A Baron for Becky

Chapter fifteen

"I could fit my entire town-house in here," said Becky, in a small awed voice that echoed in the palatial suite.

"And a fair part of Overton Park into the space left over," Hugh told her. "The Grenford family don't do things by halves, do they?"

She smiled, clearly cheered by the casual attitude he'd assumed for her benefit. They walked through the suite together, exploring the two bedchambers off a central sitting room, each with an adjoining dressing room. Most of the furniture was in the modern style: turned and gilded legs, damask upholstery in shades of green, inlays of marquetry in a dozen different woods with highlights of ivory and jet.

The draperies were also green, brocade on the windows and figured velvet for the hangings on the huge beds, the only old-fashioned note. Undoubtedly, the beds had stayed because they were too big to shift without cutting into pieces. Even so, they were dwarfed in the huge rooms.

Becky's night attire had been laid out on one bed —a fetchingly virginal nightrail in white linen with a bodice of sheer muslin trimmed with lace and ribbons a deep flounce of lace at the hem. His cock twitched. She wouldn't need that.

Wait. Yes. Yes, she would, for he'd take great pleasure in removing it. His smile must have hinted at his thoughts, because Becky blushed.

His bag had been unpacked in the other chamber. They'd see about that.

"Your chamber or mine? And I warn you now, Becky, we will not have separate chambers at Overton Park. I intend we shall spend every night in the same bed." No repeat of the debacle of his first marriage.

"You choose," she said, so he instructed the servants to move his things to Becky's room.

The servants fussed around, putting out food and drink, making sure the fire was stoked, plumping cushions, until Hugh chased them all out of the suite, and he and Becky were alone at last.

She stood in the middle of the vast expanse, lost and alone, till he crossed to her and took both her hands.

"Do you want something to eat?"

She shook her head. "You go ahead, Hugh. I am not hungry."

"I am not hungry for food."

She smiled and nodded, looking up at him from under her lashes, her colour rising again. Who knew that a woman of her experience could be shy? No. He had to stop thinking that way. This was Becky. Rebecca Overton. His wife. His baroness.

She followed without comment when he led her by hand through to their bedchamber.

There he hesitated. "Becky, it is still daylight, but if I pull the curtains..."

"No need, Hugh. Unless... I am not too large and ugly yet, Hugh, truly."

He shook his head, grimacing. "I was thinking of my scars. They're not pretty, my dear. My first wife..."

She put her finger on his lips. "Shall we agree, husband, that our pasts will not enter our bedchamber? You gained those scars fighting for king and country. They are nothing to be ashamed of."

He kissed the finger, then sucked it into his mouth, and she took a sharp breath. "Hugh." A breathy gasp. A trained response?

No. He mustn't think like that. She was right; no pasts in their bedchamber.

He took her into his arms then, and kissed her as he had wished all week, burying all doubts and questions in sheer sensation.

When his hands fumbled at her sash, she drew away. "You first, Hugh. I want to see. Keep still." He shook his head, but made no further protest, not moving while she tugged off his coat and unbuttoned his waistcoat. She slipped her hands under the edges and ran them up his chest to his shoulders, pushing the waistcoat so it slipped backwards.