Zachary winced at her lack of enthusiasm. “Regrettably, the ruins are not as close as I hoped. I discovered as much after consulting with the head groom. Fortunately, however, Greymoor has recently had this beauty sent up from London. I thought we could ride it to the ruins. Together.”
“I have never ridden a cycle before,” she said, frowning at him from beneath her bonnet.
She had been doing rather a lot of that since becoming his wife. Frowning. He was going to have to work harder to make her smile. To wear down her resistance. To earn her happiness. He was going to charm the bloody drawers off her before this honeymoon was through. He vowed it.
“Today is an excellent day to give it a try, do you not think?” He cast a glance at the sky overhead, which was unusually accommodating, nary a cloud in sight and no sign of rain in the imminent future.
The sun was shining, lending the air a surfeit of warmth that had been absent the day before.
“I am hardly dressed for such an event,” she said, her tone hesitant.
He looked at her walking gown, which was fashioned of blue velvet and green silk, trimmed with tassels and an elaboratetournure. It was true that he had not taken her penchant for commodious dress into account when he had settled upon the cycle as a solution for her dislike of riding.
“Perhaps a change of dress is in order,” he agreed, thinking the massive skirts would likely become tangled in the spokes and tear.
“What if I fall?” she wanted to know next. “It looks rather treacherous.”
“I have ridden cycles before. The rear wheels will keep us steady,” he reassured her.
She was nibbling on her lip again, and he barely suppressed the urge to kiss her. After the clamor of the wedding at Barlowe Park, being alone with her, although there were never servants far, was refreshing.
“I do not know, Zachary.”
She had used his given name. The realization pleased him. At least she was not resurrecting all her walls.
She sighed. “I shall see if I have anything more suitable to wear.”
“I am more than happy to help you disrobe,” he could not resist offering.
Ah, to have Izzy naked and in his bed. In any bed, for that matter. Their every interlude thus far had been unplanned and frenzied. The library, the little falls, the carriage. He could not wait to take his time, to worship her as she deserved.
“I have a feeling the process will be far more efficient without your aid,” she said dryly.
She was almost teasing him. More progress.
“Go on, then,” he urged. “Your steed awaits, oh queen.”
He was rewarded with the twitch of her lips, suggesting she was repressing a laugh at his antics. Excellent. Perhaps his utter lack of manners at breakfast had helped. She took her leave, and he told himself he would not admire the sway of her hips as she returned to the manor house, but he proved himself a liar by watching her until she disappeared from view.
Then, he occupied himself by pacing. Anything to keep the edge of desire at bay. He had no wish to ravish her on some old pile of Roman rocks, for Christ’s sake. After what seemed an eternity, she finally returned, stealing his breath as she approached him in divided skirts that left little to the imagination when it came to her shapely legs.
Fuck.
He shifted from his left foot, to his right. And then he tried to think thoughts that never failed to make his cock go soft. Baby birds. Puppies. Kittens. A pile of horse dung.
There we are, lad. Down you go.
He cleared his throat as she approached, feeling suddenly like a lovesick swain spying his first woman. “I should have guessed you had such a costume in your repertoire. I am only sad it is missing artichokes or fringes or some manner of flora and fauna.”
He was teasing her again. She dressed in ostentatious fashion, but he knew her well enough by now to understand her brazen and bold dresses suited her.
“I can return and ask my lady’s maid to sew on some obliging tassels if you prefer it,” she said lightly.
Her cheeks were flushed from her hasty return to her chamber and the change of gown, he had no doubt. Again, he had to squelch the urge to kiss her breathless.
“I suppose this will do,” he said, “else we will never be on our way to view the ruins. Come, let me help you get on the seat.”
Still eying the cycle with an air of distrust, she accepted his arm and allowed him to assist her in mounting the front seat of the cycle. He took his time, making certain she was situated comfortably, allowing his hands to linger on her waist.
