Page 93 of A Figure of Love

Gareth couldn’t help it, he threw back his head and laughed with pure joy.

∞∞∞

They lounged the rest of the day away, ordering their meals brought to their room. They made love, ate some more, and Serena dozed. She woke up once and found Gareth watching her.

“Don’t you ever sleep?”

He wound a strand of her hair around his finger. “You have lovely hair.”

Serena gave a mock shudder. “It must resemble a bird’s nest. It always does when I fall asleep with it wet.” Gareth looked impeccable, even when lying naked in bed. Especially when lying naked in bed.

“How soon will you marry me?”

Her heart leapt at his words but she cut him an arch look. “Nobody has asked me yet.”

He glanced up from her hair, his direct stare having the power to disconcert and strip her bare, even though they were naked in all other regards.

“Will you be my wife, Serena?”

She took the hand that was playing with her hair and brought it to her lips, kissing the smooth back of it, the gesture causing him to look ruffled. “I would be honored to be your wife, Gareth.”

He claimed her with a deep, tender kiss, leaving her breathless, as always.

“How soon will you marry me?”

She laughed. “You are relentless. Is this how you accumulated all your wealth?”

As usual, he took her words at their face value. “Declan tells me I can be single-minded, and often he does not sound as if he means it as a compliment.”

“Rest assured that I intended it as a compliment. You do have a rather singular ability to concentrate. I have seen some of that same characteristic in Oliver.”

He nodded, again taking a thick curl and playing with it. “He is a very clever boy. His work on the automaton he is building is well-conceived and thoughtful.” He glanced up at her. “Would you object to engaging a tutor for him?”

“I have wondered if I am doing him a disservice by keeping him close to me. His grandparents have offered to send him to school, but . . .”

“But you enjoy him too much to live apart.”

He was right—but should that be the determining factor for her son’s education? “What do you think would be best?”

He filled his lungs and let the air out slowly, his expression introspective. He was not a man to give quick, thoughtless answers to important questions, and her son was already important to him. Yet another thing she loved about him.

“I believe the benefit of such schools as Harrow or Eton is largely social. It is possible to engage tutors with far finer credentials than their poorly paid teachers. Your son would receive a better education at home, with us, but he would lack that ineffable something that binds the English ruling class together. You must decide if that quality—those connections—are worth doing without his presence in your life.”

As usual, he was correct and to the point.

“You mention the ruling class—but their control is no longer inviolable—as you and Mr. McElroy and dozens like you give daily proof. Perhaps my son’s association with you would benefit him more than antiquated bonding customs. Besides, he has his grandparents for that.”

He turned on his side and propped his head in his hand. “You will not tell them the truth now that you no longer rely on them?”

“That is not why I did not tell them, or at least not the main reason.” She traced the fascinating musculature of his stomach, smiling as his body jumped and tightened under her finger. He seized her hand and held it and she looked up into gray eyes that kindled.

“I would like to know this, Serena.”

Serena did not know if she could make him understand, and even if he understood, would he believe her? She looked into his patiently waiting face and knew she owed him that much.

“At first, I needed their help desperately. I was a woman expecting a child in a new country with no home or family and very little money. As strange as it might seem, they needed me, too. I was the last person to have seen their son, even that little piece I had of him was more than they had. And of course they believed I was carrying his child. It did not eliminate their grief, but it eased it. And then after Oliver was born?” She let out a sound that was half-sigh, half-groan. “Then it became even harder—now my son loves these people and feels like he belongs. Now I would be hurting him if the truth were known—especially if he learned he was the bastard child of a deserter, thief, and rapist.” Her mouth twisted with distaste. “Do you understand?”

Gareth still held the hand he had captured, and he was massaging it absently, which did not make his erotic stroking any less distracting.