“The handles are just here and here,” he said, guiding her gloved hands to the appropriate places.
Aiding his wife onto the bloody cycle was not meant to be erotic, but whilst his mind was cognizant of that fact, the rest of Zachary damned well was not. Her proximity, the sunshine warming them, the faint hint of her scent on the breeze, and the way her waist had felt, curved and lovely as he’d held her there, her small hands beneath his, her gaze on him, watching… Everything about the moment amassed to make his hunger for her return with unending furor.
He had ridden cycles before.Hell, he had even ridden a tandem cycle with his lover of the hour after consuming a bottle of port. He had ridden about Hyde Park, soused and laughing, drawing the scandalized eyes of the fashionable, and he had managed not to fall or otherwise risk a limb. But he had absolutely never ridden a cycle with a cockstand.
“Steady?” he asked Izzy, cursing himself for the thickness in his throat. And elsewhere, too.
“Yes,” she said, her voice hushed, her gaze dropping to his lips. “Yes, I think so. Thank you.”
Damn it, he was going to kiss her.
Hehadto kiss her.
He lifted a hand to cup her cheek, wishing he was not wearing gloves so that he could know the silken decadence of her skin. Lowered his head. And there, on the gravel of the approach to Haines Court where any servant wandering past a window or any groom in the stables could see, he kissed his wife. Well, he could now, could he not? Surely marriage afforded a man some luxury.
He kissed her, tasting the sweet chocolate of her morning beverage on her lips. Kissed her and forgot to care. There was only Zachary and Izzy, husband and wife, only the connection of their mouths, the tangling of their tongues, the blending of their breaths. She kissed him back, her ardor evident in the breathy sigh of pleasure she made, in the intensity of her response.
But he could not make love to her here, in the midst of everything. That was not his intent. Wooing and seducing were two different sets of skills, even if the ultimate aim was the same. And he was wooing with the intent to win Izzy’s heart. With regret, he lifted his head, broke the kiss, heart pounding, cock harder than ever.
Excellent thinking, you dolt. Kiss her senseless and then try to tame your raging prick.
He stepped back, wishing he could discreetly adjust himself in his trousers.
Baby birds with their beaks open for their mama’s worm. Kittens dozing in the sunlight. Puppies wrestling.
“There we are,” he said stupidly, and far too loud, straightening his coat and stepping away from her, lest he lost all sense of reason and sanity and tried to kiss her again.
The distraction method was not working as he stiffly walked to the rear of the tandem cycle, where his seat would be.
The smell of a barn. A bee sting. Grandmother.
Ah, finally, relief. He had never liked his father’s mother, who had been a grim and unfeeling woman. She had boxed his ears for spilling a pot of ink on her skirts when he had been no more than five. The kindest thing she had ever said to him was that he had his mother’s overly large ears.
At least she had proven useful in her own way.
With a grim smile, he seated himself behind Izzy, deciding he had a deuced advantage. He would be staring at her lovely silhouette for the duration of the ride. He placed the soles of his boots where they belonged, sternly gripped the handles, and began to propel them forward.
Off they went, down the approach.
CHAPTER19
Izzy was seated on a blanket spread before the merrily crackling fire in her guest chamber, one hand planted flat on the floor behind her, skirts billowing around her, thetournureof her gown granting her extra support as she watched Zachary opening the hamper which contained their luncheon.
The weather had turned miserable and dreary and cold. Just after breakfast, it had begun to rain. Their planned picnic luncheon had become impossible. Until, on a whim, Zachary had suggested they picnic anyway.
A picnic inside is just as sweet, he had cajoled.Rather like the rose of any other name and all that drivel.
His self-deprecation and easy humor had charmed her. Persuaded her.
And now, here they were.
Halfway through their honeymoon, throwing a picnic luncheon on the floor. And while there had been a time—perhaps even upon their first arrival at Haines Court—when she would have been ill at ease with him invading her territory, she had grown accustomed to sharing spaces and touches and kisses with him. All were welcome.
Perhaps it was the wine he had poured for her, the first glass of which she had already drained. She certainly felt warm and relaxed and peaceful. But she was beginning to suspect it was merely Zachary setting her heart and mind at ease. For the last few days, he had devoted himself to being a companion. To asking her about herself, listening when she spoke.
He seemed interested in her, truly. In her thoughts and opinions, in her hopes and wishes, her likes and dislikes, in a way Arthur never had. It was only now that she was beginning to realize how marked the difference was between the two men, beyond the physical. Arthur’s letters to her had been filled with himself. His importance, his future political aspirations, his thoughts and opinions. When they had been together in person rather than resorting to letters, his discourse had not been much different. His every conversation had centered around his favorite subject: himself.
She had not realized how self-important he had been. But spending time with Zachary, alone and unfettered, without the encumbrance of a wedding hanging over their heads and without the obstruction of others, had opened her eyes. Her youthful infatuation with Arthur Penhurst had left her dazzled by him, and the love she had believed she had for him had been nothing more than the admiration of a girl which had never been tested. The first test, a wealthy American heiress with far more to offer the politically ambitious Arthur than Izzy could provide with her eccentric family’s reputation, had broken him. He had abandoned her.
