His mouth gave way to the first grin he’d had throughout this entire ordeal. And when she saw that snick winking at her, it warmed her. “I don’t like asparagus either.”
“Then we shall hope our feast is free of the abominable stalk.”
“Your feast,” he clarified, turning toward the door.
“You’re not staying?” When he shook his head, she took hold of his arm, adding hastily, “Then how will you know if I’ve eaten a single morsel?”
“Highness,” he warned, hesitating on the threshold.
The blanket chose at that instant to slip from her shoulders. Reed’s gaze flicked down the length of her, all the way to her bare toes peeking out beneath her hem, then took a slower path back up to her face, heating along the way.
She sensed he was weakening a bit, or perhaps that was just her knees. They’d gone a bit wobbly. Arguing with him always did this to her, only she hadn’t known what it was before.
She dared to take a step closer. Reaching out, she plucked at the cloth-covered button on his coat, looking up at him through her lashes. “Is it too much to ask for you to stay a little while longer?”
He swallowed, his hands flexing and unflexing at his sides as if he wanted to put something in his grasp. Her? She hoped so. He was looking at her lips as if he might devour them.
Instead, he bent down, grabbed the blanket, then wrapped it around her again. Yet he lingered in her breathable space, her lungs filling with his familiar scent. Then he lowered his head and—
The maid knocked on the door, the moment lost.
In quick succession, three servants entered, toting empty pails in each hand, and set about emptying, drying, and removing the tub. Then during all this, another set of servants brought a small round table and a pair of stools, along with a great quantity of food.
By the time it was all in place and the circus of servants had gone, Reed seemed to have resigned himself to dining with her. Better yet, with the fire toasty and the room so snug, he even started to shrug out of his coat. But then he paused, uncertain.
“By all means, continue,” she said, her voice slightly hoarse as her greedy gaze spied a hint of rippling muscle beneath the fine linen. It had been a long while since she’d seen him in his shirtsleeves. “I believe there are rules on propriety about this sort of thing. Simply put, it is much preferable for a man to remove his coat than to allow perspiration to dampen his brow.”
She was lying through her teeth. Though she must have sounded haughty enough to be convincing, for he stripped out of the garment and hung the coat on the peg behind the door. Now, if only she could think up a rule about removing one’s waistcoat . . .
“Is something amiss with my buttons, highness?”
Her gaze shot up to his, her cheeks flushing with guilt for mentally undressing him. “I thought I noticed a loose one. I would be happy to mend it for you.”
She was positively diabolical!
He ran an absent hand down his torso, testing the thread tension, and shook his head as he lowered down onto the stool opposite her.
Drat.
At first, Ainsley could hardly concentrate on the food. But then, after tasting the scrumptious roasted lamb and salted potatoes, she was suddenly ravenous. The red wine was delicious and full-bodied—a far cry from the watered-down libation she was used to drinking—and it pooled warmly in her stomach, humming through her veins.
She was more at ease. Here she was, in her nightdress, flush-cheeked and alone in her room with Reed, and she wasn’t thinking about propriety.
Her boundaries had fallen away, parting like the shroud of Lazarus when she’d opened the lid of the chest and saw that Reed had come for her. It was such a powerful thing—to feel as though she truly mattered to him. That he wouldn’t have simply turned around, walked away, and never looked back.
So much warmth filled her heart that it was nearly impossible not to move over to his side of the table and sit in his lap. And he made it more difficult by always touching her. Reaching across to fill her plate, he would pause to nudge her lace sleeve out of the way, or tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. And each time he put another spoonful of food on her plate, she pretended to bat his hand away, accidentally tangling her fingers with his, softly chiding him for fussing over her.
Would this be how they would spend their lives together?
She’d like to think so.
As the night drew on, they chatted about an endless array of topics, from what they both disliked about boiled chicken—the floppy, slimy skin—to tales of what it had been like growing up in their small villages.
Ainsley enjoyed hearing about the patrons who’d come to his father’s tavern. Though it didn’t escape her notice that his childhood stories ended when he reached the age of ten.
“Your eyes crinkle at the corners whenever you mention the tavern,” she said with a fond smile of her own. “You must have been happy then. It’s no wonder you chose a similar occupation to your father’s—providing food and drink and respite to whomever walks through your doors.”
“I come from a long line of men and women who labored with their hands to make a life for themselves,” he said proudly, but there was an edge to his voice, as if he thought she meant to slight him.
So she quickly said, “I find hard work of any kind admirable.”
He nodded absently and took a gulp of wine, but said nothing more.
She didn’t want their conversation to end there. She needed to know all about how he became the man he was. Therefore, she altered the topic. “You know, my uncle speaks of his days at university with such fondness, I often wish that I could have gone. I’m not much for listening to lectures, mind you, but I’m certain I would have enjoyed the libraries. What was your experience like?”
The light of mutual contentment in his gaze shuttered closed.
“Challenging.”
And that was all he gave her. Apparently, this was a tender subject, too.
Ainsley didn’t give up. She told him more about her life, talking about the number of disagreeable tutors she and her sisters had had, recounting tales of Jacinda’s mischief-making—which had caused at least two of them to leave before they’d fully unpacked their satchels.
Gradually, Reed opened up to her again, offering more enticing glimpses of his life.
The food was left forgotten as he told her of his own escapades as a lad. With a slow grin, he admitted to giving his mum a few gray hairs, and trying her patience.
Listening to his tales, Ainsley was a bit envious. She’d only flirted with the idea of rebelling. At least, until she’d declared war against her neighbor.
“I’m looking forward to meeting your mother,” she said honestly. “I only wish you could have met mine.”
“Do you think she would have approved of me?”
Ignoring the dubious lift of his brow, Ainsley thought for a moment. “Actually, yes. Both she and my uncle shared similar traits, always eager to be swept away by romance. I have a feeling that my mother would have found you quite dashing.”
“And your father?” Reed dropped his napkin on his plate, the flesh of his brow furrowing. “Come to think of it, is he someone that I should ask for—”
She shook her head. “Lord Frawley is not part of my life. We were unimportant to him. Invisible. Doubtless, if you ever happened to meet him and mentioned my name, he would only stare blankly at you.”
Abruptly, the wine lost its pleasant warmth. Perhaps trying to unearth commonalities they shared wasn’t the best idea.
Yet when she set down her glass, Reed reached across the table and took her hand in his. “Highness, if he has chosen not to be in your life, then he has only robbed himself of knowing one of the finest women in the world.”
His tender sentiment stole Ainsley’s breath.
“We don’t need to speak of our pasts anymore this evening,” he said, brushing his thumb along the small protrusions of her knuckles. “Besides, we have enough things
in common that you’ve no need to look for more.”
“That wasn’t what I was doing,” she argued, and his brows arched with skepticism.
Unwavering, he held her gaze. “We’ll be good together.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because we’re both stubborn and determined and hate the idea of failing. But, most importantly”—he paused to draw a breath—“when we set our sights on a goal, we put our hearts and souls into reaching it.”
Her throat felt tight, her heart lodged there. She swallowed. “It seems we have a good deal in common.”
“And there’s more, too,” he said, his voice dropping lower as he turned her hand over and traced the sensitive lines of her palm.
Yet, before he could describe the more to her—which she believed had something to do with how well their bodies fit together when they kissed—another knock fell on the door.
The servants had frustratingly impeccable timing.
A short while later, their dinner was cleared away and the servants gone. Moving to the open door, Reed reached for his coat.
At the thought of him leaving her alone, an unexpected spike of fear tore through her. “Surely, you’re not going to go now.”
“You need your rest. I saw how many times you tried to hide a yawn behind your napkin. You’re exhausted, as anyone would be after all you’ve been through.”
She didn’t want to think about it, especially not in the dark, alone in an unfamiliar bed. When she was awake and in control, she could keep her thoughts here in the present, and looking toward the future she hoped to have with Reed. But there was still part of her that feared her unconscious mind would be quick to put her back in that nightmare.
“I don’t feel sleepy, no matter what you say.” In that same instant, a huge yawn overtook her.
Reed chuckled and teased, “I’ll tuck you in, if you like.”
There were nights when she’d had scandalous dreams of him saying things like that, but this circumstance wasn’t what she imagined.
All she had to do was tell him that she was afraid and he would feel obligated to stay with her. But she didn’t want that. She needed him to stay because he wanted to.
“If I am tired, then I have you to blame for pouring the wine too heavily and keeping the fire too warm,” she said with feigned terseness. “Not only that, but I have a terrible pain in my neck because of you. After the way you held me in the carriage, I can only manage to turn my head at an awkward angle. Now, the only way I could sleep is if I were put in the same position.”
Reed looked to the tiny bed and back to her and frowned. “Highness, if you are asking me to lie down with you—”
“Asking you, indeed. You’re a wicked man. Of the two of us you’ve been the only one to speak of tucking me in that bed.” She sniffed, hoping he did not see through her pretense. “But I refuse to be cross with you after all you’ve done. And besides, we are getting married. Therefore, I shall allow you to hold me until I fall asleep. Just five minutes, or so.”
* * *
Three torturous hours later, Reed left Ainsley’s side. He’d never been so exhausted or aroused in his entire life.
It had not even taken her five minutes to fall asleep, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave her. Her bluster was all an act. Proof of that was the wide-eyed fear in her eyes when he’d moved to the door. So, he’d stayed.
He’d held her in bed, her warm body snuggled enticingly against him. Her sweet scent filling his every breath. For hours.
He’d soothed her with caresses along her back, brushed away the wispy hair that fell across her cheek, and traced the hand she’d splayed over his chest, but nothing more salacious. Not even when—in her sleep—her leg curled around his, her unbound breasts pressed invitingly against his side, and the heat of her sex called to him like a siren’s song.
Each time he’d dozed for a minute, he’d wakened to a raging erection, his hand drifting to her sweet bottom and his hips unconsciously angling toward hers. The soft, needy sounds she made in her sleep only made it worse.
Now, leaving her room, he was in agony. He’d never ached like this before. Walking with a normal stride was impossible. His bollocks were squeezed so tight they might have been in a vise. It was clear that he would have to take himself in hand if he was going to survive any more time with Ainsley curled up beside him. Or he was likely to lose his mind and take her inside the carriage.
At the thought, another hard-seated surge nearly crippled him. He jerked at the fastenings of his trousers, the weight of his cock springing free, stiff as a guidepost. Then, at last, he—
“Rain’s a coming, sir,” his driver said with a jarring rap on the door. “We should get a foot under us soon if we want to avoid washed-out roads.”
Damn and bollocks. Reed gripped the rearing beast and shoved it down, shifting uncomfortably as he refastened his trousers, calling back through the door. “Very good, Mr. Smith. Miss Bourne and I should be down shortly.”
“Oh, and a missive arrived with the Earl of Edgemont’s seal.”
The special license, Reed thought, glad to have that matter settled. He knew he could count on Edgemont. The earl was one of the better aristocrats—slow to temper and quick to laugh. A right solid fellow. “Just slide it under the door, thank you.”
Reed walked over to the washstand to splash water on his face. He gave himself a quick shave, hoping that by the time he finished making himself presentable, he’d have his ardor under control. Then he donned a cravat, tying it in the Oriental knot he’d practiced. And even pulled on a fresh coat before marching across the hall.
His knock was harder than he’d intended. A lot of things still were.
After a moment, she opened the door. In her nightdress, she looked sleepy and rumpled and far, far too beddable.
He gripped the doorframe, breathing in rosehips and almond blossoms and losing his mind.
“Rain is coming. We’ll marry without delay.” He frowned, not sure that made sense. And from the ragged, almost desperate, sound of his own voice, he might as well have added, “Now, here in the coaching inn. Beside that little bed.”
It was not the most romantic of proposals, by any means. If he’d had all his faculties in working order, he would have given her a flower and dropped to bended knee.
Damn it all, why had he not thought of that? She deserved to be wooed with flowers and confections and whatever else besotted fools were supposed to give the woman they loved.
“Since it hasn’t been three weeks from the reading of the banns, I presume you’ve obtained a special license?” she asked with her usual pragmatism.
Then her lips curved in a smile as if she knew that it drove him positively wild whenever she spoke to him all prim and proper.
Helpless, he caught himself listing forward, drunken with lust, until he was forced to steady himself. “I have . . . or, rather, your brother-in-law has. And I have a ring as well.”
He’d purchased it the day after he’d announced their betrothal, combing through dozens of rings at the jewelers until he’d found the right one. He could have bought the largest ruby and the most vulgar emerald he’d ever seen, but that was not the Ainsley he knew. Instead, he found something elegant and modest and forthright, like her.
“Then it is all arranged,” she said, her cheeks tinged pink. “You’ve been rather busy. So, I suppose I shouldn’t dawdle.”
“No,” he said inanely, already imagining her stripping out of her nightdress. Seeing her bite the corner of her mouth drove him to the brink of madness. It was all he could do to keep himself on this side of the threshold.
She turned to close the door, but hesitated. Her gaze shyly met his. “I should like children . . . if that is agreeable.”
He stared down at her, hoping he didn’t look as uncontrolled and hungry as he felt. He would give her a child nine months from the day—from the minute—if she asked. But he would not rush her. He was nothing if not patient. Even if it
killed him.
“Aye. I’d like that.”
“Then it seems, Mr. Sterling, you are about to have a wife.”
Before he could force himself to move away from the door, he reached out and caught her by the waist. Pulling her flush against him, he kissed her soundly, then set her back on her feet.
Chapter 25
“His wedding-day was named.”
Jane Austen, Emma
In a tiny church standing in the quaint hamlet of Knightsbury, Ainsley and Reed spoke their vows with the steady solemnity required of the moment. They held each other’s gazes as he slipped the most perfect gold band on her finger, and she became his lawful wife.
The elderly vicar patted Reed’s shoulder and said, “I never thought I’d see this day, lad.”
Only then did Ainsley realize that Reed had brought her to someplace familiar to him. This was not simply a random church, but a destination.
“I knew you wouldn’t believe it unless I were here in the flesh.” Reed unleashed a broad grin, tucking her against his side as if it was the most natural thing.
The vicar’s cheeks creased in a smile, his attention settling on her. “Mrs. Sterling, your husband’s as good as they come, but a mite mischievous from time to time. Most of my gray hair came from him and the way he’d—”
Reed cleared his throat. “I’m sure my wife”—he paused for a breath and glanced down at her, something akin to shock and wonder in his expression—“I’m sure my wife doesn’t want to hear the stories of the youth who ran wild here.”
“I wouldn’t be too certain, husband,” she said, simply because she could and liked the sound of it. “Perhaps I should like to hear every single one.”
The vicar laughed. “Yes, indeed. I knew it would take a strong woman to rein you in.”
Reed didn’t take offense, but turned toward the open window where the hard patter of rain swept in with a cool breeze. “Pity, it appears the storm will delay those stories. We’ll have to depart at once to make it home.”
Home. Ainsley liked the sound of that word from his lips. It held such quiet promise.
The Rogue to Ruin EPB Page 26