Lord Garson’s Bride

by Anna Campbell

  “Hugh…” She sounded almost surprised to see him.

  His lips quirked, although he remained stretched on an agonizing rack of frustrated desire. He’d loved seeing her attain her peak. He’d loved that he’d been privileged to introduce Jane to physical pleasure. Hell, a few days ago, she’d never even been kissed.

  But he was only human. The need to thrust inside his wife was an agonizing imperative. He was excruciatingly aware of each bump of the carriage and how close she was to naked.

  “You expected someone else?” He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his fingers, when his deepest impulse was to inhale her scent until his head swam.

  “No,” she answered seriously, as if the silly question deserved an answer. He saw she hadn’t yet returned to prosaic reality. She gave him a dreamy smile and touched his cheek. “That was lovely. Thank you.”

  The last time he’d lured her to the brink of surrender, she’d raised her defenses immediately afterward. But now lying across his lap, she looked sweet and satiated and languid.

  Garson leaned down before he remembered the stupid rules. Rules? More like a prison sentence. He had nobody but himself to blame. He’d shoved his hands into the shackles by his own free will.

  “Damn it, I want to kiss you.” He wanted to do a hell of a lot more than that.

  She tilted her face up. “Then why don’t you?”

  “Because I’ve kissed you already today, and I made a promise. I must have been insane, when I came up with these blasted nitwitted conditions.”

  Her low laugh made the hairs on his skin rise. “I’m willing to reward good behavior.”

  He took a second to register what she’d said. “Truly?”

  “Truly.”

  Before he could swoop in to kiss her, she slid her hand behind his neck and drew him down. Her kiss was breathtakingly playful, a rain of teasing contacts. He groaned and opened his mouth over her, drinking her in. Then regretfully he retreated.

  She frowned. “Is something wrong?”

  Apart from a case of blue balls likely to prove fatal? “We can’t be far from Salisbury.”

  Jane looked bewildered, then he watched reality smash through pleasure’s lingering spell. The misty light left her eyes, and she looked horrified as she glanced down at her bare breasts and splayed legs. “Oh, my dear heaven, I’m half-naked.”

  “Yes, and what a glorious sight you are.”

  She scrambled off his knees, shaking hands hauling the edges of her bodice closed. “You ravished me in a carriage.”

  He didn’t appreciate the tone of accusation. “Not quite.”

  Jane settled on the seat facing him. Only a couple of feet distant, but she still felt too far away. “As good as.”

  Tell that to my dick, he wanted to retort. “Don’t be embarrassed.”

  She sucked in an audible breath and hitched at her shift and corset, to his regret restoring her modesty. His hands fisted against the leather seat as he resisted the urge to drag her back into his arms.

  A shy glance from gray eyes. “Actually I’m not as…embarrassed as I should be.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “Why didn’t you…”

  He passed her his handkerchief. “Go ahead and finish it?”

  Her expression turned troubled. “Yes.”

  “I’m caught by my own clever plan.” Garson tried not to watch as she quickly cleaned herself up. Even while she did her best to preserve her dignity, the sight was too arousing, too intimate for a man on the verge of losing control. “With the trip ending in an hour, I knew I’d have to rein myself in. I never thought you’d let me take things so far.”

  She set the handkerchief on the seat beside her and began to fumble with the fastenings of her dress. “You did rein yourself in.”

  He ran his hand through his hair. God give him strength. That sounded like a complaint.

  “You only had to say the word.” He sighed and shifted to sit beside her. “Let me do that.”

  “Yes, Hugh,” she said with uncharacteristic docility and dropped her hands so he could do up her bodice.

  Grinding his teeth, he struggled not to touch her skin. Wheels rattling on cobbles warned him they were back in Salisbury. They’d reach the Red Lion any moment.

  Garson set her bonnet on her head and did his best to tuck her hair under it. As she tipped her face up and gave him a soft smile, the horses drew to a stop. “Thank you for looking after me.”

  He almost growled. He was still far from tranquil. Fiddling with her clothing and messing about with handfuls of that warm silky hair didn’t help. “Of course I’m looking after you.” He grabbed the crumpled handkerchief and shoved it into his pocket. “You’re my bloody wife, aren’t you?”

  A mysterious smile touched her lips. “You know, I think I just might be,” she said in a low voice.

  Before he had a chance to ponder that startling statement, the ostler opened the carriage door, and Garson had to pretend that he was a civilized man and not a ravening beast, slavering to tumble his bride.

  *

  Jane emerged from the bedroom to find the parlor table set for one. She surveyed the silver and glassware arrayed across the oak surface, and a great lump of foreboding settled in her stomach.

  Had she done something wrong this afternoon? Had she been too eager?

  Surely not. Hugh had wanted her so much, he’d been shaking.

  She’d felt reckless and eager. She wanted to feel that way again. Her instincts told her that she stood at the threshold of indescribable pleasure. Perhaps it was time to abandon caution and step inside.

  With a shuddery breath, she recalled those extraordinary moments in the carriage. Her hand crept toward the breasts he’d caressed to such devastating effect. Oh, what his hands had done to her after that. Just now when she’d run the damp flannel over her body, wicked images had flooded her mind, and she’d blushed, even though she was alone.

  The maid came in with a laden tray and set it on the sideboard. She turned and curtsied. “Good evening, Lady Garson.”

  “Good evening, Mary. Do you know where his lordship is?”

  The expression in the girl’s eyes looked like pity. “I saw him heading out for a walk, my lady.”

  Clearly Mary thought the bridegroom already tired of his wife and went in search of diversion.

  Had he? Surely not. Jane refused to accept Hugh could touch her like that, then rush out to pump his frustrations into some doxy. Call her naïve, but she just couldn’t believe it.

  Jane glanced out the window to avoid the maid’s sharp eyes. While she and Hugh had been doing outrageous things in his luxurious carriage, the weather had closed in. “It’s snowing.”

  “He mentioned wanting some fresh air.” The girl began to set out the dishes, then paused to place something else on the table.

  “What’s that?”

  “He left you a note, my lady.”

  That sounded more like him. “What about his supper?”

  “He said he’d have something downstairs when he came in. He also said he might be late.”

  What in heaven’s name was going on? Although one thing was clear. She’d provided Mary with enough entertainment for one evening. “You may go.”

  “Shall I come back to help you to undress?” With a curiously gloating light in her eyes, the girl plastered a humble expression onto her pretty face. Jane cringed to realize that everyone at the inn must know that she and her husband didn’t share a bed. The clean sheets were evidence enough.

  “I’ll ring if I need you,” she said firmly.

  “Very good, my lady.” The girl’s curtsy conveyed a hint of insolence.

  Nasty little minx. Although she always simpered at Hugh.

  Once Jane was alone, she ripped open the note. But it proved irritatingly uninformative.

  I’ll see you in the morning. Sleep well. H

  Sighing, Jane set the sheet of paper down and stared blindly across the room. Since the w
edding, she and Hugh had been together every day. Perhaps he wanted some time to himself. The fact that she enjoyed his company didn’t mean he felt the same about her. She’d been so lonely at Cavell Court—the recent attentions of an attractive, intelligent man had shown her how lonely. Hugh on the other hand had always led a full, engaged existence.

  Oh, dear, had she bored him? Was that why he left her alone? She’d seen no sign that she had, but his perfect manners meant he’d do his best to hide any dissatisfaction.

  “Stop panicking,” she muttered. “He’s gone for a walk. It’s not the end of the world.”

  But while she’d come into the parlor famished after a day in the fresh air, not to mention that exquisite hour in the carriage, now she contemplated her rapidly cooling dinner and wondered if she could swallow even a morsel.

  *

  Chapter Sixteen

  *

  A distant thud wrenched Jane from a restless dream where she was running across the treeless wilderness of Salisbury Plain toward Stonehenge. But the monument kept receding, and she never got closer, no matter how she tried.

  She opened her eyes to thick darkness. The lack of noise from the street told her it must be late.

  There was another thud, and a muffled curse.

  She was up out of bed and wrapped in a shawl before she was really awake. Cold air on bare toes banished the last of her drowsiness, and she slid her feet into some slippers before she rushed into the parlor.

  Nobody was there. The banked fire gave off enough light to show that Mary had cleared away Jane’s untouched dinner.

  Only as she stood in the empty room did she think how foolish this was. If burglars had broken in, she wasn’t exactly dressed to deal with them. She was defenseless, unless she intended to smother them in flannel.

  Another bump from behind the door to the dressing room. And something that sounded like a groan.

  It was Hugh. He didn’t sound well.

  Before she could question the wisdom of bearding him in his den, she was at the door and knocking. “Hugh, are you all right?”

  After a pause long enough to make her frantic with worry, he answered.

  “Jane, go to bed.” His deep voice was slurred.

  She didn’t retreat. “Are you ill?”

  “No, I’m not ill. Go away.”

  She stifled a twinge of hurt at his curt dismissal. “I’m coming in. You sound awful.”

  “Damn it, don’t—”

  She pushed the door open to find him standing in the center of a narrow, windowless room, not much bigger than a cupboard.

  “…come in.” In the flickering light of a single candle, he glared at her.

  She studied him with concern. He looked disheveled and uncertain on his feet. Had he caught a chill, staying out so late on a freezing night? “I heard you fall.”

  “I lost my balance. There’s nothing going on. Go back to bed.”

  He sounded grumpy. That in itself worried her. Hugh was almost always even-tempered. Even on their wedding night, he’d remained polite and pleasant. Mostly.

  “Not until I’m sure you’re all right.”

  Those thick coffee-colored brows contracted in a fearsome scowl. “I’m all right.”

  “You don’t sound it.”

  “I’m tired.” Actually now she looked, he appeared utterly exhausted and beneath his truculence, heartsick. His prickly temper stemmed from something deeper than a simple late night.

  Oh, no, was he desperately unhappy with their marriage? After the last few days, she’d hoped they started to find a way to go on together.

  Inevitably, the specter of Morwenna Nash rose. Why wouldn’t Hugh be unhappy? He was in love with another woman.

  Which didn’t mean Jane intended to leave him alone and sick and wretched. “Let me help you undress.”

  “That’s the worst suggestion you’ve made yet,” he snapped. Or at least she guessed he meant to snap, but the words didn’t emerge with the usual crisp clarity.

  “You’re dead on your feet.”

  “Go away, Jane.” He was swaying and seemed to have trouble focusing.

  She ignored him and stepped forward to take his arm. He looked likely to collapse.

  The moment she came close enough to touch him, she knew exactly what was the matter. “Ugh.”

  Unsuccessfully, he tried to pull away. “I told you your wifely concern was wasted.”

  She winced at the bitter emphasis he placed on “wifely.” “You’re drunk.”

  “I am indeed.” He blinked owlishly at her. The stench of brandy was a miasma around him. “Now go away, and let me sleep it off. I’m no fit company for a lady.”

  “No, you’re not.” Good heavens, she hadn’t heard Lord Garson was a drunkard.

  “Save the nagging for the morning.” He tugged at his crumpled, dirty neck cloth. “I know I deserve it.”

  “I have no intention of nagging,” she said coldly.

  “Pleased to hear it,” he sniped back. “Clearly I’ve got myself a wife in a million. If only she could bring herself to be my wife.”

  Ouch. That was pointed. “I hate to think I’ve driven you to drink.”

  “I’m in no state to bandy words with you,” he said, although she hadn’t been joking.

  “You’re not getting anywhere with that.” She stepped in front of him and brushed his hands aside. “Here, let me.”

  After a few quick movements, she’d unknotted the neck cloth and thrown it over the only chair. The room was so small, it didn’t take much of a throw.

  “I can look after myself,” he grumbled.

  “I doubt it,” she said, sliding his creased coat from his powerful shoulders. This close, the alcohol fumes made her dizzy, but she didn’t pick up any hint of cheap scent. It was no proof he hadn’t been with another woman, but something told her he’d sought refuge in liquor not lechery.

  “Jane, you are a pain,” he chanted, although he put up with her ministrations. “A pain who drives me insane.”

  “Not kind, when I’m being so helpful,” she said drily, turning to lay the coat across the back of the wooden chair. It seemed he was ready to bandy words after all. “And if you rhyme Jane with plain, I’ll strangle you with your neck cloth.”

  She turned back to find him bracing one hand against the wall. He shook his head, his abundant brown hair tumbling over his high forehead. “Not plain at all. Pretty. But that doesn’t rhyme with Jane.”

  She smothered a spurt of pleasure. The oaf had no idea what he was saying. “No, it doesn’t.”

  “But I can fix that.”

  “How?” She unbuttoned his silk waistcoat and tossed it over his coat. In this confined space, his big, brawny body, clad only in white shirt and buff breeches, seemed even more impressive than when he dressed like a gentleman. “By calling me Jitty?”

  He shook his head again. “Jane, you are a pain who drives me insane. But you’re pretty as a sunset in Spain.”

  “I appreciate the thought.” When she reached to help him with his shirt, her shawl slipped to the floor. “Lift your arms.”

  She expected another objection, but he stood docile as she pulled the shirt over his head. He even bent down so she could reach. “Jane, whose kisses taste like sugarcane. Will you kiss me, Jane?”

  “No.”

  “Pity.”

  A shirtless Hugh really was a magnificent sight, even half seas over with drink. Dark hair curled across his chest and arrowed down over his flat stomach in a way even an innocent like her found tempting.

  He’d be more comfortable out of his breeches. Too bad. “Sit on the bed, and I’ll take off your boots.”

  When he didn’t obey, Jane placed her hands flat on his chest and pushed.

  It was like watching a mighty tree topple. For a moment, he teetered, then he went down. At the last minute, he twisted to save himself from knocking his head against the wall. The bed gave a loud creak, and he stretched his legs out across the bare wooden floor. His f
eet nearly touched the opposite wall.

  He stared up at the ceiling and spoke in a slurred, singsong voice. “I can’t kiss Jane, and that’s a strain.”

  She hid a smile and went down on her knees before him. “Make room for me.”

  When he didn’t cooperate, she shifted his legs up with no particular gentleness. Bracing her back against the wall, she pulled off his boots. To her astonishment, she was enjoying herself. There was something heady about having this great, handsome galoot under her sway.

  He’d gone quiet, and she wondered if he’d fallen asleep. But when she looked up, he was leaning on his elbows and his gaze clung to the jiggle of her bosom under her nightgown.

  When he tilted forward and cupped her breasts, a smile of beatific appreciation curved his lips. “Jane, Jane, who has a big brain.”

  Her nipples beaded as he squeezed. Even drunk, he remembered how to touch a woman. “That’s not my brain,” she managed to say.

  He raised heavy eyes to meet hers. “Give us a kiss, wife,” he said without releasing her.

  For a moment, she considered saying yes. But he wasn’t in his right mind—“Jane drives me insane”—and he must be getting cold, sitting half-naked in this icy room.

  She managed to extricate herself and stand up. “Tomorrow.”

  He groaned and slumped full length onto the bed, prompting another alarming creak. “Jane does refrain.”

  “She does.”

  At last, she paid attention to what he lay on. She’d never been into this room. If she’d thought about it, she would have assumed his bed was as comfortable as hers. Which turned out to be wrong.

  His large feet protruded over the end, and he looked awkward, even as he closed his eyes and settled onto the thin mattress. He fumbled to drag the blankets up, but they hardly covered him. Dear heaven, it was the middle of winter. Over the last three nights, he must have frozen. While next door she’d been cuddled up under goose down quilts.

  Guilt assailed her. No wonder he looked tired. She leaned in. “Wake up, Hugh.”

  Long dark eyelashes fluttered, and she found herself staring into bleary brown eyes. “Why?”

  “You can’t sleep here.”

  “Nowhere else to go.” He rolled over and presented her with one shoulder. “Wife won’t have me.”