Baron of Blasphemy (Lords of Scandal 12)

Her eyes grew even wider. She’d frozen halfway across the room. He nearly groaned aloud when he noted through her chemise that her nipples were tightening.

/> Was she cold?

Or responding to his own obvious desire.

The fire backlit her body, and as she was wearing nothing but a chemise, he had a clear view of the curves under the shapeless fabric. He nearly groaned aloud. Her hips flared out from her tiny waist. His hands itched to trace the curve. “You’re cold,” he said, his voice low and quiet, but even he could hear the edge that tinged it. He wanted to possess her. “You should get in the bed.” And then he crossed the room and peeled back the covers.

She darted forward, a flurry of movement again, and slid into the crisp white sheets just as he lifted the blankets over her body, covering all that creamy skin.

She pulled the coverlet near up to her nose and he had to hide his smile. Those blankets would do little to hold him off if he were determined.

And he was…but not on seduction. Currently, he was more concerned about gaining her trust and her consent than having his way.

Had he thought he might return to his old life?

That world seemed rather dull in this moment. It had become the same in its repetition. Drink, work, slip into an oblivion that was hollow. This…this was interesting.

He sat on the empty side of the bed and she squeaked. “I thought you were sleeping on the floor.”

“You didn’t say anything about tucking you in.” Possessive, protective need coursed down to his fingertips. “My first stipulation for our marriage is that I tuck you in nightly.”

She huffed. “I’m not a child. What did I do that everyone insists on treating me as such?”

He leaned over then, his lips an inch from hers. “I don’t wish to treat you like a child, my sweet. It’s the furthest thing from it.”

Her mouth opened and her cheeks flushed as the covers dropped just a bit. Then he leaned over the last inch and kissed the tip of her nose. “Good night.”

With that, he sat back up and crossed over in front of the fire, to the thick rug in front of the dancing flames. He tossed his pillow down and then settled on the floor, drawing the blanket up over his body.

“Are you going to be cold?” she asked, coming up on one elbow.

“I’ll be fine.” He smiled, knowing her concern was a good sign. He’d won this round of cat and mouse.

“Is the floor very hard?”

“No. The rug is quite comfortable.” His grin spread wider. But then it stalled. If he won, did she lose? He was never going to give her the love that she craved, but he inwardly argued that he could give her courtship, excitement, devotion. He could care for her. That would have to be enough.

She lay back down and several minutes passed in silence before she called to him again. “Chad?”

“Yes, my sweet?”

“Are you glad we’re getting married?”

“Yes,” he answered simply. “It’s a good arrangement for both of us.”

“Will you tell me more about your family?”

He winced at that. “You’ll meet my mother at some point when we can’t avoid it any longer.”

“That bad?”

“Yes.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“My uncle tried to sell Eliza on the marriage mart all while stealing from our business. I know a thing or two about terrible family.”

That made his head lift off the pillow. She did. “What did you do?”

“Well.” She nibbled at her lip. “I had my sisters.” Her hand came out from under the covers and it traced the pattern on the duvet by the light of the fire. “I know we bicker a lot, but I love them.”