Damn.
She continued her work, dragging the cloth along his chest, then his throat. Obligingly, he tipped his head back, watching her as she alternated between wringing out the square and rinsing him and applying more
soap. He had not been prepared for how good it would feel to have her at his side, washing him.
His wife.
And what an arsehole he was, ruining things on the second day of their marriage.
“I’ve let it be known that Mary is no longer welcome at The Sinner’s Palace,” he said into the silence which had fallen.
Why, he was not sure. As he had told her, he was not accustomed to explaining himself. He did not have to. His siblings trusted him. They made decisions together, but he was the leader. Always had been.
“Thank you,” she said softly, continuing her ministrations. “Lean forward so I may wash your back.”
He did as she asked, inhaling sharply when he jostled his sore ribs.
She stilled. “Have I hurt you?”
“Bloody ribs,” he said on a grunt.
“You must take better care with yourself,” she said softly, continuing with the cloth. “Is attacking your rivals a regular occurrence?”
“When they light my future gaming hell on fire, it is,” he gritted.
And he would not hesitate to do it again. Although Bradley continued to deny any part in the fire, Jasper did not believe his protestations of innocence. It had been a brawl today, but next time could be deadly.
“Is this what I am to expect in our marriage?”
Her question hit a place inside him he had not realized existed. His heart? Christ. He had daughters. A wife. In the past, when he had gone to battle over territory, he had never had anyone to fret over him save his sisters, and Caro’s chief concern had been stitching up wounds rather than apprehension over future wars.
“Is that worry I hear in your voice, minx?” he asked, aiming to keep his tone light.
Trying to ignore his straining cock.
And that queer shift happening in his chest.
“Am I not meant to worry about you?” She finished with his back and moved around the tub, her gaze meeting his at last. “You are my husband now.”
“Forced or not, eh?”
He could not let the matter drop. Perhaps he should have done. But he wanted her to admit she had chosen to marry him. That she liked his kisses. That last night, in her bed, she had melted for him. Had come undone for him. That she wanted him now, as well.
“Some of my words earlier were harsh and spoken in haste,” she said, nibbling on the lush fullness of her lower lip.
And he could not stop himself. He reached for her. Did as he had imagined, wrapping those midnight silk curls around his hand and holding her still for his kiss. Chasing the memory of the last mouth that had been on his, unwanted and terrible as it had been.
This was the only woman whose mouth he wanted, now and forever.
Hers.
Octavia dropped the cloth, and then her wet hands were on him, wrapping around his neck. She kissed him as she always had, as if she wanted to devour him. And he kissed her in return with the same devotion. He could never kiss her enough, have her enough.
Why had he thought marrying and bedding her would cure him of this ache? It would not. Nothing would suffice. She had found her way past the armor he had once believed impenetrable. Here she was. His wife. Someone he did not mind answering to.
Most importantly of all, a reason to come home, along with Anne and Elizabeth.
He broke the kiss before he could deepen it and lose complete control, reminding himself that he still smelled of smoke. His hair needed washing. She was watching him with wide eyes and dark-red lips. Red and sweet, the color of ripe hothouse strawberries, that delicacy he had only chanced to consume in recent years. After he and his siblings had become flush enough in funds to experience what the lords and ladies above them did.