Page 23 of The Dravenhearst Brides
“It’s Sunday,” she said, confident it was answer enough. She stepped back to assess his attire. He wore exceedingly tight pants with leather inserts around the inseam. His equestrian jacket was unbuttoned to the waist, a loose shirt underneath. His hair was distinctly rumpled and windswept, his feet tucked into muddy stable boots.
The longer she looked, the deeper she frowned, certain this was not the attire of a man prepared to attend Sunday service with his wife, as any respectable Kentucky gentleman should. Thosepants!They were downright sinful—so sinful Margot feared she’d not be able to tear her own sinful eyes away from his sinfully broad thighs. Or worse still, higher up…
She closed her eyes against the offending onslaught.
Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned—
“Do you find something amusing?”
When she peeped an eye open again, he was smirking.
“Amusing?” she breathed, gaze darting south, then promptly back up. “That’s one word, I suppose, for your taste in breakfast attire.”
He snorted. “I’ve been out riding. It’s how I start every morning. If you’d ever like to join me, tolearn—”
“But it’sSunday,” she said, not wanting to answer his question about riding.
“Indeed.” He raised his eyebrows. “You’ve mentioned that already.”
“Sunday Mass begins in less than an hour. Unless you’re so bold as to wear the devil’s knickers”—she nodded toward his pants—“into a house of God, I suggest you change. Quickly.”
He burst out laughing. “The devil’s knickers?”
“You areon display,” she hissed, averting her eyes again. “I suppose it’ll give the old aunties in church the thrill of their lives—”
He laughed again, the sound deep and full. Unrestrained.
Margot’s jaw slammed shut. Her mind raced as she tried to figure out precisely how to elicit that delicious sound from him again.
“That right there,” he began, the vestiges of his laughter fading, “is the most tempting advertisement for church I’ve heard in years. Still not motivating enough to get me there though.” He shouldered around her.
“You don’t…you don’t attend church?” She paled, her hand flying to her chest.
Merrick bit into an apple, chewing loudly. “Uh, no. Do you?”
“Everyoneattends Mass.” Her utter shock prevented a more sophisticated rebuttal.
You see?Her mother’s voice chastised her in her mind.This is the sort of thing you ought to have known about your husbandbeforeagreeing to marry him.
Indeed. Horses, hooch, and a godless heathen, to boot.
“Not everyone.” Merrick shifted on his feet, growing nervous under her scrutiny.
“Everyone of sound moral character.”
“Ah. A fine distinction.”
“Hell’s bells, never you mind.” She spun on her heel to depart. She didn’t have the time or emotional countenance to argue withhim. She would simply go by herself, that’s all. No matter the twist of fear in her gut at the thought of striding into the church house unescorted and alone.
Alone.She sighed. She better get used to it. It was becoming something of a pattern since exchanging matrimonial vows.
“Where are you going?” Merrick called after her.
“To church.”Alone.
His footsteps chased her into the entry hall. Full morning sun now streamed through the window, scattering speckles of lavender light across the wood floor.
“And how do you intend to get there?” The curl of his fingers around her arm stopped her momentum.
