Chapter Twenty-Six

Petra awoke to the sound of church bells from the village church situated on the grounds of Ashton Court just inside the gates at the end of the driveway. She stretched and yawned in her warm nest beneath the covers, listening to the peeling bells summoning the faithful. She felt peaceful, rested, filled with a sense of well-being as if she’d had a night filled with delightful dreams. She hadn’t felt like this since the invasion of Westminster and even that memory couldn’t pierce her present delicious sleepiness.

Guy leaned over and kissed the tip of her nose. “Matins at eleven.”

“Everyone?” Instinctively she reached her arms around his neck, pulling him down to her. For the moment the distance between them disappeared and all was as it should be.

“Most probably.” He moved his mouth to hers, flinging one leg across her thighs as he came over her. He pushed up her nightgown with one hand, sliding his hand between her thighs, smiling against her mouth as he felt her warm, moist readiness. Still cocooned in the aftermath of sleep, he joined his body with hers, moving lazily inside her. Petra responded with a soft murmur of contentment, inhaling the sleep warmth of his skin, feeling her body respond of its own accord to this deliciously indolent union.

For long moments afterward they lay wrapped together in the warmth until Guy groaned and rolled away from her, kicking aside the covers. He stood up and stretched as Petra gazed at his naked body, relishing the ripple of muscle beneath the taut skin, the long, powerful thighs and the smooth planes of his back and belly. He moved to pick up his dressing gown from the end of the bed and shrugged into it, turning back to the bed as he did so.

“That is one very lascivious look, madam,” he observed.

“I can’t help it. That is one very lascivious sight,” she returned, pulling the pillows up behind her head as she reached for the bell to ring for Dottie and her morning tea.

Guy laughed and went into the bathroom. Petra listened to the sound of bathwater running and contemplated the day ahead. The luncheon was an open house affair, invitations issued to all the neighboring gentry, and guests would begin to arrive from church at the conclusion of the eleven o’clock matins.

“Good morning, my lady.” Dottie greeted her with a tea tray and a bright smile. “It’s another lovely day, quite warm for the time of year.” She set the tray down and went to open the curtains, letting in golden morning sunshine. “What will you wear to church?”

“Oh, something plainish,” Petra said, reaching for her teacup. “The pink shantung dress and jacket with the black trimming, I think, and the black felt hat with the pink ribbon.”