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Authors: Cerise DeLand
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smile. “I will take both.”
“As will I,” he told her sincerely. “Dare I conclude that each of us sees more potential here than what we find in this bed?”
She met his gaze frankly. “I thought there was hope for that all along. I would not have married you otherwise, Adam.”
“I’ll brave the family problem, if you will.”
She caressed his cheek with her fingertips and rubbed her breasts against his chest. “I need that bath and breakfast.”
“Do that and our bath will be delayed.”
She smiled against his mouth. “What a fine idea.”
Chapter Seven
But making love in a tub and being handfed by one’s husband meant Felice was starving for real sustenance. When she mentioned it, Adam ordered a full service for them to be served within the hour.
Threatening to eat the tablecloths, Felice braved the dining room, dressed in her ball gown. Adam had just pulled out her chair for her when his butler appeared to inform him he had a caller. Though it was unusual to have a visitor before eleven, this gentleman, declared the butler, requested a few minutes of Adam’s time and awaited his host in the sitting room. When Adam asked the identity of the man, the butler told him it was Lord Ulmsly.
“I shan’t be long,” Adam told her and brushed a kiss to her lips. “I’d tell you to wait for me, but the fact that Ulmsly is here at this abominable hour is truly astonishing. Enjoy yourself, darling, and I promise to return as soon as possible.”
“Hurry,” she told him. “We must talk about how I’m to leave here without letting half of London know I spent the night. We don’t want any more rumors about us.”
“Right you are.”
As he turned on his heel, she tucked into a generous helping of coddled eggs, toast with marmalade, bacon and a Scottish banger. Stuffed, she poured herself a third cup of tea then rose to look out the window. Wondering why Ulmsly might have come calling on Adam, she realized with a start that this was Friday morning. And on each Friday, the TellTale was published.
She closed her eyes and counted backwards. Yes. The story that featured a man similar to Adam had appeared today in its fourth instalment.
She winced. In this one, her Lord S. took a mistress again, after living for weeks alone without his new wife. This was untrue of Adam of course, believing as she did his statement that he’d broken off his arrangement with his paramour. But her tormentor had demanded she give Lord S. loose morals. Clearly, Felice needed to end this story. End the series. Fulfill the hideous terms of her agreement with Adam’s foe. Seven installments. All meant to ruin him politically. She’d agreed initially because she’d needed to pay off her mortgage on the cottage in Kent, a debt that Wallace had incurred at dice. But weeks later, married to Adam, she had not required her little house any longer. She had offered it for sale. How could she have known things could turn so quickly in her favor?
Not in your favor if you don’t stop these stories!
She could not have predicted this reunion and definitely not this bliss with Adam. She must not ruin it. But how to end the series without causing more trouble? Howell promised to print a story about her indebtedness and claim they were her gambling debts. Not Wallace’s. The honorable member for Parliament from Bayton, Mr. Stanhope, was trying so hard to be reputable that he would not welcome any intimation that his new wife was a gambler. That was a piece of fiction through and through.
She clutched her stomach. What if Ulmsly knows that I am Miss Proper? If he tells Adam, I am doomed.
The breakfast room door creaked open.
She spun.
The butler, a cool man of imperial bearing, did not look at her ball gown, thank god, but at some place beyond her left ear. “May I have Cook prepare more bacon and toast for you, Ma’am?”
“No, thank you. Excuse me, what is your name?”
“Roberts, Ma’am.”
“Thank you, Roberts. I am quite
“As will I,” he told her sincerely. “Dare I conclude that each of us sees more potential here than what we find in this bed?”
She met his gaze frankly. “I thought there was hope for that all along. I would not have married you otherwise, Adam.”
“I’ll brave the family problem, if you will.”
She caressed his cheek with her fingertips and rubbed her breasts against his chest. “I need that bath and breakfast.”
“Do that and our bath will be delayed.”
She smiled against his mouth. “What a fine idea.”
Chapter Seven
But making love in a tub and being handfed by one’s husband meant Felice was starving for real sustenance. When she mentioned it, Adam ordered a full service for them to be served within the hour.
Threatening to eat the tablecloths, Felice braved the dining room, dressed in her ball gown. Adam had just pulled out her chair for her when his butler appeared to inform him he had a caller. Though it was unusual to have a visitor before eleven, this gentleman, declared the butler, requested a few minutes of Adam’s time and awaited his host in the sitting room. When Adam asked the identity of the man, the butler told him it was Lord Ulmsly.
“I shan’t be long,” Adam told her and brushed a kiss to her lips. “I’d tell you to wait for me, but the fact that Ulmsly is here at this abominable hour is truly astonishing. Enjoy yourself, darling, and I promise to return as soon as possible.”
“Hurry,” she told him. “We must talk about how I’m to leave here without letting half of London know I spent the night. We don’t want any more rumors about us.”
“Right you are.”
As he turned on his heel, she tucked into a generous helping of coddled eggs, toast with marmalade, bacon and a Scottish banger. Stuffed, she poured herself a third cup of tea then rose to look out the window. Wondering why Ulmsly might have come calling on Adam, she realized with a start that this was Friday morning. And on each Friday, the TellTale was published.
She closed her eyes and counted backwards. Yes. The story that featured a man similar to Adam had appeared today in its fourth instalment.
She winced. In this one, her Lord S. took a mistress again, after living for weeks alone without his new wife. This was untrue of Adam of course, believing as she did his statement that he’d broken off his arrangement with his paramour. But her tormentor had demanded she give Lord S. loose morals. Clearly, Felice needed to end this story. End the series. Fulfill the hideous terms of her agreement with Adam’s foe. Seven installments. All meant to ruin him politically. She’d agreed initially because she’d needed to pay off her mortgage on the cottage in Kent, a debt that Wallace had incurred at dice. But weeks later, married to Adam, she had not required her little house any longer. She had offered it for sale. How could she have known things could turn so quickly in her favor?
Not in your favor if you don’t stop these stories!
She could not have predicted this reunion and definitely not this bliss with Adam. She must not ruin it. But how to end the series without causing more trouble? Howell promised to print a story about her indebtedness and claim they were her gambling debts. Not Wallace’s. The honorable member for Parliament from Bayton, Mr. Stanhope, was trying so hard to be reputable that he would not welcome any intimation that his new wife was a gambler. That was a piece of fiction through and through.
She clutched her stomach. What if Ulmsly knows that I am Miss Proper? If he tells Adam, I am doomed.
The breakfast room door creaked open.
She spun.
The butler, a cool man of imperial bearing, did not look at her ball gown, thank god, but at some place beyond her left ear. “May I have Cook prepare more bacon and toast for you, Ma’am?”
“No, thank you. Excuse me, what is your name?”
“Roberts, Ma’am.”
“Thank you, Roberts. I am quite
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