Marriage of Inconvenience #2
She fled before he could see her shiver again at his use of the word wife.
But as she followed the butler through the grand house that was now her home, she couldn’t shake the memory of Hereford’s intense gaze, or the way his voice had caressed that final word.
One year suddenly seemed like both an eternity and not nearly long enough.
*
Their first dinner as husband and wife was served in the formal dining room, though “formal” seemed an inadequate word for the vast space with its gleaming mahogany table that could seat thirty. Tonight, only two places were set, one at each end of the polished expanse.
Amelia wore a gray silk for dinner, the most muted color she had in her wardrobe, her hair carefully arranged.
She found Hereford already seated, looking annoyingly at ease in his evening attire—his cravat loosened just enough to reveal the strong column of his throat, his dark hair slightly mussed as if he’d run his fingers through it.
The distance between them made conversation optional, which was presumably his intent.
“This is ridiculous,” she said, her voice echoing slightly in the cavernous room. “I can hardly see you through the centerpiece.”
He glanced up from his soup, one eyebrow raised, and she felt the full force of his attention like a physical touch. “Would you prefer closer quarters, my lady?” His voice was low, intimate despite the space between them, and carried implications that made her pulse quicken.
“I would prefer not to shout across half of London to request the salt.”
A predatory smile curved his lips. “Cooper,” he called to the butler, never taking his eyes off her. “Please reset Lady Hereford’s place to my right.”
Amelia regretted her complaint the moment servants began efficiently relocating her settings. Now she would be close enough to catch his scent, to feel the heat radiating from his body, to notice every subtle expression that crossed his devastatingly handsome face.
When she settled into her new seat, the reality was worse than she’d feared. His cologne—sandalwood and something darker, more masculine—filled her senses. At one point, his leg brushed against her skirts.
“Better?” he asked, and there was something wicked in his tone that suggested he was perfectly aware of her discomfort.
They ate in tense silence, but Amelia found herself stealing glances at his hands—elegant yet undeniably strong as they handled his silverware—the way his throat moved when he swallowed wine. Heat pooled low in her belly.
“I trust you’ve found your chambers satisfactory?” he asked finally, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through her bones.
“Quite.” She focused determinedly on her soup, trying to ignore how he was watching her mouth as she spoke. “Though I noticed the connecting door to our rooms doesn’t close properly.”
It was a mistake to look up then as his eyes had darkened with unmistakable hunger.
“Yes. It’s been that way for as long as I can remember.
” He leaned slightly closer, his voice dropping to a whisper that made her skin prickle.
“I assure you I did not tamper with the door, though I confess I’m grateful for the… proximity it provides.”
She swallowed and blurted hastily, “What does your mother say about our arrangement?”
“My mother,” he said—his wide mouth curving into a smile that had her staring at it, wondering—“has expressed her opinions quite thoroughly. She’ll be dining with us tomorrow evening, by the way.
” His hand moved to rest on the table dangerously close to hers.
“I couldn’t refuse any further without causing her bodily harm. ”
“Of course.” She tore her gaze away from his mouth and reached for her wine glass, suddenly parched. Her fingers brushed his knuckles, and the contact made her tingle. “Well, I’m sure it will be a delightful evening,” she managed.
“You’re nervous,” he observed, his voice soft. “Your breathing is shallow.” His eyes dropped to her chest, and the attention made her chest rise and fall more dramatically.
“I’m not—” she began, but he was already leaning closer.
“I can see it,” he murmured, so close now that his breath stirred the loose tendrils of hair at her temple. “Your breathing…” His finger hovered just above her chest, not quite touching but close enough that she could feel the heat of his skin. “Quite… distracting.”
She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Could only stare at his mouth, now mere inches from hers, and wonder what would happen if she closed the distance between them.
The arrival of the fish course broke the spell, forcing him to lean back. But she noticed how his eyes had darkened, the barely audible groan as he made space for the server. A barely perceptible movement of his eyes had the servants vacating the room all at once.
She was struggling with a particularly difficult cut when he took over. “Allow me,” he said.
“I can manage,” she whispered.
“I know you can.” His voice was a low rasp that sent shivers down her spine. “But I find myself… eager to assist my wife in any way possible.”
His hands cut the fish with ease, but instead of returning his attention to his own plate, he lifted a perfectly cut piece on the fork, bringing it toward her lips.
“Open,” he commanded softly, his voice rough with something that made her stomach flutter.
“Charles, this is… you are…”
He raised a brow, one corner of his lips curving up. “I am?”
“You are trying to seduce me… I think,” she blurted, feeling heat rise from her chest to her face.
“Not at all. What purpose would I have to seduce you?” He put down the fork and leaned back in his chair, giving her a much-needed reprieve from the magnetic force.
“Perhaps you wish to negotiate better terms.” To her chagrin, her voice was still breathless.
Hereford stood slowly, startling her. “If I wished to seduce my wife, I would have stood behind her,” he said as he positioned himself thus and bent over her, his hands reaching for her fork and holding the morsel of fish near her lips.
Not knowing what to do, she opened her mouth and took the bite.
“Delicious?” he finished, his breath warm against her ear as she chewed carefully. “I’ve been meaning to ask about the library.”
His free hand came to rest on the back of her chair, his knuckles lightly brushing the exposed skin at the nape of her neck. She shivered involuntarily.
“Will you require any modifications?” he continued conversationally, as if feeding his wife from behind while whispering in her ear was perfectly normal. He cut another piece, holding it to her lips. “A more comfortable chair, perhaps?”
She accepted the bite, exceedingly aware of his warm breath against her neck.
“Softer lighting for evening work?” Another piece appeared at her lips. When she hesitated, he traced the fork gently along her lower lip. “I want you comfortable when you pour all your… passion into your writing.”
The low rumble of his voice sent a shiver down her spine. She took the offered bite, her lips parting. Was his breath becoming shallower?
“Perhaps a comfortable settee,” he continued, his voice growing rougher, “for when I join you… Purely for intellectual pursuits, of course.”
His hand moved from the chair to stroke the strand of hair near her ear. She could feel the heat radiating from his hand.
“I could have the room redecorated entirely to your specifications,” he murmured, while the hand, devastatingly, came to rest on her bare shoulder.
His thumb traced a small circle against her skin.
“New furnishings, whatever books you desire… I find myself quite invested in ensuring my wife has everything she needs.”
She could barely focus on his words, overwhelmed by his touch, his scent, the way his voice seemed to vibrate through her entire body. When he offered her another bite, she turned slightly to accept it and found herself looking directly into his darkened eyes.
“You’re trying to confuse me,” she accused breathlessly, though she made no move to escape his ministrations. “Using proximity and… and seduction to gain some advantage.”
His low chuckle rumbled against her cheek as he set down the fork, his hand lightly massaging her shoulder. “Is it working?” When she didn’t answer, he leaned closer, his lips nearly brushing her ear. “Because I must confess, wife, if anyone is being seduced here, it’s decidedly not you.”
“You’re insufferable,” she managed, but her voice lacked any real conviction.
“And you,” he murmured, both hands resting on the table, caging her in, “are driving me to distraction. Do you have any idea what you do to me?”
The temptation to lean back against him, to discover what his mouth would feel like on hers, was becoming unbearable.
Before she could do something foolish—like surrender to the desire coursing through her—she stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor as he stepped back with impressive agility.
“I should retire,” she said, not daring to look at him, her voice unsteady. “It’s been a long day.”
When she finally risked a glance, his eyes were dark with desire.
“Of course,” he said, his voice carefully controlled though she could hear the strain beneath it. “Sleep well, wife.”
As she fled toward the door on unsteady legs, she heard him add softly, almost to himself, “Though I suspect neither of us will manage much sleep tonight.”