The Heiress Bride (Sherbrooke Brides 3)

Her breath came out in a whoosh. “I forgot to for the longest time.”

“How does your cheek feel?”

“It’s fine, just throbs a bit. I thought dinner went off smoothly, don’t you?”

“As well as can be expected with each of your brothers taking turns studying your cheek. At least Agnes sets an excellent table.”

“Is all my money in your hands now?”

He thought it a rather odd way of putting it, but merely nodded. “Douglas has written me a letter of credit. In addition, we will visit the manager of the Bank of Scotland tomorrow. He will have his man of business send me all the information I will need for any future financial transactions and the status of all your investments. All is done. Thank you, Joan.”

“Was I as much an heiress as you hoped I’d be?”

“I’d say you were more than an adequate heiress. What with your inheritance from Great-Aunt Margaret, you are one of the plumpest-in-the-pocket young ladies in England.”

“What are you going to do now, Colin?”

He set the branch of candles down and sat beside her. “Are you cold?”

She shook her head and said, “Yes.”

He lightly touched his fingertips close to the now-red slash across her smooth flesh. “I’m very sorry about this. We must talk about it, you know. I hope the bullet was meant for me and you were in the way at the last moment.”

“Well, I certainly don’t hope that! I don’t want anyone trying to shoot you. On the other hand, I don’t particularly want to be shot, either.” She fell silent, from one instant to the next, silence, and she was still as a stone, frowning.

“What is it?”

“The knife wound in your thigh. What if it wasn’t just a robber? What if it was another attempt on your life?”

He merely shook his head. “No, don’t go so far afield for blame. London is a nasty place, truth be told, and I wasn’t in a very prime location at the time it happened. No, it was just a little bully trying to line his pockets and I was his mark, nothing more. Now, would you like to be made love to? This is your wedding night, after all.”

That certainly gave her thoughts a new direction, Colin thought, looking down at his bride of one day. She was wearing a virginal white lawn nightgown that very nearly touched her chin it was so high. Her long, tousled hair was loose to the middle of her back, with several tresses over her shoulder. He lifted a handful of hair and brought it to his face. Soft and thick and the scent of jasmine, if he wasn’t mistaken. “So many different shades,” he said, quite aware that she was leery about the entire business now, since there was no more need for bravado and self-sacrifice in order to save him. He knew if he’d allowed it, she would have very likely stripped off her clothes, stretched him out on his back, and done the deed herself. And all to protect him and give him her money. She was sweet and guileless and determined and smarter than she should be. He would have to deal strictly with her, this wife of his, else she would take him over, and he would never allow that. Somehow, though, he couldn’t quite see himself locking her in a musty t

ower room.

He was lucky to have found her, no doubt about that. Then he thought about that bullet hitting the rock and the shard slicing her cheek. What if the bullet had hit her? What if the rock shard had struck her eye? He drew back from those thoughts. It hadn’t happened. He intended to take measures to protect her, beginning the moment her brothers left on the morrow. They would leave shortly thereafter for Vere Castle. That was the one place in Scotland he could be sure she was safe.

He leaned down and kissed her mouth. She started, then opened her lips, just slightly, but he didn’t take her invitation. He continued to kiss her lightly, his tongue stroking her bottom lip but not entering. He continued to kiss her until he felt her begin to relax. He wasn’t about to touch her yet. He just held that thick tress of hair in his hand and rubbed it against his face.

He raised his head a bit and said, “You’re quite pretty, Joan, quite pretty indeed. I would like to see the rest of you now.”

“Isn’t my face enough for the moment?”

“I should like to see more of the picture.” He should have lit a fire in the blackened fireplace, he realized. He would have liked to stretch her out on her back and look his fill at her, but she’d freeze, and that would never do. Instead, he helped her lift the nightgown over her head, then he gently pressed her again onto her back and drew the covers to just beneath her breasts. He wanted to see and touch and kiss her breasts.

“Now, let me look at you.”

Sinjun didn’t like this. She covered her breasts with her hands, realized how ridiculous her action was and dropped her arms to her sides. He was completely dressed and here she was like a white lump just lying here. She wasn’t in control, he was. She didn’t like it one bit.

He straightened and looked at her breasts, not touching them, just looking. “Very nice,” he said, a vast understatement. He was surprised that they were so full. She walked like a boy, a coltish walk that was free of the coquette, free of any feminine swaying and teasing. Ah, but her breasts were very nice indeed, high and full and the nipples a soft deep pink.

“Colin?”

“Is that little thin voice actually coming from the woman who wanted to rip my breeches off and have her way with me the instant we left London?”

“Yes, but I don’t like this. This is different. The motives are no longer there for getting it done. What’s more, you’re looking at me—”

“As I recall, you did the same to me, only the covers were down around my ankles. You looked your fill, did you not, and you were fully dressed?”