Page 100 of The Beast of Beswick
Her blush intensified. “You know he is, you dreadful man. Now, will you fetch me some coffee before I expire?”
“Certainly, Your Grace,” he said with an irrepressible grin. “Oh, and her ladyship is already at breakfast.”
Astrid’s brows rose. Mabel had returned to Beswick Park as well? Sure enough, she was ensconced at the table being served by not one butthreefootmen. One of whom Astrid distinctly remembered being at the Hammerton ball, particularly because he wore different livery.
“Good morning, Aunt.”
“Ah, my beautiful, brave girl. You look wonderfully rested. And by rested I mean ravished.”
“Did you return last night?” Astrid grinned, accepting a steaming cup of coffee from Fletcher.
Mabel winked. “I only just returned.” Her amber eyes flicked to Lady Hammerton’s footman, and her voice lowered to a whisper. “Honestly, it’s a wonder I can walk.”
“AuntMabel!”
“You should be one to talk,” she said. “Fletcher filled me in. Hopefully it won’t be long before this place is filled with lots of little grandbabies for an old lady to dote upon.”
“Old lady, my behind,” Astrid said with a laugh, struggling to hide the blushes that would not relent. She selected a bit of toast and then turned to the duchess.
Her eyes warmed. “You love him, then?”
“Desperately.”
“Then, we can only hope.” She reached for Astrid’s hand and held it tightly, and Astrid fought the sudden burn of tears behind her eyes. She squeezed back.
“There are my two favorite ladies.”
The warm, husky voice sank into her very bones, and Astrid turned to see her husband, fine and still delicious, standing in the doorway. He was dressed in a shirt and breeches with no shoes and no cravat, and he looked utterly mussed and delectable.
“Honestly, Beswick,” Mabel teased. “You’d think I’ve raised a barbarian.”
“There are worse things,” he said, bending to peck her cheek and then kissing Astrid with a more lingering kiss before sitting beside her.
“Did you sleep well, nephew?”
“As well as you, I imagine. I see we’ve acquired new help.” He grinned, flexing an arm across the back of Astrid’s chair and making every hair on her body stand on end as his fingers caressed her nape.
“He rode me home,” she said and then widened her eyes in all innocence. “Droveme home.”
“This is unseemly, Aunt, even for you.” Thane rolled his eyes and looked at Astrid. “I told you: terrible influence.” He nuzzled her ear. “Did you sleep well?”
“Thane,” she gasped, feeling the wet swipe of his tongue. “The servants.”
“They all know that the duke is mad over his wife, so whether I kiss you here or behind closed doors is of little significance.” He bit her lobe and relented, leaning back into his chair.
Good Lord but the man was sex incarnate. They’d made love for hours, and already, she was ready to race back upstairs and have her wanton way with him. Instead, she demurely sipped her coffee and avoided Mabel’s knowing looks.
Fletcher entered the door, once more doing double duty in Culbert’s absence, and announced they had callers.
The duke frowned. “This early? Tell them to come back at a reasonable hour.”
“Who is it?” Astrid asked at the same time.
“The Marquess and Marchioness of Roth.”
None of them was dressed for callers, including a shoeless, cravat-less duke, but they were family, after all.
“Isobel!” Astrid exclaimed as her sister entered the dining room on her new husband’s arm. “How are you?”
