Torrie felt the novel sensation of his cheeks and ears going hot. Besotted? Well, hell. Perhaps he was. He certainly could think of no one but Bess. Was that what this feeling was?
He cleared his throat, wondering at the newness of it all, the queer sensation lodged deep in his chest. “Since you are here, Harriet, I would like your suggestions for weathering the gossip storm. Shall we all find a more comfortable room in which to sit?”
Preferably a chamber in which their mother was not present, he added silently.
“Of course,” his sister said, and whether it was his countenance that gave him away or she merely shared a similar vein of thought, he couldn’t say. But when she added a suggestion that they seek the drawing room, he was relieved.
He offered his arm to Bess and then escorted her from the library, her hand on his arm burning him through his coat with each step.
CHAPTER8
Elizabeth emerged from her bath that evening exhausted and disappointed.
Her first dinner at Torrington House had been a frigid failure.
The dowager had remained mostly silent for the duration, but her disapproval of Elizabeth had been plainly written on her face. Torrie had attempted to interject some humor into the abysmal affair, but by the meal’s conclusion, the three of them had fallen into grim silence.
But she was dismayed to realize her greatest source of discontent. Torrie had once again sent a bath for her, and yet, this evening he had failed to join her. She pulled a clean night rail over her head now. It was one she had been carrying with her for years and which bore the neatly stitched repairs she’d had to make. The Duchess of Montrose—Hattie, as she had insisted Elizabeth call her—would take her shopping to replenish her admittedly disastrous wardrobe.
Her fingers found the buttons, sliding them into their moorings one by one, as she told herself that it didn’t matter if Torrie’s mother despised her. Telling herself that even if the gossip swirling about her amongst thetonwas as dreadful as Torrie suggested, and even if the Countess of Worthing continued to hatefully spew her bile, that at least she was no longer a governess.
At least she had a home. A chance for a future.
A husband.
She reached the final button as a knock sounded on the door.
It was him. Unbidden, his words from earlier in the library returned to her.Let me show you how desirable you are.An ache began between her legs and blossomed outward, making her feel heavy and flushed. Combing her fingers through her long, wet hair, she took a deep breath, attempting to calm her galloping heart.
“Come,” she called softly.
The door opened, and Torrie swept over the threshold, barefoot and in a banyan just as he had been the night before. So handsome, he stole her breath.
She swallowed hard, keenly aware that she was clad in nothing more than the threadbare night rail, without a dressing gown to offer her modesty. His vibrant, green gaze swept over her like a caress.
“Good evening, Bess.”
His voice was equal parts sin and seduction, a husky rasp that filled her with longing.
“Good evening,” she returned, feeling unaccountably nervous and eager all at once.
Would he wish to consummate their marriage tonight? His actions and words earlier certainly suggested so. Her breath caught at the thought.
“You’ve finished your bath already?” he asked, closing the door at his back before striding toward her.
She noticed that his hair was wet.
“Yes.” Her bare toes curled into the thick woolen carpet beneath her feet. “And you?”
“I did.” He stopped before her, a smile on his lips that reached his eyes, unlike the strained smiles from earlier at dinner. “I’ll admit, however, that I was hoping to catch you yet in your bath, that I might help wash your hair again.”
The scent of him swirled around her, fresh soap and citrus and bay.
“I would have liked that,” she admitted, all too aware of this man in every sense.
Because now that he was her husband, she wanted nothing but him. Nothing but everything he had to give. How quickly her foolish, fragile heart had become involved. One full day as his wife, and she was in the palms of his hands.
“Shall I brush it for you?”
