A Dance in Moonlight (The Fitzhugh Trilogy) by Sherry Thomas Read Free Book Online Page B

figment of her imagination.
    She hummed those most famous bars of The Blue Danube, twirled about the room, and began packing.
     

     
     
    TWENTY MILES AWAY, at the manor in Henley Park, Lord Fitzhugh, Fitz to his friends, gazed down on his sleeping wife, who, presently, without opening her eyes, reached up and rubbed the palm of her hand against his stubbles.
    “You haven’t gone for your ride?” she murmured.
    He loved the sight of her unbound hair. For so long he’d only seen her hair properly coiffed. The sensuality of her hair—of her person—was still a revelation. “I can’t tear myself away from you.”
    She was trying not to smile too widely, holding on to her bottom lip with her teeth. “Exactly what an old married lady wants to hear from her husband when she wakes up in the morning.”
    She was only twenty-four years of age. And although they’d been married since she was sixteen, they had not consummated their marriage until recently. The consummation had made a difference, naturally. But the real difference had been made through almost eight years of affection, friendship, and common purpose.
    He had loved her long before he realized he had also fallen in love in with her.
    Now she opened her eyes and regarded him teasingly. “Get up, sir. You are the master of this house, sir. Duties await.”
    He was a most dutiful man, but on the first day of the rest of their lives, he was not about to let drainage, roofing, or factory reports get in the way. “And duties can wait a little longer.”
    She twirled a strand of her hair and peered at him from beneath her eyelashes. “Oh, so you mean it is time for marital duties again?”
    “It is always time for marital duties around here,” he teased her back, enjoying the flush in her cheeks. “But actually, my dear, I propose to whisk you away on holiday—a proper honeymoon.”
    Her eyes widened. “Really? Where?”
    “Shall we go back to Italy?” They’d once had a lovely, if platonic holiday on Lake Como.
    “We should. But we can’t afford to be gone that long—the Season isn’t finished and we still have to chaperone your sister.”
    “In that case, how about a quick jaunt to the Lake District?” They’d spent several weeks there after their wedding, but they’d been strangers with almost nothing to say to each other. “This time I will be a most solicitous bridegroom.”
    She wrapped her arms about him. “Yes, I adore the idea.”
    Then, after a moment, “I only wish Mrs. Englewood can be as happy as we are.”
    Another woman would little concern herself with the happiness of a rival who almost made away with her husband, but Millie, he knew, had always felt guilty for the pain she had caused Isabelle, even though she herself had never had a say in the selection of her bridegroom.
    “Hastings has promised to write her every other day. I cabled her sister yesterday, asking her to keep me informed of Mrs. Englewood’s welfare.” He wanted the very same, a sunny future for Isabelle, but there wasn’t much more he could do now without making an intrusive nuisance of himself.
    Millie sighed softly. “In that case, let me begin packing.”
    “Later,” he said, pulling away the sheets that covered her person. “Marital duties first.”
    “Yes, of course.” She wrapped one leg about his middle. “Marital duties always come first.”
     

     
     
    MY DEAR MR. FITZWILLIAM,
    I was not so drunk last night as to wake up this morning with rue and self-loathing. In fact, though the sight of the bright sun streaming into the house reminded me anew of the hopes I’d nurtured as little as twenty-four hours ago, I am in far less despair than I could have believed as little as twelve hours ago.
    I am grateful for your kindness and friendship, sir. And I can only hope that I will not flood your desk too liberally with missives. For in my relentless need to hold on to everything old, I have forgotten the joy of making new friends. And a friend of