Merely the Groom (Free Fellows League 2)
* * *
The coach rolled through the gates of Shepherdston Hall at half past three in the morning.
Colin shifted from his uncomfortable position against the window, then rotated his right shoulder to relieve the tingling pins-and-needles sensation. He turned a bit in the seat and saw that Gillian had opened her eyes. He smiled at her.
The tender look in his green eyes unnerved her. “What is it?” she asked.
Colin reached up and gently rubbed at the pink-and-white indentations on Gillian’s cheek. “You have wrinkle marks from my coat on your face.”
She frowned. “Your coat?”
“You used my shoulder as a pillow.”
“Did I sleep long?”
“A little over three hours,” he answered.
“I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I only meant to close my eyes for a moment.”
“That’s all right. You were tired. You needed to sleep.”
Gillian stared at her husband. Events of the previous day—her wedding day—came rushing back. “What about you?” The sight of him made her wince. He sat with his shoulders hunched forward, his large body practically folded to fit into the space between the window and the opposite seat. “Did you get any sleep at all?”
“An hour or so, here and there.”
His green eyes were bloodshot and full day’s growth of blond beard seemed to sparkle on his chin, but he looked roguishly handsome. She hadn’t thought it possible for Colin McElreath to look more handsome than he had this morning at the wedding, but he did. Dishevelment suited him.
Gillian suddenly realized that she was entitled to see him this way every morning. She smiled at the intimate thought, and a blush brought more color to her cheeks.
The tiny smile playing about the corners of her mouth intrigued him. “Is something wrong?”
“Oh, no,” she murmured, “it’s just that...” Gillian lowered her gaze to her lap and quickly began to smooth out the creases in her skirt.
“What?”
“You look so...so...” Gillian couldn’t begin to put her feelings into words.
Colin rubbed his hand over his chin, gauging the growth of his whiskers. “Tired?” he suggested. “Rough?”
Gillian shook her head. Appealing was the word that came to mind. And attractive. And manly. But she couldn’t say those things to him. “Different,” she finally answered.
“Yes,” Colin said, smiling, “I guess the newness has already worn off the marriage. We haven’t been married twenty-four hours, and you’re already seeing me at my worst.”
“If this is your worst,” she told him, “then you’ve nothing about which to worry.”
“I beg to differ,” Colin replied.
“Oh?”
“We’ve arrived at our destination, my lady. We have a honeymoon to get through.”
Gillian didn’t have time to reply. The coach jerked to a stop in front of the steps leading up the entrance door to Shepherdston Hall. Although it was quite late—or early, depending upon your point of view—a butler and two footmen stood with lanterns waiting to greet them.
“Welcome back, Lord Grantham,” Pomfrey, the butler, greeted Colin as he descended from the coach. “We’ve put you and Lady Grantham in the Ivory Suite of the east wing at Lord Shepherdston’s request. I took the liberty of removing your clothes from your usual suite into the gentleman’s half of the Ivory Suite.”
The Ivory Suite in the east wing was directly across the hall from the suite of rooms Colin normally occupied while in residence at Shepherdston Hall. It provided easy access to Colin’s customary bedchamber and to the study connected to it, insuring him the privacy he would need to catch up with his work, yet keeping him close to his bride.
“Thank you, Pomfrey,” Colin answered as he turned to help Gillian out of the coach. “Gillian, may I present Pomfrey, the butler here at Shepherdston Hall. Pomfrey, Lady Grantham.”