Chapter Nine
O phelia entered her chambers after dinner, plucking the pins from her hair as Ann came to help her out of the dress and into the nightgown and robe. Alone at last, she sighed while her gaze darted to the connecting door. As if the ever-present longing her husband had branded her with since his return was not enough, an overflowing amount of regret joined in. She'd acted in such an appalling manner upon his return, the years-long disappointment mingling with his refusal to talk about what he'd been up to in that time, resulting in her resentment-filled actions. Only to realise now that he'd been caught in an impossible situation, not of his doing. His willingness to side with the injured part told of his sense of justice. More still, told of his empathy towards people and nations whom the British advertised as savages who needed to learn the civilised way of living, with no rights to their lands and assets.
Not many disputed this view, but he did. And if he was not the hero here, she did not know who was. An intense admiration invaded her at the thought. So overwhelming that she sprang from the vanity where she'd been sitting to reach the door across the room. Then knocked on it without giving herself time to indulge in second-guessing.
Less than ten seconds elapsed before the panel flew open and Leonard loomed before her, rendering her speechless. He wore some sort of tunic set of a pewter hue, the long shirt and the loose trousers causing him to look taller and more rugged than she'd ever seen him. The evening bristles and tousled hair added to his masculine stance. Her jaw dropped without her permission even as her mouth formed an ‘oh', her blink-less perusal taking it all in.
"They call it pajamas ," his deep voice cut through her rapidly fogging brain. A bewildered expression may have made its way to her face because he pointed at the soft cotton garment. "Men wear them throughout India."
That it boasted a devastating advantage over the usual nightshirt could only be a given. With these pajamas ending with his bare feet long and blunt peeking from under the trousers, the ensemble looked just irresistible. Her loss for words stretched to virtual eternity, her avid gaze going up and down his frame.
"Is there anything you require?" His tenor washed through her senses again.
Her eyes snapped to him, her voice nowhere to be found. Not that she'd thought about what she would say when he answered her knock. Her pupils widened; together with her lips trying to utter something, anything. The fishlike move happened again with no sound coming from it.
In the third attempt, she found her voice at last. "You," she blurted, more breath than sound.
Her husband gave one step forward, still keeping to his side of the thin line separating them. "Come again?" And lowered his head as if to hear her better, causing her to crick her neck even more.
Drat! She had no chance of un-saying what she'd just let escape from her stupid mouth. So, she inhaled the fortifying air and went for it. "You." Her chin notched up. "I said I require you."
"You mean," his arms laced her to bring her to a hairsbreadth from him. "I am getting lucky tonight." The scent of him enveloped her together with his arms.
Her hands slid from his upper arms to his broad shoulders. "Actually," her fingers dived into his hair. " I was hoping to get lucky."
That made him pull her flush to him and lift her off the Aubusson. "Then you knocked on the right door." Said artefact banged closed as he kicked it and took her inside.
When his mouth slanted to hers, she was ready for him. Her legs wrapped around his hips thanks to her very convenient nightgown.
She felt the mattress give as he lowered her to the bed, his kisses growing hotter. Beneath the pajamas , other things were growing, too. Hard and fast. The more it hardened, the more it pressed between her legs.
Her spine arched towards him as her legs tightened around his hips. Would she ever get enough? No sooner had he lifted his head than she bunched his long-sleeved shirt, pulling at it with no elegance at all. With a knowing chuckle, he lifted his torso from her and took it off in one hurried move.
She gawped at his perfect body, following the line of hair leading down from his chest to the light fabric of the trousers—tented with his solid erection. Low on his hips, it used drawstrings to remain in place.
"How convenient." Her murmur preceded her tongue moistening her lower lip. Did the strings become tighter, or was it her impression? She aimed at them. "What happens if I do this?" Her index and thumb pinched the string and pulled with merciless intent. Her palm slipped inside to cup that magnificent member of his.
"Damn, woman!" She heard a healthy dose of edginess there. "Do you want to drive me mad?"
She did not answer, just explored farther and farther.
That impelled him to bunch nightgown and robe, turning them into a mess until he uncovered her breasts. He dived to her, cupping one and suckling the other. She moaned as her other hand pressed him to her.
When he let up, she was no better than a dazed ninny yearning for more. He lifted his torso, and she took the opportunity to lower his trousers, baring his ready cock to her.
In the firelight, their eyes met, smouldering with desire. With a sudden move, she tightened her legs around him and pulled him to her. "Ophelia, you are not…?" That tempting member entered her with delicious fullness. He gave a long hiss, eyes shutting tight in a bid to resist. "Hell, and damnation!" His breath sped. "I will not survive this."
"Make the most of it, husband." She wiggled at him. "I am on the brink."
Sweat beads sprouted on his forehead, but he moved. He retreated and thrust back to fire her with even more arousal. He did it again, and her nerves strummed up to a breaking point. Each time he filled her, her hips came up to meet him. Until everything in her turned into a furnace, her entire body melting. He pounded once more, triggering a veritable earthquake that disintegrated her with moans coming from her.
He did not fall behind. The thrusts became erratic, his breath louder, faster. Until he sat in her to the hilt and threw his head back with a primal grunt. Inside, she registered him shuddering and inundating her with his release. As the last of the crises weaned, he fell to the counterpane, bringing her to him.
After a long while in quiet recovery, he covered them both with a coverlet. She remembered how she'd sent him packing the last they'd lain in a bed and realised that this was the first time she'd allowed herself to cuddle with a man. That the man in question happened to be her husband begot a good deal of bewilderment. As the minutes slipped by, though, the initial strangeness evaporated and a feeling of warmness and, yes, safety replaced it. Ophelia realised that obtaining an explanation for his disappearance had a lot to do with the way her trust in him had increased. Better still, had sprouted where there was none before. Funny how that had done what she'd never imagined; make her feel close to him.
"I hope you did not mind my bold move?" Ophelia regretted the reckless comment the minute she voiced her concerns about making the first move. It made her too transparent to the fact she had not the slightest idea of how to proceed in such an intimate situation.
His head swivelled to her, his piercing eyes observing her with utter attention. "Why would I?" A knowing side grin graced his face as he brought her closer still. "I like it that you act on your desires."
"You do now." She placed a peck on his bare shoulder.
He nodded. "Makes everything easier, I suppose."
Thinking about it, she held a few doubts on the subject. Not least because it caused her to want more and more of it. But she said nothing, unwilling to disclose her feelings further to him. They might have found their way through their agreement, but that meant very little in the big picture. She could not allow herself to forget where they stood in this.
She must have dozed off because when she opened her eyes again, a faint sliver of dawn drilled its way through the drapes. But that had not been what awoke her. Beneath the covers, her husband was doing things to her. Delicious things. His head lay between her legs at that very moment, his tongue delivering the best early morning pleasure she'd ever dreamt of. A long sigh escaped her mouth as she spread her legs wider for him to work his magic.
It did not take long for him to put her inside out. When he did, he came up to collect on the fruitful moment. And extend the sensuous early morning in bed.
Just before luncheon, Ophelia sat in the garden with a book. What the book discoursed on, she could not tell. Her mind had wandered the whole morning, reliving the night with her husband. It made her feel like a ninny, but her thoughts would not rest. They'd had breakfast in the morning room in a relaxed atmosphere, after which, the Earl went about his business and she hers. She'd ended up in the garden to enjoy the pleasant weather.
A tiny yellow butterfly flew past to investigate a red flower nearby, and Ophelia followed its trajectory. She was not the flighty one marvelling at the slightest nature event, but she felt very much so this morning.
There was no telling how long she stayed in this contemplative stance as, at a certain point, she sensed someone taking a seat on the bench beside her. A glance told her that Leonard had come to keep her company.
He seemed not to care that to be about in shirtsleeves broke decorum; added to the bristle on his jaw that he might not have cared to shave. Were they alone, she would act on her more than indecorous impulses.
"Done with your business?" she risked asking.
The self-deriding scoff that came from him had her turning to him. "Did not even start it." He rested his elbows on his knees. "Enjoying your book?"
"Did not even open it." She echoed him even if a blush of embarrassment tinted her cheeks.
Their gazes meshed for long heartbeats. But then hers left him to take in his face. And paused on his mouth, surrounded by the dark bristles that called for her hands to caress them. She wondered if it would be too shameful to slant her mouth to his right here in the middle of this garden, with servants walking up and down all the time.
"You can't look at me like this and expect me to stay put." His rasp felt like that stubble on her skin, sandpapery and irresistible.
Her blush deepened as her eyes dropped to the book forgotten on her lap. "I—sorry." Her blurt fell between them in a sea of stillness that bellied her tumultuous emotions.
"Hell!" he cursed with no hesitation. "You look as dazed as I feel."
Her eyes snapped to those unfathomable dark ones of his and everything in her burned. The sensation was so intense that she gasped. "I will call for some tea," she said the first nonsense that came to her mind.
"You will do no such a thing." His low growl contained an undisguised command. "You will go to my chambers." Her eyes widened on him with surprise and—drat it—eagerness. "Now." Her breath got caught in her throat. "I will follow in a few minutes."
For endless moments, she could not even move. But then the prospect of spending the afternoon in bed with him fuelled her into motion. She stood and held on to the book like a lifeline while she forced herself to a casual stride into the house.
She had not yet reached the upper floor landing when she heard him climbing the stairs behind her.
"I am sorry, my lord, but I can't allow it." The butler at the entrance of his club sent Leonard an apologetic look, even if it housed a keg full of determination.
"But he is my friend." The Earl pointed at Arjuna Chandrakar standing by his side. "I vouch for him."
"I understand," the butler said. "But the rules are clear." He glanced at the Indian guest and back to Leonard. "This club does admit members of the lower breed."
"Lower breed?" Leonard exclaimed with intense indignation. "They are people, not horses."
That evening, he'd left his townhouse with a sliver of regret. No, not a sliver, a ton of it when he'd preferred to stay in and enjoy his wife's company. Out of bed for once, and then in it again. And again. He could not seem to get enough of the woman, for heaven's sake! The more he had her, the more he wanted her.
That afternoon, he had no chance of holding himself still for another minute, not even for a second. As she'd entered the house to do his bidding and head to his chamber, he'd sprung from the garden bench and followed. Servants be damned. By the time he reached the upper landing, he'd been so hard he could barely breathe.
He marshalled into his chambers to carry her to bed as he kissed her with a frantic need. One he did not recognise or admit, for that matter. They'd spent the night together with very little sleep to speak of. So, what was that devastating hunger all about? He did not know and did not care. And cared even less about his lack of finesse as he tore their clothes off to be skin-to-skin with his wife. And then he set out to devour her with his hands, his mouth and his… that was the exact account he had to show for his delightful afternoon. When they finally managed to leave his bed, they called for a tray of food to replenish their rather depleted energy stores. They ate and resumed the bout of ravishing. She left his chambers only to reach hers for a bath as he did the same.
Bath finished, and he received a note to meet his peers here. Given the seriousness of the circumstances, he could not afford the luxury of declining. And here they stood to hear that gibberish.
"Lord Ramsgate," Arjuna started in a conciliatory tone. "Perhaps we should—"
"Ramsgate!" Leonard turned to see the Dukes of Rutherford and Brunswick nearing them. "Apologies. We are a bit late."
"We seem to be in a spot of trouble," Leonard explained the Club rules to the newcomers.
"No need to insist," Chandrakar compromised. "I rented that townhouse for a reason."
Brunswick's expression announced thunders and storms. "Harker!" he barked at the butler. "You have two dukes and an earl standing at the entrance with a royal guest. We will not tolerate this insult." He gave a resolute glare to the servant. "Stop blocking the damned door. We are coming in."
Harker's droopy eyes became weary. "Yes, Your Grace." And stepped to the side with a servile bow.
"You do the English no service." The Duke of Rutherford admonished as he passed by. He, more than anyone, knew of the bad fame his people accumulated all over the world, having been transported to Australia in years past.
Brushing past the snotty servant, the men entered the lofty club. Calm at this hour, it boasted a few noblemen going about their newspapers, books, and brandy. As the group advanced into the library, the members present eyed them with various degrees of contempt, their slim tolerance held in check by the presence of two dukes.
Only one man sat in one of the leather armchairs as they reached the chamber. Balding and in his forties, he did not exhibit a tall stature.
"Sharpe." The Earl greeted, causing him to stand.
Leonard had met Sir Stephen Sharpe through Brunswick just before getting married. The duke had introduced him as a specialist since the Foreign Office needed linguistic advice those years ago. British influence on the subcontinent grew by the day, with skilled personnel being in great demand. Sharpe held a position just under the Foreign Secretary and had called on the Earl to travel and settle the stalemate up in Madala.
Brunswick introduced the Indian Prince and the Foreign Office member. Both men eyed each other with an ill-concealed suspicion, never mind that the British representative did not bow to the royal.
Everyone took a seat around a low table as Rutherford ordered tea from a passing footman in deference to the prince.
After a few preliminary pleasantries, Leonard became serious. "What do you have for us, Sharpe?"
The Foreign Office envoy rested his cup on the low table. Ramsgate had the impression that the glorified clerk strived to buy a few seconds. "Not much, I am afraid," he answered as he held the armrests.
"Spit it out," Leonard said, showing little regard for the official.
"Well, you know." Sharpe shrugged. "I left the memorandum on the secretary's desk." He paused.
"And…?" Rutherford coaxed.
"It has not been touched," the clerk admitted with a drop of sheepishness that mollified no one.
"And you say you are men of your word?" The prince voiced this indignant question.
This meeting compounded a show of utter indifference. The prince of a state of Mandala's stature should be negotiating with higher dignitaries instead of suffering a non-official encounter with someone far below that. Should Madala resort to a more direct action, Leonard would not blame the Indian kingdom.
"Your Highness," Sharpe conceded the title. "I do not make the rules, even less the decisions."
"I am beginning to think I crossed two oceans for nothing," Chandrakar vented with a crumpled expression. "I should be in Madala attending to my people's needs." A meaningful pause. "Or defending them."
Leonard pressed his lips in a bid to lock his thoughts about the Foreign Office to himself as he exchanged looks with the two dukes, who seemed to share in his efforts.
"I regret to be causing so much trouble," the clerk had the finesse of saying. "But little can I do at this point."
In the silence that ensued, everyone heard the collective scoff from the noblemen.
"It is a delight to go shopping when the city is less crowded," Lorraine Evans sighed as she and Ophelia locked arms while browsing the windows at Bond Street. Lorraine had been the Countess of Crawford before meeting and marrying Garth Evans, the bastard son of a marquess, with the scandal to go with.
"I can see why you do not leave town in summer." Ophelia smiled as her eyes wandered over to the luxury items on display.
"Everyone is afraid of fevers, but we have them all year round." Lorraine shrugged. The former countess counted a few years more than Ophelia and radiated a light stemming from her obvious happiness in her second marriage. The deceased Earl of Crawford had been a lousy, cheating husband whose only saving grace had been to give her the son she loved so much.
"Yes, autumn is a constant source of concern," Ophelia agreed. This morning, she chose a walking dress of plain blue to face the dusty streets. Her walking boots would need cleaning when she returned to Ramsgate House.
"Oh, look, that hat is gorgeous!" Lorraine exclaimed with her eyes on a milliner's shop window. "Let us go inside." And opened the door.
Ophelia was about to follow when something brushed her leg. Her head lowered for her to spot a grey cat with vivid yellow eyes looking up at her with soft mews. The little scrawny thing appeared not to have eaten in several days. Unable to resist, Ophelia bent to take it in her arms, even at the peril of being attacked by the feline. It surprised her that the little unlucky beast sat on her forearm with a sweet disposition. Stray cats had to learn to defend themselves when living in the streets, but this one seemed to be an exception. "Are you lost, little one?" she murmured to the cat. As soon as the furry thing felt her warmth, it just lay on it as though it belonged to him or her. In that instant, the scrawny feline melted into her heart. She cared not what Leonard would say. She was taking it home. Her attention inspected the surrounding shops for one selling baskets; she would not find such a pedestrian article on Bond Street, of course.
Holding the grey cat, she entered the shop.
"Anything else, my lady?" the shopkeeper was saying to Lorraine, giving her two hat boxes. Then she raised her eyes to Ophelia. "Can I help you, my lady?"
"We are together," Lady Ramsgate answered. An idea struck her. "I would like to buy a hat box, please."
The woman behind the counter eyed Ophelia before her eyes fell on the cat she carried, understanding the lady wished something to transport the four-legged creature. "Certainly. I will be but a minute."
The two ladies exited the shop with their respective hatboxes heading for their carriage. "I did not know you were in the habit of collecting stray kittens?" Lorraine commented with amusement.
A footman helped them into the conveyance. "I was not." And peeked inside the hatbox to check if the little feline had settled, concluding it had. "But they're so lovely and so in need of care."
She declined tea at the former countess's house in favour of reaching hers and tending to the poor stray.
Hours later, after bathing and feeding the grey stray, she sat on the carpet in the small drawing room with the two felines in residence and a wool yarn. The three of them were having great merriment. So much so that she startled when someone cleared their throat.
Her head snapped up to see her husband looming just inside, dark eyes down on her. A hot blush suffused her cheeks. The sudden memory of the previous afternoon invaded her mind. He'd followed her from their encounter in the garden, striding into the chamber. She'd turned to him as he neared her and took her into his arms, his mouth diving to kiss her senseless. He carried her to bed and consumed her to her last sigh of pleasure. And repeated it the afternoon away.
"New beast?" he drawled as though he thought of the same occasion.
She had to gulp a good deal of air to speak. "Meet Winter, our new houseguest."
Winter chose that moment to chase the unravelling yarn to Leonard's feet, toppling over them as he crashed with the Hessians. With a side grin, her husband bent and took the bony creature in his hand. The yellow-eyed cat appeared to be around six months old as he widened his stare at the newcomer. "Went through hard times, did you?" he said as a thumb petted the head.
"He deserves better ones now," Ophelia blurted, enchanted to see the care he treated Winter with.
"He certainly does." It gladdened her that the Earl's words signalled he was amenable to the new household member.
"Thank you," she said with a grateful smile to him.
Winter leapt back to the carpet as Leonard fixed his gaze on her, his hands hanging on his hips. "No need to thank me. This is your home as much as mine."
She remembered him saying those same words before, even if she'd not heeded them or trusted him to mean them. But as they stared each other in the eye, a sliver of trust sprouted in her, shy and reluctant. The unnerving thing was that she did not wish to give in to his brand of charm or generosity, because no one could guarantee it to last longer than a breath. Or that he would remain close for long enough to make it true. Directing her well of affection to the kittens seemed a much safer bet.
A lengthy while elapsed before she broke eye contact with him to regain a cool composure. "How did the meeting go?" she asked, to shield herself from unwanted feelings.
That made him pace to an armchair as he raked his hair with one hand. "The Foreign Office could not care less about the prince's claim." And slumped on the piece of furniture with a heavy exhale.
Winter and Autumn continued playing with the yarn as Ophelia stood to sit across from her husband. "They do not even try to hide their disdain." Her tone carried indignation.
A curt nod moved Leonard's dark head. "Since I'd been the mediator, it is only fair that Chandrakar came to me."
A faint scoff escaped Ophelia's lips. "I imagine Prinny having to cross two oceans over to India to call on an agreement."
The corner of his sensuous mouth bent up. "An alien notion for the likes of him. He sends his lackeys, of course." The East India Company, in that stance. His comment and the unfairness in the relations between both countries hung in the air for a few heartbeats as the subject faded away. "And what about you?" He changed the direction of their conversation. "Enjoyed your day, apart from the new guest, I mean?"
Her left shoulder gave a slight shrug. "Mrs Evans and I went on a shopping trip."
"Bought anything?" His gaze slid over her simple dress before it stuck on hers. The result was that he almost succeeded in scattering her thoughts all over the place.
"A hatbox." Her brows arched as though daring him to laugh at her.
"You mean without the hat." He bore her with an amused glint in his falcon eyes.
"I needed something to bring Winter home naturally."
His dark chuckle filled the room. "Naturally."
At that point, both seemed to stop pretending this was about hat boxes, as the sexual tension between them notched up to unbearable temperatures.
When it became impossible for her to sit still, her muscles impelled her to stand and go to him. But in the nick of time, there came a discreet knock on the door. Both Leonard's and Ophelia's eyes snapped to it with varying degrees of disappointment. And she feared hers to be the higher one.
At Leonard's answer, the butler appeared at the threshold. "My lady, my lord, dinner is ready."
"Thank you, Mr Knott," Ophelia said, lucky to have not misplaced her wits.
As they saw themselves alone again, Leonard turned to her. "Do we have any plans for the evening?" He meant social functions, she held no doubt.
"Not tonight." She gulped a lung-full of air. "I'd planned to stay in and have a cosy evening."
"I could not agree more." His pointed look told her what kind of cosy he referred to.
To break the slavish reaction of her body to his brand of carnality, she stood up, causing him to do the same.
"Shall we, my lady wife?" And motioned for her to precede him.
As the days slipped into weeks, Leonard and Ophelia sat into a comfortable routine of late breakfasts and early dinners, this not being London's high season for numerous social invitations.
The impasse with Prince Arjuna remained in its firm place, even if the Ramsgates tried to coax it forward. Summers did not display the best chances for such an issue, a factor that made Leonard offer one of his country houses for the royal and his entourage's enjoyment until a solution came forth.
Except for this sorry situation, Ophelia had no complaints. The Earl was working hard on the next generation's project—in every sense of the word; she blushed at the spicy thought. And if Fortune smiled at her, she would soon deliver on her side of their bargain and achieve the freedom she'd envisioned for her future.
Well, she released a content sigh, all in all, everything seemed to be working just fine.