Page 46 of Lord Garson's Bride
“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, 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, slid it off, 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 couldreach. “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 feet 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.”
