled away, wrapped his hands like shackles around her upper arms.

"You're veering far from innocent," he said between panting breaths.

"To hell with innocent." Her hands curled around his neck, and her fingers dug into his cravat.

Impossible to tell who kissed whom first. He crashed down as she surged up and teeth and lips collided, melted, gave, and took. The remnants of the walls misunderstanding and shame had built between them broken down, blown away. And like the garden night when they'd first kissed, like in the darkness of the brothel bedroom, nothing stood between them. Not even a veil. Not even shadows. Only sunlight and blooming roses.

He pulled her closer until their bodies met, until her curves spilled against his hardness. Her hands curled against his chest, and he parted her lips with his tongue, swept it inside for a taste of her. She met him, fought him for control, then ceded it, relaxing once more and letting him guide where they most wished to go. When she bit his bottom lip, letting it slide roughly between her teeth, his cock leapt.

"What do you want?" he rasped.

"To… to…" Her hands curled and uncurled beneath the folds of his cravat where they'd crept. The woman who'd read all the words about wanting had no idea how to form those desires with her lips. Made him feel less of a novice, less of a bumbling fool. They would bumble together. And instead of it being not so bad, it might actually be… glorious. He'd ensure it.

"Yes?" The word a demand just at the shell of her ear, low and ragged. "Say it. What do you want?"

"A bed."

"Well, then let us find one."

He swooped her into his arms as he stood and made for the house, the door still open to let in the late summer air.

He kissed her as he entered the house, and said against her lips, "I wish to God I'd told you of my shame. I wish to God I'd not been such a fool."

"Me, too." She nudged his nose with hers and found his lips once more. "Me, too." When she kissed him this time, she used a slower rhythm, a pace made to last instead of one destined to burn hot and quick. Yes, this pace was good. This the pace of a man and woman who had all their lives to learn one another.

He traced the tips of his fingers across her bodice, over those breasts he saw in every damn dream. Slipping his fingers beneath the fabric curving over her shoulder, he tugged, pulled the gown down her arm until the bodice edge flirted with the rosy hint of her nipple. In these shadows, they were as they'd been during their first kiss—wild and hungry and uninhibited—and he would take up where he'd left off that night. But take it further because now he could.

He carried her across the drawing room and into the hallway without breaking the kiss.

"Lord Norton."

Liam kept walking. Mr. Edmonds could swallow hot—

"Lord. Norton." Mr. Edmonds's voice rose to miraculous heights.

Liam stopped, sighed, set Cora on her feet. "I'm busy, Mr. Edmonds. Make it quick."

"You are never too busy to pay proper attention to your duties. Remember that." The estate manager stood before Liam, his hands propped on narrow hips, his elbows jutting out like wings ready to flap his disapproval. "There is an issue you must attend to."

"What is it?"

Mr. Edmonds glanced at Cora. "We should converse in private."

"My wife is included in that."

"No. Unless it is a concern under a woman's purview, she is not. It is not done to include the viscountess in estate business."

"You are a tedious man," Liam said, pinching the bridge of his nose. He turned to Cora. "I apologize for the interruption, but I must meet briefly with Mr. Edmonds."

The estate manager nodded briskly, then marched back down the hallway. "I'll await you in the study."

"You should fire him," Cora said.

"I want to."

"Then why haven't you?" She crossed her arms under her breasts, and he had to tear his gaze away to focus on her words.

"It would displease my grandmother. And though the man is a prick, he does know the estate better than anyone. I would be a fool to throw that away because I dislike him on a personal level."

Cora snorted. "How long will you be?"

"Hopefully not long at all." He leaned in to kiss her, and the echo of children's laughter careened toward them from… somewhere. He jolted away from her. Better to wait for privacy. He lowered his voice. "And when I join you, we shall do whatever you like."

She cocked an eyebrow. " Whatever you like . That should be your personal motto."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you are a chameleon, changing your colors to please whoever needs pleasing. You brought me here to find solitude, yet we are ensconced once more within a chaotic family bosom. You kissed me in the garden because a duke told you to. You agreed to marry me to please my mother. You are running off with Mr. Edmonds because he says for you to—"

"I have duties, Cora. I cannot ignore them."

"No. You cannot. I too have much to attend to." She offered him a weak smile, then returned to the drawing room, left the house through the still open door that led to the garden.

She wasn't going to the upper stories, then. Wasn't headed off to find a bed and wait for him.

He'd mucked things up again, hadn't he?