He frowned. “Yes, you do. Today was long. Tomorrow will be just as arduous, and I am not certain what awaits us at Marchmont.”
He had been neglectful of the earldom, and this he knew. But he had entrusted matters to his stewards and his step-mother. He had never asked to bear the burden of estates and the livelihoods of so many people.
“Very well,” she said, whirling about and presenting him with her back. “Will you help me to open my carriage dress? I fear I cannot manage it alone.”
More temptation.
He ought to have drunk more ale.
It had been some time since he had aided a woman in the act of undressing. Presented with the elegant swath of her neck revealed by the upsweep of her hair, he could not resist skimming the backs of his fingers over her skin. She was so soft here. And warm.
He swallowed.
She shivered.
All the tension he had been so determined to avoid had settled upon him. The very air of the chamber had shifted, growing thick and heavy. Anticipation pulsed through him, settling in his groin. Need licked down his spine, fiery and undeniable.
Alessandro forced himself to find the closures of her gown, hidden cleverly within the fine muslin. One by one, they opened. He plucked at a bow which had been tied to emphasize her waist until it, too, came undone.
“Thank you,” she told him when the twain ends of her bodice gaped.
She stepped forward, severing the contact, and turned back to face him before stripping the sleeves from her arms and shimmying to allow the gown to fall. And then she stood before him in nothing more than her chemise, petticoats, and stockings. Her gown billowed to the floor.
“De nada,” he said, forcing himself to walk away from her before he gave in to the mad urge to seize her, take her to the bed, and make love to her all night long.
Instead, he loosened his cravat, stalked to the wash basin, and splashed water on his face, relieved to find it cold. He would need a veritable waterfall of it to cool his ardor.
Behind him, the unmistakable sounds of his wife disrobing could be heard. Soft rustles. Half boots being toed off. A sigh of contentment as the bed creaked and she settled within it. More rustling of bedclothes.
Each noise sent a tiny arrow of lust bolting straight through him.
“I am settled now, husband,” she called.
He did not bother to reply, merely splashed more water on his face. Alessandro took his time, removing his garments with care. Slowly. Until the steady sound of his wife’s breathing in sleep reached him. Only then, did he move silently toward the bed.
She had succumbed, at long last, to the arduous journey and the ale. Her hair was unbound, a dark halo fanned on her pillow. Grimly, he pulled back the bedclothes and joined her.
And promptly realized his wife was not wearing a stitch.
Cristo, this was going to be a long night.
He blew out the brace of candles he had carried to the bed, pitching the room into darkness, and willed himself to go to sleep.
Chapter Fifteen
For the finalleg of their journey through Wiltshire to Marchmont, Alessandro deigned, at last, to join her within the carriage once more. Catriona did not bother to hide her displeasure with him as he settled himself on the squab opposite her.
Her head had only just begun to cease aching, which was his fault.
She had risen to a dry mouth, a swirling stomach, and her lady’s maid hovering over her, telling her Lord Rayne had implored her to get her ladyship dressed. They needed to depart. Her breakfast had been small and unforgiving. The haste with which she had been prepared had been most displeasing.
But her greatest frustration had not been in the sad state she had found herself by morning’s grim, disapproving light. Rather, it was because of her husband. He had been avoiding her, sidestepping her, and ignoring her for nearly two days straight.
And she had reached her limit.
“Why such a frown,querida?” he asked, as if he had not an inkling.
“You know why, my lord,” she returned, keeping her voice cool.
