They drove up to a quiet house as yet unprepared for their arrival. Some servant would have noted their approach; shortly a gaggle of footmen would dash out and Aynsley would proffer his formal greeting, but Braden was glad for a few moments of peace.
He stepped out of the door opened by the coachman and turned back for the boy. Mikhail crouched on his seat beside the nurse, silent as always.
“Come, child,” Braden said. “This is your new home.” Perhaps the nurse gave him a push, or the child couldn’t break the habit of obedience. He slid forward and allowed Braden to lift him to the ground. He clutched Braden’s hand, and Braden let himself pull the boy close.
“You’ll soon be used to it,” he said gruffly. “We’ve horses here, and room to run.”
He felt the boy looking up at him. Waiting. Perhaps hoping beneath that stillness. Braden had the sudden urge to take Mikhail to Cassidy at once, just so he could feel and hear her delight at the surprise he’d brought her.
“There is someone you’ll meet soon,” he told the boy, giving his hand a squeeze. “Someone you’ll like very much. But first the nurse will take you to your room, where you can rest.”
Mikhail’s hand was pried from Braden’s only with the greatest persistence by the nurse, who fussed and chattered at the boy all the while. Aynsley arrived, his movements less assured than usual. Braden gave instructions for the boys installment in the long-unused nursery.
Telford hurried down the stairs. “Welcome home, my lord,” he said. Braden almost would have called his tone uneasy.
“You’ve handled the matter of Dodd as I instructed?”
“Yes, my lord. All is in readiness.”
“Excellent. You may depart when you’re ready.” He gripped Telford’s shoulder. “I appreciate your efforts. I will make it worth your while.”
“It is my pleasure, my lord.” Telford backed away and strode off, leaving Braden with a sense of something not quite right.
But that was the old Braden’s pessimism, the voice he was determined to forget. He was home. He turned from the bustling footmen and followed the urgent dictates of his heart.
Cassidy waited for him in the entrance hall just within the door. She was very quiet. She didn’t run to him or fling herself into his arms. Her stillness made her seem years older than her age—or perhaps it was his time away that made him imagine a new dignity. Had she learned to be a lady in six weeks?
Not his Cassidy. She could not change. He wouldn’t let her. His desire came immediately, and with it the image of his wife naked in his arms, taking him into her supple body and whispering words he hardly dared believe were real.
“Cassidy,” he said, his voice husky with feelings unspoken. “I’m home.”
“Yes,” she said. Only that, as if they’d been married and indifferent to each other for decades. He heard her draw a shuddering breath. “I have something to tell you, before—”
He wished then that she were incapable of speech as he was of sight. He stalked up to her and swept her into his arms, becoming whole the instant he felt her heart beating against his own.
Home. This was home as it had never been; this was life, and promise, and happiness. He found her mouth and kissed her, thoughts racing ahead to the most efficient way of reaching their room and relieving her of her clothing. The dress was tight and corseted, one of Rowena’s selections. He hated it.
“Cassidy,” he murmured, kissing her hair and wishing it loose from the pins that secured it. He couldn’t hold that thick mass in his hands until they were alone upstairs. He wanted to stroke her skin and taste the nectar of her body, take her to ecstasy again and again. From this moment on he’d never be alone…
Her body went stiff and unresponsive in his arms. “You have to know, Braden,” she said. “We need to talk about it now.”
Smarting and perplexed, he released her and stepped back. “I’m delighted that you missed me so very much, my dear wife. What more could I ask after such a long journey?”