Page 70 of All you need is an Earl (Lords of Pleasure 2)

My dearest daughter.

For every moment of pain my absence has caused you I pray that you have joy, tenfold. Here, at the end of my life, I can only look back with regret on all the ways I failed as a husband and father. My sins cannot be undone, but wherever the good Lord takes me next, I pray that I shall be able to watch you from there. My only prayer is that your life will be happy, filled with love and joy.

With my love and my prayers,

Your loving father.

Edward (Ted) John Laurie

Marion could not stifle her tears. She let them flow out onto her husband’s chest as he stroked her back, murmuring softly to her, “He loved you, my darling. He was not monster. At least we can honour him for seeking forgiveness in the end,”

“Yes,” Marion sniffed, sighing heavily. “And at least I know I shall be happy. As long as I have you.”

Marion lifted herself up carefully, expecting to feel pain, but the laudanum was beginning to take hold and she felt as if she was floating on a cloud. She pressed her lips to Simon’s, feeling his mouth smile underneath hers and his lips move into a tender kiss. It was all she wanted at that moment and breathed into it, feeling his warm hands move tenderly to her waist, enjoying the span of those strong fingers and the way his thumbs rubbed gentle circles against her hips. There was a softness to it, a laziness that was quite pleasant, but Marion could also tell from the way her body was pressed against the long length of his body, with her leg draped over his lap, that he was aroused. She felt an immense fondness for the fact that he was holding back for her. Nevertheless, she couldn’t stop a small moan of soft delight as he moved one hand up her back to stroke her messy hair.

“Marion,” Simon chuckled against her lips, nipping the bottom one affectionately before pulling away. “Lie down, my dear.”

“I’m not sleepy,” Marion protested, longing to stay in his arms and kiss his lips forever. But she was betrayed by her body when she let out an almighty yawn. Simon smiled sweetly and pulled her back down beside him on the bed.

“Sleep, my love,” he whispered, rolling her onto her side and encircling his arms around her. Marion settled happily against him. He tucked them under the blanket gently and sighed heavily, kissing the back of her neck in a way that made her spine tingle.

“There will be time for kisses when we are home.”

* * *

“Oh, it is good to be home,” Marion sighed as Simon carefully helped her out of the carriage.

Hughes, Mrs Bolton, and Loretta stood on the steps of the house, well prepared for the fact that their mistress would be coming home sporting some very distressing bruises on her face. The few days at Eleanor and Nathan’s town house had allowed Marion to recover to the point that she could move around again, and Simon finally felt comfortable taking Marion home.

However, her bruises looked even worse—yellow and blue with purple accents. He had just about got used to them, but he knew they might dismay the staff. He had specifically written to Hughes with explicit instructions to give the staff about not reacting to Marion’s change in appearance, but poor little Loretta didn’t seem quite able to control herself. As soon as she had seen Marion’s face, the lady’s maid had ducked behind Mrs Bolton to sob into her handkerchief.

“Welcome home, Milord, Milady,” Hughes said with the steady, even tone Simon always expected from him. “We are glad you were able to make the journey today.”

Simon was grateful as ever for his butler’s discretion and professionalism, but Simon could see the steely flash behind Hughes’s eyes. He noticed the same in the tightness around Mrs Bolton’s mouth as she offered Marion her arm to lean on as she went into the house. Both of the faithful house servants had a quiet, burning fury that someone had hurt their mistress. No doubt there would be a lot of talk below stairs about the rake who had done this, and Simon knew they would all work even harder to support Marion’s position in the household. Simon’s heart swelled with gratitude. It was clear that his staff loved his wife almost as much as he did.

“Shall you be wanting to take a late luncheon, Milord?” Mrs Bolton asked as Simon easily caught up with his wife and his housekeeper as they crossed the grand hall.

“No, I think the Countess is in need of a rest after the journey. We shall have an early supper and then an early night.”

Simon offered Marion his arm, smiling down at his beautiful wife.

“May I escort you upstairs, my countess?”

Smiling radiantly, she took his arm. “You may, my dear earl.”

They walked slowly upstairs, talking gently about how the house had changed in the week they had been away. There was such tender joy in this, Simon realised, these soft moments of intimacy and quietness, in the relief of having survived the terrible trauma of almost losing one another. Marion had been needing an afternoon siesta most days since the attack—Doctor Fuchs had recommended as much rest as possible during his daily visits to Marion’s bedside—and Simon was religious about enforcing rest-time. He led the way into her bedroom, noticing with pleasure that the room was bright and cheerful. A warming pan had been settled under the mattress to make it comfortable for her nap.

“I shall only be in the parlour whilst you sleep, love,” Simon murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of Marion’s forehead, to the patch of skin where the bruises didn’t reach.

He expected his wife to smile with that slightly sleepy pout she sometimes had nowadays, and then turn away and lie on the bed for a quiet sleep. He was happy to read by her side, or in the next room, but what he wasn’t expecting was for Marion to look up at him with such tenderness in her eyes and then pull his head down so she could kiss him.

It was their first proper kiss since the day of the attack, when Marion had kissed him so softly before she fell asleep under the influence of the laudanum. Since then, he had never left her side, and he burned for her quite brutally. Consequently, Simon felt as if his knees were turning to jelly, and he pulled away, gasping for breath.

“Marion,” he whispered, trying to hold her at arm’s length, but also rubbing his face against the top of her head. Her hair smelled so delightful. “The doctor said we must be careful.”

“He said I would be safe to bear a child,” Marion whispered back, her deft fingers slipping his jacket from his shoulders before he could think. Simon swallowed hard, fighting the arousal flooding his body as he heard her hitched breath. Felt her warm, supple body pressing against his.

“Bearing a child and the act of making one are different things,” Simon gasped, throwing his head back as his devious wife pulled the stock from his throat. His hands were trembling on her waist, unable to stop them from shaking with the effort of not grasping her even closer and throwing her down on the bed. He had watched how much Marion had suffered since the attack with her physical recovery—he would never allow himself to cause her more harm by taking her before her body was ready.

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