Page 25 of Loving Mister Stratford
The ceiling had been painted blue with puffy white clouds in a surprisingly realistic representation of the sky just outside those tall windows. If she laid just so on the chaise and the lighting was just right, she could almost imagine real swallows were darting to and fro above her head.
That afternoon, Odette planned to revel in the solitude she found in the library. She kicked off her slippers to lean back and pull her feet beneath her. Her mother likely would have had a coronary had she learned Odette behaved in such an informal way in the home of an earl, but Odette found she placed less and less weight in that opinion the longer she basked in the warm, accepting glow of the Stratfords. Besides, she was drained and exhausted from the preparations over the last several days. Who knew throwing together a hasty wedding could still create so much chaos?
She’d plucked a book of poetry from one of the numerous shelves and, while she made a great effort to read the words before her, her eyes began crossing and her vision blurred. It wasn’t long until her head tipped to the side and she fell into a comfortable sleep in the warm rays of sunshine streaming through the windows, blanketing her in golden light.
Simon juggled the large stack of books in his arms as he strode down the stairs and back toward the library. It would have been vastly easier to have a servant replace the books, but he needed to grab a few more before he headed back up to his rooms; he had the library’s layout memorized and it was simply quicker to do the task himself. He repeated the titles over and over again in his head as the other part of his brain argued for and against making a stop in the kitchens. He couldn’t quite recall the last meal he’d taken.
In the two days that had passed since the pall mall game, he’d taken Meredith’s words to heart and moved his research back to his rooms in a more accessible area of Bridleton. His family had made it very clear that he wouldn’t be allowed to hide away. Several times, he’d been drafted into parlor games after supper, the ink still staining his fingers as he’d been dragged from upstairs after (mostly unintentionally) skipping the meal. It was the most tantalizing sort of torture to be that near to Odette, to hear the melody of her laughter and bear witness to her smile without being able to pull her fully into his arms and ravage her with his mouth and his body. Each time he was in her presence, it took his brain many hours to return to normal function. Rather than numbers and facts, his eyes saw only the perfect curve of her cheek, calculated the pleasing slope of her dainty nose, and pondered the softness of her skin. She was distracting. She drove him mad.
More than once, someone had flippantly accused him of bordering upon insanity with his intense obsessions with his various projects, but none of it compared to the looping images of Odette running through his mind like a ribbon with no discernible beginning or end in sight.
Simon did what he could with his work, diligently transcribing important text selections, referring and cross-referencing layer upon layer or mathematical writings; however, there was only so much he could accomplish when his mind—and his wayward body—longed, for the first time, to be elsewhere.
The door to the library was ajar, so it didn’t take much effort for him to press it open the rest of the way with his back. He did nearly lose the small book off the top of the stack, but a fancy lurch kept it from tumbling to the floor. His eye on his destination across the long, narrow library kept him from realizing that he was not alone until he was nearly upon Odette.
He stuttered to a stop.
Draped across the comfortable chaise situated near the back window, she appeared to have dozed off while reading. Unable to resist, Simon tilted his head to read the title embossed upon the spine and a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Leave it to her to read some romantic poetry.
He placed his weighty stack of books on a nearby table, making sure they were piled sturdily enough that they wouldn’t topple over, and turned back to her. His mother’s continuous admonishment that staring was horribly uncouth echoed in the chambers of his skull, but it was impossible when Odette looked like that…besides, it wasn’t as if Odette would know.
Her cheek was pillowed on a small decorative cushion a much younger Lily had embroidered with crooked flowers and absurdly fluffy lambs. Her hair appeared to have been tied back in a simple chignon and fastened with an ivory ribbon at one point, but several locks had come free to fall across her forehead and caress the curve of her cheek. One of her hands held the book open against her lap while the other rested palm-up beside her face, fingers curled as delicately as if she’d been positioned by a great painting master. For that matter, it appeared as if the entire scene had been so artfully cultivated just to torture Simon.
Limned in the most complimentary of golden lights, Odette fairly glowed. Her soft skin was now lustrous and her hair glittered; the individual strands of gold were picked out and shimmering in the sun. The delectable curve of her petal pink lips parted on a sleepy whisper of a sigh. The perfect swells of her bosom rose and fell with her gentle, even breaths; Simon’s groin gave a powerful throb of need. His eyes drifted lower, taking in the flawless curve of her hip, the shapely ankles just barely revealed by the hem of her powder-blue morning dress trimmed in white lace flowers and rosettes. She was the personification of sweetness and innocence and all things good, his Odette. From the very moment they’d met, Simon had never been made to feel awkward or irritating; in fact, she seemed to have gone out of her way to accept him as he was. And, when she’d kissed him back, he was certain he’d tasted desire and not obligation.
All things considered, many men had far less to look forward to in their marriages than Simon did. Not that he’d ever truly given much thought at all to the possibility of his marriage, but seeing his future quite literally laid out before him was heady, and exciting, and terrifying in so many ways all at once. It overwhelmed him from the inside out, each emotion fighting for dominance, but, as he stood there watching Odette sleep so trustingly and peacefully, he felt only warmth and desire.
Simon allowed himself to study her for several more minutes before he turned and silently left the room, completely forgetting about the books he’d meant to retrieve.
Odette awoke a short while later feeling as if she’d missed something. She couldn’t quite place her finger on it, but she didn’t recall that stack of books on the nearby table before.
Chapter Nine
Simon had experienced more frequent urges to fidget since the commencement of the engagement than he had in the past ten years combined. What was it about this situation that made him squirm so?
“Do hold still, dear. Your cowlick just won’t stay…”
Ah…there it was…
Before the past two weeks, it had been a blessedly long while since he’d been beneath his mother’s well-meaning thumb for such a prolonged period. And, to top it off, she was extra attentive because today, of all days, he was getting married.
Not for the first time, Simon’s stomach alternated between plummeting and soaring.
To once and for all be able to unabashedly enjoy Odette as his wife…now that was worth celebrating. (And, with any luck, he’d finally be able to focus on his work once more.)
Committing to being a partner, caretaker, provider, confidant, husband…that was terrifying to him. He’d spent so much of his life being forced to compromise bits of himself to fit into the mold set forth by his family and Society, and now, just as he was finding his stride and making headway in his ambitions, it was worrisome to consider how much more of him would need to be carved away to fit these new roles. It had nothing to do with Odette—that he wanted her and enjoyed being around her was never a question—and everything to do with Simon, himself.
What if he came up short?
What if he made Odette miserable?
“Are you well, dear? You look a tad green.” His mother froze while adjusting his lapel for precisely the seventh time.
“Of course he is, he’s getting married,” chimed in George, who then followed it with a reflexive flinch, remembering a moment too late that his wife was not in the room to good-naturedly swat him for his ribbing.
“Don’t act as if you haven’t been deliriously happy these past few years,” Jeremy added, cocking one dark brow.“I’ve half a mind to elbow you in the rib by proxy.”
“Your elbows are far less bony than Meredith’s, so I’ll accept it.”
