Bride for a Night

There was a bustle of activity as they reached the yacht as a dozen sailors all rushed to help them climb aboard, their wide grins revealing their pride in his ability to sneak beneath the very noses of the French and return unscathed.

Of course, they did not yet know the full tale, he acknowledged wryly, leading Talia away from the curious sailors to the cabins below.

They passed through the galley and then the front saloon that was decorated in pale shades of blue and gray before reaching h

is private cabin. Pressing open the door, he allowed Talia to enter first, his lips twitching as she sucked in a startled breath.

“Good heavens.”

He stepped next to her, his gaze skimming over the polished walnut paneling and cleverly built-in furniture that was constructed on the same sleek, elegant lines of the actual yacht. Only the brass fittings and the moss-green blanket on the bed offered a hint of color, allowing the beauty of the wood to command attention.

“Does it please you?” he asked.

She moved forward, her hand stroking over the writing desk inlaid with teak.

“Very much.”

“It was built by my design.”

She sent him a startled glance. “Yours?”

His lips twisted, more at his ridiculous urge to boast than by her astonishment.

“Why does that surprise you?”

“It is remarkably…”

“What?”

“Comfortable.”

He nodded, his blood heating at the sight of her slender fingers caressing the glossy wood. The same fingers that had touched him with such eager passion just hours ago.

The image of her poised above him, her face flushed with pleasure, seared through his mind. He cursed, shifting as he hardened with a painful arousal. It was surely indecent to desire his own wife with such ferocity, but only the knowledge that his servants were even now preparing her bath kept him from slamming shut the door and tossing her on the bed.

Instead, he forced himself to lead her through the connecting door to the attached cabin that was designed along the same lines as his own.

“Being the Earl of Ashcombe means a burdensome amount of formality,” he said tightly. “This is one of my few means of escape.”

She lifted her brows, as if caught off guard by his response.

“I never considered that you would find it burdensome.”

His lips twisted. Did she truly think he enjoyed being surrounded by cold marble and simpering sycophants? That he truly desired a horde of servants constantly underfoot who were deeply offended by his slightest attempt to decrease the pomp and ceremony?

“The title comes with great gifts along with a great duty,” he informed her. “I do not take either for granted.”

She shifted, touching his jaw with the tips of her fingers in a gentle gesture of understanding. His chest tightened with a dangerous emotion as he lifted his hand to press her fingers against his cheek.

He was uncertain how long they stood there, silently lost in one another, but the fragile moment was interrupted by the large sailors who set the copper tub into the center of the cabin followed by two more who carried the buckets of hot water.

Scowling at the curious gazes from his crew, he stepped back, waving a hand toward the shelves cut into the paneling.

“You will find your belongings next to the bunk.” His hand shifted toward the rope hanging near the small window. “If there is anything else you need, just pull the bell and a servant will answer.”

She frowned. “Where are you going?”

“I must speak with my captain.”