Page 43 of In Want of a Wife
Just as he had failed Henry, time and again.
He sighed, kicking off the rough linen bed sheet.
“What is it?” Lily sat at the small table by the window, leaning close to read by the candlelight.
“I can breathe, can’t I?”
She waved her hand, dismissing him. Probably for the best.
It was an unusually hot, early summer night, and he wished nothing more than for a cool bath and maybe a bottle or two of brandy. Or scotch. Or whatever else he could get his hands on to put the day behind him.
“This is a terrible idea,” he grumbled. He swung his feet off the bed onto the rough wood floor. The house was a relic. It was a miracle it was standing. And a small room? He was pretty sure they were being fleeced and were being rented a closet for the evening.
“We can handle one night together.”
That irritated him further.
He scratched his jaw, watching as Lily leaned closer to the open window and tugged at her dress, revealing another slip of creamy skin he was sure would be the softest thing he could ever touch with his hands. The waning light cast her in the most beautiful wash of orange. It reminded him of her perfume, and how it was his favorite part ofriding with her in the carriage. Well, that and listening to her talk about stars and the sun and every other heavenly body imaginable.
Or the way she always had an errant curl by her ear that stuck out straight to the side.
Or the soft snoring she made when she slipped into sleep as the carriage rocked back and forth, and how she would wake and busy herself as if embarrassed to be discovered. But he loved that moment, that sliver of time where she would sleep and let the world spin around her without needing a plan to sort things out.
Or the way her mouth curled up when she pretended to be annoyed at his jokes.
“Should I order us dinner? What are you doing on your feet?”
“I’ve bruised two ribs. I am fine to walk. If I have to stay in that bed any longer…”
But he wished to spend longer in that bed, just not alone.
And that was the trouble.
He shuffled over to the washbasin, bent as far as he could, and threw cold water against his face. It was the best he could do in the circumstances.
“You’re being a bear again, Rafe.”
He straightened, wiping away the drips of water racing down his neck. There would be no substitute for a cold bath with Lily in the room.
“We can’t share a bed.”
She closed her book and sighed, then dropped her feet to the floor. She flashed a look akin to a disapproving school marm, and good heavens, even then…
Lily tugged at her dress. The small attic room was hot, and the thin fabric stuck to her body. He could see every curve, every line, every spot that begged to be explored. Clearly, he was going mad. Nothing could happen between them. They could be friends at best but lovers?
No, that would go against what he had set out to do.
He had placed that advertisement as a joke against Henry, but he had written Lily with the intention of her becoming his brother’s wife. His brother deserved love. That big, empty house deserved afamily. And that responsibility certainly was never going to fall to Rafe.
“I’m not a good man, Lily.”
She rested against the table and crossed her arms, waiting him out.
“Don’t look at me that way.”
She laughed, tucking her chin against her shoulder as she tore her gaze away to study the floor. He loved the curve of her cheek. He had a feeling it would fit perfectly in his palm.
“Christ.”
