“Very much.” She turned away from the hubbub below to study him. “In recent years, I’ve been no further than the cattle sales in Exeter. I couldn’t leave Papa for long periods. You’ve wed a woeful rustic.”
How lonely her life had been. Pure drudgery. Her delight in Salisbury’s limited entertainments was proof of that. His plans firmed. “I’ve been thinking about what we should do.”
When the ease drained from her expression, he damned his unintentionally ambiguous statement. Her wariness was familiar from last night. “Oh?”
The tight little syllable made him want to curse, although a display of temper wouldn’t advance his case. “I meant our wedding trip.”
Of course he’d thought about last night, too. But he needed extreme care to negotiate his way through that thorny subject.
Her shoulders lowered, but her eyes remained watchful. “Aren’t we going north to Beardsley? “
He’d intended to rush her back to his estate, but now he reconsidered. Last night, she’d obviously felt completely overcome. Taking her to a new home where she’d feel even more at a disadvantage didn’t seem the wisest move.
Perhaps if they lingered on neutral ground, she might reconcile herself to becoming his wife more easily.
“I was wondering if you’d like a holiday first. This part of the country offers plenty of attractions, and the inn is good. We could stay a few days, take in the sights.”
“Stonehenge is only a couple of miles away. It seems a pity to miss seeing it.” She looked thoughtful. “Are you sure? You seemed so eager to go back to Derbyshire.”
He had been, when he’d thought Jane would fit into his life like a doll put inside a box. “I’d enjoy a short honeymoon.”
She looked strained once more. The connotations of a honeymoon clearly remained unappealing.
By God, he intended to change that before too long.
“It’s not the best weather,” she said.
“We’ll manage. If you like the idea.”
She considered briefly, then nodded. “I do. Thank you.”
He stepped closer and noticed her subtle shift away. He had so much work to do to make up for being such a dunderheaded oaf last night. “Then I’d like to go to London.”
“London?”
He took her hand. She never objected to that. “We could buy you some new dresses and go to a few parties. The season is starting, so I can introduce my lovely bride to society.”
“If you think so.”
He’d expected her to applaud his suggestion, but she seemed hesitant. “If you want to avoid society and just take in the sights, that’s fine, too. We’re newly married. People will grant us some privacy.”
She shot him a mocking glance. “As if we’ll be allowed to hide away. All your friends must be dying of curiosity about the woman you married.”
She was right. “Will you mind?”
“I’ll have to face them some time,” she said. “Probably better sooner rather than later.”
“Good girl.” He stared hard at her. “There’s something else we need to face, you know.”
“What happened last night,” she muttered, withdrawing her hand. Her reluctance to broach this subject couldn’t be clearer, if she’d shouted it from the rooftops.
“Yes. Can you bear to talk about it?”
“If we must.”
He studied this woman who proved more complex—and more interesting—by the minute. “What happened, Jane? Tell me, so there are no misunderstandings.”
He liked it when she blushed. The pink rising under her clear white skin made her look about sixteen. “I hadn’t expected…”
He waited patiently, although he guessed what was to come.
Jane bit her lips and cast him a nervous glance before she looked out the window again. He’d wager that this time, she didn’t see much on the busy street. “Must I say?”
He decided to help her. “You felt desire, and it scared you.”
When she looked back, her gray eyes were troubled. “Of course.”
“It’s good that you desire your husband.”
“Not when…” She bit her lip again, then went on in a rush. “Not when we’re strangers.”
Garson bit back a curse, although he’d diagnosed the issues pretty accurately. The question of how to solve them remained. “You’ve known me all your life, Jane.”
“But not like…this.”
No, not like this. His hunger had shocked him, and he was a sophisticated man. Jane was a complete innocent. No wonder she’d recoiled from a fire that threatened to rage out of control.
“I’d like to make a bargain.”
The wary look remained. “Oh?”
“Yes, another bargain.” Despite the fraught atmosphere, he hid a smile. “One that I hope you’ll like better than the one we made three weeks ago.”
“I don’t dislike that bargain. I just had a…a failure of nerve.” She sounded as if she faced the hangman. Avoiding his eyes, she plucked at her skirts.
“I rushed you into this.”
“You’re sorry that you married me?” She looked stricken. “I can’t blame you. I’m acting like such a ninnyhammer.”
“Oh, sweetheart, no,” he said urgently, catching those busy fingers. “I’m pleased as Punch with my choice of bride.”
Typical of Jane, she didn’t look convinced. “You’re just being kind.”
Garson squeezed her hand. “On my honor, I mean it. Now I have to convince you that you’ve made the right choice.”
“It’s too late to change my mind.”
He winced theatrically. “That sounds bad.”
“No, I mean that I intend to make the best of our situation.” She raised her chin. “I won’t be difficult tonight.”
“Damn it, Jane,” he bit out, resenting the stony purpose in her tone.
She pulled her hand free. “I don’t understand what you expect,” she said sadly. “I thought I did when you proposed. But everything has changed.”
Because he’d discovered he wanted her. He believed that if he was careful and clever and lucky, he could make her want him back. Good God, she’d wanted him last night. Otherwise she wouldn’t be so skittish.
“Is that necessarily a bad thing?”
She faced him, slender and gallant in the sunlight pouring through the window. “It is, if I can’t give you what you need.”
“That’s true for my part as well. I don’t want you unhappy.”
She made a helpless gesture. “So here we are, full of good intentions, but with no way to fulfill them.”
Ah, at last his moment arrived. “That’s not true. What you need is time to get to know me, as a husband, not a friend. In short, Jane, I aim to give you a proper courtship.”
*
Chapter Eleven
*
“But we’re married.” Baffled, Jane frowned. “Courtship after the fact seems redundant.”
Why in heaven’s name was she raising any objections? Hugh suggested a delay in marital relations. Last night, this would have felt like rescue. Today, perhaps not so much.
The hint of tenderness in his smile set her wayward heart wobbling. “We’ve done everything else in a topsy-turvy fashion, so why not? You need to get used to being my wife.”
She sank into an armchair near the fire. “A reprieve?”
When he sighed, she realized she’d been less than tactful. Again.
“If you like.” Hugh returned to the chair where he’d been reading the paper. “The decision about what happens next is yours. I’ll only come to your bed when you ask me.”
“What on earth…” Surprise made her stutter. While she should like the sound of this arrangement, she wasn’t sure that she did. “But my fears might grow.”
He leaned forward and linked his hands between his knees. “I hope they won’t.”
“It will be like waiting for an ax to fall.”
“For me or for you?”
“For me.”
To her surprise, he burst out laughing. “Don’t mind my feelings.”
She shot him an unimpressed glance. “You know what I mean.”
“Unfortunately I do.” His humor faded, and he sat back, gaze unwavering. “Which makes the rest of what I want to say even more important.”
“Oh?” she asked suspiciously.
His lips twisted. “This won’t be any common courtship.”
“Given I’m your wife, it could hardly be that.” She spread her hands. “You’ve already read the last chapter of this book, Hugh. The hero and heroine get together at the end.”
The gleam in his eyes stirred an echo of last night’s wanton feelings. “But how do they get together? I’m hoping for a blissful happy ending.”
Not likely when he loved someone else. She surged to her feet, a protest rising to her lips. Then she reminded herself how accommodating he was, given he’d spent his wedding night alone in the dressing room.
“How do we manage that?” Jane only just stopped herself from finishing that question with “impossible goal.” She had to give Hugh points for trying, when every rule of law and custom said he didn’t have to.
He folded his arms. “I want to teach you to enjoy my touch.”
A shiver ran through her, not entirely dread. “Oh?”
His eyebrows arched at her instinctive withdrawal, but he went on as though they discussed something mundane. A walk in the gardens, or cards after dinner. “If you know that I won’t take things to their end, you may learn to appreciate the preliminaries.”
She doubted it. Oh, not that she would enjoy his touch. She’d enjoy it far too much. But that he could lull her into a state where her fears disappeared and she tumbled into his arms as easily as a ripe apple fell from a tree. Last night’s experience indicated otherwise. “What about kisses?”
“Ah,” he said slowly. “Kisses are different.”
She stepped closer to the fire, although she wasn’t cold. “I suppose you want to kiss me whenever the fancy takes you.”
“I’d like that.” When she struggled to hide her dismay, a knowing smile curled his lips. “But I’ll ration myself to one a day.”
“How very…restrained,” she said shakily. “A good night kiss?”
He shrugged. “Or good morning. I reserve the right to choose my moment.”
“I…see.” Although she really didn’t. She appreciated him trying to smooth her way. To a certain extent. Touching and kisses still seemed more threatening than claiming her body in a quick physical act. But she could see that he sought more from her in bed than dumb obedience.
The problem—or one of them—was that last night, she’d had a hint of what “more” might mean. It had terrified the life out of her.
“I hope, with time, you’ll learn to trust me.”
“I do trust you.”
His glance was skeptical. “Not really.”
His doubts were justified. “I thought I did.”
“Your body tells me you don’t.” He stood and joined her beside the fire. “I give you my word of honor that you’ll sleep alone until you invite me.”
“I invited you last night.”
“Out of duty.”
“I owe you my duty.”
“But I want your desire.”
What should she do? A wooing might be nice. She couldn’t hope to be the woman he really wanted, but just because she was his second choice, did that mean they must settle for second best in everything?
“Jane?” he asked softly.
“What if it doesn’t work?” Her eyes narrowed as she studied his expression. “You’re sure it will work, aren’t you?”
His shrug was unconvincing. “I hope.”
More than hope, Jane was sure. Every line of his body betrayed his self-confidence.
Why shouldn’t Hugh be confident? He was an attractive man, experienced in the ways of women. They both knew that before panic set in, she’d been mad for him.
“Do we have a deal?”
On the surface, what did she have to lose? But a deeper, barely formulated disquiet niggled. She had an unshakable premonition that Hugh’s kind, generous offer—he was a kind, generous man—foretold disaster.
Oh, grow a backbone, Jane Norris.
He already had the right to do everything he asked for, whether she agreed or not. As he said, at least this arrangement restored some agency to her. Over the last two days, she’d felt like a leaf swept away in a flooding river.
She snatched a breath and nodded. “Yes, we do.” She paused. “Thank you. You’ve been very understanding.”
“It’s my pleasure, Jane.” He subjected her to a thorough inspection.
As the silence extended, she sidled from one foot to the other. “You’re making me feel like a side of beef in a butcher’s window,” she muttered. “And as if you’re wondering whether I’m worth the extra penny in the pound.”
He laughed. “I’d never choose such an unflattering description. I’m just deciding when I’ll take today’s kiss.”
Oh, dear Lord. She wasn’t prepared for the arrangement to begin straightaway. “Perhaps we should get it out of the way.”
Laughter lit his eyes, even as she wanted to kick herself. She kept putting her foot in her mouth. Yet before this, she’d never have said she was particularly maladroit in social situations.
Curse Hugh. It was all his fault.
“That’s an idea.” His deep voice wrapped around her like a warm blanket and made her blood pump slow and thick.
He cupped her jaw. To her shame, she jumped like a startled rabbit. Inevitably she recalled how she’d felt last night, plastered against that broad, powerful chest. Her heart took a dizzying swoop down, then up, until it lodged in her throat.
“Jane, Jane, meet me halfway,” he said, in that same alluring tone.
She met dark eyes glowing with interest. She’d never imagined Hugh Rutherford looking at her like this. Like she was a bonbon, and he was a man with a very sweet tooth.
She wasn’t sure she liked it. Life was simpler when he was her amiable childhood friend, rather than her ardent suitor.
“I’ll try,” she said shakily, overwhelmingly conscious of his hand on her face.
“I hope so,” he said, without a hint of rebuke, although surely it was a rebuke. “Or this won’t succeed at all.”
Lightly his thumb stroked the corner of her lips, making them tingle. His brilliant eyes filled her vision, and the room receded. She swayed, and Hugh caught her by the waist, setting off another sizzle of heat.
“Breathe, Jane,” he whispered.
Oh, what a goose she was. She parted her lips and gulped air into her starved lungs. Her sight cleared, and her legs no longer felt likely to collapse beneath her.
“You’re quite lovely,” he murmured, as if speaking to himself and not her. His fierce concentration on her mouth turned her knees to jelly all over again. “Why didn’t I ever notice?”
She wanted to say it was his turn to be tactless. But she wasn’t miffed. Instead, she felt that he found a beauty in her that nobody else ever had. The stab of grateful pleasure made her want to cry. After so long being overlooked and neglected, Hugh’s admiration felt like rain falling on a desert. Blinking at the mist in front of her eyes, she dredged up a croaky response. “I don’t suppose you ever looked before.”
“Which makes me a blind fool,” he retorted, with the self-deprecating humor she’d always liked.
Standing in his hold, her body softened. It was a queer feeling, as if her very bones molded to his hands. This close, she caught his scent. Lemon soap. Healthy male.
Did he loom closer? Or did she lean in, drawn like a tide to his attraction? He flattened his hand across the small of her back and angled her in his direction, still keeping up that teasing caress on her face.
Her breath emerged in uneven gasps. Her head swam with conflicting impulses. To run. To stay. To please. To protest. What on earth had made her think that
marriage would prove an uncomplicated partnership?
Fate must be snickering at her naivety. Right now, she’d never felt more at sea.
His focus sharpened on her. Every drop of moisture dried from her mouth. When she licked parched lips, he muffled a groan.
She tilted her face up. Curiosity outweighed any lingering reluctance. Last night his kisses had undermined her sense of herself. Had that been a trick of circumstance, or something more indelible? She closed her eyes and silently told him to get on with it. A hum of anticipation escaped her.
“Shall I kiss you now, or save it for later?” He still sounded like a man choosing a bonbon from a gift box.
Jane barely resisted crying out, “Pick me, pick me!” Why the devil was he talking, when those lips could be doing so many other enjoyable things? “Hugh,” she grumbled.
“You know, I’m famous for my patience…”
Patience? What drivel was this? She strained closer.
Abruptly he released her. Her eyes snapped open, and she staggered. He stood several feet away, looking like the man she’d known all her life. Calm. Sensible. Genial.
“You’re not going to…” she stammered, struggling to find her balance.
“I’ll save my treat for later.”
“When later?” She sounded mortifyingly disgruntled.
His soft laugh tantalized her. “You’ll see.”
A putrid stew of frustration roiled in her stomach, and she had a nasty suspicion that he’d made a fool of her. At that instant, she understood how well founded her fears about accepting his proposal had been. Hugh wielded such power already. What command would he hold over her emotions, once they were husband and wife in the fullest sense?
*
Chapter Twelve
*
As he escorted his bride around Salisbury, Garson felt considerably happier with the world. Snow lay on the ground, but something in the air promised better weather for tomorrow when he planned to take Jane to Stonehenge. He looked forward to that. In a closed carriage, a man could get up to no end of mischief.
The day might be milder, but it was still February. With her slender arm in his grasp, his wife’s nearness lured him like a blazing hearth in a cold room.
Lord Garson’s Bride Page 8