Chapter 5
After the revelations of the evening, Anne had anticipated Leo might press the moment and claim his husbandly rights. A shivering sense of excitement and apprehension had accompanied her over the course of the night, that uneasy comingling of want and fear. Yet when they had lain side by side in bed, he had done nothing more than kiss her cheek before turning over and falling quickly, deeply asleep.
Leaving her again to stare off into the darkness, her mind churning.
This morning, she heard him stir, and the quiet exchange between him and his valet. She sat up when Spinner left the chamber.
“Did I wake you?” Leo frowned in concern as he tugged on the cuffs of his dark blue coat. Its slim cut emphasized the leanness of his form, the breadth of his shoulders, and with the early morning light seeping in beneath the curtains, he was a crisp, handsome herald of day.
I cannot believe I am married to this man.
“Last night gave me much to think about,” she said.
He drifted closer to the bed. She felt acutely conscious of her rumpled nightgown, her state of near undress, when he had armored himself in impeccable tailoring. She sat in bed, whilst he stood. Their inequality unsettled her.
“I would like to help,” she said.
“Help.” He spoke the word as if uncertain of its meaning.
She made herself meet his gaze. “You and I, we’re not precisely desirables amongst the ranks of Society. I have breeding and connection, but no wealth. You have fortune, but no pedigree. Each of us with something the other lacks. Before we wed, I was apprised by my father of the monthly allowance you settled on me.” The amount still stunned her. She could not possibly spend it within the course of twelve months, let alone one. “So you have given me what I lacked before our marriage, and I want to do the same for you.”
He raised a brow. “I want nothing given from obligation.”
“Not obligation—a desire to help.” She fought frustration. What a stubborn man, determined to see everything as a battle. “There are men of the gentry with whom you could form connections. Men of power and influence.”
“I know many of those men, and they’re little willing to accept me as one of theirs.”
“It’s in the approach. If you go at them head-on, they become cornered dogs, snarling and bristling. But a slower side advance might yield better response. Perhaps not a tail wagging, but at least a tentative sniff. That is far better than a bite.”
A smile tilted the corner of his mouth. “I believe you are calling these noblemen sons of bitches.”
She bit back a shocked laugh. “Some men of science theorize that humans are merely animals. I’ve been to assemblies—my conclusion is that animals are more civilized.”
“How do you propose we tame these savage dogs?”
“Through the bitches—I mean, the wives.”
“Bitches,” Leo confirmed.
Again, Anne found herself appalled ... and also thrilled by his candor. “A few morning calls on the right wives could secure us any number of advantages. Including invitations to private gatherings and dinner.”
Outsider Leo might be, but he recognized the benefit of dining with select company. Alliances fashioned over the roast, and confederacy shaped between after-dinner glasses of brandy. Anne actually disliked paying calls, and had found them exceedingly tedious when her mother dragged her along on them. Either the conversations were full of meaningless prattle, or else scandals were dragged forth with all the glee of a resurrectionist procuring a corpse.
“Seldom have I received dinner invitations,” he noted.
“Single men might not. There are advantages to marriage.”
His gaze, suddenly hot, raked over her, and she struggled to keep from folding her arms protectively across her chest. Yet deep within her, a quick flare of response ignited.
“I’m aware of some of the advantages,” he murmured.
Anne dropped her gaze. Last night, as he had slept, she stared at the shapes his body made beneath the bedclothes, their solidity and strength. He heated the bed far more than any warming pan, and as the night’s chill had seeped into the room, she had wanted to press herself against him. Only partly for warmth.
“Doors may open for you now. Married men are seen as more respectable than bachelors.” She traced the knotted pattern on the counterpane. “Less threatening, too.”
Leo made a soft noise, something akin to a laugh, though absent of any humor. “Perception and the truth seldom overlap.”
She glanced up. “Are you a threat?”
“To you, never.”
Some comfort in that, yet she did not miss what was couched in his response. But his gaze warmed as he looked down at her.
“You would do that—pay calls, wrangle invitations—for me?” He sounded bewildered, a man little used to kindness.
“We are married now. If we do not take care of each other, who shall?” It was more than matrimonial duty, however. She had heard the hurt throbbing beneath his words last night, the wounds that pained him still, despite, or because of, his pride. And pride Leo had in abundance. Not unlike the lion with which he shared a name.
Here was something she could provide for Leo. Something he could neither be born into nor buy. She discovered she wanted to give him something. For all the abundance of things in his home, his clothespress full of expensive garments, even those Hellraisers he called friends, he had very little truly his own, bestowed on him simply for the gratification of giving.
“I ...” He searched for words, perplexed. And then, “Thank you.”
Her cheeks heated, her pleasure intensified by the simplicity and honesty of his language.
With slow ceremony, he took her hand in his. Turned it so that her knuckles faced up. His gaze held hers, and she felt herself planted firmly where she sat, unable to move or even breathe. Then, unhurriedly, he bent and pressed his lips to the backs of her fingers.
It was not an unmannerly kiss. Not lascivious or coarse. Yet for all that, the touch of his firm, warm lips to her fingers sent dragon coils of hunger twisting through her. A contraction of want tightened between her thighs.
“I would say that you’re too good for me,” he said, his breath its own caress on her skin, “but I want good things.” With equal leisure, he released her hand and straightened. At the very least, the tightness in his jaw revealed that the courtly gesture had affected him, too.
For a moment, they simply stared at each other, spinning the fine threads between them into something stronger.
“I do have a request of you,” he said finally.
She nodded, eager.
His gaze shifted away and followed the thorny convolutions painted upon the wallpaper. “Ever since my father made his fortune and sent me away to school, I developed ... well ... one might call it an odd habit. A compulsion, you might say. I’ve become a collector. A collector of coins.”
“That does not sound very odd. Many men collect coins—ancient coins, or from other countries.” Her own father had been too lacking in resources to have anything remotely resembling a gentleman’s cabinet of curiosities. Rather than accrue small treasures, antiquities or animal bones, her father collected letters demanding payment. Occasionally, those debts would be paid.
“The coins I collect aren’t rare,” said Leo. “They’re quite ordinary. Except for the fact that they belong to other people.”
“I do not follow.”
Leo dipped his hand into his pocket and produced a handful of change. He set the coins upon the counterpane, arranging them beside her leg in a neat line. Commonplace currency: farthings, pennies, shillings.
“This.” He pointed to a sixpence. “Belonged to Lord Huyton. This.” He nudged a ha’penny. “Lord Feering’s.” Leo saw the question in her eyes, and answered, laughing, “I didn’t steal them. Merely asked for change and it was given.”