Page 51 of Lord Garson's Bride
He frowned. “Jane, are you teasing me?”
That luscious mouth pursed in thought, but when she met his eyes, he caught a flash of laughter. “Only a little.”
He was unable to resist, although usually he strategized when to take his kiss. He surged across the table and snatched her up. Her breath escaped in a startled oof, and her lips moved against his with an innocent enthusiasm that reminded him of their first kiss.
But not for long. Despite the awkward position, caught between her chair and the table, she twisted her body into his. Her arms slid around his neck, as she stretched up to kiss him back.
When her soft mouth opened, his tongue dipped inside. He made a deep sound of satisfaction and kicked the chair out of the way. Vaguely through the blood hammering in his head, he heard the thud as it tipped over.
Linking his hands loosely around her waist, he drew back to look down into her face. He loved to see her all flushed and ruffled, and at a loss for the self-possession she’d cultivated as mistress of Cavell Court. “You’re so lovely, Jane.”
“Thank you.” For once, she didn’t argue. “Kissing must be good for the complexion.”
He gave a grunt of laughter. “There should be more of it, then. Purely for therapeutic reasons, of course.”
“Of course,” she said drily, arms still around his neck.
Garson wanted more, but there was something to be said for loitering in a patch of sunlight and flirting with a comely wench. And he had plans for the day ahead. “You have a treat in store, wife.”
He liked calling Jane his wife. The evocative word planted all sorts of pleasantly masculine feelings in his chest. Pride. Possession. A surprisingly powerful affection. With every day, he liked her more. Good God, she didn’t even nag a fellow when he toddled home, soused as a sailor. She was a good sport, his bride, and nowhere near as prim and prune-faced as he’d feared she might have become over the hard, lonely years. She’d be a wonderful mother. Heat percolated in his veins as he imagined making those children.
Her eyes turned the color of the sea on a day of sunlight and rain. Her soft expression hinted that she grew fond of him, too. “A treat?”
“Yes, I’m going to show you around Pembroke’s place at Wilton. It’s only a few miles out of town, and I think you’ll like it.”
“I daresay I will. Are the family in residence?”
“No, they’re in London, but his lordship’s given us the run of the house. Even asked if we want to move in for the rest of our honeymoon.”
“That was generous.”
“I thought so. I got his letter yesterday in reply to my request to see over the house.”
“I’m sure the accommodations will be an improvement on the dressing room. I didn’t know that your room was so Spartan. Do you want to shift to Wilton?”
He suspected even in the Earl of Pembroke’s best chamber, he’d be uncomfortable. Hunger for his wife kept him awake at night, not his mean little bed. “Do you?”
When Jane glanced around the parlor, a light entered her eyes. He couldn’t remember paying such close attention to anyone before, even Morwenna. But he’d conducted his first courtship under the full blaze of society’s gaze. He and Morwenna hadn’t spent much time alone and unobserved.
“You know, it might be selfish, but I like our rooms here.”
“Good.” He didn’t want to move into a cavernous barn of a place, no matter how elegant. He wanted to sleep closer to Jane, not further away.
“I might get some ideas for decorating Beardsley Hall.”
He rolled his eyes with theatrical disgust. “I see we’ll be talking cushions and wallpaper.”
She gave a laugh. “Chin up, sir. It’s all for the greater good.”
“Just don’t expect me to proffer any opinion on frills and furbelows.”
“Heaven forbid,” she said, with more of that delightful dryness.
And Garson decided that he didn’t at all mind the idea of looking at cushions and wallpaper, as long as his lovely wife kept teasing him so fondly.
Chapter Eighteen
It was late. Dinner had long since been cleared away, and Garson and Jane shared the oak settle before the fire. He finished his port and set the empty glass on the table. After an active day, he was pleasantly weary. Jane had been eager to see as much of Wilton House as she could and had even hauled him across the wintry grounds to visit the famous Palladian Bridge.
