Page 101 of The Earl's Bluestocking Bride
“Excellent.” His wife was brilliant. “Boden!”
The butler materialized from nowhere, but his judgmental expression told Andrew that he’d heard their exchange regarding the perfume. “My lord?”
“Please arrange to have the countess’s story delivered to the publisher first thing in the morning. She’ll show you where it is.”
Boden bowed to Amelia. “It would be my honor, my lady.”
With a dirty look at Andrew, Boden followed Amelia up the stairs. Andrew wondered whether he ought to be bothered by the butler’s apparent defection, but all he could feel was pleased that his people cared about Amelia.
He loped up the stairs after them and ducked into his bedchamber to anoint himself with his own cologne to cover any trace Florence had left on him before going to Amelia’s room via the corridor.
Ever since he’d tried the door between their chambers and found it locked, he hadn’t been brave enough to try again. He wasn’t sure that he wanted to know whether or not she’d deemed him worthy of having immediate access to her. Perhaps it was cowardly, but he preferred to live in ignorant bliss.
As he entered her bedchamber, Boden was already leaving, a sheaf of papers in hand. He muttered, “My lord,” as they passed each other but sounded strangely sarcastic.
Amelia sat on the edge of the bed, her legs crossed.
“What would you like to do tonight to celebrate?” heasked, hovering in the doorway, ready to leave in the event she said she’d rather read a book or have time to herself than be with him.
She patted the bed. “It just occurred to me as I was writing the final scene, where Joceline arrives at her new home, that I know very little about your home in Suffolk. Won’t you come and tell me about it?”
He relaxed. That, he could do.
He sat on the edge of the bed and bent to unlace his shoes and remove them. “May I lie down?”
She cocked her head, obviously surprised, but nodded. “Of course.”
He lay back and lifted his feet onto the bed. “Lie with me.”
She removed her slippers and lay alongside him. He placed his hand on her hip, urging her to snuggle up against him. She rested her cheek over his heart and pressed herself along the length of him.
He kissed her forehead, idly stroking her hip. “I spent much of my childhood in Suffolk. It was our primary residence when I was young.”
“What does it look like?”
He closed his eyes, picturing it. “The design was inspired by Gothic architecture from the Continent. It’s rather… dramatic.”
“How so?”
“It has turrets and an impressive facade. The gardens are beautiful, too—although I say that reluctantly, as the man who designed them was French. He married an Englishwoman, so perhaps that renders him more English than French? Anyway, there’s a pond with a fountain, and thousands of flowers bloom each year.”
“It sounds lovely.” Her tone was wistful.
“It is. There are beautiful bursts of yellow, red, and purple everywhere you look. I used to love spending time in thegarden, although I got lonely. I was the type of boy who liked to be around others.”
She laughed softly. “I imagine you were.”
“Once I started attending school, I often brought friends home to stay during the breaks. Especially Ashford.” Vaughan had always been grateful for the opportunity to escape his parents for a while. “The things we used to get up to….”
Amelia tilted her chin to look up at him, her beautiful blue eyes bright in the candlelight. “I don’t believe for a second that the duke got up to mischief unless it was at your behest.”
“You’ve got me there,” he admitted. “Any trouble we created was usually my idea, but Ashford isn’t quite as straightlaced as he’d like people to believe.”
“I look forward to getting to know him better. Him and his wife.”
“Perhaps we can visit them at Christmas.” He rather liked the idea of spending Christmas with his family and Ashford’s, exchanging gifts, drinking mulled wine, and singing carols.
“I’d like that.” She closed her eyes. “Tell me what kind of trouble you and the duke got yourselves into.”
