Read Online In the Garden of Deceit (Book 4) by Cynthia Wicklund - Free Book Online Page B

unabated.
    “Lovemaking
entails more than…the basic act,” he said. “There
is the need to enhance the mood. For a man this is particularly
important.”
    “I-It
is?”
    “Most
definitely. That requires kissing and touching—not for your
sake, you understand—but for mine.”
    “Oh.”
    “Yes,
indeed, I don’t want to feel that I must hold back. Are we in
agreement on this?”
    “I
see no reason why not,” she blustered. “I won’t be
the one affected.”
    A
strange smile played around his mouth. “No, you won’t be
the one affected.”
    “You
say that as if you don’t believe me.”
    “Oh,
I believe you, but it occurs to me that we perhaps should take this
by degrees.”
    Truly
appalled, she said, “Now, what are you talking about?”
    “Just
a kiss here, a touch there, nothing that requires a finish, if you
understand my meaning. We can work up to it. That should reduce the
pressure on you.”
    Certainly,
as if she were not feeling the pressure at this very moment, his
husky words like an aphrodisiac working on her senses. Amanda was
warm under her jacket, sweating she would admit, if ladies admitted
that they sweated. She wished she could take the jacket off, but
taking anything off right now seemed ill-advised.
    “You
think you are very clever, don’t you?” she said. “By
degrees—are you certain you can live with that?”
    James
waved a nonchalant hand. “Gives me the opportunity to decide if
I really want to pursue…well, you know, given the conditions
you’ve stipulated.”
    “You
think me unfair?”
    “I
think you unwise, Amanda.”
    A
crash of thunder overhead saved her from having to answer. The rain
that had been threatening for most of the day burst from the sky in
an angry deluge. Wind buffeted the carriage, rocking the vehicle
violently. A steak of lightening lit up the landscape, and another
loud crash filled the air around them.
    James
pounded on the roof. Moments later the driver pulled over and
stopped, the carriage lurching when he jump to the ground. James
opened the door, hanging tightly to the handle as the wind tried to
wrench it from his grasp.
    The
driver was soaked, and demoralized by the looks of him. “M’lord?”
he shouted, rain flowing off his lips and down the front of his
slicker.
    “We
can’t travel in this weather, Benton. We’ll be stuck in
mud in no time if we do. First inn you see, we have to stop.”
    “Yes,
m’lord.”
    Once
again James and she were alone in the carriage, but it was dark due
to the storm, and all she could see was the fuzzy outline of his
body, the glint of an eye, the flash of his teeth. The temperature
had dropped dramatically, and Amanda was now glad for the warmth of
her jacket.
    “Are
you frightened?” he asked.
    “Not
by a little rain, I’m not.”
    “I
see.” And perhaps he did.
    They
rode in silence after that, just as they had begun their trip.
Shortly thereafter they pulled into the yard of an inn and, to their
relief, the feel of cobbled stones beneath the wheels of the carriage
instead of dirt quickly turning to mud. James negotiated the
downpour, making the arrangements then he came for her.
    Her
husband, now soaked himself, helped her into the inn and up a rickety
flight of stairs. Her skirt was wet several inches above the hem,
making it heavy and dangerously clumsy. He escorted her into a small
chamber—a bed, a rocking chair, and a night table—just as
Benton arrived with their luggage. Only then did the import of those
bags strike her. As the door closed behind the servant, she turned on
James.
    “We’re
not sharing this room!” she hissed.
    “Do
you prefer to sleep in the stables?” he asked in an awful
voice. “I can tell you, I do not.”
    “Of
course not. Just obtain another room.”
    “There
are no other rooms, Amanda. In case you hadn’t noticed, we are
in the middle of a storm, and we are not the only travelers seeking
shelter. We’re fortunate this room was still available. It was
the