Page 32 of Everything But the Earl
Grace understood that. Owen put an arm around her shoulders and she closed her eyes, hearing the gentle sound of the waves rolling against the rocky coast. There was little else around, save for some other cottages in the distance. It was a peaceful spot. Grace hated to leave it.
“Must we rush back to your estate?” Grace asked.
“We have some time, although I’d like to get started back home before it gets dark.”
She looked up at her husband’s face. One surprising revelation of their nights together was that Grace felt insatiable, constantly wanting more of her husband. How could that be? They’d made love every night since their marriage, but Grace still wanted more. They’d barelybeen able to keep their hands off each other when they were alone. Sometimes she wondered if this was normal or inappropriate, but certainly the feeling was mutual, so she decided not to wonder too hard.
Grace put her hands on Owen’s shoulders and raised an eyebrow. He looked a little startled at first, but he smiled. “Oh. Er, have I showed you the bedroom?”
“Is there furniture in it?”
“I slept here once shortly after I purchased the cottage because I wanted to see what it would be like to sleep so near the sea at night.” He took her hand and led her down a short hallway. He opened a door. “There’s not much more than an old mattress.”
“Mattress” was a generous description. It was a pallet on a simple wooden bed frame with several blankets draped on top of it. There was a trunk off to the side and a simple armoire in the corner. Grace stepped into the room and walked over to the armoire, which she opened. It held a couple of changes of clothes for Owen—two shirts, a jacket and pair of breeches made of simple broadcloth that looked old enough to be ten years out of fashion—but little else. This wouldn’t do as a place to sleep for Grace, but she didn’t plan to sleep here tonight.
“You are generous with your funds,” Grace said. “If I were to set up a proper bedroom here, would I bankrupt you?”
“No. That is, my funds are not unlimited, but I intended to furnish the cottage and had set aside money for it. A proper bed is not too much, so long as it is not made of gold.”
“You may have to tell me to stop spending your money at some point.”
“My man of business has an assistant. I can dispatch him to help you manage the money. Or to tell you which expenditures are too great.”
“A proper bed, some chairs, maybe a table to put in that main room. Nothing extravagant.”
Owen put an arm around her shoulders. “I trust you not to bankrupt me.”
There was something magical about this cottage. It was not large, but it was enough. Space for Grace’s pottery supplies, space for her to sleep and keep some clothes. She probably couldn’t stay here for many days at a time—she did not know her way around a kitchen, and the one here was small—but the ride wasn’t too long. An overnight now and then would be workable.
“I see the ideas flitting about your head,” Owen said. “Are you mentally decorating?”
“Yes,” said Grace. “How sturdy is that bed?”
“Why do you ask?” Something sly crept into Owen’s voice.
Grace grinned. “Oh. I did not mean to imply anything. Just whether one could sleep on it without it collapsing.”
“Yes. Like I said, I did it once. It’s not very comfortable, alas. But it might serve a more immediate purpose.”
Grace turned to look at Owen. He winked at her. Grace felt wanton and inappropriate, but she had not expected to enjoy herself with Owen so much. She could not get enough of him. Currently, Owen was dressed in a functional brown jacket and trousers, hardly his most dashing kit, and yet Grace still felt drawn to him. He was breathtakingly handsome, and Grace found that, rather than frighten her as her mother implied he would, seeing Owen out of his clothing was exciting. His broad chest, his strong arms, his sturdy thighs, all of these things made Grace ache when she beheld them.
She hadn’t known she could feel this way. Sometimes, when she looked at him, she felt like her skin was on fire.
But more than that, the way Owen held her made her feel safe and cared for. The previous night, they’d shuddered to climax together, and after, Owen had held Grace to his chest, like he was unwilling to let her go, and Grace didn’t want him to anyway.
And this was herhusband. Her married friends had told storiesimplying they barely tolerated their husbands, but Grace wanted to spend nearly every minute with hers. She supposed this feeling would wear off eventually, that once the heady days of their early marriage matured into something steadier, they’d irritate each other the way Grace’s parents did, but for now, it was wonderful.
But he was leaving in a few weeks.
“Perhaps,” she said, “we should make the most of your remaining time in Wales.”
“What did you have in mind?” asked Owen.
Grace stepped away from him and tugged at a ribbon on the bodice of her gown. She wore simple muslin today at Owen’s urging—no expensive fabric that might be damaged in salt air—and loosening the bodice meant the dress could be slipped off easily.
Owen’s expression darkened. “You are incorrigible, my dear. But on the other hand, it would be a crime not to christen this space.”
Grace giggled. She reached over to Owen and slid his jacket off his shoulders. “I am getting my fill before you depart.”
