Lord Garson’s Bride (Dashing Widows 7)

His lips twitched into a smile. Looking at his mouth made her think of his kisses. Her blood thickened and beat so hard that she almost missed what he said next.

“I’ll tell you when you’ve eaten something. You’re fading away before my eyes.”

“Hardly,” she said. “You fed me last night.”

“A mere snack.”

“I’m not five years old anymore, Hugh,” she said with a hint of vinegar.

The smile widened. “I’m well aware of that, my lady.” His voice deepened into sincerity. “Yesterday, I promised to cherish you. I know for years, it’s been Jane Norris as the lone warrior, fighting her own battles. But it doesn’t have to stay that way.”

She stiffened in her chair and fought back an absurd desire to cry. She hadn’t known Hugh had guessed so much about her life at Cavell Court. Because that was exactly how it had been.

“Curse you.” Her voice was scratchy. “What am I supposed to say to that?”

His eyes softened to the brown velvet that always tangled her heart into a knot. “‘Yes, Hugh. I intend to eat all my breakfast.’”

She hoped he didn’t hear the crack in her laugh. But to her surprise once she took her first mouthful, she was hungry. Her husband had no qualms about devouring his meal. Their difficult first night together clearly didn’t prey upon him the way it did on her.

Of course it didn’t. He might be disappointed that he’d missed the chance to plant a child in her womb, but otherwise, nothing of great significance had happened.

Stop it, Jane. You’ll go mad if you think like that. You’ve made your bed. Now you must lie on it.

With Hugh.

This morning, that prospect didn’t seem quite as intimidating as it had yesterday.

She’d entered this room eaten up with embarrassment and remorse. But Hugh’s relaxed manner gradually made her view last night’s events not as high tragedy, but as a step on the way to establishing their life together. A scene in a domestic comedy, perhaps.

*

Garson watched Jane pick up her coffee and wander across to the open window overlooking the bustling street. It was market day, and Salisbury was crowded. The cacophony from outside rose to their room.

She craned to see something below her, then laughed.

“You should do that more often,” Garson said from the table.

Her face alight with amusement, she turned to him. “What?”

“Laugh.”

The sparkle faded from her eyes. “Life has been dea

dly serious lately.”

“I know.” He hated to think of the toll the last years had taken on her.

In her drab, gray dress, she should look like the little mouse who had accepted his proposal. Except she hadn’t been a mouse then either, had she? Despite her grief, the woman at Cavell Court had carried an indefinable air of authority.

The list of his damn fool assumptions grew by the day.

Jane was plain and unassuming? No, she was pretty and intriguing.

He only wanted his wife because he needed a child? Tell that to the poor sap mad for her last night.

Most galling of all to his self-satisfaction was the asinine idea that seducing his new bride would pose no problems. With bleak amusement, he looked back on his simplistic expectations. He’d assumed marriage would require no major changes to his habits. A mere day after his wedding, and he already foresaw a host of complications. Not least his hunger for the bride he’d chosen purely for his own convenience.

Jane proved to be many things. So far, convenient wasn’t one of them.