“Would you have agreed?”
“Of course not.”
She shrugged. “Then speaking to you about it would have served no purpose at all. I’m hardly going to ask permission when I know it won’t be granted.”
He paced the room. With every lap, it got smaller, the walls looming. “Amelia, you need to fix this.”
She gave him a pitiful look. “I just did. You can thank me for it when you’ve calmed down.”
He bristled at the gentleness of her tone—as though the fight was won, and she was consoling the defeated. Because this was a battle he had lost before he even knew it was being waged.
Unable to look at her, he walked out, almost running into a young girl from the village. She jumped. One look at the furious expression on his face and her eyes widened.
And now he’d been turned into a monster terrifying young women.
“Sorry,” he said, trying to keep the gruffness from his voice.
“It’s all right, m’lord,” she said as she curtseyed.
“I’m not a lord.”
“Yes, m’lord.”
He sighed and walked toward his bedroom door.
“I want to thank you,” the girl called from behind him.
He turned. “Thank me?”
“For this opportunity. Me mum’s sick and hasn’t been able to wash sheets like she used to. She was right thrilled to hear I had a position. And Lady Amelia says it’s all right for me to work here and go back to me mum at night. She’s kind.”
Kind? She was the devil incarnate. Was he the only person who could see that?
“Good night—” Damn, he couldn’t recall the girl’s name.
“Sarah, m’lord—sir, I mean.”
“Good night, Sarah. I hope this job turns out to be everything you expected.” He doubted it, though, but there was nothing he could do. His wife had trapped him. Again.
Chapter 10
If this really is supposed to be your brother, we are going to need a lot more snow.” Amelia regarded the giant, half-made snowman in front of her.
“You only need to make the head,” Cassandra said, standing in front of an almost-finished snowwoman.
“Exactly.” Her bear-sized husband had an equally large ego. The snowman should reflect that.
Cassandra rolled her eyes then trotted off toward the trees to collect more sticks.
Amelia squatted to start packing her ice ball, the bottom of her skirts already sodden. She’d initially taken the role of sculpture supervisor, but it was freezing, the cold was seeping through her boots, and Cassandra seemed intent on creating their entire dysfunctional family out of ice. So after a five-minute lesson on snow-building basics, she’d gone to work on her first-ever snowman in an effort to speed the whole process up.
“Well, this is a sight I didn’t expect.” Her husband’s low voice sounded from behind her, and she jumped. “Lady Amelia Crofton playing in the snow.”
She looked up at him, suspicious. After last night’s argument, what mood would he be in? So far, he’d been more tolerant than any man she’d met—with the exception of his idiotic chore roster—but she had pushed it yesterday by hiring staff without his consent. Hopefully, a good night’s sleep had helped him see reason.
There was a boyish, sheepish look on his face, and he held his hands out in mock surrender. Perhaps they would actually get through the day without an argument.
His lips were quirked to the side, their softness a stark contrast to the hard planes of his face. The late afternoon stubble on his jawline caught in the setting sun. The long shadows only served to highlight his flint-sharp features. Whatever his faults, her husband was an attractive man.
Brutally attractive.
What would it be like to stop arguing and instead run her hands over him? It was a question that made her toss and turn at night. A question that made it unbearably hot beneath the bed covers. A question that made her eyes travel to the door that separated them more often than she’d like.
Each day of their marriage, these questions intensified. Yet he’d made no move to kiss her. Not since he’d pulled away on their wedding night. Sometimes he tensed and his throat bobbed, and his hands stiffened at his sides and she was sure he was about to reach out.
But he didn’t. And neither did she. And the awkwardness continued.
And she still didn’t know what it would be like…
She flushed, heat creeping up her spine, and she wondered how it was that the snowman to her back wasn’t melting.
“We’re making snow families,” she said, praying that he had no idea of the thoughts running through her head.
He looked at the snowman. “Is that supposed to be me?”
“It will be if you help me lift the head onto it.”
He stared at the giant ball in front of him and raised an eyebrow.
She flushed. Perhaps her intentions behind her design were somewhat obvious.
“Dare I ask how you were planning to decorate it?” He lifted the head onto the body.
She pulled out the cravat she’d tucked up the sleeve of her pelisse. “I raided your wardrobe.”
“And this was all you took?”
“It was all I liked,” she said wryly.
“You wound me.” His fist thumped against his chest.
Ignoring his teasing, she faced the snow giant in front of her. Wrapping the cravat around its neck was one thing. The actual tying of a knot was another. Despite being an expert on fashionable knots, she had no idea how to actually create one.
“Here.” His breath was warm against her ear as he reached past and took the loose ends. Encircled in his arms, goose bumps prickled over her skin, and it became more and more difficult to breathe. She was aware of him in a way that she’d never been aware of a person before. It was infuriatingly paralyzing.
She tried to focus on what he was doing, but the press of her back against his chest overwhelmed every other sense. He tied a hunting knot with startling speed, but it was a long moment between finishing and dropping his hands. When he did, they rested on her hips.
“There,” he said. His voice was as strangled as she felt.
She turned to face him, pivoting within the embrace of his arms. She didn’t step back, though, and from this distance, she could see the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed hard. His eyes sparked with the heat she felt.
“You are a man of surprising talents.” Hopefully he couldn’t discern the effort it took to verbalize a comprehensible sentence.
“I went to Oxford.”
“Really? I was unaware.” A distant part of her registered this new information as highly agreeable, but the primal present part could only focus on the soft curve of his lips as he spoke.
“It wasn’t a good fit. I only stayed a year.” He sounded equally distracted, and his eyes didn’t leave her mouth.
“Why did you go? It doesn’t seem like you.”
“I was trying to please my mother.” He didn’t elaborate but his jaw clenched, and he diverted his gaze.
It was an unexpected sight, this big brawny male so vulnerable. It elicited a tenderness she rarely felt. Impulsively, she raised a hand to his face and stroked her thumb along his cheekbone. “You are stubborn and frustrating, Benedict Asterly, but you’re a good man. I’m sure your mother would be proud.”
“I don’t want to think about her right now.” His hands tightened on her hips and set her insides tingling.
“What do you want to think about?”
He didn’t answer. And in the heavy silence, every one of her senses heightened. The smoky, earthy scent of him made her dizzy. His breathing filled her ears. Every inch of her was drawn to him.
Kiss me. Kiss me.
He cupped the back of her head in his hands and leaned down, his lips drawing closer.
Kiss me.
She swayed toward him. As his lips touched hers, a shiver coursed from her frozen toes to her snow-flecked hair. They were every bit as soft as t
hey looked. And warm. She leaned into him, surrendering to her body’s need to be closer.
He groaned and wrapped an arm around her, his fingers tightening in her hair. Her body responded by drawing tight—her toes curled, her hands crushed his lapels, and her stomach tensed.
It was everything and nothing. A pleasure that made no sense and complete sense. It was a feeling of floating and a grounding earthiness all at once. It was an experience logic could not explain.
Then he ran his tongue past the curve of her lips, teasing at them until they opened. Tentatively, she responded.
This was why women fell. She’d never understood what could make a woman risk her reputation, her future.
But this. Now she understood.
“Ben!” Cassandra yelled. “Are you here to help us?”
Her words were like a bucket of ice water dumped over them. Amelia stepped back swiftly, brushing at her gown and tucking a strand of hair back into place.
Her fingers itched to tug flat the wrinkles she’d created in his coat.
Benedict coughed and turned to face his sister, who was stripping twigs free of leaves as she walked toward them.
“Yes, poppet. I’m here to help.” He flashed Amelia a hot and wicked smile.
Goodness. What did that mean?
Her heart raced as her mind sifted through all the possible consequences of the kiss. None of which was territory she’d explored before.
At least Benedict was having as much trouble concentrating as she was. He’d been looking at his sister a full five seconds before he actually saw her. She could tell because surprise flickered over his face, followed quickly by resignation.
Cassandra may have spent the past hour playing outside, but the morning had been spent taking the first steps toward being a young lady. “Your hair looks lovely, Cassandra,” Benedict said gruffly in response to the lopsided curls piled high on her head. “Daisy has done an excellent job.”
Daisy had done the job that could be expected from a housemaid—an awful one—but Cassandra beamed anyway. “Doesn’t it look pretty?” She patted it gently.
She’d been so pleased that she’d insisted they not wear bonnets outside, and the curls had sagged somewhat under the snowflakes that had quickly turned to water.
Amelia watched Benedict breathe deep. It was to his credit that he bit back whatever his actual opinion was. Progress indeed.
“Amelia says we may share a lady’s maid until I’m sixteen, and then I’m to have my own. Except for when we’re in London. We will be too busy to share one then.” Cassandra seemed oblivious to the tension building in her brother’s shoulders or the tightening of his mouth.
“London? Have we got plans to go into town now?” He turned to Amelia.
“Not now,” she said, hoping their recent kiss would blunt his frustration. “I daresay it would be best to wait until the gossip dies down. But certainly later in the year, once the Season is over, it might be nice. It would be good for Cassandra to start meeting people.”
He was near his limits. First the servants, and then Cassandra’s hair. Throwing in news of a trip to London in the same forty-eight-hour period was perhaps a bit much.
Benedict took a deep breath. “You may have a lady’s maid, Cassandra. To do your hair and play with dresses. But you’re to clean your own room and make your own bed, as always.”
Cassandra nodded quickly, as if to agree before he could change his mind. “Absolutely.”
“And if you fall behind on your studies, Daisy is not to assist you at all.”
Cassandra screwed up her face in a completely unladylike manner. There was so much work to be done with her.
“Why would I fall behind? I love my studies.”
The twelve-year-old was a strange creature. Goodness, the extremes Amelia had gone to in order to avoid her studies.
Benedict turned to her, his eyes falling to her lips. “There’s no harm in a trip to London, but what we’ll do and who we’ll see there is a discussion for another time.”
“Dare I press my luck and ask if the staff are allowed to stay?”
Benedict rubbed the back of his neck. “There has been an overwhelming amount of support for your decision to employ some of the locals, and while it makes me uncomfortable, I can see its benefits. Besides, breakfast was…appreciated.”
Breakfast this morning had been a far cry from the half-burnt toast and sausages of the day before. The sideboard had been covered in hot pastries, glazed ham, buttered croissants, and poached eggs. If anything was going to convince Benedict that hiring some extra help was a good thing, Mrs. Duggan’s food would be it.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it. Now I think it’s time to head inside for some hot tea.” Now that the heat of his kiss was dissipating, she was getting cold.
“Really? I think it’s time for something else.” Benedict reached down and grabbed a handful of snow, packing it into a ball. “This snowman needs a little more…” He spun and lobbed the snowball at Amelia.
It hit her chest, ice crystals smacking her in the face and finding the sliver of bare skin above her collar. She blinked. “What on earth are you doing?”
“Have you never been in a snow fight, princess?”
“Absolutely not.” What kind of barbarians pelted each other with snow?
Benedict and Cassandra exchanged grins, simultaneously kneeled, and gathered up snow.
“Don’t you dare.” Amelia took a few backward steps.
Their grins just widened.
“Benedict Asterly—”
Cassandra’s snowball hit her on the shoulder. It was followed quickly by his. The kiss had been confusing. This was incomprehensible. And apparently not over—the siblings were stockpiling snowballs, so she turned and ran.
Benedict stood between her and the house, so she fled for the trees, but Cassandra intercepted her.
“This is not funny.” Amelia stood, arms akimbo, and infused as much authority into her voice as possible.
Cassandra didn’t move.
“Miss Asterly,” she said calmly, “a lady never—” A snowball hit Amelia in the back of the head, leaving a cold, wet trail down her neck.
To blazes with calm. “That’s it.” She turned and scooped up her own handful of snow, flinging it at Benedict. It disintegrated in the air in front of her. “Drat.” She scooped up another handful, patted it into a solid ball, and threw it.
He didn’t flinch as it hit him directly in the chest—simply smiled. A snowball came flying over her shoulder and hit him in the jaw. His smile faded.
Amelia couldn’t help herself, she grinned as Cassandra whooped with joy. As long as it was the two of them against him, this game had some appeal.
She grabbed another handful and formed a ball as Benedict stalked toward them. She ducked out of his reach, skirting behind him, and launched, getting him in the back of the knees.
“Aha! I win,” she said as he lost his balance.
He recovered quickly and shook his head before resuming his approach.
Or maybe not…
“Nowhere to run now, princess,” he said when he was only a couple of feet away. They faced off, each with a ball in hand.
His face was so full of mock outrage that she laughed. She hadn’t had so much fun since…Actually, she’d never had this kind of fun. Fun that wasn’t tightly laced and formally packaged.
She let the snowball loose as he closed the gap between them. It splattered over his face, leaving snow caught in his eyelashes and on the stubble of his jaw.
Then he dumped his snowball on the top of her head.
“Oh…Oooh…” The cold was entirely unpleasant. “You are…”
He grinned triumphantly and then grabbed her around the waist, scooping her into his arms.
“Come on, poppet. Time to get our ice princess inside.”
Chapter 11
His bedroom smelled like jasmine and pear. In the ten days since their marriage, her scent had become annoyingly, arous
ingly familiar. His cock twitched at the memory of her curves beneath his hands.
Kissing her had been the most terrifying thing he’d done in years. He’d been convinced—right up until she leaned into him—that she’d pull away, chastising him for daring to think a man like him could kiss a woman like her.
And now he was even more terrified. Because their kiss had answered one question and raised a thousand more. Instead of getting her out of his system, it had planted her at the heart of it. He needed more and—frighteningly—he suspected he always would.
A lifetime of kissing her would not be enough to sate the need that consumed him.
The door between their rooms taunted him. It was everything he could do not to walk right through it and sweep her into his arms.
But she was a distraction he didn’t need, especially given the news he’d received while she was bathing, and he was downstairs trying not to think of her bathing.
The Americans were backing out of their agreement with the firm.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, he yanked off his boots and tossed them. Bloody. Thud. Hell. Thud.
The deal with Grunt and Harcombe had been as good as done. He’d already ordered the additional steel, already hired more men. The entire damn village knew about it. They were expecting big things, expecting production of the new steam locomotives to begin. How the devil was he going to explain that years of work had been undermined by marriage to Lady Amelia Crofton?
He stripped to his smalls. A hot bath would be good. It would clear his mind so he could focus on finding a solution to this disaster.
He just prayed his wife had left him some hot water—or at least had one of their new footmen bring some more water up to boil.
He pushed open the door to his dressing room and went stock still. The sight of his wife, naked in the bath, cemented his feet to the floor. The only part of him that could move was his jaw, which dropped open.
“Get out!” Her typically measured tones became a shriek. A bar of soap sailed past his head. She sank neck-deep below the waterline, one arm crossed over her breasts, another reaching to cover her sex.
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