To Seduce a Sinner (Legend of the Four Soldiers #2)(13)
Author: Elizabeth Hoyt

“Yes.”

“Then already I feel a surfeit of wifely honor. But I seem to remember another vow.”

“To love you,” she said. Her eyes dropped in maidenly modesty. He could no longer see her expression.

“Yes, only that,” he said lightly. “To love me is, I fear, a much greater taexach greask than any other wifely duty—I am a very unlovable fellow at times—and I’ll not blame you should you choose to forsake it. You may merely admire me instead, if it is more to your liking.”

“But I am a woman of honor, and I have made a vow,” she said.

He looked at her and tried to see which was the banter and which was her real feeling—if she had one. “Then you will love me?”

She shrugged. “Of course.”

He raised his glass to her. “Count me, then, the most fortunate man alive.”

But she merely smiled now, as if wearying of their wordplay.

He sipped his wine. Was she looking forward to this night or dreading it? Surely the latter rather than the former. Even at her age—older than many brides—she likely knew very little of the physical act between a man and a woman. Perhaps that fact accounted for some of the paleness in her face earlier. He must remind himself to go slowly tonight and not to do anything that might frighten or disgust her. Despite her lively repartee, she was by her own admission a reserved woman. Perhaps he ought to consider putting off the consummation for another day or so, in order that she grow more used to him. A depressing thought.

He shook his head and shoved all depressing thoughts aside, then took another slice of roast duck. After all, it was his wedding day.

“OH, IT WAS a beautiful wedding, my lady,” Suchlike said dreamily that night as she helped Melisande from her gown. “His lordship looked so handsome in his red embroidered coat, didn’t he? So tall and with those lovely wide shoulders. I don’t think he needs to use padding at all, do you?”

“Mmm,” Melisande murmured. Lord Vale’s shoulders were one of her favorite things about him, but her new husband’s physique didn’t seem quite the thing to discuss with her maid. She stepped out of her underskirts.

Suchlike draped the underskirts over a chair and began unlacing Melisande’s stays. “And when Lord Vale threw those coins to the crowd! What a kind gentleman he is. Did you know, ma’am, that he gave a guinea to every servant in this house, even the little bootblack boy?”

“Really?” Melisande bit back a fond smile at this evidence of Lord Vale’s sentimental nature. She wasn’t surprised at all. She rubbed a sore spot under her arm where the stays had chafed a bit. Then, clad in her chemise, she sat at a dainty burlwood vanity and began taking down her stockings.

“Mrs. Cook says that Lord Vale is a very pleasant gentleman to work for. Pays a regular wage and doesn’t shout at the maids as some gentlemen do.” Suchlike shook out the stays and laid them carefully in the big carved wardrobe in the corner.

The viscountess’s rooms in Renshaw House had been closed since Lord Vale’s father had died and his mother had moved to the London dowager residence. But Mrs. Moore, the housekeeper, was obviously a very competent woman. The rooms had been thoroughly cleaned. The bedroom’s honey-colored woodwork was freshly waxed and shining dully, the dark blue and gold drapes had been aired and brushed, and even the carpets looked to have been taken out and beaten.

The bedroom was not overly large but was quite lovely. The walls were a soothing creamy white, the carpets dark blue with spots of gold and ruby patterning. The fireplace was a pretty little thing, tiled in cobalt blue and surrounded by a white woodwork mantel. There were two gilt-legged chairs in front of it with a low marble-topped table between them. On one wall was a door that led to the viscount’s rooms—she looked quickly away from it—on the opposite wall, a door that led to her dressing room, and beyond, a private little sitting room. Now and again, a faint scratching came from the dressing room, but she ignored it. Overall, the rooms were very comfortable and pleasant.

“So, you’ve met the other servants?” Melisande asked to distract herself from staring at Lord Vale’s connecting door like a lovesick ninny.

“Yes, my lady.” Suchlike came over and began taking down her hair. “The butler, Mr. Oaks, is very stern, but he seems fair. Mrs. Moore says she respects his judgment wholeheartedly. There are six downstairs maids and five upper, and I don’t know how many footmen.”

“I counted seven,” Melisande murmured. She’d been introduced to the household this afternoon, but it would take time to learn individual names and duties. “They were all kind to you, then?”

“Oh, yes, ma’am.” Suchlike was silent a moment, taking out the myriad of pins that had held her hair up. “Although . . .”

Melisande watched the little maid in the vanity’s mirror. Suchlike’s delicate brows were drawn together. “Yes?”

“Oh, it’s nothing, ma’am,” she said, then immediately added, “Only that man, Mr. Pynch. There I was being quite polite as Mr. Oaks introduced everyone, and that man Mr. Pynch looked down his nose at me—and a very big nose it is, too, ma’am. I don’t think he should be so awfully proud of it. And he says, ‘Rather young for a lady’s maid, aren’t you?’ in this terribly stuffy voice. And what I want to know is, what business is it of his anyway?’”

Melisande blinked. She’d never seen Suchlike take offense at anyone or anything before. “Who is this Mr. Pynch?”

“He’s his lordship’s man,” Suchlike said. She picked up the brush and ran it through Melisande’s hair with vigorous strokes. “A big oaf of a man, no hair at all on top. Cook said he served with Lord Vale in the Colonies.”

“Then he’s been with Lord Vale for many years.”

Suchlike braided her hair with quick, sure movements. “Well, I think he’s gotten full of himself. A less likable, stuck-up, nasty man I’ve rarely met.”

Melisande smiled, but then the smile faded and she looked up at a sound, her breath quickening.

The door connecting her rooms to the viscount’s opened. Lord Vale stood in the doorway dressed in a scarlet banyan over breeches and a shirt. “Ah. I’ve arrived too early. Come back, shall I?”

“There’s no need, my lord.” Melisande struggled to keep her voice from quavering. She was having trouble not staring at him. His shirt was unbuttoned at the throat, and that small bit of intimate skin was having a devastating effect on her. “That will be all, Suchlike.”