Page 38 of Suddenly a Bride
“Wonderful!” She took the basket from him and swung it merrily at her side.
Within a couple of hours, he introduced her to the smith, the miller, and the carpenter, people who treated Gwyneth respectfully because he paid for their skill. Their wives were friendly enough, and he watched Gwyneth stoop to speak to a child who hid behind her mother’s skirts and peered fearfully at him.
At mid-afternoon, they returned to The General, who regarded them impatiently.
Edmund had thought putting Gwyneth in his lap so many times in one day would stop affecting him, but it didn’t. Every time she lay across his thighs, he could feel her backside rubbing into his groin, leaving him in a state of perpetual arousal. Her skirts fluttered in the breeze, making him itch to slide his hand underneath. Her lovely face was always just beneath his, and more than once they’d glanced at each other at the same moment. Her lips had been right there, parted, waiting for a kiss he could not give.
Why had he ever agreed to this excursion?
When he once again had Gwyneth in front of him, with that damnable basket blocking his easy access to the reins, he guided The General out of the village.
He spent a few peaceful moments rocking to the movement of the horse, listening to the wind pick up, and trying to forget that his willing wife leaned so freely and comfortably against him.
He could tell she looked up at him by the way her head slid along his shoulder. He didn’t look down, knowing he could not stare at her lips much longer without doing something about this hunger to kiss her.
“Edmund,” she said, “I forgot to thank you for the fabric.”
“That is not necessary. I only reminded Mrs. Haskell about it. It was part of the castle stores, after all.”
With an intriguing sideways glance, she smiled up at him. “Then my thanks for thinking about me.”
This was not a place he cared to tread. Fortunately she went on talking.
“ ’Tis a shame my sister Caroline isn’t here.”
He frowned down at her, wondering where this topic could lead.
“She is a much better seamstress than I am.”
“There are good seamstresses in Swintongate.”
He saw her smile fade.
“So you don’t think I did a fine enough job on this gown?” she asked.
Edmund realized belatedly that the gown was new, made from the fabric he’d given her. It was grass green, with a neckline that only hinted at the valley between her breasts, even from his perspective above her. When she raised her gaze to his, she must have seen where he’d been looking, although she gave no sign but a faint blush.
“You did a very competent job,” he said in an overly serious voice.
Her face broke into a smile. “You are laughing at me.”
“You are searching for compliments. And do I look like I’m laughing?”
“Not on the outside, but I’m trying to learn to read your eyes.”
Frowning, he gazed at the meandering road. He prided himself on his impassive face, and did not like the thought that a wife of only eight days could read him so easily.
“And I am not searching for compliments,” she said with mock severity. “You implied that I needed a seamstress, and I was only countering that.”
“You said that you wished you had abetterseamstress, and I was offering a suggestion.”
She leaned back even farther to study his face. Her head rested on his shoulder, and her hair tumbled down his arm, brushing his thigh.
“You can be very amusing,” she said contemplatively.
What did he say to that? Aye, a long time ago he’d been considered amusing, but that had been a marriage—a lifetime—ago.
To distract her, he said, “We’re almost to the falls.”
