The Heir - Catherine Coulter [92]
She rose from the settee and skipped to where he sat. She eased herself down on his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Yes,” she whispered against his ear, “I would tell you eventually if something displeased me. However, right now, I cannot think of anything.” She kissed him. Lady Ann, that very proper, very beautiful woman he had loved since he had met her when she had just married the Earl of Stafford, nineteen years before. God was beneficent. “Oh yes,” he said into her mouth.
When she finally raised her head, she was breathing more quickly, her breasts were heaving a bit. He was so happy he thought he would burst with it. “I don’t suppose you want that tea, do you, Ann?”
“I forgot. If you would take me to Mrs. Muldoon’s kitchen and show me the tea, I will endeavor to make some for us. That is, if you would like some boring tea.”
“As opposed to what?”
“As opposed to me,” she said, and sank down against him again.
He didn’t want to make love to her here in the drawing room. No, he wanted her in his bed, where she would sleep every night for the rest of her life. He wanted her very badly. “Will you come with me, Ann?”
“To that wretched kitchen?”
“No, to my bed.”
She was stroking her soft palm over his cheek. “I believe I would even go to Talgarth Hall with you.”
“It’s love then,” he said, and rose, holding her tightly against him.
She was laughing. It was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.
He took the worn carpet stairs two at a time, reminded fleetingly of the interminable years of nights he had walked weary and alone up these same stairs to his bedchamber. Soon, he would never walk them alone again.
A very replete hour later Lady Ann whispered against his neck, “I’m a loose woman. If you don’t marry me then I will have to cast myself into a ditch. All that guilt and remorse for my sins, you know.”
He kissed her, but didn’t laugh. He was as serious as a man could be when he said, “You are prepared for the malicious gossip of our neighbors?”
She hadn’t thought of it, but she knew it would happen. She thought about it now for all the time it deserved—about five seconds. “They can all go to the devil,” she said, and he was so startled that he did laugh then.
“And Arabella?” he said then.
“I’m not worried about her, at least with regard to us, Paul. Surely she’s guessed. Even Justin has. She is very fond of you. Why should she care if her dear mama finally finds happiness?”
He wanted to tell her that it was very possible that she would hate him as much as she loved her father. But he didn’t know. Everything was strange now, nothing as it should be, except for them, he thought, kissing the tip of her nose. No, this was a perfect strangeness.
He helped her to dress. He found it very enjoyable, working all those little buttons back into their holes. They left his house together.
* * *
Lady Ann arrived at Evesham Abbey in barely enough time to change her clothes for dinner. “I shall join you shortly, Paul,” she whispered. Turning to the butler, she said, “Crupper, do tell Cook that Dr. Branyon will be joining us for dinner this evening.”
“Yes, my lady.” Crupper nodded. He wasn’t a blind man. His mistress looked more beautiful than he’d ever seen, and it was all due to Dr. Branyon. Oh Lordie. Well, who cared?
Crupper eyed Dr. Branyon as he presented him with a glass of sherry. Though the doctor was not a lord, he was nonetheless a fine gentleman. It was the first time, he thought, ruminating on the situation as he descended the flagstone steps into the kitchen, that he had ever seen the Lady Ann so very, not just beautiful, but sparkling, yes, that was it. True it was but a short time since his lordship’s death, but what matter? Lady Arabella was settled with the new earl, and life was too short anyway to worry overly about such things. He smoothed his sparse gray hair and wondered if the two of them would live here at Evesham Abbey after they married.
Had Lady Ann not felt so unbearably happy, she would have felt the undercurrent