“You’re my husband,” she said shakily, and she knew they both noted how she’d evaded his question.
“I am indeed.” The sternness returned to his voice.
Hugh left the bed and stalked about the room, blowing out the candles, until only the glow of the fire remained. Jane gulped and told herself she’d only sound more of a fool than she did already if she asked him to bank it. The night was cold, and the big room needed heating.
There was enough light to reveal the offended set of his shoulders and the annoyed briskness of his hands when he tugged at the sash holding his dressing gown closed. Trepidation jammed in her throat, as she waited for him to remove the robe.
He sent her a glance, unreadable in the shadows, but she guessed it was impatient. The dressing gown remained in place, although hanging loose, it hinted at the mysteries beneath in a way that fed both her nerves and her curiosity.
Despite the chill in the air, she flung aside the blankets and lay back. But even as she fortified her courage, she couldn’t help the catch of her breath when he stood beside the bed.
His body blocked the firelight, so she couldn’t see much more than a big, dark outline. She’d hoped to feel braver if she wasn’t watching his every move. It hadn’t worked out that way.
“Spread out like a proper little virgin sacrifice,” he said flatly.
She didn’t try to hide her wince. “You said you wanted to do this.”
“I did,when I thought you were willing.”
“I’ve done nothing to deny you.” Well, apart from that moment she’d stiffened in his arms, but even then, she hadn’t asked him to stop.
“So why do I feel like a villain from a play?”
She bit her lip and avoided answering. “Would you like me to take my nightdress off?”
“Do you want to?”
Not at all. In fact, right now, she wished she’d stuck to her guns and moved to Weymouth for a spinsterish life of good works and afternoon calls. But it was too late to regret her choices.
“I want what you want,” she said miserably, curling her fingers into the bedding and biting back a demand for him to get on with it.
“Wrong answer.”
Tears blurred her eyes. Jane had no idea what the right answer was. She should have known she’d botch this. Bitterness surged when she recalled the few moments earlier today when illusory hope had lifted her heart.
To her mortification, when she inhaled, her shakiness was clearly audible. She blinked frantically up at the firelit shadows dancing on the ceiling.
“Hell.” Hugh ran his hand through his hair again. “I’m a deuced callous brute. Please don’t cry, Jane.”
“You’re not a callous brute,” she said thickly.
“Yes, I am.” He sat on the edge of the bed but to her relief, didn’t try to touch her.
“I’ve failed you.” Her voice was scratchy, as she fought back the urge to howl like an abandoned baby.
“No, you haven’t. I expected too much.”
“You’re being nice, when really you shouldn’t be. This hasn’t been the wedding night you wanted.”
Something about the shape of his body in the darkness reassured her that right now he had no designs on her. Gingerly she sat up and rested against the headboard.
“It’s had a few compensations,” he said drily.
Now that it seemed she was safe—which was a telling word to choose to describe her failure as a bride—what he said made her recall his kisses. She’d been so frightened and overcome. But in retrospect, the power of what she’d felt set off another of those heated ripples.
Surely she couldn’t be regretting that he’d stopped. At the time, all she’d wanted was for it to be over.
Well, perhaps not all she’d wanted.
Because now that the passionate stranger was gone, replaced by the cordial companion she knew, she could admit that she’d been afraid of the pleasure, not that Hugh would hurt her.
“Shall I lie down again?” she asked, although the charged atmosphere had receded.
He shook his head. “We have all our lives ahead, Jane. Perhaps this isn’t the beginning we’d choose, but we have good will and friendship.” He paused. “We have, haven’t we?”
“Of course.”
He caught her hand and lifted it to his lips again. Stupid, now he’d given her a reprieve, to suffer a pang of longing at the contact.
He lowered her hand. “Then that’s enough for now.”
Even through her relief, she didn’t believe that. However much he loved Morwenna, for a brief space tonight, he’d desired his wife. But she was wise enough not to argue.
“Yes,” she said, her voice reedy.
He released her and stood. “I’ll sleep in the dressing room, and we’ll talk tomorrow.”
Even more stupidly, she regretted that he let her go. Henwitted as the notion was, she couldn’t help thinking that nothing could hurt her when Hugh held her hand. She’d felt like that, even as a little girl. She licked dry lips. “You can…you can stay if you like.”
His snort was dismissive. “Definitely not a good idea, Jane.”
“The…the bed in there won’t be as comfortable as this one.”
Why on earth was she pushing this? She wanted a chance to find her feet in this marriage before he touched her again, and Hugh appeared willing to give that to her. She should just shut up and let him go.
“I wouldn’t say that,” he said drily.
“Oh,” she said, feeling useless and awkward. And guilty. “I’m so sorry, Hugh.”
“Please stop apologizing. It’s not the end of the world.”
Right now it seemed like it. Had her stupid jitters destroyed any hope of making a success of her marriage? The silence extended, turned heavy with so much she’d like to say, but couldn’t.
I wish you weren’t in love with another woman.
I wish we could start with a clean slate.
I wish I wasn’t your second-best bride.
Hugh bent his head in an oddly courtly gesture. “Good night, Jane. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Good night, Hugh,” she whispered, watching him leave the room. The slump of his shoulders reeked of defeat. He, too, must wonder where they went from here.
She felt a mad urge to call him back. But what would be the point? He wanted a passion that promised oblivion, and she wanted something much more prosaic. Somewhere they’d have to find a meeting place. There were those children he planned on having, after all.
Even once he’d gone, Jane sat staring after him. Although Hugh had done his best all day to hide it, she had no doubt that he regretted that she wasn’t his beloved Morwenna. She harked back to his honesty about his lost love when he’d proposed. Part of her wished that he’d deigned to lie. Even just a little.
Devil take her. She needed to stop moping. She’d vowed that she wouldn’t torture herself over Morwenna. She’d also vowed—publicly and before God—that she’d be a good wife to Hugh. On both counts, she’d fallen short.
“You can do better, Jane,” she said aloud, but the bracing command didn’t help to raise her spirits. Instead she felt inadequate and unfair.
And as she stared into the darkness, mostly she just felt…lonely.
*
Chapter Ten
*
Garson shifted yet again to try and find a comfortable position on the cramped bed in the dressing room. The cot was meant for a servant who traveled with the people sleeping in the main chamber. A valet or a maid. Not a huge brute like him. And definitely not a bridegroom who had every right to be enjoying his bride.
He bit back another curse and rolled over so that his feet stuck off the end. Tugging the blanket high about his shoulders didn’t help much against the cold night.
He could have stayed next door, but he didn’t trust himself to lie beside Jane without taking her. Shuddering, he recalled her spread out across the bed like a doll. The only color had been that magnificent fall of
deep red hair, almost black in the firelight.
He’d be no gentleman to insist on his way, when she was so obviously afraid. But the sight of her arrayed for his use had made his cock stand hard and eager.
Damn it, he didn’t want his wife’s first experience of a man to be a matter of duty and discomfort. Especially as when he kissed her, he’d glimpsed something altogether sweeter.
Garson had approached his wedding night with no great anticipation, but when Jane had been so beguiling, a storm of desire had swept him up. All the more powerful for being unexpected.
Then, like a fool, he’d taken her responses for granted and frightened her. Now he lay alone and wakeful and bloody frustrated, a whole room away.
Had he scared her to a point where he’d never again awaken her passions? There were women who couldn’t or wouldn’t respond to a man. Was Jane like that? Surely not. She’d always been reserved. A shy little girl had grown up to become a self-contained woman. But he’d never believed her self-effacement signaled a lack of warmth, just a natural reticence and a lack of confidence, encouraged by that witch Susan who monopolized any available attention.
No, he’d wager every acre of his estate that Jane wasn’t cold, just uncertain and innocent. She needed careful handling, when so far, all he’d done was lumber around like a drunken yokel.
Despite his discomfort, a reminiscent smile tilted his lips. His wedding night might have proven a dismal failure, but he saw the promise of better things to come.
He just needed to overcome his wife’s fears and make her want him.
*
Much against expectations, Jane slept deeply and late. After all that turmoil, she’d been convinced that she’d see the dawn. But when she opened her eyes, the morning was well advanced. Sheer exhaustion had triumphed over turbulent emotions and a troubled spirit.
As one of the inn’s maids helped her dress, last night’s events took on a dreamlike quality. It was hard to believe that Hugh had kissed her to the verge of madness. But when she entered the sitting room and found her husband in his shirtsleeves, reading the London papers, her stomach lurched and her heart started to race. She couldn’t help remembering how he’d touched her.
Studying the man she’d married, she acknowledged that Caro Nash was right. Hugh was worth the effort.
He sat turned away from her, his armchair in a pool of winter sunshine. In profile like this, he looked like a knight in an old engraving.
Last night, he’d been a knight, too. In the light of day, she could appreciate his extraordinary chivalry. He hadn’t shouted at her. He’d even seemed to understand her uncertainty. And he’d left her to sleep alone.
He lowered the broadsheet and met her apprehensive regard. To her surprise, he smiled. A proper smile. She knew him well enough to recognize the difference.
“Good morning, Jane. How did you sleep?”
Not sure how to respond, she shifted from one foot to the other. She was as uncomfortable as she’d be if he’d used her body last night. “Good morning,” she said shakily.
She’d wondered whether he’d be angry, now he’d had time to stew on how she’d reneged on their arrangement. But he seemed just the same as always. Easygoing. Polite. Considerate.
He folded away the paper and rose to cross the floor toward her. He extended his hand and without thinking, she accepted it. More warmth and that inescapable ripple of awareness. Awareness deepened by her recollection of how she’d felt lashed tight in his arms.
Something that looked like masculine interest flickered in his dark eyes. She blushed.
As if it was the most natural thing in the world—which she supposed it was, given they were married—he brushed his lips across her cheek. “You’re looking lovely.”
It was a chaste salute. Not like last night’s hungry kisses. But her blush deepened, and her stomach gave that odd lurch again. Her knees wobbled, and she tightened her hold on his hand.
“Th-thank you,” she stammered, and didn’t think to argue with his compliment. Although she’d changed into one of her plain, unfashionable gowns ready for travel, and her mirror had told her that the strain of the last days showed on her face.
In a daze, she let him lead her to a table set for breakfast. For two.
She cast him a curious glance under her lashes. “Did you wait for me?”
How pitiful that this seemed such a concession on his part. Nobody had ever adjusted their habits to fit in with her before.
“Naturally.” Still holding her hand, Hugh took the seat cornerwise. She was staring at him like a moonling, when a pair of servants, including the maid who had helped her dress, arrived with their meal.
When Mary bestowed a misty-eyed glance on the newlyweds holding hands over the breakfast table, Jane blushed again. Which must only make her look more bridal.
Once she and Hugh were alone again, she made herself face him. “I promise I’ll do better.”
He paused in serving her some breakfast and shot her a searching look that pierced her to her bones. “No, the fault was all mine.”
He slid a plate piled high with eggs and bacon and sausages in front of her, then he served himself. Jane stared glumly down at her breakfast. “You know that’s not true.”
“Yes, it is. But I have a plan to fix things.”
Startled, she glanced up. “You have?”
“Once we’ve had breakfast, I’ll tell you about it.”
“Can’t you tell me now?”
His lips twitched into a smile. Looking at his mouth made her think of his kisses. Her blood thickened and beat so hard that she almost missed what he said next.
“I’ll tell you when you’ve eaten something. You’re fading away before my eyes.”
“Hardly,” she said. “You fed me last night.”
“A mere snack.”
“I’m not five years old anymore, Hugh,” she said with a hint of vinegar.
The smile widened. “I’m well aware of that, my lady.” His voice deepened into sincerity. “Yesterday, I promised to cherish you. I know for years, it’s been Jane Norris as the lone warrior, fighting her own battles. But it doesn’t have to stay that way.”
She stiffened in her chair and fought back an absurd desire to cry. She hadn’t known Hugh had guessed so much about her life at Cavell Court. Because that was exactly how it had been.
“Curse you.” Her voice was scratchy. “What am I supposed to say to that?”
His eyes softened to the brown velvet that always tangled her heart into a knot. “‘Yes, Hugh. I intend to eat all my breakfast.’”
She hoped he didn’t hear the crack in her laugh. But to her surprise once she took her first mouthful, she was hungry. Her husband had no qualms about devouring his meal. Their difficult first night together clearly didn’t prey upon him the way it did on her.
Of course it didn’t. He might be disappointed that he’d missed the chance to plant a child in her womb, but otherwise, nothing of great significance had happened.
Stop it, Jane. You’ll go mad if you think like that. You’ve made your bed. Now you must lie on it.
With Hugh.
This morning, that prospect didn’t seem quite as intimidating as it had yesterday.
She’d entered this room eaten up with embarrassment and remorse. But Hugh’s relaxed manner gradually made her view last night’s events not as high tragedy, but as a step on the way to establishing their life together. A scene in a domestic comedy, perhaps.
*
Garson watched Jane pick up her coffee and wander across to the open window overlooking the bustling street. It was market day, and Salisbury was crowded. The cacophony from outside rose to their room.
She craned to see something below her, then laughed.
“You should do that more often,” Garson said from the table.
Her face alight with amusement, she turned to him. “What?”
“Laugh.”
The sparkle faded from her eyes. “Life has been dea
dly serious lately.”
“I know.” He hated to think of the toll the last years had taken on her.
In her drab, gray dress, she should look like the little mouse who had accepted his proposal. Except she hadn’t been a mouse then either, had she? Despite her grief, the woman at Cavell Court had carried an indefinable air of authority.
The list of his damn fool assumptions grew by the day.
Jane was plain and unassuming? No, she was pretty and intriguing.
He only wanted his wife because he needed a child? Tell that to the poor sap mad for her last night.
Most galling of all to his self-satisfaction was the asinine idea that seducing his new bride would pose no problems. With bleak amusement, he looked back on his simplistic expectations. He’d assumed marriage would require no major changes to his habits. A mere day after his wedding, and he already foresaw a host of complications. Not least his hunger for the bride he’d chosen purely for his own convenience.
Jane proved to be many things. So far, convenient wasn’t one of them.
He needed to change his definition of his wife from ordinary and cooperative, to fascinating and troublesome and devilish appealing. No wonder he was floundering. He cringed as he admitted that he’d planned to buy a workhorse, and instead found himself in charge of a Thoroughbred.
Curious to discover what caught her attention, Garson rose to stand beside her at the diamond-paned window. When she didn’t shrink away, it felt like a victory. Earlier, she’d looked ready to bolt. His attempt to lower the room’s emotional temperature seemed to be succeeding.
“What’s happening out there?”
She pointed to where a brindle mongrel raced through the market with a string of sausages dangling from its mouth. A fat man in a blood-stained apron, clearly the butcher, lumbered after the dog, but the animal was going to get away with his thievery. “It’s so interesting to have all this activity going on around us.”
As Garson surveyed the frankly provincial gathering, a vague idea solidified. “You’d like to see more of the world?”
Lord Garson’s Bride Page 7