Even he did not fully remember. The walls had been set in place since...
The screeching of wheels. The torrent of rain. The darkness and the cold.
Breathe.
He rested his cheek on top of her head.
She was nothing he’d imagined in a bride—in some ways, even more unsuitable than Penelope had been at the spark of his mad infatuation. He no longer had the excuse of youthful folly, either. And she had secrets, too. Ones even Ash had not been willing to divulge.
But the reasons he wanted to know her secrets had undergone a fundamental change. Nothing in his life would ever be the same.
Lightninghadstruck again.
He’d been denying the consequence. Refusing to understand the impact of that first meeting which had set his world reeling. Now, well, after pretending they were a family all afternoon, he realized he no longer wished to pretend. But if he wanted to keep her in his life, if he wanted to make his pretend notion of a family real—not to mention keep his promise to Ash—then the only solution was marriage.
Marriage...and all its benefits.
His admission shifted the direction of his blood—complicating a moment already too fraught for comfort. He suppressed a groan.
The innkeeper’s wife had given him a stern look and lectured him on not ‘troubling’ his lady before she went back below stairs. Not that he’d dream of doing so under these circumstances, even if they had been completely alone.
Even if she had been his own.
She was not.
Still, he reacted with a growing carnal need to her light breath against his neck, the tickle of her hair, the sweet softness of the body resting, if not trustingly, then at least in grateful fatigue against his own. His breath slowed. His grip tightened.
If the children had not been asleep but a few feet away, he’d have had a rough time mastering his natural inclinations.
Her breath caught, as if in dawning awareness of the direction of his own thoughts. She pushed him away. Even in dim light, her expression was such a mask of horror he almost checked behind him to see if the great beast had entered the room.
“Youmustforgive me, Your Grace.”
“Extraordinary circumstances,”—he cooled his heated thoughts—“compel extraordinary reactions.”
He let his arms fall slowly from her shoulders. He couldn’t help himself from indulging in one, last caress. He wouldn’t allow himself to touch her again. Not until he’d decided for certain what was to be done.
He removed himself to the chair. “Nothing improper has occurred.”
“Naturally not,” she hesitated, “since the children are in the room.”
He searched her gaze for any sign she’d welcome his attention under other circumstances. But the dim light and her evident weariness concealed any answers he might have found.
“So, nothing improper has occurred,” she repeated, adding, “yet.”
Her frank response disarmed him.
“Yet,” he repeated with a sigh.
“I’m tired.” Her grip on the bedlinens tightened. “I don’t know what I’m saying.”
The wariness in her tone was enough to leave him chastened. “I apologize. I’ve taken advantage.”
“No! I—we... We’ve both had an exhausting day. I’m sure you only meant to comfort me.” She didn’t sound sure.
And she was right to question his motives.
“Have I lost a chance at winning your good opinion?” he asked.
