Page 40 of Married to a Scandalous Spinster
“Thebook,” she said, her eyes widening with something close to horror. “You know, with… Captain Midnight.” That rosy flush of embarrassment spread down her neck. “We left it on the floor in the library. We need to collect it before anyone sees it.” She began to look around, as though searching for her nightshift and robe.
Little point doing that, Wyatt thought. Her nightshift was in pieces, and he was fairly certain her robe was either on the floorin the library, or kicked under the bed somewhere. He put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I'll fetch it.”
Gemma's blue eyes conveyed a look of wordless gratitude. “Make sure you put it back exactly where you found it,” she said, her voice low.
He chuckled. “On the floor at your feet?”
She blushed furiously. “On the very top shelf… Next toRobinson Crusoe…”
Wyatt slipped out of bed, retrieving his shirt and breeches and tugging them on. After a moment of consideration, he collected the rest of his clothing from the floor as well.
I suspect she does not want her lady's maid seeing them and knowing what we did…
“Next toRobinson Crusoe,” he said. “On the very top shelf. Understood.”
Gemma murmured her thanks, and he stepped out into the hallway, closing the door silently behind him.
Wyatt made his way down to the library. The book was still lying open on the ground, where he had tossed it carelessly after Gemma had uttered that magic word—yes. There was no sign of Gemma's robe.
Of course there's not—you used it to tie her to the bedpost.Wyatt grinned at the memory. Picking up the book, he climbed carefully onto the step ladder and returned it to the top shelf, neatly dodging the question of which of his relatives the thing belonged to. Then he blew out the lamp they had left flickering on the side table and made his way back upstairs.
At the top of the staircase, he paused. Should he return to Gemma's bedchamber? Was that what she was expecting? Somehow, he doubted it. She had made it quite clear that she did not intend to fall asleep in his arms. But it also felt wrong to just leave his wife to her own devices after all that had just passed between them.
Wyatt shook the thought out of his head. He knew well that Gemma held no illusions about this being anything other than a marriage of convenience. Yes, they had finally succeeded in consummating it, but Wyatt felt fairly certain that that changed little in Gemma's mind.
He also knew that his wife was not one to be wooed by romance. She was far too clear-headed and realistic for that. He was certain that if he turned up back at her door, proposing she fall asleep in his arms—which, he had to admit sounded fairly wonderful—she would send him back to his own quarters with the derisive snort he deserved.
Wyatt turned down the passage and made his way back to his own bedchamber.
“Good morning, Your Grace,” Ivy sang the next morning, carrying a fresh jug of water into the dressing room. “Did you sleep well?”
With a pang of horror, Gemma realized she was still completely naked beneath the sheets. She tugged the blanket up to her chin. “Yes, thank you, Ivy. I slept very well.” What was wrong with her voice? Was it too high? Or too low? Why was she having such trouble speaking normally?
Her eyes searched furiously for her nightgown that Wyatt had yanked apart and then tossed to the floor.
If Ivy sees it, I just might die!
Casually, her lady's maid picked up the cord from Gemma's robe from the floor and placed it on the end of the bed. “Shall I help you dress, Your Grace?”
Gemma swallowed heavily. “I should like to sleep for another ten minutes. Please come back then.”
“Of course, ma'am.” Ivy bobbed a curtsey. “I shall be back shortly.” She disappeared from the room, and Gemma let out a breath of relief. She slipped out of bed and hurried to her wardrobe, pulling a fresh—and mercifully intact—nightshift from the bottom drawer.
As she slipped it on over her head, her body tingled with memories of the previous night. Of the way, Wyatt's lips had moved over her bare skin. Of the way his tongue had felt as it teased her most intimate of places. And the unnamable sensations he had drawn from her.
All at once, her body was aflame again, craving his touch. Her muscles ached, and the twinge between her legs was a stark reminder of all that had taken place the previous night. How was it that such sensations managed to feel immensely pleasurable? Gemma went hurriedly to the dressing room and washed her face at the basin.
This is becoming a far too regular morning occurrence.
Perhaps foolishly, she had assumed that finally letting her husband into her bed would put an end to such pent-up desire.But it seemed to only have intensified it. Now she truly knew what her body was capable of feeling, all she wanted was more.
After she had sent Wyatt off to retrieve the book last night, she had found herself lying awake for hours. Though her body was heavy with pleasant exhaustion, she had been unable to still her racing thoughts.
She had given in to her desire, yes, but it was more than that that was keeping her awake. It was the realization that she was lying there, waiting in hope for her husband to return to her bedchamber. She had listened carefully as he had ascended the stairs again. And then listened as his footsteps had turned down the hall toward his wing of the house. The disappointment had been crushing.
It was the right thing, Gemma knew. She could not allow herself to grow close to him; doing so would only lead to her getting hurt. And so surely it was for the best that they spend the nights in their own quarters. Nonetheless, Gemma could not deny the tug of regret that accompanied this thought.
Stop it! You know he is just like your father! He will only end up hurting you.
