Page 49 of In Want of a Wife
The carriage stoppedat the top of the hill, steep as ever.
Long ago, Henry would race Rafe up to the top. Rafe always beat him to the bottom by throwing his body into the grass with wild abandon and rolling down until he was dizzy. Henry didn't like being dizzy, and Rafe enjoyed the thrill far too much.
And that was precisely why the Davies brothers never saw eye to eye.
Rafe scratched his brow, for once not eager to meet what awaited at the bottom of the hill. It had been far too long since he’d been here.
“We have to walk the rest of the way,” he said, clearing his throat. “We’d likely be stalled anyway.”
“Hmm?”
Lily peered out the window as a large flock of sheep ambled over the emerald grass in front of the carriage.
“Sheep? I’m to believe sheep will stop the formidable Lieutenant Rafe Davies?”
The sun seeped into the window, washing over Lily. It cast the perfect shadow at the hollow of her throat. One of his very favorite places to kiss her. Last night had been such a sweet mix of bliss and torture, sleeping beside her. They had kissed for a time, but eventuallysettled to sleep with Lily draped over his chest, and nothing else had happened.
Even if he had wished otherwise.
“Are you flirting with me, Miss Abrams?”
“I wouldn’t dare dream it.”
He grinned. He couldn’t help it around her. “Try to move one of those frustrating beasts. I dare you.”
Lily nibbled on her lip, attempting to hide the smirk that pulled tight at the corner of her mouth.
Christ, this woman. Must they leave? Could they carry on and keep this secret between them?
“Is it similar to waking me in the morning?” she asked.
Rafe chuckled and reached for the door before Lily placed her hand on his. It was bare, and her mere touch sent his body in chaos.
“Wait.”
He glanced over his shoulder, her dark brown eyes wide and pleading.
“I’m not sure this is the best idea. How will we explain… well, anything?”
“Gwen Davies is a saint of a woman who will likely bake you cake, fill you with all the tea you can drink, and then ask if she can sew you a new wedding dress before we leave in the morning.”
“Look at us, Rafe. Your shirt is bloodstained, and my dress is torn.” She waved her hands in front of him. “Your face…”
“What’s wrong with my face? I thought you liked it plenty.”
“You are a scoundrel. Have I told you that enough? And I am about to meet your mother?—”
“Having just been robbed by highwaymen and surviving the whole ordeal. I promise it will be fine.”
He wondered when it became so easy to lie to Lily. He didn’t like it one bit. One small mistruth had grown and bubbled, and now it was much bigger than both of them.
“Welcome home then, Mr. Davies.”
Something within seemed to grow feral at the low timbre of his name out of her mouth. Her husband? He glanced down at theirhands touching, then back toward his childhood home, letting out a deep sigh.
She was beautiful in the afternoon light. And in the morning tangled up in sheets. And at night when she crawled into bed beside him.
He jumped out of the carriage, instantly remembering his broken ribs. Fine, no more jumping. Rafe waited for Lily to tug on her lace gloves before leading her down the hill, toward the house his mother refused to part with. Too many good memories she had insisted.
