been empty for many hours. Perhaps most of the night.
Sighing, she rolled to her back, feeling the ache and soreness in her muscles. He might have abandoned her during the night, but before he left her, Richard had made love to her very thoroughly.
Physically, at least. The emotional intimacy had been lacking on both their parts. More on his than hers, she admitted, but that would change over time. She would see to it.
Washed and dressed, Juliet entered the morning room with trepidation tightening her chest, only to find it empty. She listened motionless as a blushing footman told her Mr. Harper was still abed, then added that the children had finished their breakfast and gone off on an extended walk with Mr. Barclay.
Dismissing the servant, she poured herself a cup of coffee. Sleeping alone, now breakfast alone. Was this to be the new routine?
Despairing at the thought, she took a bite of dry toast and tried to logically consider her options. She had just rejected the idea of casually wandering past the master suite when Richard strolled into the room. The toast dropped noisily from her fingers, landing beside her empty plate.
“Good morning, Juliet.”
“Bonjour, mari.” Her face heated at his puzzled frown. Goodness. Her nerves had prompted an idiotic impulse that had most assuredly backfired. “I apologize. You don’t speak any French.”
“Only enough to order a meal from a dinner menu. If it isn’t too long.” He paused. “And I’m not too hungry.”
Juliet smiled as a sense of relief spread through her. “I can read it well enough, but my accent is atrocious.”
“I thought it sounded rather pretty. What did you say?”
“Hello, husband.”
“Tres bien.” He nodded. “Bonjour . . .”
“Femme,” Juliet supplied. “Which I believe is correct. Though the direct translation could be ‘woman’ instead of ‘wife.’ I’m afraid we’ll both need lessons if we ever travel to France.”
“We can hire an interpreter,” Richard said dismissively.
Juliet smiled wanly. It was a logical solution, she supposed, but one she would never consider. Half the fun of traveling abroad was trying to speak the language.
He took the seat beside her and her eyes widened at the contents of his plate. Eggs, fried potatoes, bacon, kippers, toast with butter, and blackberry jam. He began eating with gusto and she found herself gazing at his mouth as he chewed, then swallowed.
Such a normal domestic moment, yet her mind was summoning an erotic image of his kisses last night—hot and raw and sweet. There were moments when they were together in bed that she felt as though he wanted to devour her with his lips and teeth and tongue, just as he was devouring his breakfast right now.
A wave of desire swelled through her as she remembered the feel of his mouth on her heated flesh and the wild pleasure he had evoked. It had been all-consuming, with an intensity she was looking forward to repeating. Soon.
“Is anything wrong?”
Startled, Juliet nearly fell from the chair. “No,” she squeaked. I am merely becoming a wanton lunatic while watching you eat your breakfast. Breakfast!
He considered her for a moment, then returned to his meal. Trying to keep her expression neutral, Juliet let out a quiet sigh.
“I wanted to discuss the renovations and redecorating plans for the manor,” he said, pushing away his empty plate. “There’s a great deal that needs to be done. Can you give me the name of the individual who created the master suite?”
Juliet lifted her cup, realized it was empty, then returned it to the saucer. “I designed the room, putting in the personal touches that appealed to Henry and me.”
Richard’s brow lifted. “I had no idea. I like it very much the way it is now, but naturally understand that you will want to make it over again.” He hoisted the silver urn and filled her cup.
“Why?” she asked as she stirred a spoonful of sugar in her coffee.
He gave her an astute look.
Sighing, she rolled to her back, feeling the ache and soreness in her muscles. He might have abandoned her during the night, but before he left her, Richard had made love to her very thoroughly.
Physically, at least. The emotional intimacy had been lacking on both their parts. More on his than hers, she admitted, but that would change over time. She would see to it.
Washed and dressed, Juliet entered the morning room with trepidation tightening her chest, only to find it empty. She listened motionless as a blushing footman told her Mr. Harper was still abed, then added that the children had finished their breakfast and gone off on an extended walk with Mr. Barclay.
Dismissing the servant, she poured herself a cup of coffee. Sleeping alone, now breakfast alone. Was this to be the new routine?
Despairing at the thought, she took a bite of dry toast and tried to logically consider her options. She had just rejected the idea of casually wandering past the master suite when Richard strolled into the room. The toast dropped noisily from her fingers, landing beside her empty plate.
“Good morning, Juliet.”
“Bonjour, mari.” Her face heated at his puzzled frown. Goodness. Her nerves had prompted an idiotic impulse that had most assuredly backfired. “I apologize. You don’t speak any French.”
“Only enough to order a meal from a dinner menu. If it isn’t too long.” He paused. “And I’m not too hungry.”
Juliet smiled as a sense of relief spread through her. “I can read it well enough, but my accent is atrocious.”
“I thought it sounded rather pretty. What did you say?”
“Hello, husband.”
“Tres bien.” He nodded. “Bonjour . . .”
“Femme,” Juliet supplied. “Which I believe is correct. Though the direct translation could be ‘woman’ instead of ‘wife.’ I’m afraid we’ll both need lessons if we ever travel to France.”
“We can hire an interpreter,” Richard said dismissively.
Juliet smiled wanly. It was a logical solution, she supposed, but one she would never consider. Half the fun of traveling abroad was trying to speak the language.
He took the seat beside her and her eyes widened at the contents of his plate. Eggs, fried potatoes, bacon, kippers, toast with butter, and blackberry jam. He began eating with gusto and she found herself gazing at his mouth as he chewed, then swallowed.
Such a normal domestic moment, yet her mind was summoning an erotic image of his kisses last night—hot and raw and sweet. There were moments when they were together in bed that she felt as though he wanted to devour her with his lips and teeth and tongue, just as he was devouring his breakfast right now.
A wave of desire swelled through her as she remembered the feel of his mouth on her heated flesh and the wild pleasure he had evoked. It had been all-consuming, with an intensity she was looking forward to repeating. Soon.
“Is anything wrong?”
Startled, Juliet nearly fell from the chair. “No,” she squeaked. I am merely becoming a wanton lunatic while watching you eat your breakfast. Breakfast!
He considered her for a moment, then returned to his meal. Trying to keep her expression neutral, Juliet let out a quiet sigh.
“I wanted to discuss the renovations and redecorating plans for the manor,” he said, pushing away his empty plate. “There’s a great deal that needs to be done. Can you give me the name of the individual who created the master suite?”
Juliet lifted her cup, realized it was empty, then returned it to the saucer. “I designed the room, putting in the personal touches that appealed to Henry and me.”
Richard’s brow lifted. “I had no idea. I like it very much the way it is now, but naturally understand that you will want to make it over again.” He hoisted the silver urn and filled her cup.
“Why?” she asked as she stirred a spoonful of sugar in her coffee.
He gave her an astute look.
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