Page 28 of The Marquess of Temptation
Never had he witnessed a woman flush so quickly; Hestia's cheeks were so red that if he had touched them, he thought they might scald him.
"Excuse my directness," he continued with an amused laugh at her obvious embarrassment, "We are married now, we can speak to each other openly about such things."
"Do you mind?" she ventured, turning to look at him, "Waiting?"
"I can't say I'll enjoy it," he grumbled in good-natured way, "But I won't be waiting too long...believe me."
Her eyes narrowed and the corners of her mouth quirked at his assured statement, he knew her well enough now, to know that she would try to resist the challenge --if only to prove him wrong.
"Pray tell, husband dear, how can you be so confident?"
"Your eyes give your true feelings away," he replied easily, crossing the room in three long strides so that he was standing before her. He cupped her chin in his hand and tilted her face up, so that she had nowhere to look but at him.
"You can't hide desire, Hestia," he whispered softly, "Not with eyes as expressive as yours."
Before she had a chance to protest that she felt no such thing, Alex dropped his lips to hers in a soft, tender kiss. The moment their lips connected, she melted against him, thus proving his point perfectly. His lips, which were still on hers, curled into a triumphant smile, which she seemed to feel, for she pulled away defiantly.
"That's not fair," she protested, thwacking his chest with her hand. "You took me by surprise, and besides, you have far more experience than I at this!"
"And that's the way it shall stay," he whispered possessively, "You won't be gaining experience with anyone but me."
His lips claimed hers again in a kiss that was far more passionate than the last, perhaps it would have progressed further but a knock on the door jolted them apart.
"I shall call for Catherine to assist you," Alex said, in voice that was hoarse with desire, as a chamber-maid carried a steaming bucket of water inside. He ran a distracted hand through his hair and went in search of Hestia's lady's maid. His wife was right when she had said that he had far more experience than she, though he had never experienced a passion like this in all his life.
"Tell me about the night your father died," Alex said, later that evening when they had finished dining. They were seated in a small parlour of the inn, which afforded them the privacy needed to discuss David Stockbow's apparent murder.
In a halting voice, that occasionally shook with emotion, Hestia laid out the facts of the matter.
"Have you any idea who the blonde haired man, that your father saw, might be?" Alex asked, once his wife had finished speaking.
"I'm rather inclined to think it was Dubois," she answered tartly, casting him a defiant look.
"And, as I have told you, I'm rather inclined to think that it wasn't," he dead-panned, scratching his chin thoughtfully.
"Your father made many enemies over his lifetime, all infinitely more dangerous than Pierre Dubois," he continued gently. "Can you think of anything else he might have stolen, that would cause someone to murder him in cold blood?"
"He always brought back things of value," Hestia replied with a shrug, reaching down to scoop Henry up into her lap. "Furs, jewels --things that could be pawned easily. There was never that much left by the time he reached England. I'm wont to think that in his latter years, he wasn't that adept at piracy."
"The world changed," Alex shrugged, "The Navy became better equipped during the war. Your father would have been a foolish man to try and take on any of Wellington's ships."
Indeed, toward the middle of the war, David Stockbow seemed to have disappeared from the seas, from what Alex knew. Captain Black, the young man to whom Stockbow had left his sword, had alluded that the pirate was engaged in other activities, but had point blank refused to divulge any more information when Alex had pressed him. It all left Alex feeling rather uncomfortable, for if Stockbow had been engaged in espionage for the French and it all came to light, then his new wife's reputation would never recover. She would be shunned completely by a society that had only just reluctantly accepted her.
"We will reach Truro by nightfall tomorrow," Alex said, as the inn-keeper brought him a tankard of ale. "I can have Thomas check the local taverns, to see if he can discover anything. People will be far more willing to talk to him than I."
That was because the people Thomas would be speaking to, would be thieves and ruffians, who had a natural mistrust of the aristocracy --though Alex wasn't about to tell his new bride that.
Once his pint was finished, the new bride and groom repaired to their bedroom. Alex gritted his teeth against the well wishes of the inn-keeper, who gave him a subtle, saucy wink as he passed. The man naturally believed that the Marquess was retiring to consummate his marriage, when the opposite was in fact true.
Hestia changed behind the screen, in the corner of the room, whilst Alex undressed easily by the wash-basin. She shuffled out, wearing a petrified look and a nightshift that fell to the floor.
"Don't look so frightened," Alex grumbled, as he quickly washed his chest with the cool water in the basin. "Did we not discuss tonight's activities earlier?"
"We did," Hestia nibbled her plump lip nervously, in a way that made Alex want to groan. "Though you did not mention activities at the time..."
"Well, my main activity will involve making a bed in the corner, that is comfortable enough to sleep on," Alex smiled, walking toward the actual bed and removing several woollen blankets. "Whilst yours will involved making yourself as cosy as possible on the feather mattress."
The look of relief on her face tugged at his heartstrings; his wife was not ready to become him, and despite his confident assurances to her that she would soon relent, doubt was starting to creep in.
"Goodnight Hestia," he said solemnly, as he threw his blankets over the armchair by the fireplace.
"Goodnight Alex," came her sleepy reply.
At least she was calling him by his given name, he thought as he settled himself down for the night, that was an improvement of sorts.
