at our leisure.”
“We will do it however you think best, Dante.”
What a submissive, wifely thing to say. A pang of acute reality struck him. Wifely.
Wife
. The intended outcome of this journey suddenly demanded cold-blooded recognition.
No going back now. The sails were unfurled, the anchor was raised, and the winds would take them to the port of matrimony.
The journey was long and tedious. Even with spirited bouts of conversation and relaxed stops for meals, the hours weighed heavily. Dante fought a periodic tendency to lazily contemplate the delightful ways he could be spending the long ride alone with a woman if the woman was any other woman but Fleur Monley.
By the second day he occasionally lost the battle. Erotic images occupied his head.
. . . Peeling off the simple gray dress and petticoats . . . Sucking the pert tips of her round little breasts . . . Holding her soft, naked bottom as she moved up and down on him, while her slender knees straddled his hips and her fingers gripped his shoulders in her frenzy . . .
Sometimes she caught him looking at her during those reveries. She would break into her warm, trusting smile. He forced an expression of protective solicitation in return.
Both nights they stayed at inns and retired to separate chambers. Of course they did. However, with another woman . . .
The second night the inn was all but deserted. He lay restlessly, picturing the woman on the other side of the wall, hearing the sounds as she turned in her sleep. He imagined her body spread on his bed, naked in the moonlight streaming through the window, welcoming his hands and mouth as the night cooled the sweat of their passion.
The unbidden fantasy left him hard and hungry. He dressed and went for a long walk under the starry sky in order to break its spell.
So much for the flame only burning if he lit the candle. It had been insane of him to agree to this. He should direct the coach into Newcastle tomorrow, bid his leave of her, and hop a ship to the Continent.
He paused under an oak and debated that option. It would be a disgraceful breach of trust, but if he explained . . . Explained what? That the jaded rake found himself unexpectedly edgy with lust? That he lacked enough control to see it through and give her the protection that she had sought with this arrangement? That even fifteen thousand pounds and three thousand a year could not buy a little continence from him?
The abstinence forced on him by recent events probably had a lot to do with this hunger. Back in London he would find the necessary diversion. He would also no longer be in constant proximity to her. Even sharing a house, they would barely see each other.
He returned to his chamber convinced that he had matters in proper perspective. The low flame that would not die said otherwise. He threw himself on his bed, annoyingly aware that he had not wanted a woman like this in many years, and that the last time it had led to disaster.
But that had been an evil woman and Fleur was all goodness.
Still, it would be best to get back to London and out of her constant company as quickly as possible.
“On our return journey could we stop at my property in Durham? We passed nearby it yesterday, and it is not far from the mail road.” Fleur made the request as the carriage crossed the northeast border into Scotland. “We could stay at the house there, instead of an inn.”
“Whatever you would like,” Dante said. “Do you intend to ask my permission about such little things now? It will be a senseless pretense, since I will have no authority in the big ones.”
His fitful night had left him churlish, and her renewed presence had only made that damn flame burn hotter.
He saw her surprised reaction and regretted his tone. There she innocently sat, dressed in her blue gown, with a lovely silk shawl draping her delicate shoulders. He had turned his frustration on her like he was some randy schoolboy.
He realized that
“We will do it however you think best, Dante.”
What a submissive, wifely thing to say. A pang of acute reality struck him. Wifely.
Wife
. The intended outcome of this journey suddenly demanded cold-blooded recognition.
No going back now. The sails were unfurled, the anchor was raised, and the winds would take them to the port of matrimony.
The journey was long and tedious. Even with spirited bouts of conversation and relaxed stops for meals, the hours weighed heavily. Dante fought a periodic tendency to lazily contemplate the delightful ways he could be spending the long ride alone with a woman if the woman was any other woman but Fleur Monley.
By the second day he occasionally lost the battle. Erotic images occupied his head.
. . . Peeling off the simple gray dress and petticoats . . . Sucking the pert tips of her round little breasts . . . Holding her soft, naked bottom as she moved up and down on him, while her slender knees straddled his hips and her fingers gripped his shoulders in her frenzy . . .
Sometimes she caught him looking at her during those reveries. She would break into her warm, trusting smile. He forced an expression of protective solicitation in return.
Both nights they stayed at inns and retired to separate chambers. Of course they did. However, with another woman . . .
The second night the inn was all but deserted. He lay restlessly, picturing the woman on the other side of the wall, hearing the sounds as she turned in her sleep. He imagined her body spread on his bed, naked in the moonlight streaming through the window, welcoming his hands and mouth as the night cooled the sweat of their passion.
The unbidden fantasy left him hard and hungry. He dressed and went for a long walk under the starry sky in order to break its spell.
So much for the flame only burning if he lit the candle. It had been insane of him to agree to this. He should direct the coach into Newcastle tomorrow, bid his leave of her, and hop a ship to the Continent.
He paused under an oak and debated that option. It would be a disgraceful breach of trust, but if he explained . . . Explained what? That the jaded rake found himself unexpectedly edgy with lust? That he lacked enough control to see it through and give her the protection that she had sought with this arrangement? That even fifteen thousand pounds and three thousand a year could not buy a little continence from him?
The abstinence forced on him by recent events probably had a lot to do with this hunger. Back in London he would find the necessary diversion. He would also no longer be in constant proximity to her. Even sharing a house, they would barely see each other.
He returned to his chamber convinced that he had matters in proper perspective. The low flame that would not die said otherwise. He threw himself on his bed, annoyingly aware that he had not wanted a woman like this in many years, and that the last time it had led to disaster.
But that had been an evil woman and Fleur was all goodness.
Still, it would be best to get back to London and out of her constant company as quickly as possible.
“On our return journey could we stop at my property in Durham? We passed nearby it yesterday, and it is not far from the mail road.” Fleur made the request as the carriage crossed the northeast border into Scotland. “We could stay at the house there, instead of an inn.”
“Whatever you would like,” Dante said. “Do you intend to ask my permission about such little things now? It will be a senseless pretense, since I will have no authority in the big ones.”
His fitful night had left him churlish, and her renewed presence had only made that damn flame burn hotter.
He saw her surprised reaction and regretted his tone. There she innocently sat, dressed in her blue gown, with a lovely silk shawl draping her delicate shoulders. He had turned his frustration on her like he was some randy schoolboy.
He realized that
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