Sexy as Hell (2010) by Johnson Susan

Author:Johnson, Susan [Susan, Johnson,]
Format: epub
Publisher: Berkley
Published: 2011-01-14T19:13:46.109000+00:00

CHAPTER 14

AN HOUR LATER, Oz was leaning back in his chair, his half-lidded gaze on Isolde seated at the distant end of a long table, the huge room quiet save for the sound of her spoon occasionally striking the side of her dish. “Do you always dine so formally?”

“In traveling clothes, you mean?” she answered with a smile.

“Should I have changed?” Quizzical and light as down.

“It didn’t sound as though you were inclined to wait.”

His brows lifted. “So you normally adhere to ceremony.”

She shook her head. “The staff is showing off for you. Or were.” Oz had dismissed the footmen once coffee and dessert had been served. “I usually dine in the breakfast room. It’s smaller, cozier, and my dozens of ancestors are not looking down their noses at me.”

“I’m relieved.”

“You don’t stand on ceremony?”

“A waste of time. Speaking of which—are you finished eating?”

“Are you?”

“Long ago. I’ve been observing the courtesies. That’s your third dessert.”

“I, on the other hand, haven’t been counting your brandies.”

“I applaud your restraint. So?”

She smiled. “Such impatience.”

“On the contrary, I’ve been exceedingly patient. You could take that blancmange with you if you like.”

“I might.”

“Excellent.” He pushed his chair back and stood.

Setting down her spoon, she watched him walk toward her, serenely smiling, relaxed, his tall form gilded by lamplight. “Would you think me absurd if I said I’m feeling different about”—she half lifted her hand—“this.”

“Sex?”

“Now that I’m home,” she rapidly finished as he stopped beside her.

He picked up her spoon and bowl of blancmange. “Let me change your mind,” he gently said.

The house was strangely empty of staff as they made their way to Isolde’s bedroom. “Did you say something to the footmen when you dismissed them?” she asked. “There’s not a soul in sight.”

“I said we’d be retiring soon. Did I put them to the blush?”

“How exactly did you say it?” A maid or footman could generally be seen in the midst of some task or errand.

“Politely. Unlike, I might add, your Will’s belligerence.”

“He’s not mine, but point taken.” She abandoned the subject. Oz was her husband, at least in her staff’s eyes; he could issue orders as well as she.

Oz had no intention of pursuing the discussion either, and as they made their way to Isolde’s bedchamber, he politely inquired about the various portraits they passed, about the date of a splendid solarium they walked through, why she’d chosen so small a bedroom for herself. The last query uttered as he stood on the threshold of her childhood room.

“We’ll need a larger bed,” he said once she’d explained. “I’ll have one sent up from London if you don’t mind. One with bunny rabbits painted on it,” he added with a grin. “Although that might take an extra day or so.”

“Very humorous. I like my old bed.”

“I might too if I could stretch out my legs. What of your parents’ rooms, or is that—”

She wrinkled her nose.

“I understand. Surely in a house this size you have other choices. Perhaps some state rooms are available? Queen Elizabeth must have slept here once or twice; she did in every other Tudor mansion, I’m told.

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