He came to her, lifting his hand to her hair. He captured a strand between finger and thumb, rubbing gently.
“Like firelit silk,” he murmured. “I’m torn between my desire as a man to see you thus always and my desire as a husband to keep this beauty all to myself. For my viewing pleasure alone.”
Even without the constriction of her undergarments, she couldn’t breathe. The proprietary heat in his gaze summoned her arousal, blood swelling the tips of her breasts. Need gnawed at her belly, and she wetted her lips.
“Hungry?” he asked.
Not only for food.The thought popped into her head, but even her newfound confidence couldn’t compel her to say it. The knowing gleam in Adam’s eyes made her intimate muscles clench. She felt herself sway toward him, physically drawn to his charismatic force…
A growl broke the reverie…and it came from herbelly.Her cheeks pulsed with embarrassment.
Lines crinkled around Adam’s eyes. His lips curved into that new and irresistible grin. “There’s my answer. I’d best feed my beautiful wife before indulging in other appetites.”
His wink teased a chuckle from her. Then his hand engulfed hers, leading her to the table by the roaring hearth. It had been set for two, the firelight twinkling in the ruby depths of the wineglasses. A tiered cart beside the table held several covered dishes.
“I requested a simple repast, one that we could serve ourselves,” Adam said as he seated her. “I hope you do not mind.”
“I like this very much. It’s ever so cozy.” She smiled at him. “And that smells delicious…is it hotchpotch?”
He lifted the lid of an earthenware pot, releasing a confirming puff of savory steam. Her mouth watered as he served them each a plate of the rich stew made from local game and vegetables. A rustic oval loaf sat on the table, along with a pot of butter.
He raised his wineglass to hers. “Bon appetit, pet.”
With sudden hunger, Gabby dug in. She savored the chunks of tender meat braised with onions, carrots, and parsnips, the homey mélange specked with parsley and sage. She slathered her crusty slice of bread with creamy butter, her eyes closing briefly at the pleasure of that humble yet timeless pairing.
She realized that Adam was watching her, wineglass in hand, his plate mostly untouched.
Feeling like a glutton, she swallowed her mouthful. “I must be hungrier than I realized.”
“I like watching you eat. Seeing you enjoy a sensual, natural pleasure.” His husky tone made her hunger for other sensual pleasures as well. “Tell me about another time we shared an intimate supper like this, sweetheart.”
Remembering their game from the carriage, she took a sip of wine before answering. “This one is rather difficult. We didn’t dine alone often. And due to the demands of your business, you were frequently away from home.”
He frowned. “I didn’t take my meals with you and the children?”
“We usually breakfasted together.” Heat rose in her cheeks as she thought of other aspects of their regular schedule. “And you were always home on, um, Wednesday nights. We usually supped as a family then.”
Afterward, you came and made love to me. I looked forward to each and every Wednesday.
“Out of seven days, I only supped with you on one of the nights?” he said, brows drawn.
“You’re a busy man, as I said.” She found herself defending him. “And most fashionable couples do not live in each other’s pockets. We each had our own social functions to attend, although some of them overlapped.” Beneath his inscrutable gaze, she felt compelled to add, “It is common for husbands and wives to maintain separate schedules.”
“On the topic of schedules, I’ve gleaned from various people that I’m a man of routine.”
Not knowing what to make of the swift turn in the conversation or the edge in his voice, she nodded warily. “You’re an organized, disciplined sort of person. You told me once that you hated surprises.”
“I’m so organized and disciplined that I only made love to you on Wednesdays?”
Her pulse spiked. “How…did you remember…?”
“You told me, Gabriella. The night you drank too much champagne you said that I wouldn’t make love to you because it wasn’t Wednesday,” he said grimly. “Is that true?”
“Well, yes. That was the routine,” she admitted.
“Why the bloody hell did I only make love to you once a week?”
“I don’t know. It was just the way it was,” she said helplessly. “Ever since we were married.”
