Page 142 of The Lord Meets His Lady
She was in love with her temporary husband. Her soul had poor timing in pointing that out, but she’d never loved a man before. Love was confusing, flustering, maddening. And it was beautiful, unselfish, and glorious. The pang inside her was the joy of knowing she loved Marcus, and the agony of knowing she couldn’t be with him.
“Sometimes flirtation isn’t harmless,” she said, steeling her resolve. “Sometimes it hurts.”
“I understand.”
Looking into his hazel eyes confirmed the rolling, headlong tumble she’d taken. Her body was light and awkward all at once. And the truth hit her. She’d run away from the Wolf’s lair and found herself snared by a charming rogue.
Folding his hands in hers, she examined chafed skin. A little space between them helped. She couldn’t think straight when he touched her. “You cleaned the barn without your gloves again.”
“Forget about that,” he chided. “Let me explain.”
Explanations meant listening, and listening opened the door to hope, hope a woman in her shoes couldn’t afford. The way he carried on, she could almost believe he wanted the two of them to stay as they were. Forever.
Letting go, she inched her way to the door. “The salve… I have another jar in my room.”
“You’re running away,” he taunted quietly.
A bittersweet sensation twisted in her chest. “A moment, milord.” Smiling at his tender jibe, she gathered her skirts and flew from the room on rapid feet.
Running away.
What did he know about that?
Inside her chamber, she found the earthen jar. As she cradled it, the porous surface cooled her hand. The salve. Slippery, yet healing.
She took a gander of herself in the old mirror. Her reflection showed her cheeks in high color. The kitchen’s light cut a swath in the humble room, leaving her half in darkness. Echoes of raucous laughter played in her mind. Flashes of the past. Half-dressed women in their garrets above the Golden Goose primped before cracked looking glasses, swapping gossip and tricks of the trade. She rolled the jar in her hands, her lips curving with satisfaction. She grasped well what she’d say to her husband. Each step was a deliberate march back to his chamber with the salve in hand.
Firelight rimmed his handsome profile. Head bent, mouth firm, he had to be deep in thought. For a former soldier, he bore an air of refinement unlike the world-worn fighters she’d met. No hardships etched him. Neither did stiff discipline. He was a former military man living as he saw fit.
Despite dirt on his face from toiling in the barn, soiled clothes, and a mussed queue, her husband dazzled her. He stood by the washstand, the fall of his breeches undone as though he just finished answering nature’s call.
“You look better,” he said.
“I feel better.” Keeping one hand on the knob, she shut the door behind her.
“Good. Now we can have a rational discussion.”
“I agree.”
She never tired of watching him, his long legs in hip boots, a rock-hard bottom flexing in brown wool breeches below a narrow waist and strong back.
“I should’ve been more aware with Miss Dutton,” he said, pouring water in the basin.
“Yes, you should’ve.”
“Call it a slip of a newly married man. I’m not used to being careful about flirtation.”
“But you weren’t in a hurry to remind her that you’re a married man. Not from what I saw.”
He rolled soap in his hands, lost in the task. Candlelight from iron sconces caught the gold tips of his lashes. “I was looking through my papers. Whatever the exchange…it meant nothing. I can’t even remember what I said.”
“But there’s the rub. I needed you to be aware andnotflirt back.”
She crossed the room and set the jar on the washstand. He rinsed his hands, shrugging off the incident with Miss Dutton.
“Very well. I’m glad that’s over and we were able to have a civil discussion.”
One hand scooped the salve. Her lips curved with a cool smile.Civil discussion, indeed. Men could be so quick to dismiss a woman. For that, she scooped more salve.
