Page 52 of Lord Garson's Bride
“What are you thinking about?” she asked softly from beside him.
It was the kind of question lovers asked. Anyone looking at them would assume they shared a bed. They sat hip to hip, and he absently stroked her hand as he stared into the flames.
Since this morning’s impulsive kiss, he hadn’t gone past holding her hand. A change was in the air, but he still feared pushing Jane too far too fast—as he had their first night—and tearing the filigree net drawing them inexorably together. A woman’s trust was both fragile and exquisite.
“I’m thinking how you’ll love Italy.”
“I’ll be so wide-eyed, I’ll drive you mad, I suspect.”
He gave a soft huff of laughter. “I’ll bear up.”
“Such a hero.”
“You have no idea.”
“You certainly bore up today when I made such a fuss about all the treasures we saw. What a lovely house.”
“Yes, I’ve always liked it.”
“It’s been the nicest day.” To his surprise, she turned her hand and laced her fingers through his. “Thank you.”
“It was my pleasure.” Another surprise. It had been his pleasure. Showing Jane around Wilton House had been fun.
She drew her hand away. “And now it’s time for bed,” she said softly.
Although her announcement heralded nothing more than the sleep of the innocent, his blood heated. He gave his masculine instincts a stern order to step back. There was no reason to get excited. He didn’t even have a kiss to anticipate. “What would you like to do in the morning?”
“Let’s see what the weather brings.” She rose and smoothed her skirts. Another dreary dress. He couldn’t wait to see his Jane in some real color. “Are you coming?”
Devil take her. These damned ambiguous remarks asked for trouble. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Her fine russet brows drew together. “Aren’t you going to…sleep with me?”
There was no point telling his dick that she really did mean sleep. He ground his teeth and prayed for patience. Surely by now, Jane knew that teasing him like this verged on cruelty. How his debauched friends would fall around laughing, if they found out Hugh Rutherford’s bride was still a virgin five days after his wedding.
“No, I’m damn well not.”
His tetchy answer made her jerk back. “Don’t you want to?”
“You know I bloody want to.” Garson lurched to his feet, the evening’s peace shattering as if it had never existed. “I might have held you in my arms pure as an angel last night, but nothing this side of heaven can make me do that again.”
The somber gray gaze settled on him, as he struggled to control his temper. She was too inexperienced to understandwhat she put him through. When she licked her lips, Garson swallowed a groan. This was agony.
“I’m not asking you to do that again, Hugh,” she said calmly. She raised her chin. “I’m asking you to make me your wife.”
* * *
For what felt like an age, Hugh stared at her as if he didn’t understand. Once she spoke the words, she’d expected him to sweep her into his arms and through to the bedroom. Preferably kissing her, so she didn’t have to think too hard about what was about to happen.
“Are you sure?” His growl wasn’t reassuring, and he still didn’t touch her.
“I was.” Irritation fought its way up through an ocean of bewilderment. “You’ve been trying to bed me for days. I can’t believe you’re dithering like an old woman deciding on green tea or black.”
To her relief, a spark of humor lit his dark eyes. “Green tea or black?”
“Yes,” she said steadily. To her vast relief, he no longer looked like she’d struck him with an ax. “Fussing and fretting and asking for something, then deciding you don’t want it after all.”
The spark in his eyes flared into a blaze. As that glittering gaze focused on her, she gave a long, sensuous shiver, and her heart performed acrobatics.
