Besides, Tessa was already looking into Jessabelle’s identity. Dread quivered in the pit of Gabby’s stomach, and she took a calming breath. Whatever Tessa discovered would determine her own next steps. If Jessabelle wasn’t amongst those killed in the brothel fire, then Gabby would let go of her suspicions about Adam’s infidelity once and for all. But if Jessabellehadworked at The Gilded Pearl…
I’ll cross that bridge when I get there.
Such was her faith in her marriage, in who she and Adam were becoming, that she could put all those worries aside for now. She continued her search for him and found him in the sparring room. The sight of him set her pulse aflutter.
Goodness, she’d married a potent man.
He was working on his pugilistic skills, a delight she’d never seen first-hand since he practiced at a boxing saloon when they were in London. He was in the padded rectangular ring, the perimeter marked off by four posts connected by rope. His fists jabbed the air in a hard, rapid sequence.
His outfit was designed for ease of movement: he wore a linen shirt open at the collar and loose white trousers that hung low on his narrow hips, kept up by a colorful striped belt, the kind worn by prizefighters. The wide ends of the belt flapped as he moved lightly on his feet, shifting balance, feigning left and right as he threw punches.
She wetted her lips, arousal spilling through her.
In his present attire, he looked exactly like the sultan of her fantasies.
He caught sight of her, the alertness of his gaze sending tingles over her skin. When he exited the roped ring and came toward her, she saw the expanse of hair-dusted muscle revealed by his unbuttoned shirt, the sweat-dampened fabric clinging to his ridged torso. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, revealing his sinewy, veined forearms. An ebony wave fell across his brow, completing the image of an exotic prince.
When he bent to kiss her cheek, the smell of his clean, male sweat made her pussy quiver.
“Did you have a nice nap?” he murmured.
“Yes,” she managed. “It was quite refreshing.”
“I’m glad. I would have stayed with you, but after all those weeks as an invalid, I couldn’t stomach being in bed any more than necessary.”
Given the disproportionate amount of time the two of them had spent in bed in the last few days, she had to lift her brows.
His smile was lazy and all male. “Making love to my wife is necessary.”
Since she wasn’t about to argue with that, she asked, “How did your practice session go?”
“I know the basics.” He looked pleased with himself. “My form’s not bad, actually.”
She glanced at his taut, muscular form.It’s not bad at all.
As if he caught wind of her thoughts, he gave her that slow, toe-curling smile again.
“What are you thinking about, my dear wife?”
“Nothing.” The reply was habitual, the way she always responded when she was afraid, embarrassed, or uncertain about sharing what was really going on in her head. And, truly, she couldn’t be expected to say her wicked fantasy aloud.
The reproving heat in his eyes made her heart thump faster.
“Did you just file something away in theBin of Blissful Ignorance?” he asked softly.
Dash it, maybe she oughtn’t have divulged quite so much of her inner life. “It’s nothing, truly.”
“You have a tell-tale sign when you’re lying. A pretty blush that rises from here,”—he brushed his index finger on the bare skin just above the neckline of her gown, causing her nipples to tighten—“all the way up here.”
She shivered as his fingertip feathered up her throat, over her lips, to her eyebrows.
“What aren’t you telling me, hmm?”
Not fooled by his mild tone, she mumbled, “I’m just, um, happy to see you.”
Hedging wasn’t the same as lying, was it?
After a pause, he said, “I suppose there is another explanation for your blush other than lying.”
