The groan leaving Busick matched the one I held inside. That shimmer of a spark had to be extinguished, put away for later.
“Not exactly the beginning of the wedding night I imagined, Patience.”
“I suppose you’re used to more excitement.” A forced yawn pushed out, and I snuggled closer to his pillow. “Well, I will wait with bated breath.”
He released a growl. “Waiting is supposed to be good.”
I was at peace knowing Busick would be there in the morning, but that murmur wasn’t pain. It was restlessness.
My warrior was frustrated. He forewent his portion of rum and drank laudanum, then clenched his eyes.
“Busick?”
With a patronizing pat to my hand, he turned his head away.
What words would the commander heed that would assure Busick I was content as things were? I needed him here, next to me, more than I wanted passion.
With his eye closed, his face pinched, I wasn’t sure he felt the same.
CHAPTER 30
A MARRIAGE OFINCONVENIENCE
Busick sat by the window watching Gantry lead his troops. They looked crisp, marching on the fresh snow. It ached deep in his gut that he couldn’t be out there. It had taken another week since the wedding, but he could now sit without agony vibrating every muscle. Yet none of this was enough for a man who’d lived to push for excellence.
The soldiers made a ninety-degree turn that seemed more like a hundred. Their first miss, and Gantry didn’t correct them. He was too far ahead on his horse to see.
Busick should be out there. The lineup of men was wrong. He banged his fist on the side of the wheeled chair.
He struck the side again.
Pumping his hand, he looked up and saw Patience at the door, her arms full of bundles.
Schooling his face to appear impassioned, even calm, he glanced at her. “My wife does not need to do laundry.”
“This duchess does. Lionel is quite actively proving a need for fresh linen.”
She came closer and put the linens down on the bed. “Duke, you look tense. Did you strain getting up?”
Of course, it was a strain. It was terrible looking at her wearing another dress he admired, one that darted at the waist, above the hips and thighs and . . . not being able to know her.
He swiped at his mouth and pushed the big wheel of his chair forward. “I needed to be up. You haven’t coddled me, Patience. Don’t start now.”
“Sorry.”
Her face blanked of its smile.
He needed to soften his voice. It wasn’t her fault. Did those topaz eyes hold at least a mild curiosity, if not a latent smolder, for her husband?
Easing his chair to within a foot of her, he posted. “I told you it was time for me to get up. I’m up. You need to listen more.”
Her brow cocked. “Did you think marriage would change this?”
“There was always hope your hearing wouldn’t remain selective.”
“Why do you sound angry?”
Now wasn’t the time for this discussion. When he could act upon his desires would be better. He made the wheeled contraption move to the door. “Is that Lionel? I think he’s crying.”
