She bit her lip.
“Spit it out, Beatrice.”
“The, um, delights of marriage,” she muttered. “Minus emotional complications.”
His hands balled at his sides. “Knighton’s adead man.”
“Wick, I turned him down.”
“I don’t give a damn,” Wick ground out, pacing alongside the bed. “The bastard knows you’re mine, and he’s going after you anyway. I’m going to wring his bloody neck.”
“Will you always be this much of a troglodyte?” She sounded exasperated.
“Will you always attract this much male attention?” He shot her a glance—then nearly groaned at her puzzled expression. “Devil take it, you have no idea, do you?”
“No idea of what?”
“Of how goddamned beautiful you are.”
From her furrowed brow to the way she sunk her teeth into her plump bottom lip, he knew that she didn’t. It was precisely that vulnerability mixed with her physical charms and passionate spirit that made her a magnet for male attention. And she had no clue about the extent of her desirability and probably never would.
He’d have to spend a lifetime convincing her.
“You make mefeelbeautiful,” she ventured softly.
“You should feel that way because youare.” His irritation was no match for the luminous wonder in her eyes. Going to her, he tipped up her chin. “Inside and out, Lady Beatrice Wodehouse, you are the most irresistible woman I’ve ever met.”
“I feel the same way about you,” she breathed.
“That I’m an irresistible woman?”
She blinked, then rolled her eyes. “No, you idiot. Just the irresistible part.”
“An irresistible idiot, am I?” Smiling, he tucked a silky tress behind her ear. “Have a care love, or all that flattery will go to my head.”
“I think it has already.” She directed her gaze to the bulge in the front of his robe.
“Minx,” he said with a grin. “You’ll be taking care of that soon enough. Now be a love and move over.”
She made room for him, and he settled into the pillows, gathering her in his arms. With her head tucked against his chest, the fresh, flowery scent of her hair in his nostrils, he felt oddly content…even though he was as hard as a rock.
“Wick?”
“Hmm?”
“There’s something I have to tell you…that I meant to tell you when you first came in.”
At her hesitant tone, his sense of peace fled. “If Knighton said anything else to you, I swear I’ll—”
“It’s not about him. It’s about us, and our, um, plans for tonight.”
Feeling her tense up, he rolled them over. He lay atop her, his weight braced on his arms, and looked into her face, which was as red as an apple. “What is it, love?”
“I can’t make love tonight,” she blurted.
He frowned, not because of what she was saying but because of her obvious distress.
“That’s fine, of course,” he said gently. “I want you to tell me when you don’t feel like making love.”
