Page 39 of Loving Mister Stratford
Things had become somewhat easier for Simon as an adult, but now words were the weapons of choice among theton. And he knew no good name—no matter how weighty it might be—would save Odette from them entirely.
Desperately in need of a change in subject, Simon plucked the next piece of cheese from Odette’s fingers before she could feed it to him and moved it toward her mouth instead.
“I couldn’t,” she shook her head in denial.“The food is for you.”
“You can, and you will,” he insisted.“I know how you enjoy this cheese,” he added when she wouldn’t part her lips for him. He witnessed the indecision flit across her face and knew instantly what had caused it.
It was a common misconception that he didn’t care to know or examine the thoughts and feelings of those around him. On the contrary, he cared, perhaps, too much about the opinions and feelings of those select few whom he kept in his small circle. He faulted himself greatly whenever he happened to miss something of import. Even he, with his predilection toward preoccupation with his work, had caught on quite early to how controlling Odette’s mother had been…the disapproving glances and comments whenever Odette would partake in a sweet or enjoy a delicious meal a dash too much. And Simon had been on the receiving end of enough similar comments and stares that he knew how unpleasant an existence it was. He vowed to make this space in their marriage a safe one. Odette had gone to great lengths to ensure Simon never felt the odd duck or less than he was around her, and he would be damned if he did anything less for her.
“I want to watch you enjoy it,” he murmured and those lips parted to admit the morsel of cheese. As anticipated, Odette’s eyes slid closed and she savored the bite. Simon barely suppressed a chill of delight from the sight. He had to clear his throat before he could speak again.“What was it like? To grow up in the theater?” he asked and popped a bite of apple in his mouth, chewing around the sweet, tart meat. Odette lifted one nonchalant shoulder.
“I have nothing against which to compare it. I know it was highly irregular and often difficult, but parts of it could be quite fun.” A smile flitted across her lips as she recalled some pleasant memory and he felt his mouth mirroring hers.
“Such as?” He chewed thoughtfully on some bread and waited for her to elaborate.
“It wasn’t until I was sent off to school that I realized I was both more and less free than many of the other girls.” He felt her watching as he sandwiched a piece of cheese in a folded slice of bread and took a bite; her smile warmed even further.“I learned every corner of the theater and kept less restrictive hours. I didn’t have many friends my own age, but everyone was kind so long as I didn’t get in the way. I remember when Garret was hired as a stagehand. I loved watching him climb into the rafters and work the pulleys—he was nimble like a little spider.”
“Garret?”
Odette nodded.“Garret Frost. He played the leading male role in the performance where you and I first met. He’s come a long way from where he once was.”
A small prick of jealousy irked Simon, but he set it aside as best he could. Instead, Simon tucked a curl behind Odette’s ear and tilted her chin to look up into his face. She was so bloody beautiful it was painful.
“As have you,” he murmured. The slight change in her breathing signaled her realization of his intent as he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers.
Odette awoke later than usual the following morning, having spent more time in Simon’s study than she’d intended the night before. As she dressed for the day, her cheeks gradually warmed from the memories of all they’d done; her skin tingled in all the places he’d kissed her. Her heart skipped a beat when she found Simon’s mark near her left nipple. When she walked, the chafe his stubble left behind on her inner thighs was a scandalous reminder of all he’d taught her.
By the time she’d left him to his work in the wee hours of the morning, she’d managed to convince him to finish his plate of food and she could well and truly rest better knowing he wasn’t inadvertently starving himself. They’d very contentedly nibbled and chatted, kissed and touched one another for hours.
She’d learned more about Simon’s childhood in Kent and he’d surprised her with his earnest interest in her time away at school. Both of them had suffered no small degree of teasing, but it seemed, Odette felt, to have made the two of them better for it, in a way. Not that she’d ever willingly go back and relive the experience, but she felt it had afforded her a small measure of patience and understanding when it came to her husband, and it made Simon less quick to judge her and where she came from. In all, she felt closer to him for it and it made her every step light and bubbly. That was, until she heard a shout from the first floor, seemingly echoing up from the back of the house.
Odette’s steps faltered and she froze, at first unsure if she could trust her ears. Could it have been a stablehand in the mews? Someone in the alley? She had almost convinced herself that the clatter of metal was the jangle of tack when another shout echoed up through the floor.
Her heart leapt into her throat as she gathered the skirts of her ice-blue morning gown in her numb fingers and dashed down the hall. She nearly tripped down the stairs and her slippers skidded on the polished floor as she rounded the corner and headed toward the back of the Townhouse. If she wasn’t mistaken, the sounds were coming from the as-yet-unused formal dining room. The long, narrow room with its floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the small walled-in back garden. She and Simon had purchased a table for informal dining in another room, but had yet to consider making a purchase of a larger table for this room—neither of them was quite inclined to host a big enough gathering to warrant the purchase. In the meantime, the room had sat clean and vacant.
The heavy double-door was ajar and Odette shoved her weight against it, her heart pounding in her breast, and she was greeted by the most curious of sights.
Simon and another man were advancing and retreating in turn, flashing silver blades slicing the air between them glinting in the warm morning light. The other man’s graying hair was worn in a low queue at the nape of his neck; while he’d removed his coat and cravat, he’d remained garbed in his black breeches and waistcoat. Simon, on the other hand, captivated Odette with his grace and agility…his body. Her husband had tossed aside his shirt entirely, bared from the waist up in a dizzying display of lean masculine muscle gleaming with a fine sheen of sweat from his exertion. The bicep of his arm bent behind his bare back held her rapt until Simon advanced upon his opponent. Every rhythmic slice and jab of the blade fired off similarly elegant combinations of muscles everywhere from his rounded shoulders to the slim definition of his chest and abdomen, the bunching and flexing of his back and shoulder blades. He’d mentioned several times that he fenced, and she’d bore witness to his grace on the dance floor, but it was something else completely to watch Simon in action.
And still something else to witness him doing it shirtless.
“Point and match!” Simon shouted triumphantly as he tapped the tip of his rapier against his opponent’s chest. He raked a lock of his blonde hair from his sweat-slicked face and the men gestured and bowed to one another in a movement of amicable sportsmanship.
Odette couldn’t help herself from breaking out into excited applause. Her heart hammered against her ribs for an entirely new reason as the men met her eyes, startled to realize they had an audience. Simon raised a brow and executed a courtly bow in her direction. She noticed for the first time the blunt tips on their narrow-bladed weapons to dull any blows and prevent serious injury. She didn’t doubt that contact might still hurt, but at least there was effort to prevent any real bloodshed.
“Brilliant!” she gushed and strode into the room, her eyes only for Simon. His color was high and his chest was heaving from his deep, powerful breaths; there was a pleased lilt to his lips that was so rare she cherished it. He was not a boastful man, but it was clear he’d enjoyed having her witness his win. He took her hand in his and pressed his lips to her middle knuckle.
“Master Monroe, may I present my wife, Mrs. Odette Stratford?”
The other man bowed deeply with a flourish of his rapier.“The pleasure is all mine, Mrs. Stratford.”
“Have you been training together long?” she asked as Simon collected his shirt and, much to Odette’s disappointment, tugged it over his head. The other man took up his coat and previously discarded cravat.
“Since Mr. Stratford was at Eaton,” he replied, and Odette recalled how one of Simon’s journal entries indicated he’d taken up swordplay and preferred its brand of physical exertion over pugilism.
“I didn’t mean to intrude, but it was quite a fascinating display,” she couldn’t help but offer another compliment. She was inordinately pleased by the bashful expression flitting across her husband’s face before he turned his head and mopped his brow with a cloth.
“Honored, Mrs. Stratford,” the fencing master inclined his head and pulled his watch from the pocket of his coat.“If you’ll excuse me, I am to meet my next pupil shortly. Excellent work today, Mr. Stratford, as always.”
