Chapter Four #2
Even when he wanted to spread her legs apart on the cushion and pillow his head between her thighs.
Even when he wanted to hear her cry out his name . . . and feel her shudder around his tongue.
Brilliant, he scoffed at himself as the carriage veered into the bustling hub of the South Street Seaport where the Elizabeth waited to ferry passengers on a six-week journey across the Atlantic.
Absolutely fucking brilliant. Not only was he about to leave his new bride, he was about to leave his new bride nursing a damned cockstand as large as the ship sitting in the harbor awaiting her maiden voyage.
The irony of it did not escape him.
He was about to board a virgin vessel while he left his virgin wife behind. What a good laugh his friends were going to have at his expense. A small humiliation that would be worth it when his father’s face turned red with impotent rage. But was it worth leaving Abigail?
“I . . . could stay.” He spoke slowly, each syllable peeling itself from his mouth with stomach-souring resistance as he pictured Summerwind House going up in flames while his father laughed maniacally in the background.
“Stay another day?” she said, her fair brow creasing with an air of utter bewilderment that would have been adorable if bile weren’t rising in his throat at the thought of his cherished manor burning to ash. “But your ship is leaving this morning. Is there another one tomorrow?”
No, there wasn’t.
Not for another three weeks, which would put him past his father’s arbitrary time limit.
“You do not need to be concerned for my safety or well-being, my lord,” she went on, clearly mistaking his silence for worry on her behalf.
“I am quite accustomed to moving through the world independently. I will speak today to the owner of the hotel about taking up semi-permanent residence during the school term, and the stagecoach, while crowded, is a convenient means to ferry both myself and my belongings to and from the city. Should you like to visit—”
“Yes,” he interrupted. “Yes, I should like to visit.”
“—I only ask that you send advance notice of your arrival.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. Here he was, nearly torn asunder at having to choose between the home he loved and the woman he’d married, while his bride appeared blissfully unconflicted.
He knew the ink on the wedding certificate had barely dried, but did she feel nothing for him?
Would she not miss him at all? Yearn for him in the quiet of the night when all was still except for the beating of her own heart?
Reach for a pillow that was cold when it should have been warm?
Feel a damp ache when she remembered their kiss in the snow?
Stephen was not so arrogant that he believed himself to be the best seducer in the world, but surely his name ought to be considered in the top tier of British candidates.
By the pink in Abigail’s cheeks and the glaze in her eyes when he’d delivered her to her doorstep yesterday, she’d been of a similar opinion.
How, then, was his departure so easy for her? Was she not troubled? Was she not sad?
He felt sad, and he found he didn’t care for it.
The feeling was uncomfortably burdensome.
Like putting on clothes that weren’t completely dry.
Clothes that might have fit a bit better, if his wife were struggling to put on similar attire and they could wallow in their misery together.
But Abigail’s dress was suspiciously absent of any moisture.
Not even a stray tear glinted in the corner of her eye, and when their driver opened the carriage door he was aghast when she pushed him out of it.
“I hope you have a good journey back to England,” she said solemnly right before she threw his portmanteau at him and he caught it against his chest with a grunt.
“Abigail. Abigail, dammit, wait.” His snapped command startled both of them.
It was Stephen’s father who was always barking commands, not him.
But bloody hell, could his wife not comprehend what a significant moment this was?
When that carriage door closed—and she already had one hand on it—they wouldn’t see each other for seven years.
They’d be entirely different people by then.
She might be a doctor, and he an earl. They would both be older.
She’d be even wiser than she was now, and wasn’t that a terrifying thought.
Why, then, was she so quick to rush through a farewell that would have to sustain them a small eternity?
“What is it?” she asked, her eyes wide and her mouth slightly parted as she stared at him as if he was being the unreasonable one. In the distance, he heard a shrill whistle and a deep, booming voice amplified by a speaking trumpet announce that boarding had started.
“I realize this marriage is not what you envisioned when you set out for Manhattan,” he began, choosing his words with care as he hadn’t the time to waste on useless verbiage.
“A good compromise ensures that both parties get something that they need, but it also requires them to sacrifice that they want. And I would—”
Fuck.
She was trembling.
He hadn’t seen it before.
Hadn’t let himself see it before.
Blinded by his own angst, he had missed the sheen of white in her knuckles when he’d held her hand. Or the nervous way she’d bitten her bottom lip while he’d been focused on his damned house. Or the quiet, almost imperceptible hitch in her tone when she’d wished him safe travels.
Abigail was not impervious to his pending departure. Behind her blank, slightly vacant countenance she was quite literally shaking in her sturdy brown leather ankle boots.
His portmanteau sprang open when he dropped it, spilling his personal belongings onto the ground as he bounded into the carriage, slammed the door shut, and drew Abigail into his arms despite her protests to the contrary.
“Stephen, what . . . what are you doing?” she cried, squirming on his lap.
“Holding you,” he said simply, nuzzling the sensitive crux of space between her collarbone and the slope of her shoulder as his arms wrapped more firmly around her ribcage, effectively anchoring her against the hard plane of his torso.
“This—this is very impractical.” She gave a final, half-hearted attempt to wiggle free and then let her head fall back against his chest with a sigh. “You are going to miss your boat.”
“What’s impractical is setting sail across an ocean and leaving my bride behind,” he countered. Not trusting his hands in the vicinity of her lovely breasts, he set them on her thighs instead, spreading his fingers apart as he began to gently massage her knotted muscles.
Lord, but she was tense as a bowstring. All strained sinew and locked joints hidden under a politely dismissive smile.
What other secrets was she hiding? What other things might he learn about her, if only he had the luxury of months instead of minutes?
“You know,” he murmured, his lips tracing a line of whisper soft kisses up the length of her neck until he reached the curved edge of her earlobe, “it has belatedly come to my attention that we did not consummate our marriage.”
The muscles that had begun to soften under his tender administration immediately went stiff as a board as she sat upright with such haste that had he not been holding her legs, she would have toppled headfirst into the opposite seat.
“We have a license with the church. We both signed our names to parchment. There was a witness. Our marriage is legitimate.”
“I never said it was not.” Taking her lobe between his teeth, he indulged in a light, teasing nibble before soothing the painless bite with his tongue.
“Then what . . . what are you saying?” she asked in a small, breathy voice that shot a flame of pure heat straight into his loins.
If they weren’t in a carriage . . .
Hell, even if they were in a carriage, but had more time . . .
Not helping, he told himself sternly. In fact, all this was doing was making it hurt even more. But when the hurt felt this good . . . who was he to refuse the pain?
“I am saying that while we may be married, we’re denying ourselves the best part.
” Cupping her chin, he turned her head to the side and claimed her lips in a searing, sensuous kiss that would have melted yesterday’s snow to a puddle of water.
Dimly, he registered a second whistle, indicating final boarding.
In five minutes, the Elizabeth would set sail.
Good thing he only required four.