anticipatory glee of a delayed wedding night, so Della busied herself washing her hair. By the time the tub had been taken away, and she was sitting before the hearth on a footstool, the worries were again nibbling at her peace.
Where was Ash? Did he already regret this marriage? Would Lady Wentwhistle stir the pot of gossip, or—for Ash’s sake—make an attempt to shield Della from the worst of it? Would Ash think it very forward of his new wife if she awaited him naked in the bed itself?
Before the blazing hearth, her hair grew dry enough to braid, but she left it down. Weren’t brides supposed to wear their hair down? How did one manage all those flowing tresses in bed? She rummaged in the portmanteau and found a thick pair of men’s wool stockings to put on her feet, though they bunched at her ankles.
As darkness fell, she did not climb into the bed, there to await her husband, but instead unpacked the portmanteau, putting the clothes in a lavender-scented wardrobe and verbena-scented clothes press.
Where was Ash? Had he come to harm? Been called back to London? Was he putting off consummation of the vows, and if so, why?
She was about to pour herself a cup of cold tea from the remains of the tray when Ash returned.
“Sorry to be so long,” he said, tugging at his cravat. “I ran into an old chum from school in the stable, and he wanted to discuss the Coventry and…” He left off trying to undo his neckcloth. “Your hair is gorgeous.”
“I didn’t know whether to braid it.”
“I’ll braid it.” He prowled closer, bringing with him the scent of hay and scythed grass. “I missed this privilege last night. Do you know how arousing I find the sight of my stockings on your dainty feet?”
“I was cold. I should have asked.”
He bent close enough to whisper. “As long as I am the fellow taking the stockings off of you, you need never ask to borrow them.”
A pleasant shiver passed over Della. “Let me help you out of your clothing, husband. I’ve missed you.”
She got no further than divesting him of his cravat when a sharp rap on the door heralded the porters lugging in a pair of large trunks.
“I suppose I should find something to wear down to dinner,” Ash said, passing the older porter a coin. “I can hardly show up in all my dirt.”
Della waited until the porters had left, then locked the door behind them. “Ash Dorning, you will undress now. Wash if you want to, and I will lay out a set of clean clothes for you. You are married.”
He rested his forearms on her shoulders, his hands gathering her hair. “I wandered the maze, trying to wrap my mind about my great good fortune, but all I could think about was getting you naked in that bed.”
Della leaned against him. “I soaked in the tub, trying to wrap my mind around my great good fortune. All I could think about was getting you naked in that bed. I think we will suit very well, Ash.” She’d thought about more than that, but intimacy with her husband had dominated her imagination.
Della had Ash’s waistcoat half undone and his shirt unbuttoned when a loud triple-clang sounded from somewhere below.
He pulled the trailing end of the bow of her chemise. “That is the bedamned first dinner bell.”
“We can miss supper.”
He stepped back, and Della barely suppressed a growl of protest.
“I would rather we didn’t, Della.”
The first bell meant guests would assemble in the parlor in thirty minutes, when the second bell would be rung. The third bell would signal that the party was to proceed to the buffet or the table.
“We can be late, then,” Della said, “and go down after the second bell.”
Ash caught Della’s hands in his own. “When I first make love with my new and delectable wife, I will need more than thirty minutes to do justice to the occasion. If we miss the meal, we will become objects of greater speculation than we already are.”
“I want to stamp my foot and tear your clothes from your body, Ash. I have longed for you since the moment I first kissed you, and now I am to be thwarted by a supper buffet?”
“We are both to be thwarted, but I promise you, my lady, a delay now will only inspire me to greater passion later.”
Della wanted both—the now and the later—and she did not want to