Page 43 of Lord Garson's Bride
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.
