Page 45

“Our marriage. We’ll start with a honeymoon,” he said.

“It hadn’t even struck me that we might have one,” she said with a shaky laugh. “I’d assumed we would both want to get back to work. And it isn’t as though we can pick up tomorrow and travel to Rome for a month.”

Honeymoons were sprawling, decadent trips that required months of planning and a healthy dash of romance—two things they most certainly didn’t have a surplus of at the moment. They were also, according to Lana and Christine, an unspoken time for the couple to become better acquainted with every curve of each other’s body and every sound of pleasure.

“I can’t promise you Rome or Switzerland or even Nice, but I can promise it’ll be a surprise,” he said.

“When will we find the time? You just took a position at the paper and I have my work,” she said, gesturing to her statue.

“Don’t make excuses or create reasons we can’t go. Just promise to give me one night. That’s all we’ll need,” he said.

“We’ve already had one night,” she said, the words slipping out before she could think about the implications there.

His stormy blue eyes pierced her. “Not like this.”

She sucked in a breath at the promise of sensuality and sex. He was offering her one more night to lie in his arms. To feel his body stretched over hers and his weight pressing her into the sheets. To relish the flick of his tongue between her legs.

She wanted it—wanted him.

“What will we do?” she asked, emboldened by her curiosity.

He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a light kiss on the back of it. “That, my wife, will be a surprise, but I can promise you it’ll be something you’ve never done before.”

Excitement prickled her skin. Finally they were back on solid ground, and they’d taken steps together along the unknown path ahead of them.

“I’ll look forward to whatever you come up with,” she said.

“Next Tuesday?” he asked.

She nodded and wondered for a fleeting moment whether he would kiss her. She couldn’t think of a single more romantic place than this studio, with the stars glittering above them and the oil lamps she’d been working by casting a soft glow over everything.

But instead he let go of her hand.

“Good night, Ina. Sleep well.”

“Good night,” she said, trying not to let creeping doubt settle in.

She watched him walk away, knowing she too should retreat to bed. It was late, and Hero and Leander would still be here in the morning, but rather than following her own good advice, she picked up her tools and set about her work once again.

Chapter Eleven

“I STILL DON’T understand why it’s necessary for me to be blindfolded,” said Ina, swaying back and forth as the carriage rumbled through the streets heading out of Edinburgh.

Gavin took the advantage of his wife’s blindfolded state to both smirk and study her from the quilted bench across from her. “Because it’s a surprise, a concept you seem to be having trouble grasping.”

Lady that she was, she stuck out her tongue at him.

“When did you lose your sense of adventure?” he asked with a chuckle.

“I suppose I should be happy you didn’t dose me with chloroform, bind my wrists together, and toss me into the carriage like a wealthy debutante being spirited away for her money.”

“I could if you want me to.”

“No thank you,” she said with a false sweetness he’d long ago learned could be dangerous.

“It was your suggestion. How did you come up with it anyway?”

“I read it in a novel about a heroine living one hundred years ago. She was carried off by her father’s rival and ruined so that she was forced to marry him and hand over her inheritance.”