Page 32 of The Baron’s Halo

Chapter Thirteen

Brilliant autumn sunlight streaming across the bed woke Sandy next morning. He blinked sleepily and turned over to be confronted with the endearing sight of his wife, turned toward him, one hand cupping her cheek, her raven hair tousled over the pillow down onto her shoulder. It was a sight he’d enjoy waking up to for the rest of his life.

Sighing, he lay back on his pillow, the pleasant dream he’d awakened from of making love to his wife under an apple tree of all things was fading, although the residue of the erotic encounter could be seen in his rather painful erection. Likely also the result of his unsuccessful wedding night. He’d suspected they would need to spend more time together before Isabelle was ready to experience the true pleasures of the marriage bed, but that didn’t mean his own need was any less immediate. With a final look at his peacefully sleeping bride, Sandy slid out of bed and padded over to the door to the necessary. He didn’t want to disturb Isabelle when he could take care of this matter privately.

When he returned, a great deal more relaxed, he noted their uneaten dinner had been taken away by the servants, likely when they’d opened the drapes. He rang the bell, then headed to the dressing room and donned his gold and black silk dressing gown. Glancing in the room’s full-length mirror, Sandy grabbed a comb and ran it through his hair. It wouldn’t do for Isabelle to see him so disheveled. He hurried out just as the door opened, and the footman entered. “Yes, mi’lord?”

“Bring breakfast as soon as possible, George. I’m not certain what Lady MacKay requires, but for now, ask Cook to prepare tea and chocolate, some bannocks, eggs, sausage, and tattie scones. I think that will do us.”

“Yes, mi’lord.” George bowed and retreated.

Stretching, Sandy sauntered over to the bed, hopped up on it, then stretched out on top of the covers. Propping himself up on one hand, he settled in to watch his wife sleep. A lock of hair had fallen over her face and he reached out to move it out of the way. As he did so, her eyes fluttered open, grew round in fear, the irises a startling blue against the whites, then recognition hit and she relaxed again. “Good morning, husband.”

“Good morning, wife.” Even sleep tousled and apprehensive, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Once she came to trust him not to hurt her, as that brute had done, they would have a wonderful life together. “I’ve just ordered our breakfast served here, so if you need to visit the necessary, you have some time.”

Her cheeks pinkened, but she nodded and slithered out of the bed. Her feet made a thump as she hit the floor, then she hurried to the door on the right of the fireplace and disappeared from view.

Sandy lay back on the bed, hand over his head, fully aware that even the sight of Isabelle swathed in voluminous white linen and lace had aroused him so thoroughly, he might have to repeat his actions from earlier to get relief. That or upend the washing water over his head. And he had to admit that even cold water might not work to quench his ardor. Something about Isabelle simply made his hunger for her soar. Well, they’d never get through breakfast if he didn’t remedy his desire. Perhaps out of sight, out of mind. He hopped up off the bed and sped to the dressing room. After rummaging around for a moment, he pulled out the item he sought and went back to the bedroom.

Isabelle had returned and stood gazing about. “I wondered where you’d gone.”

“I thought we could eat at the table and you’d feel better with a dressing gown. Since you don’t have one of your own here yet, perhaps you’d like to use one of mine.” He opened the grey silk jacquard banyan and held it out for her. Sandy had grown tired of it several years ago, but hadn’t disposed of it yet. Now it could be put to good use.

“Oh, thank you, Sandy.” She immediately backed toward him, her derriere swaying temptingly as she walked backward with care.

Sandy gulped but held the dressing gown out for her until her arms slid into it. She wrapped it around her, tying the belt with a flourish.

“How do I look?” Stretching her arms out, she smiled charmingly as she spun around.

With more than a little difficulty, Sandy bit back a groan of pure lust. “As beautiful as always my dear.” He led her quickly to the table and pulled out her chair. If she was hidden by the table, it might help a little. At least it would conceal his erection.

“Do you have something in mind to do today, my lord?”

If only she knew the true answer to that question, she wouldn’t be sitting there so calmly. Sandy shook that thought out of his head before answering. “As soon as breakfast is done, we will dress and vacate the bedchamber so the footmen can begin emptying my things out of the dressing room and putting them into the study. My father had shelves and hooks and a wardrobe or two installed for his clothing. Mine will fit there just as well. Then, I’m hoping Carnes and your luggage arrive before noon. While he is seeing to arranging my things, you can unpack to your heart’s content.”

“It does sound like a busy day.” She sighed. “I had hoped to spend some time with you. We are still getting to know one another.”

True, but he couldn’t control himself around her all twenty-four hours of the day. “And we will spend time together, love. We will have breakfast.” What else might be safe to spend time with her doing? “Then luncheon. And tonight, we will have a sumptuous dinner in the formal dining room again. I’ll instruct Cook to make it an occasion, with all her best dishes.” By then, they might be too full to think of amorous congress. Not that he’d ever been that full in his life. “You’ll enjoy it.”

“I want to enjoy time with you in other ways than just dining, Sandy. Can you think of something else we can do together?”

As Sandy stared at her, he could tell the exact moment she realized what she had just said.

Isabelle went red from the top of her cleavage to the tips of her petite ears. No telling what else might have turned red had breakfast not arrived.

The footman carried in the laden tray, set it on the bed and began to lay the table. In the process of setting the dishes, Isabelle’s embarrassment appeared to have subsided and she dug into the eggs and bacon, seeming to enjoy the bannocks particularly.

He helped himself to eggs and bannocks and the tattie scones, a favorite since he was a boy. Of course, there were many things he and Isabelle could do together that did not involve food in the least. Things he’d love to show her, but which would likely not be appreciated at this juncture. He’d give her another day to settle in and tonight they could try again to consummate their marriage.

If this slow approach to her apprehensions didn’t bear fruit soon, he’d be forced to renege on his marriage vows and go off to live like a monk. St. Paul had it right. It was better to marry than to burn. But as Paul likely never had a wife, he might not be the best authority on that advice. Especially not when being married was making him burn with passion all the hotter.

*

“You must give my compliments to Cook, Sandy. The woman has fed us gloriously and steadily throughout the entire day.” Isabelle preceded her husband into their bedchamber, scarcely able to climb the stairs after the delicious dinner of beef and veal, kidney pie, chicken in white wine sauce, and an untold number of side dishes and savories. She might have to resort to Grandmama’s nightgown again tonight if the tightness of her corset was any indication.

Making a beeline for the bed, Isabelle thought of one thing alone—sleep. She toppled onto the tall mattress, face first into the soft covers, feet still flat on the floor—a comfortable enough position that she might just fall asleep here and now. She sighed contentedly.

Her bliss was interrupted by the sudden sensation of someone leaning over her, pressing against her hoops. Then her husband’s voice whispered in her ear, “These clothes can’t be comfortable. Would you like me to help you out of them?”