She was to be closeted with her new husband for the best part of three days, and the prospect seemed daunting. She asked him to tell her more of London society, and he obliged. He made it sound exciting and completely unnerving. Why hadn’t the wedding been held in London at St. Paul’s with all the fanfare a man of his stature deserved? Might he be ashamed of the less than brilliant match he’d made? If so, why take her to London at all? He might tuck her away in the country if he chose. She had half-expected him to do it.
Kate peeked at his fine profile. She wanted to ask him if he was happy but grew afraid that his answer might not be to her liking.
Her gown billowed out, taking up far too much space in the carriage. The gentle pressure of his knee against hers through the yards of fabric disconcerted her. Every touch was electric, like some unspoken promise of what would come.
“I can’t wait to meet your family.”
His lips firmed. “I’m afraid you’re unlikely to.”
Kate’s eyes widened. “Don’t they reside in London?”
He leaned forward and flicked her cheek with a gentle finger. “You ask too many questions.”
“If you supplied me with answers, I’d stop,” she said in a teasing tone.
His amused eyes met hers. “I have reason to doubt it.”
They spent their wedding night at a coaching inn in Honiton. Robert had engaged a private parlor and two bedchambers. The proprietor had lit a fire in the small, stuffy room papered in crimson stripes, despite the evening turning humid with coming rain. Kate observed Robert from beneath her lashes as he neatly sliced the sirloin of beef roast and placed several portions on a plate. He placed the plate before her.
“Mustard?” He indicated the pot on the table.
She shook her head as she could hardly eat a bite and sat twirling the stem of her wine glass in her fingers as he tucked into the meal. Obviously, his emotions weren’t overset by the occasion. It seemed entirely unreasonable, however, to accuse him of having too good an appetite.
“Tired?” he asked after she tried to suppress a yawn.
“A little.”
She eased her stiff shoulders. She’d been tense since this all began.
“We’ll retire directly after dinner,” he said ambiguously.
Now her pulse thumped at the possibility of him joining her in bed. She was suddenly very much awake. If she invited him, she was sure he would join her, but it appeared too late to change her mind even if she chose. And she was too tired to contemplate it.
Neither of them attempted to eat the chocolate pudding. She wanted to ask Robert a dozen questions about London but sagged in her chair.
Robert stood. “I’ll escort you to your chamber. We’ve had a long day, and another awaits us tomorrow.” He opened the door for her. “I don’t want you exhausted or sick by the time we reach London.”
He had managed to make it sound as if he was more concerned with how she looked to thetonthan her good health. “Very well. Goodnight, Robert.”
Perhaps she was overtired from sitting beside Robert for hours in the coach while suffering a nervous heavy sensation in her stomach. But now she couldn’t sleep. She pounded her pillow, aware that Robert slept in the next room. She tried to imagine how he looked. Did he sleep in a nightshirt? Naked? Suddenly, her imagination took the suggestion and ran wild with it. Now there was no likelihood of her sleeping.
She tossed onto her back and stared at the ceiling. A man’s body remained a complete mystery to her. Would his skin be so different to a woman’s? His looked so smooth. By nightfall, his chin was shadowed in dark hair, and when he ran his hand over it, it rasped.
His valet awaited him in London. Apparently, while in Cornwall, he had shaved himself. She curled her fingers. It must be bristly to the touch. She liked his well-shaped hands and long fingers. What would it be like to have him touch her in those special places? She tucked her hands between her legs and shivered. She didn’t understand herself. Here she was, wishing he’d put his arm around her in the coach. But that might be because she disliked coach travel. It grew very late. Outside in the corridor, the floor creaked like a series of footsteps. This old inn must be haunted. She disliked being alone. How much better if Robert slept here. Plenty of room for two and that did not necessarily mean… She released an annoyed breath. Of course, it did. She was being foolish. She pummeled her pillow and turned on her side, managing to drift off at last.
The next day turned out to be much like the last. Hour upon hour of rocking and jolting. To fill in the silences, when the view passing the window lacked interest, she talked about her family. She described to Robert how her father had quoted whole passages from all of Shakespeare’s plays, and how his oratories in the village hall had always been warmly applauded. “He organized a group of village players to perform one of the plays every summer.”
“It might have been more pertinent to run his affairs more efficiently,” Robert said in a dry tone.
She frowned. “Not everyone is good at that.” She moved to the corner of the carriage.
“No.” Robert sighed. “My uncle left it to others in the end.” He shook his head. “Preferred to read philosophy.”
“Can you run a large estate?” she asked curiously.
“I haven’t had to, but I intend to try.” He gave her an apologetic grin, perhaps realizing he’d hurt her feelings. “Philosophy seems rather pointless to me, and I’m not keen on reciting iambic pentameter.”
“No? Not even a little fromRomeo and Juliet?” she asked half teasing, half hopeful. He had such a nice voice, low and appealing.
