Page 59 of The Music of Love

“I always want you, Portia. In fact, it is rather distracting how often I think of bedding you.” Not to mention embarrassing. “But you are carrying my child and you looked exhausted. I wanted you, but I was trying to be a considerate husband rather than a rutting beast.”

“I want a rutting beast.”

“Right now?”

“No. Right now I want to sleep. But I shall want you later. Later tonight,” she clarified, her words again distorted by a huge yawn.

He grinned into the darkness. “Very well, I shall be happy to oblige. Just remember it was you who asked for a rutting beast.”

“Mm.”

Stacy listened to her regular breathing, only able to relax after she’d fallen asleep.

Bloody hell. He’d never met anyone like her. Part of him was thrilled she felt so attached to him and so possessive. But part of him was uneasy. He’d been accustomed to a well-ordered, quiet life. He hadn’t even known he had such depths of passion inside him until meeting her. He’d always enjoyed sex, but it had never consumed him. Portia consumed him.

He stroked her hair and stared into the darkness, too exhausted to think and too anxious to sleep. She’d looked almost mad when she’d stormed into the room—as if she’d been bent on murder. He was bloody fortunate she’d aimed her passion toward pleasuring him rather than strangling him.

Stacy laughed weakly as he held her close; God help anyone who truly roused her ire.

Chapter Sixteen

The morning after their first marital argument Stacy gave Portia her horse, a dainty black mare she immediately named Dainty.

She threw her arms around him and thanked him. “A black horse, Mr. Harrington?” she teased, covering his face with kisses.

“If you continue in this manner I shall have to take off my glasses and bat my eyelashes and you will never learn to ride.” He kissed the side of her nose where her freckle lay.

“I already know how to ride,” she murmured, reminding him of the second time they’d made love that morning.

His hands tightened. “Mmm, Mrs. Harrington.”

She laughed and shoved him away. “I’d like my lesson first.”

Stacy grunted and adjusted himself.

By the end of the first week she was comfortable enough on horseback to join him on rides and by the end of the second week she was able to gallop, at least for a short distance.

Now, a month later, she was going on her longest ride to date. Stacy was taking her to inspect one of the tenant cottages at the far edge of his property. They had a picnic hamper and Portia’s morning sickness had recently been replaced by a voracious appetite, as if her body was making up for all those weeks of sickness.

Last week they’d finally shared the news about the baby with Frances and Nanny—not that she believed the two women hadn’t already guessed the truth. But if they had, neither woman showed any disapproval.

Portia was relieved at no longer having to hide her condition and today’s excursion was a perfect way to celebrate. But by the time they rode up to the Humbolts’ cottage, she realized she’d reached the limit of her riding ability. Stacy, of course, noticed her fatigue even before she did.

“I should never have suggested such a long trip.”

“I will be fine.”

He lifted her off Dainty and she slid down the hard length of his body in a way that made him smile.

“None of that here,” he murmured, swatting her on her bottom just as Mr. and Mrs. Humboldt approached.

Stacy greeted the older couple in his quiet, dignified way and smiled down at the plump, slightly flustered woman. “Could I impose on you to take my wife inside and force her to rest, Mrs. Humboldt? She is in a delicate way but will not believe her husband knows anything of such matters.”

His words struck exactly the right note and the older woman bristled with pride at his request. Portia glared at Stacy’s triumphant smile as she was borne off to have cake and some of Mrs. Humboldt’s restorative potion.

She was actually grateful for a rest in the coolness of the cottage as the day had become warm. She spent a little over half an hour with the pleasant woman, who was delighted to expound, in vivid detail, on the gory trials of childbirth, having gone through the process no fewer than nine times. By the time Stacy came to fetch her, Portia was ready to scream.

The two men took a glass of homemade wine while they discussed the matter of roof repair and it was another quarter hour before Stacy stood and begged the Humboldts’ leave to get his wife home.