She looked as though she belonged in his life.
She was familiar to him but also a mystery. And when she caught his gaze and rolled her eyes, he laughed.
Just because.
“I don’t think any of them will be down until quarter after at least. Where is your chaperone?”
She was taking stock of the lined-up horses and drivers and vehicles, one of her fingers played nervously with a stray tendril of her hair. When she met his gaze, a delicate pink rose to her cheeks. “Mrs. Crabtree intends to meet me here. She wanted to change her shoes so that she could hike up to the abbey if we were so inclined.”
But for now, they were alone.
He glanced around. Not technically alone, what with the lined-up drivers and grooms and any curious eyes that might be peering out windows at them. So, he couldn’t pull her close to him, enfold her in his arms. His gaze settled on her mouth, which was slightly parted and the frustration he’d been feeling for a few days now nearly doubled. With her hair beneath a bonnet and her figure covered from head to toe in her dress and coat, it was odd that she still managed to ignite the same desire that was already beginning to keep him up at night.
“I spoke with Felicity,” he volunteered.
Charley would want to know. She’d seemed concerned about it earlier, and after having finally had that discussion, he understood why.
Her eyes widened. “Was she terribly upset?”
Not every woman would be concerned about a young lady she barely knew.
“She seemed disappointed.” Every time he’d discussed Felicity with her before, Charley had insisted that his courtship of her was less than authentic, and she’d encouraged him to keep his options open. He considered that he’d made progress with her if she didn’t mention that now.
“Do you regret letting her go?”
Jules stared at the tips of his boots, carefully considering his words. Deciding to be nothing less than perfectly honest, he rocked back on his heels and lifted his gaze to hers. “Not in the least. I believe I would have done so regardless; meeting you has only… hastened matters.”
“I am glad then—to be of help. I don’t suppose a marriage entered into reluctantly could be a very happy one for either party.”
Her voice trailed off and Jules again suppressed inappropriate thoughts when he caught her staring at his mouth. He’d seen that look before. In the cellar. In the orangery, and later that same night outside of her chamber.
Her pink little tongue reached out to lick her lips and Jules made a choking sound. She was killing him.
He brought his hand to his mouth and cleared his throat to distract himself—give his hands a purpose so that he didn’t drag her around to the other side of the carriage and claim those lips himself.
“I have something for you.” She reached inside of her coat. He initially thought it was the same flask he’d tasted from before but then realized it was slightly different.
How long ago had that been? Just a few days?
“Another of your whiskeys for me to taste?” And just like that, his cock stirred. There was something so damn sensual about her that had little to do with whether she was flirting with him or sending him inviting glances. A part of that, he was coming to realize, was her sensitivity and obsession with particular tastes and scents.
It made him want to find other things that excited her. He wanted to know what… flavors could send her into throes of passion.
“It’s the same.” She held it out for him. “The same whiskey, not the same flask. I brought it from America to give to my grandfather when I met him, but he didn’t want it. I—I thought that you… it isn’t dear. You don’t need to take it if you don’t want to—”
“I want it.” He’d not thought the words before he spoke them aloud. “I will cherish it.” What the hell kind of man was Lord Thornton, that he would refuse a gift such as this from his long-lost granddaughter? And it wasn’t just any gift.
He turned the flask over in his hands, knowing she’d filled it with her personal creation. It was a part of her. A very important part. He removed the cork and lifted it to his nostrils, watching her watch him as he did so. Was she remembering, just as he was, the first morning when he’d announced out of nowhere that he intended to make her his wife? This scent was familiar. His brain had captured the fragrances and stored them where they would not be lost, almost as though he’d known somehow that it would be significant.
The same sweet spicy notes danced in his mouth and on his tongue as he swirled the liquid around his mouth, over his tongue, at the back, toward the front. And when he swallowed, a warm sensation spread from his core to his limbs.
Was it the effect of the alcohol or the approval in her eyes?
“Thank you.” He held it out. “Before I can keep it, you need to take a drink with me.”
“I have my own.” But she took it from him anyway and placed her lips where his mouth had been only a moment before.
Watching her sip whiskey, he found, had become one of his favorite things. Would she make similar expressions when he made love to her?
