He was only counting the minutes until this supper was over, and he could take his wife home. Away from aging roués who had no sense of a lady’s personal space.
And the thing of it was—the thing that most set his teeth on edge—she didn’t appear to mind. Not one bit. Actually, she appeared to be enjoying herself immensely.
He’d never seen her smile so, her eyes flashing back and forth between Wellington and Rothesbury. She was the loveliest, most vibrant woman in this room. In any room. Gone was her customary intensity and reservation. In its place was sparkling light.
Strangely, he didn’t prefer this Hortense.
He liked her intensity.
Then she met his eye, as if she’d known all this time that he’d been watching her. He detected a flash of her intensity, and that was all he needed. Heat shot through his body, and another sort of tension wove through him. All thecarnality,lust, andappetitespoken in their wedding vows pushed forward and made themselves known.
He shot to his feet, and his dinner partners emitted thrilled cries of astonishment and gossipy delight. Next, he was striding around the table, wide eyes and amused titters following him to his clear destination. He had no care for a single person in this room, save one.
Save the one who set his blood alight.
“My love,” he said upon reaching her, the endearment flowing from his mouth all too easily, “you look flushed. These close environs are too much for your delicate constitution. Mayhap a cooling stroll on the terrace is what you need.”
“I can assure you, dear husband, that I am quite well.” Her narrowed eyes told him in no uncertain terms to return to his seat and stop his foolishness. “I’ve just been acquainting myself with Lord Rothesbury and would hate to interrupt our fascinating conversation.”
A different sort of heat streaked through Jamie. The heat of humiliation. He’d been a fool. She’d only been doing the job he’d hired her for: lure Rothesbury into their web.
How had it never occurred to him that this was the way she would accomplish that goal? By using her beauty and wits to charm the man silly. But…
What else was she planning to use?
Red flashed before his eyes, and the feeling was now speeding through him with a momentum of its own. He was powerless to stop it. And neither, it appeared, could he stop playing the fool, for he held out his hand. “I must insist.”
Her eyes snapped with pique. She wasn’t happy with him. He didn’t care. He couldn’t watch her flirt with that reprobate a minute longer.
“It’s gone cold with the night out there, Clare,” said Rothesbury. “Have a care for your bride’s creamy shoulders.” The duke’s gaze slid up Hortense’s arm and across her clavicle.
Jamie took a threatening step forward, which only made the duke smile. “I’ll not be looking to you, Rothesbury, for advice on how to treat one’s wife,” he said through clenched teeth.
Rothesbury froze at the mention of his long-deceased wife, who had died under mysterious circumstances at a far-flung estate. The man emitted a tight laugh, but no warmth entered his eyes. “Gallant young men and their brides.”
Jamie held out his hand, and Hortense took it. The buzz of the room quieted to a dull hum. They tended to have that effect. The scatter of muted laughter chased at their backs. They’d definitely given thetonsomething to talk about on this night.
But he had no care for that. What he needed was to get Hortense alone and…
What?
An idea hadn’t fully formed in his mind. He was operating on instinct.
As they strode down a dim corridor, empty of all but a few servants, he tested the first door at hand. The room behind it lay empty and dark, but for the light of the moon streaming through a window. Instinctively, he pulled her inside. The door shut behind them, muting the cacophony of the supper party that now seemed long ago and far away. Silence would have prevailed but for the sound of their uneven breath.
She stared up at him, her cherry red lips parted a fraction, her body removed from his a hairsbreadth, so close he could inhale her clean lemon scent. Intensity and truth shone in her eyes. This was the Hortense he knew. How detached he’d felt from that other Hortense, the one who could charm two dukes with the merest bat of an eyelash.
But this Hortense…he needed to connect withher.
His lungs refused to draw air. This woman, she shifted his center of gravity. Into the intimate space between them entered their wedding kiss, of his lips touching hers, his hand on the small of her back, its sweet curve fitting perfectly into the palm of his hand. Reserve and restraint had pulled him away then. He wasn’t sure they would come to his rescue a second time.
She reached up and caressed his jaw, light fingertips tracing its line. The tip of her tongue ran along her bottom lip. What he saw in her eyes…
Could it be?
If he touched her again, there would be no reserve, no restraint.
Her eyes told him she understood all this, and, like him, she wanted more.
