In their rooms at the inn, Garson and his wife sat up late, revisiting childhood memories over an excellent meal. He congratulated himself on his choice of bride. Jane was interesting, funny, intelligent. He could hardly believe that he only now recognized her manifold physical attractions. In short, she promised to be the perfect wife.
If only she’d take him to her bed.
After those incendiary moments in the cathedral, he hadn’t tried to coax her any further down the path of surrender. But he’d touched her lightly, fleetingly, often. A meeting of fingers when he passed her a dish. A caress across the warm curve of her nape when he wandered over to stoke the fire.
Now Garson rose from the dinner table and extended his hand. “Shall I escort you to your chamber, my lady?”
She regarded him doubtfully. “It’s all of three steps.”
r /> For dinner, she’d changed into a dark green dress that wasn’t quite as nun-like as the one she’d worn this afternoon. His gaze drifted across her scooped décolletage. Ridiculous to be so titillated by that modest display of white skin. “I’d hate a bear or a wolf to snatch you up.”
She smiled at his absurdities. All evening, she’d been more relaxed. Perhaps she became accustomed to his company. Perhaps she’d had an extra glass of claret.
“I have a feeling the only wolf here is the one talking to me.”
Smart girl. “Unfair. I’ve been the perfect gentleman.”
She stood and accepted his hand with an ease that underlined the progress he’d made. “Yes, you have.” She paused and cast him a shy glance. “Thank you, Hugh. It’s been a lovely day. One of the loveliest I’ve had in a long time.”
His fingers tightened as he drew her toward the bedroom door. “Shall I call for a maid, or will you bear with your husband unlacing your gown?”
“You don’t need to play my servant.”
He shrugged. “I’m happy to help.”
And by God, the chance to get her out of those depressing clothes was an incentive to any man with blood in his veins, even if helping her undress was the only concession he was going to win from her right now.
He waited for her to say no. She was no fool, and she must guess his offer was part of his strategy. But after a moment, she nodded. “Then, thank you. I don’t feel like dealing with a stranger.”
Satisfaction filled him. He’d been promoted. Several times yesterday, she’d called him a stranger. Yet tonight he wasn’t.
He opened the door for her to precede him into the bedroom. To a man facing exile to the dressing room, it seemed packed with forbidden luxuries. A blazing fire. A large, comfortable bed. A lovely woman he’d dearly love to swive into next Tuesday.
Garson reminded himself that this was a seduction, not a siege. An avalanche of pleasure to come would repay an ounce of patience now.
At least he bloody well hoped so.
Jane stopped in front of the cheval mirror and glanced over her shoulder. A come-hither look? Or was that wishful thinking?
He stepped up behind her and laid his hands on her straight shoulders. She didn’t jump when he touched her. More progress.
For a long moment, he stared at their reflection. A large man towered over an auburn-haired woman, whose eyes betrayed a longing he suspected she didn’t recognize. “We look like a couple.”
Something about the way they stood said they belonged together. He puzzled over how their wedding vows could establish this visible bond.
“I almost feel married,” she said softly.
Smiling, he kissed her nape. He both felt her shiver and saw it in the mirror.
He ran his hands down her arms and up again, fighting the urge to rip the dress away and uncover the treasures beneath. But as the day with his wife played out, he’d noted more than just a growing acceptance of his presence. He’d seen a nascent trust. If he broke the truce now and took what he wanted—by the devil, how he wanted—he’d be back where he was last night.
Learning to be a husband was a long, hard road.
“Hard” being the word.
“Hugh?”
The sound of his name wrenched him back to the present. Waiting for Jane’s capitulation was torture worthy of the Spanish Inquisition.