Page 56 of Marriage with a Proper Stranger

Julian Wollstonecraft had not used “Papa” since Riordan and Aidan were small boys. The affection and love in this note touched him. Leave it to the inventive Viscount Tensbridge. Did his father believe him not capable of handling this situation? The note stated the decision was his. However, he now understood why Aidan bristled under their father’s firm hand and high expectations.

A postscript he’d missed: Garrett has hired an investigator in London, a former Bow Street Runner by the name of Edwin Seward, to begin the search for Aidan. I will keep you apprised of any updates.

Folding the paper, he slid it into the envelope. He had at least two weeks to decide when to inform Sabrina of this. It would be an early exit. He would not keep this information from her. Enough secrets lay between them already. As soon as she learned his true identity, and the fact that her father had not put up a settlement, she would know the money had come from him.

How would she react? Anger for his high-handed interference? Another man controlling her life? Or would she look beyond and see that all he wished was to give her what she most desired: her freedom. A chance to live an independent life. He’d wanted to protect her from the hurtful knowledge of her father selling her. For when it came down to it, he wanted Sabrina to choose between a life with him or the life she originally planned.

Not that a life with him would be stifling. He would give her freedom, property, money, anything she wished. For he truly believed all women should have rights, own property, and not be chattel to heartless, soulless fathers and husbands.

In the interim, they would continue on. Investigate this attraction. These passionate emotions. The unspoken love pulsed between them with a force of a gale storm. He must know what her feelings toward him were before suggesting they make the marriage permanent, or before revealing about the money. When he mentioned the idea at the registrar’s office she’d been horrified. He wanted her to be thrilled at the prospect. Happy.

Exhaling, he turned his attention to his schoolwork.

* * * *

Riordan no sooner arrived home when he swept Sabrina into a crushing embrace and a hot and fierce kiss. A smile curved about his mouth when she threw her arms around his neck and returned the kiss with equal passion. How gratifying that she’d lowered her defenses and accepted the desire within.

Clasping her face, he laid kisses on her temple and cheeks, while her alluring citrus scent surrounded him. Hell, he was hard. To the point of pain. She gazed up at him, a look of complete trust and warmth. “What did you do today?” he murmured.

“Oh, Riordan. I made a pie. With Mary’s help, of course. We sat and peeled the apples, she showed me how to make a crust and roll it out. Flour was flying every which way! She had to return to the inn, so I assembled it and baked it myself.” She hugged him. “I learned to light the stove, and I followed Mary’s directions closely and the pie turned out wonderfully.”

He lifted his nose and inhaled. Apple and cinnamon. He hadn’t noticed it when he first entered the cottage, for he was too wrapped up in feminine softness and luscious lips. “Let’s have a piece while it is still warm.”

Her brows furrowed. “It might spoil supper, but it isn’t much, a chicken and potato soup….”

He kissed the tip of her nose. “Won’t spoil my supper. I love apple pie. Let’s see this wondrous achievement.”

With a broad smile, she hurried to the kitchen. Riordan removed his coat and rolled up the cuffs of his shirt, then removed his neckcloth. In such a short period, they’d become comfortable in each other’s company, enough that he could relax like this. Or walk about the room in nothing but his drawers. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Sabrina laid small plates and forks on the table. Nothing matched, for they were donations from various households in the town. Finally, she brought out the pie and a knife. Never had he seen her smile as broadly, and his heart hitched in his chest at the sight. She sat the pie on the table. It did look delicious; the crust was golden and small wisps of steam swirled from the slits on the top.

He took his seat, eagerly anticipating the treat. God, he could become used to this. There was a lot to be said for domesticity and all the benefits it brought.

Sabrina served him a generous slice, then waited for him to taste it. His fork cut through the flaky crust with ease. He lifted the fork and placed the pie in his mouth, savoring the warm apple and the tang of the cinnamon and nutmeg on his tongue—then his throat closed over and he choked. He couldn’t swallow, so he spit the half chewed pie on the table.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Sabrina cried worriedly.

“Salt,” he croaked. “You added salt instead of sugar.”

She grabbed his fork, cut off a small piece and brought it to her mouth. Her pink tongue darted out to taste it and she grimaced. “Oh, no. You see, they’re in glass containers, I must have mistaken….” A giggle slipped from her throat as she laid the fork on the table. “Salt instead of sugar.” Sabrina did the most wondrous thing: she began to laugh. Not her usual rare and brief giggle, but a full-on laugh. She pointed at him while holding her stomach with her other arm. “You…you should have seen your face.” Another peal of laughter escaped her.

She was beautiful. Happy. By the time he’d vaulted from his chair and came to face her, she was already wiping tears from her eyes. Riordan clasped her arms. “I’ve never heard a more beautiful sound. Do you remember what I said, about how I longed to see you laugh for the pure joy of it?” She nodded. “You’re doing it now, and it is music to my ears.”

“I ruined the pie….”

“Ruin a hundred pies and it would not matter to me. I would rather see you happy and taking delight in life.” He kissed her. It didn’t take long for the heat to flare between them, and he took the kiss deeper, tangling his tongue with hers. All thoughts of taking things slowly dissipated into nothingness. He trailed his lips across her cheek, down her supple neck, and up again to nibble on her earlobe. “When Mary comes later, inform her she will not be needed tomorrow night,” he rasped.

“Why?” she asked breathlessly.

“I’ll be preparing you for bed. And if you ask me politely, I will be joining you in it.”

A moan escaped her, which merely stoked the roaring flames within him. Riordan pulled her close and she softened all around him. “I want to be patient, and I will if you ask me.” He clasped her breast, his thumb running across her erect nipple. “Come with me to the bedroom. Let me give you pleasure like you gave me. If you like it, tomorrow night we will do more.” He cupped her rear and brought her in tight against his erection. “But only if you wish it. Tell me, Sabrina. Put voice to your desires.”

To his utter surprise, she reached behind him and grasped his ass, squeezing it until he moaned. “Come with me to the bedroom. Give me pleasure.”

Riordan did not need any further encouragement. Sweeping her up into his arms, she squealed as he ran into the bedroom. Mittens, curled up on the rug, lifted her head to give them a nonchalant look, then continued her nap. Riordan slowly lowered Sabrina to the floor, keeping her close against him. She stared into his eyes searchingly, as if asking what comes next.

“I’m going to slowly remove your clothes. How many layers is up to you. Agreed?”