They’d come to a bench at a turn in the path, and he carefully dusted the seat with a cloth from his pocket before gesturing for her to sit.
She sat slowly, marshalling her defenses. A rose arbor shielded the seat, and she watched as he broke off a blossom.
“Ouch.” He’d pricked himself on a thorn and stuck his thumb in his mouth.
She looked away from the sight of his lips around the digit and swallowed. “Serves you right for mangling your mother’s roses.”
“It’s worth it,” he said, too close. He’d braced a hand on the seat and leaned down to her. She caught the scent of sandalwood. “The prick of the thorns only makes attaining the rose that much more gratifying.”
She turned and his face was only inches from hers, his eyes a strange tropical color that never occurred naturally in England. She thought she saw sadness lurking in their depths. “Why are you doing this?”
“What?” he asked idly. He brushed the rose against her cheek, the softness of the petals sending a shudder down her spine.
She caught his hand, hard and warm beneath her fingertips. “This. You act as if you’re wooing me.”
“Do I?” He was very still, his lips only inches from hers.
“I’m already your wife. There’s no need to woo me,” she whispered, and couldn’t keep the plea from her voice.
He moved his hand easily, though she still had her fingers wrapped about his. The rose drifted across her parted lips.
“Oh, I think there’s every need,” he said.
HER MOUTH WAS the exact same shade as the rose.
Jasper watched as the petals brushed against her lips. So soft, so sweet. He wanted to feel that mouth beneath his own again. Wanted to part it and invade it, marking it as his own. Five days, she’d said, which left another still to go. He’d have to practice patience.
Her cheeks were flushed a delicate pink, her eyes wide above the rose, but as he watched, they lost focus, and her lids began to drift down. She was so sensitive, so responsive to the smallest of stimuli. He wondered if he could make her come simply by kissing her. The thought quickened his breath. Last night had been a revelation to him. The luscious creature who’d invaded his room and taken charge was every man’s erotic dream. Where had she learned such sensuous wiles? She’d been like quicksilver—mysterious, exotic, slipping away from him when he’d tried to grasp her.
Yet he’d never noticed her before that day in the vestry. He was a stupid, blind fool, and he thanked God for it. Because if he was a fool, then so were all the other men who’d passed her by at innumerable balls and soirees and never taken the time to look. C tifoo None of them had noticed her either, and now she was his.
His alone to bed.
He had to fight to keep his smile from turning wolfish. Who would’ve thought chasing one’s own wife would be so arousing? “I have every right to woo you, to court you. After all, we had no time before we were married. Why not do it now?”
“Why bother at all?” she asked. Her voice sounded dazed.
“Why not?” He teased her mouth again with the rose, watching as the flower pulled down her lower lip, revealing the moist inner skin. His groin tightened at the sight. “Should not a husband know his wife, cherish and possess her?”
Her eyes flickered up at the word possess. “Do you possess me?”
“I do legally,” he said softly. “But I don’t know if I do spiritually. What do you think?”
“I think you don’t.” He pulled back the flower to let her speak, and her tongue touched her bottom lip where it had been. “I don’t know if you ever will.”
Her frank gaze was a challenge.
He nodded. “Perhaps not, but that won’t stop me from trying.”
She frowned. “I don’t—”
He placed his thumb across her mouth. “What other talents have you not told me of, my fair wife? What secrets do you keep hidden from me?”
“I have no secrets.” Her lips brushed his thumb like a kiss as she spoke. “If you look, you’ll not find any.”
“You lie,” he said gently. “And I wonder why.”
Her eyelids dropped, veiling her gaze. He felt the moist heat of her tongue against his thumb.