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“No, I’m not,” she said hotly, picking up her shawl and knotting it around her neck.

“That’s a shame. Because you could win a cup for that.”

That hurt. She bit back a cross response and grabbed the edge of the threadbare blankets. “Move over.”

He sat up and regarded her balefully. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m going to keep you warm. I don’t want to be a widow before I’m a wife.”

“I’m as tough as old boots.”

Actually even their short—and chaste—marriage proved that wasn’t the case. Oh, physically he could take on all comers, but she’d learned that his feelings weren’t nearly as impervious to pain as he’d like them to be.

But it was late, and she had enough trouble on her hands already, without arguing the finer points of his nature. “It’s my fault you’re sleeping in the cold.”

“I get by. Anyway there’s no room.”

“If you lie on your side and squeeze up against the wall, there is.”

He didn’t look convinced. “You’re playing with fire, Jane.”

“I trust to your honor.”

“An inebriated man has no honor.”

She didn’t believe that either. “Hugh, I’m sleeping next to you. We can do it on this inconvenient contraption, or we can do it in the other room where we’ll both be comfortable.”

“Speak for yourself.” He groaned and set his feet flat on the floor. “You are a pain, Jane.”

Jane stepped back. His voice was so full of rueful affection, that she didn’t even mind him calling her a pain. She extended her hand. “I’m glad you saw sense.”

“You won’t be so smug, if I have a dream about snuggling up to my dear little bride, and you wake up to find me heaving about on top of you.”

She gave another of those delicious shivers. Right now, that didn’t sound nearly as threatening as he imagined. But this wasn’t the moment. She wanted him fully conscious when he claimed her.

Soon…

“You’re so tired that the second your head hits the pillow, you’ll start snoring.”

He still looking discontented, but he took her hand and stood. “I wouldn’t bet on it, sweetheart.”

The endearment was all irony, so it shouldn’t make her melt. But she couldn’t help smiling, as she collected the candle and led him into the bedroom.

Immediately the fire in the grate made her feel warmer. She let Hugh go, blew out the candle, and made for the bed. After a hesitation, he followed. Without meeting her eyes, he lay down about a foot away.

For a long moment, they remained unspeaking and flat on their backs. Then with another of those heavy sighs, Hugh reached out to wrap an arm around her and haul her across into the shelter of his body. Jane released the breath she’d been holding and curled against his side. Closing her eyes, she drifted to sleep, warm and strangely happy.

*

Chapter Seventeen

*

As Garson swam up from the murky depths of troubled sleep, the first thing he knew was that some buffoon was using the inside of his skull as kettle drums. The second thing—so close upon the first that it was almost the front runner—was that a soft, round breast filled his left hand.

This didn’t make immediate sense, but the percussionist’s enthusiasm beggared connected thought. Without opening his eyes, he gave a soft grunt of satisfaction and squeezed.

The woman in his arms responded with a sleepy sigh and pushed back so her rump pressed into his stirring cock. Despite his headache, he recognized that this was an unusually promising beginning to the day. But long and bitter experience counseled against opening his eyes.


Tags: Anna Campbell Dashing Widows Romance