Still, from the look on her face, he could tell she was not yet at ease in his house.
“Of course,” he said with forced ease. After all, what danger could there be. She was no temptation to his vow. “If it will give you comfort, I shall keep you company for a while.”
“Thank you,” she said. “My sister and I have never been apart.”
Slowly, he reached behind her. His arm ever so lightly brushed her waist.
He opened the door for her and escorted her in, ignoring the electric sensation along his wrist where he had skimmed the plain linen of her gown.
“That bed,” she gasped from behind him. “It is immense!”
Bed, wife, his…
The three words came to him in quick succession.
She was his wife.
And as his wife, she was his. And really, there was only one thing that a man was supposed to do with his wife on their wedding night, wasn’t there?
No, absolutely not. Bloody hell, where were these thoughts coming from?
He would never do anything with his wife that involved that bed. For they had agreed upon it. They had a contract. So he strode to the fire and looked down at the red and gold flames.
Flames which looked exactly like her captivating, enhancing hair.
He was a poetic, driveling fool.
Red hair and flames. What nonsense.
He grabbed the poker and stabbed at the logs. Embers danced up into the chimney.
“You like the bed?” he asked, his voice strangled.
“Oh, it is magnificent,” she enthused. “It must be at least five hundred years old.”
“At least,” he agreed, stabbing at the fire harder.
“The carving is absolutely breathtaking,” she stated. “Look at the girth of it, the strength, the power of the column.”
He winced. The words coming out of her mouth were positively scandalous in regards to a bed. If she was but a little wanton, he might think that she was using those words to tease him; but he knew that she was not.
They were completely innocent.
Hewas the one with the terrible mind.
Hesitantly, he glanced back over his shoulder and looked at her, at her strong body and the way she was eyeing that bed as if it was the most beautiful thing in the world.
A wave of desire swept toward him. It crashed slowly over him, starting at his chest, warming up through his heart, straight up through his head. And then back down again, straight to his loins.
Damnation and bloody hell. This wasn’t happening. He refused to let it. He refused to believe it.
He was not supposed to feel lust for Victoria.
But there was something about the way she viewed the world that made her infinitely appealing, and it was going to drive him mad.
“Victoria,” he rasped, “I’m not feeling particularly well. I think that I should go to bed.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said with genuine sympathy. “Would you care to lie down on my bed for a moment and have a rest?”