Lord Garson’s Bride (Dashing Widows 7)

“I did,when I thought you were willing.”

“I’ve done nothing to deny you.” Well, apart from that moment she’d stiffened in his arms, but even then, she hadn’t asked him to stop.

“So why do I feel like a villain from a play?”

She bit her lip and avoided answering. “Would you like me to take my nightdress off?”

“Do you want to?”

Not at all. In fact, right now, she wished she’d stuck to her guns and moved to Weymouth for a spinsterish life of good works and afternoon calls. But it was too late to regret her choices.

“I want what you want,” she said miserably, curling her fingers into the bedding and biting back a demand for him to get on with it.

“Wrong answer.”

Tears blurred her eyes. Jane had no idea what the right answer was. She should have known she’d botch this. Bitterness surged when she recalled the few moments earlier today when illusory hope had lifted her heart.

To her mortification, when she inhaled, her shakiness was clearly audible. She blinked frantically up at the firelit shadows dancing on the ceiling.

“Hell.” Hugh ran his hand through his hair again. “I’m a deuced callous brute. Please don’t cry, Jane.”

“You’re not a callous brute,” she said thickly.

“Yes, I am.” He sat on the edge of the bed but to her relief, didn’t try to touch her.

“I’ve failed you.” Her voice was scratchy, as she fought back the urge to howl like an abandoned baby.

“No, you haven’t. I expected too much.”

“You’re being nice, when really you shouldn’t be. This hasn’t been the wedding night you wanted.”

Something about the shape of his body in the darkness reassured her that right now he had no designs on her. Gingerly she sat up and rested against the headboard.

“It’s had a few compensations,” he said drily.

Now that it seemed she was safe—which was a telling word to choose to describe her failure as a bride—what he said made her recall his kisses. She’d been so frightened and overcome. But in retrospect, the power of what she’d felt set off another of those heated ripples.

Surely she couldn’t be regretting that he’d stopped. At the time, all she’d wanted was for it to be over.

Well, perhaps not all she’d wanted.

Because now that the passionate stranger was gone, replaced by the cordial companion she knew, she could admit that she’d been afraid of the pleasure, not that Hugh would hurt her.

“Shall I lie down again?” she asked, although the charged atmosphere had receded.

He shook his head. “We have all our lives ahead, Jane. Perhaps this isn’t the beginning we’d choose, but we have good will and friendship.” He paused. “We have, haven’t we?”

“Of course.”

He caught her hand and lifted it to his lips again. Stupid, now he’d given her a reprieve, to suffer a pang of longing at the contact.

He lowered her hand. “Then that’s enough for now.”

Even through her relief, she didn’t believe that. However much he loved Morwenna, for a brief space tonight, he’d desired his wife. But she was wise enough not to argue.

“Yes,” she said, her voice reedy.

He released her and stood. “I’ll sleep in the dressing room, and we’ll talk tomorrow.”