As he’d hoped, giving Jane some say over what happened eased the constant hum of tension between them. Perhaps even gave him reason to hope that she wouldn’t prolong his ordeal. He’d noted her disappointment when he’d put off kissing her.
But as the afternoon wore on, a new tension began to stretch between them. He, familiar with desire, recognized the way two people in thrall to one another craved physical contact. Jane just went quiet, where earlier she’d been delightfully chatty.
“It’s very bare.” Jane surveyed the cathedral’s cavernous interior. “I’d imagined something a little more…”
He drew her into a dimly lit side chapel. “Ornate? Spectacular? Mysterious?”
With a slight roughness—and he was never rough with a lady—he pushed her up against the cold marble tomb that housed the earthly remains of some long-dead archbishop. A reminder, should he need it, not to waste his chances on this earthly plane.
Jane gasped as her back hit the cold stone. She observed him from under the brim of the dark blue bonnet that matched her fashionable pelisse. “What are you doing, Hugh?”
As he swept off his hat, he glanced around. This late in the winter day, little light penetrated the high, clear windows, but enough to reveal that the cathedral was almost empty. There was nobody in this side aisle, although evensong was due to begin soon.
He placed one hand beside Jane’s head, hemming her in with his body. “I’m going to touch you.”
“For shame.” Her reproof contradicted the flaring excitement in her eyes. “This is a church.”
Despite her disapproval, she didn’t try to escape. He shifted close enough to catch a drift of floral scent. Last night, that fragrance had fueled his arousal. After he left her, it had haunted his restless dreams.
He set his hat on the tomb behind her head. “And nicely private.”
“That’s blasphemous.”
“We got married in a church.”
When Jane’s lips twitched, he cursed himself for limiting himself to only one kiss a day. “That reasoning is self-serving, and you know it.”
“I need to put my hands on you.”
Her alarmed squeak evoked a reaction more profane than sacred. He leaned in, until his lips touched her delicate earlobe. “Is that a yes?”
After a shuddering exhalation, her answer was a whisper. “Don’t do anything too brazen.”
A soft huff of laughter escaped him. “I’ll try my best.”
With manufactured casualness, he tugged off his gloves and shoved them into his pocket. He reached out to flick open the top buttons on her pelisse, one of the garments Susan had brought from London. The stylish dark blue merino parted to reveal a high-necked gray gown. “You don’t make it easy for a fellow, sweetheart.”
“Next time, tell me I need to dress for a ravishing,” Jane responded with that hint of tartness he liked.
Garson trailed one hand down her throat until his fingers rested against the pulse skittering at the base of her neck. “So I can ravish you?” he asked idly, although the question wasn’t idle at all.
No surprise when she shook her head. “Purely a figure of speech.”
“Pity.” Beneath his fingers, her skin was warm and smooth. His excitement mounted, although so far, he hadn’t done anything that might upset any saints loitering in the shadows.
Jane studied him steadily, although he felt her trembling. “Do you tire of the game already, Hugh?”
He retraced his path up her throat. With so little skin revealed, touching what he could see felt like the height of depravity. He really had to get her some new clothes. Gowns to display that spectacular figure. Gowns that fastened up the front, for a husband’s convenience. The urge to touch her breasts was a physical ache.
“No, I’m looking forward to more of it.” His lips quirked. “Although if you want to be quick about your surrender, I’ll like that even better.”
“I’m sure,” she retorted.
The temptation was too much. When he kissed the side of her neck, she gave a voluptuous shudder. He lowered the arm he’d braced against the marble and slipped it around her waist.
“Oh, that’s wicked,” she gasped, as he scraped his teeth across a nerve. “Can I touch you?”
Lord above, what he’d give to have her touch him properly. But she was still shy, and last night proved the danger of racing ahead too fast. “By heaven, yes.”
When tentative hands hooked over his shoulders, his heart battered his ribs. God help him, he’d brought her in here for a bit of light flirtation, another foray in their sensual battle of wills. Now, so swiftly, he was lost in a fog of desire.
“That’s good.” He set his lips to the luscious curve where her neck met her shoulder.
She tilted her head to give him better access. He felt drunk on Jane. This close, the floral scent was richer, earthier.
Garson was likely to embarrass himself. A rag of common sense insisted that he couldn’t tup his wife in a church. As if to confirm that thought, the organ started to play softly from the loft high above them. He hauled Jane around the tomb and into the gloomiest corner of the chapel.
“Hugh?” she asked uncertainly.
With a massive exercise of will, he pulled away. “We should go.”
She looked troubled. “You sound…angry.”
He struggled to find a reassuring smile, but her expression told him it didn’t work. “No.”
For a heart-pounding interval, he crushed her into him. Even through layers of winter clothing, he was sharply conscious of the lithe, graceful body in his arms. Then he released her, took her hand, and headed outside into air hardly less icy than the air inside the cathedral.
He drew a bracing breath and fought to return to reality. The short day faded into night. The first stars winked in a clear sky. Smoke from a thousand fireplaces tinged the air. Bells pealed from the spire, summoning worshippers for evensong. Muffled figures hurried across the cathedral close to attend the service.
The wild rush of Garson’s heart gradually slowed. “I’m sorry, Jane,” he said, as they approached the ornate gates leading back to town. “I shouldn’t have started that. Not there.”
“The archbishop wouldn’t have approved.”
Her mocking tone took him by surprise. He dropped her hand and stopped to stare at her. More surprise when he saw how rosy and winsome she looked. “You didn’t mind?”
“I’ve led a very secluded life.” She made an apologetic gesture. “Letting a handsome devil manhandle me in a cathedral is the most exciting thing I’ve ever done.”
Damn it, it was probably the most exciting thing he’d ever done as well—and he hadn’t led a secluded life. This time, his smile felt completely natural. Although he feared it might be too wolfish to count as reassuring. “I thought you’d want my gizzards for garters.”
Amusement flirted with her lips. “Not today.”
He stared after her as she wandered ahead, trying to wrap his mind around the fact that his nefarious plan already seemed to be working. God bless cold chapels and warm women.
*
Chapter Thirteen
*
In their rooms at the inn, Garson and his wife sat up late, revisiting childhood memories over an excellent meal. He congratulated himself on his choice of bride. Jane was interesting, funny, intelligent. He could hardly believe that he only now recognized her manifold physical attractions. In short, she promised to be the perfect wife.
If only she’d take him to her bed.
After those incendiary moments in the cathedral, he hadn’t tried to coax her any further down the path of surrender. But he’d touched her lightly, fleetingly, often. A meeting of fingers when he passed her a dish. A caress across the warm curve of her nape when he wandered over to stoke the fire.
Now Garson rose from the dinner table and extended his hand. “Shall I escort you to your chamber, my lady?”
She regarded him doubtfully. “It’s all of three steps.”
She smiled at his absurdities. All evening, she’d been more relaxed. Perhaps she became accustomed to his company. Perhaps she’d had an extra glass of claret.
“I have a feeling the only wolf here is the one talking to me.”
Smart girl. “Unfair. I’ve been the perfect gentleman.”
She stood and accepted his hand with an ease that underlined the progress he’d made. “Yes, you have.” She paused and cast him a shy glance. “Thank you, Hugh. It’s been a lovely day. One of the loveliest I’ve had in a long time.”
His fingers tightened as he drew her toward the bedroom door. “Shall I call for a maid, or will you bear with your husband unlacing your gown?”
“You don’t need to play my servant.”
He shrugged. “I’m happy to help.”
And by God, the chance to get her out of those depressing clothes was an incentive to any man with blood in his veins, even if helping her undress was the only concession he was going to win from her right now.
He waited for her to say no. She was no fool, and she must guess his offer was part of his strategy. But after a moment, she nodded. “Then, thank you. I don’t feel like dealing with a stranger.”
Satisfaction filled him. He’d been promoted. Several times yesterday, she’d called him a stranger. Yet tonight he wasn’t.
He opened the door for her to precede him into the bedroom. To a man facing exile to the dressing room, it seemed packed with forbidden luxuries. A blazing fire. A large, comfortable bed. A lovely woman he’d dearly love to swive into next Tuesday.
Garson reminded himself that this was a seduction, not a siege. An avalanche of pleasure to come would repay an ounce of patience now.
At least he bloody well hoped so.
Jane stopped in front of the cheval mirror and glanced over her shoulder. A come-hither look? Or was that wishful thinking?
He stepped up behind her and laid his hands on her straight shoulders. She didn’t jump when he touched her. More progress.
For a long moment, he stared at their reflection. A large man towered over an auburn-haired woman, whose eyes betrayed a longing he suspected she didn’t recognize. “We look like a couple.”
Something about the way they stood said they belonged together. He puzzled over how their wedding vows could establish this visible bond.
“I almost feel married,” she said softly.
Smiling, he kissed her nape. He both felt her shiver and saw it in the mirror.
He ran his hands down her arms and up again, fighting the urge to rip the dress away and uncover the treasures beneath. But as the day with his wife played out, he’d noted more than just a growing acceptance of his presence. He’d seen a nascent trust. If he broke the truce now and took what he wanted—by the devil, how he wanted—he’d be back where he was last night.
Learning to be a husband was a long, hard road.
“Hard” being the word.
“Hugh?”
The sound of his name wrenched him back to the present. Waiting for Jane’s capitulation was torture worthy of the Spanish Inquisition.
All thumbs, he plucked at the laces down the back of her gown. She remained silent under his attentions, although he could hear her erratic breathing. This was the closest he’d yet come to his wife’s nakedness. Last night’s flannel nightgown had been thick enough to repulse a cavalry charge.
Under the dark green wool, he discovered pale skin and a graceful back. What he’d give to slide the pins from her rich red hair, until it cascaded around his hands.
Eventually, even his fumbling fingers completed their task. “Shall I undo your corset, too?”
He winced to hear the crack in his voice. It must be something about marriage. He’d never been this mad for a mistress, even as a randy boy let loose on society—and society’s women—for the first time.
“N-no.” Her answer echoed his unsteadiness. “I can manage.”
The girl in the glass was flushed, and her eyes shone with a beguiling mixture of reticence and curiosity. She clasped her bodice to her bosom to save her modesty. The urge to send her modesty to the devil rose, but he conquered it.
“Pity,” he bit out, setting his hands on her hips.
In the mirror, she stared at him, as if afraid he meant to jump on her.
And as if afraid he might not.
“I’ll…I’ll see you in the morning.”
He tilted an eyebrow in her direction. “Haven’t you forgotten something?”
Apprehension tightened her features, a sign that any trust remained frail. “You said the decision about…about what happened was mine.”
“It is.” He studied her face, wishing he could banish her doubts with a snap of his fingers. Because he’d never been more certain of anything as he was that when they came together, they would shake the heavens. “But you promised me a kiss.”
“You already kissed me.” Dark red brows contracted in confusion. “In the cathedral, and just now.”
This time, the wolf definitely owned his smile. He looked like he wanted to devour her. “My dear, those don’t count.”
“That doesn’t seem fair,” she protested, although when her attention fell to his lips, a spark of interest lit her eyes.
No wonder she’d been so relaxed over dinner. She thought she’d fulfilled the day’s obligations.
“Are you really so unwilling?”
“N-no,” she said shakily, turning to face him. “I’m not unwilling.”
It was hardly a ringing endorsement. But not a denial either. Garson decided to take what he could get. He caught the hands clutching her sagging bodice. The dress slipped lower. Jane still wore corset and petticoats, so she wasn’t near to naked. Not near enough, in his opinion. But the sight of the slope of her breasts rising above the plain white linen of her undergarments slammed through him like a punch.
He kept a grip on tactics—just. He’d kiss her then leave, to prove she could trust him. Then tomorrow? Well, tomorrow, who knew what might happen? Jane had already set aside so many of her defenses.
She noticed the direction of his gaze, and her hands tugged against his hold as she tried to cover herself. “You’re looking…”
“Yes?”
“Like you want to do something wicked.”
His lips curved in appreciation. “I do.”
When consternation widened her eyes, he relented. “But tonight, I’ll just kiss you.”
“Your kisses are wicked.”
“I’m glad you think so.” Garson raised her hands and brushed his lips across them. She exhaled with an audible sigh, and her eyes fluttered shut. One hand flattened across her back, and the other angled her chin up. The touch of his mouth drew a soft gasp from her. She reached blindly for his shoulder.
When he didn’t pursue his advantage, she opened dazed eyes, smoky with confusion and dawning desire. “Is that it?”
“The arrangement was one kiss.”
She stepped back. “I imagined…”
More of those ravenous kisses from last night, he’d wager. But right now, his purpose was to gain her cooperation. Even if tasting her made him want to return again and again, until she forgot the very meaning of the word no. “You’re safe.”
When she looked disgruntled, he almost smiled.
“That’s very…good of you.” She didn’t sound particularly grateful either.
“Unless you’d like me to stay?”
“By stay, you mean…”
Garson nodded. “Oh, yes. I’ve chosen this path for your benefit. For myself, I’d be overjoyed to share your bed sooner rather than later.” Then a confession that had been unthinkable last week. Two days ago, even. “This delay is pure agony.”
Astonishment widened her eyes further, although she must know by now that she put him in a fever. “Surely not.”
“Surely so,” he said with grim amusement. “Are you asking me to come to your bed?”
Her gaze dropped, and those slender hands began to fiddle with her skirt.
The silence was answer enough.
He was sleeping alone. Not that he was surprised. She’d ventured a long way toward him, but it was only a day since he’d made a mess of their wedding night. This wasn’t the outcome he preferred, but he was wise enough to accept it as the outcome that was inevitable. “I’ll see you in the morning, Jane. If it’s fine, we might take the carriage out to Stonehenge.”
“Very well,” she said half-heartedly. He was delighted—amidst his frustration—to notice her dismay that there was only one kiss.
His plan to lure her into his arms was succeeding, although God knew how he’d sleep. Even that one quick kiss made him as hard as a bloody truncheon. “Sleep well.”
“Good night.”
Garson bowed and left the room before he changed his mind. Once he was on the other side of the door, he slumped against the wall. A groan escaped as he bent his head. Keeping his hands off his lovely bride was excruciating. He hoped to hell that Jane didn’t intend to test his good intentions for long, or he feared for his sanity.
He ran a shaky hand through his hair. Hell, there had been a few moments tonight when he hadn’t been sure honor would outweigh desire. When he’d unlaced her. When he’d seen her lush breasts pressing against her thin shift. When he’d restricted himself to a single kiss.
He groaned again. He was so on edge, even a feather bed would torture him. Let alone his narrow cot in the dressing room.
But he’d survive.
And he had cause for hope. Oh, yes, the frost melted from lovely Jane. She’d soon be his.
For the sake of his mental health, she’d better be.
It was only as Garson lay with his feet dangling over the end of the bed and his eyes wide open staring at the dark ceiling that he realized the most astonishing fact about a day packed with revelations.
He hadn’t thought about Morwenna Nash once.
Lord Garson’s Bride Page 9