Page 95 of The Duke Who Loved Me (The Duke's Estates 1)

“Well, he has not torn it down. I believe he occasionally lends it to…”

“Friends who require a secret retreat,” Cecelia finished when he hesitated. “And how do you know that?”

“Not from personal experience, I assure you.”

Yet he had experience, Cecelia acknowledged. He’d had mistresses; she knew that, though he had never flaunted them. She, on the other hand, had been circumscribed by the rules of society, which wanted her to learn as little as possible of physical passion. Though her aunt had given her more freedom than most, she was still unequal in this.

“Shall we go in?” asked James.

He led her through the door into the ground level. It was one large round room with walls of bare stone, a flagstone floor, and a wooden ceiling. The space was very plain. It held a large table with several chairs around it. Their basket was set on top. The only other furnishings were several closed chests. There was a small empty fireplace on the right and a stone stair curving up on the left. This was not promising. James’s friend had told him that the tower was quite comfortable. James began to worry that they had very different definitions of what that meant. “This is where the servants creep in to leave meals and take them away,” James said.

“Creep?”

“They are instructed not to talk to guests unless they are addressed.”

Cecelia looked around. “That is a bit…odd.”

He had thought it sounded romantic. Marvelously private. Now that they were here, he wasn’t so sure. Had he brought her to a medieval hermitage for their honeymoon? Well, if it was no good, they would return to London, which would be an exhausting first day for a marriage. “Let us look upstairs,” he said.

They walked up the curving steps and, to James’s relief, came out into a luxurious sitting room on the next level. Comfortable-looking sofas and armchairs stood on lush Turkish rugs. There was a small table with two chairs under a narrow window and colorful tapestries on the walls. James threw his hat and gloves onto its surface. Though the day was fine, a fire burned in the small fireplace, counteracting the chill of the thick stone walls.

The stair continued upward, and James ran quickly up to the top story. It held a great, carved four-poster bed, wardrobes, and a dressing table, all in dark wood. More fine rugs dotted the wooden floor. A fine chamber, and a relief.

“Someone has left us lovely flowers,” Cecelia said when he returned to her. She was bent over sniffing a bouquet on the table. She’d removed her bonnet and gloves. “Your friend’s wife?”

“He has none. The housekeeper, I suppose.” There had been flowers upstairs, too.

“Ah.” Cecelia straightened and looked at him.

An awkward silence fell. Some married couples were alone for the first time on their wedding night, James thought. He and Cecelia were far more fortunate, being so well acquainted. And yet… He knew her as confidante and adversary, not as wife or lover. And the change felt more complicated because of their long history than it might have been with a near stranger. They’d had countless emotional discussions but hardly ever touched. Perhaps four times in thirteen years. There were those kisses though!

“Shall we walk in the garden?” Cecelia asked.

“If you wish.”

“Only if you want to.”

“I am happy to if you would like…” James stopped. They never stumbled about like this. Their exchanges had always been forthright. He’d simply said whatever he liked. Perhaps he had done so without giving enough thought to her feelings. He’d been more concerned with how to alter her position and make her do as he asked about the trust. And she’d more than held her own. That was one of the things he admired about her. But now their situation was different. Uncharted territory, he thought, and wondered if a honeymoon far away from all they knew was a mistake. She was gazing at him, as if waiting for some important word.

“Is something wrong?” Cecelia said.

“Why did you change your mind about marriage?” he asked her.

She looked surprised, started to speak, then closed her lips again.

It didn’t seem such a difficult question. Should she need to think it over?

Cecelia moved across the small distance between them, put her hands on his shoulders, and kissed him.

James’s pulse leapt in response. Desire shot through him, and he pulled her close. Cecelia laced her arms around his neck and melted against his body, her lips eagerly responsive. Here was the answer to all his questions. This was their new way to be together, and a glorious way it was. He gave his hands license to explore as he urged her toward the stairs.

The damn steps were so narrow that they had to go up single file, but when they reached the top he swept her up and carried her to the bed. Setting her down in a froth of silk, he joined her there and plunged them into another dizzying kiss.

They pressed close, held tight. Their legs grew tangled in her skirts and petticoats. When they drew a little apart, panting, she said, “I never knew that clothes could be so inconvenient.”

Not to mention his boots, James noted. He had to be rid of the things, and he wasn’t used to pulling them off himself. “The best approach is to be ruthless,” he said.

“Rip them off, you mean?”

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