Read Online Cheryl Holt by More Than Seduction - Free Book Online
Authors: More Than Seduction
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her even more furious. Just once, she’d like to elicit a response from the staid, resolute oaf.
The previous night, the inn had been full, so there’d been no room available for him. She’d anticipated that he would sleep in the barn loft with the footmen, but despite her orders to the contrary, he’d camped on the floor in the hall, saying that he couldn’t leave her unprotected. The result, of course, was that she’d tossed incessantly, worrying about him on the other side of the wall.
Since dawn, he’d fussed with the broken wheel and the blacksmith, visiting occasionally with progress reports, and at every meeting, their mutual lack of slumber had been apparent in their testiness. Though she couldn’t pinpoint why, he rubbed her the wrong way, and when they were both so fatigued, he was like a burr under her saddle, inducing her to be cross and cantankerous.
Evening was upon them, and she knew he’d inform herthey were still trapped, that they couldn’t depart till morning or maybe later, and she was so relieved, though she’d never admit as much to a single soul. She was in no hurry to return to Bristol. Without confiding in anyone, she’d whisked Stephen away, and she wasn’t eager to argue with her father and brothers as to what she’d set in motion.
It had been so refreshing to traipse off, without benefit of her maid, and only Charles and her trusted footmen as her retinue. Her furtive journey was flagrant, out of character, and it was so marvelous to be on her own and making her own decisions.
She couldn’t recollect when she’d ever committed so frivolous an act. Perhaps it was the glorious weather, or the lazy summer afternoons, that had inflamed her passionate need for a change. Or it might be her advancing age. With each subsequent year, she was more dissatisfied with the direction her life had taken.
Why did she have such paltry accomplishments to show for her three and a half decades on earth? No husband. No children. Nothing and no one to call her own.
Restless, unhappy, she was constantly wishing she had the nerve to do something shocking, something reckless, yet she was away from Bristol, free and unencumbered, and all she’d done for the past twenty-four hours was sit and mope, catching sporadic glimpses of Charles as he’d traversed the stable yard.
When had she grown so timid? She was at a public inn, not loafing on the moon. Why couldn’t she trot outside, walk about, chat and mingle, as any less-inhibited, less-restrained female would do with ease?
She was so tedious. So boring. So dull and routine. No wonder she was so alone! Who would want to shackle themselves to such an insipid creature?
Charles knocked again, anxious that she hadn’t answered. She stomped to the door and yanked it open.
“What now?” she irascibly inquired.
“I’ve brought your dinner.” His reply was equally acerbic.
Two maids followed him in, carrying trays, and placing them on the small table, then curtsying and scurrying off, but not before casting several suggestive glances at handsome, rugged Charles.
Obviously, they were interested in him in a sexual fashion, which intrigued her. She’d heard that there were women who relished the sorts of unpleasantness her husband had regularly perpetrated on her, but she couldn’t understand why.
She’d performed her duty whenever he’d demanded it of her, and she’d struggled to enjoy it, but she’d always been left with a lingering disappointment, and with a fervent hope that it would end quickly and without a great deal of humiliation for either of them.
The food smelled delicious, and she realized that she hadn’t dined since breakfast. She gawked at the covered containers, and Charles asked, “Do you need me to dish it up for you?”
His tone implied that she wasn’t capable of doing it herself. “I’m not helpless.”
His frown indicated that he believed otherwise. Was that how he saw her? As inept and incompetent? The notion
The previous night, the inn had been full, so there’d been no room available for him. She’d anticipated that he would sleep in the barn loft with the footmen, but despite her orders to the contrary, he’d camped on the floor in the hall, saying that he couldn’t leave her unprotected. The result, of course, was that she’d tossed incessantly, worrying about him on the other side of the wall.
Since dawn, he’d fussed with the broken wheel and the blacksmith, visiting occasionally with progress reports, and at every meeting, their mutual lack of slumber had been apparent in their testiness. Though she couldn’t pinpoint why, he rubbed her the wrong way, and when they were both so fatigued, he was like a burr under her saddle, inducing her to be cross and cantankerous.
Evening was upon them, and she knew he’d inform herthey were still trapped, that they couldn’t depart till morning or maybe later, and she was so relieved, though she’d never admit as much to a single soul. She was in no hurry to return to Bristol. Without confiding in anyone, she’d whisked Stephen away, and she wasn’t eager to argue with her father and brothers as to what she’d set in motion.
It had been so refreshing to traipse off, without benefit of her maid, and only Charles and her trusted footmen as her retinue. Her furtive journey was flagrant, out of character, and it was so marvelous to be on her own and making her own decisions.
She couldn’t recollect when she’d ever committed so frivolous an act. Perhaps it was the glorious weather, or the lazy summer afternoons, that had inflamed her passionate need for a change. Or it might be her advancing age. With each subsequent year, she was more dissatisfied with the direction her life had taken.
Why did she have such paltry accomplishments to show for her three and a half decades on earth? No husband. No children. Nothing and no one to call her own.
Restless, unhappy, she was constantly wishing she had the nerve to do something shocking, something reckless, yet she was away from Bristol, free and unencumbered, and all she’d done for the past twenty-four hours was sit and mope, catching sporadic glimpses of Charles as he’d traversed the stable yard.
When had she grown so timid? She was at a public inn, not loafing on the moon. Why couldn’t she trot outside, walk about, chat and mingle, as any less-inhibited, less-restrained female would do with ease?
She was so tedious. So boring. So dull and routine. No wonder she was so alone! Who would want to shackle themselves to such an insipid creature?
Charles knocked again, anxious that she hadn’t answered. She stomped to the door and yanked it open.
“What now?” she irascibly inquired.
“I’ve brought your dinner.” His reply was equally acerbic.
Two maids followed him in, carrying trays, and placing them on the small table, then curtsying and scurrying off, but not before casting several suggestive glances at handsome, rugged Charles.
Obviously, they were interested in him in a sexual fashion, which intrigued her. She’d heard that there were women who relished the sorts of unpleasantness her husband had regularly perpetrated on her, but she couldn’t understand why.
She’d performed her duty whenever he’d demanded it of her, and she’d struggled to enjoy it, but she’d always been left with a lingering disappointment, and with a fervent hope that it would end quickly and without a great deal of humiliation for either of them.
The food smelled delicious, and she realized that she hadn’t dined since breakfast. She gawked at the covered containers, and Charles asked, “Do you need me to dish it up for you?”
His tone implied that she wasn’t capable of doing it herself. “I’m not helpless.”
His frown indicated that he believed otherwise. Was that how he saw her? As inept and incompetent? The notion
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