What came next? And did last night signify? Was their marriage to be a nonce? The idea of asking him, of bringing up any topic at all, felt like carrying a trunk of cannonballs up four flights of stairs.
Instead, she leaned back against the squabs and closed her eyes. Unbidden, her mind returned to the kiss at the altar. And the onesthe night before. Everything from the night before. Surely it meant very little to him, another in a long line of romantic evenings. He probably had more singular memories of tying neckties than he did of being in bed with a woman. But Harriet could privately cherish it, even if he never gave it another thought.
He regretted that kiss. He regretted all their kisses, for entirely different reasons. This one had been far too chaste but alas. The blacksmith was no vicar; regardless, one could not ravish one’s wife at the altar. Or at the anvil. Alexander wished the kiss had lasted longer, that he’d tasted her more, that he’d lingered. He wasn’t certain when he’d kiss her again. If at all. There was no reason to kiss her again after this.
A knot of feeling low in his stomach protested:Of course there is reason to kiss her again. Simply because if he didn’t, he would spend eternity dreaming about it. Although he supposed he’d probably do that either way.
He was quite obviously going daft.
He watched Harriet, her head tilted back against the squab, her eyes closed. He was certain she wasn’t sleeping. Her arms were crossed, her spine rigid, her breath shallow, her lips pursed in annoyance. Perhaps at him. The thought made his mouth twitch with pleasure. Would he ever stop delighting in bedeviling her?
His smile was tossed over quickly as her tongue darted out to wet her lips. He watched as the long, bare column of her throat swallowed. She let out a small sigh and shifted in her seat.
She seemed … No.
Alexander shook off the notion. The woman wasnotsitting across the carriage fantasizing about anything. Other than perhaps gerunds.
At the next stop he’d hire another horse; he needed to ride out again. This was unbearable. He cleared his throat, hoping to wake her from her spurious slumber. His plan worked in that her eyes fluttered open, but her dazed, glassy look was just as bad, if not worse, than when she’d been pretending to sleep.
She didn’t take the opportunity to talk, which was stunningly out of character. He missed her chatter. Even her circling things in her book. It was bizarre to see her so relatively idle.
The only part of her that moved was her thumb, spinning the emerald ring on her hand around and around. Some tiny, jealous part of him liked her having it on. A ring that signified that she was his. The thought was so foolish as to be embarrassing.
Harriet glanced up and then followed his eyes down to the ring. Her hand stilled immediately; the spinning stopped.
“It’s lovely, by the way. I don’t know if I said that already. But it’s … it’s the nicest thing I’ve ever owned. Not that I own it. You do. Of course … You understand me.”
Alexander was gladder to have her rambling again than he could say.
“It’s yours. You own it.”
“Not in the eyes of the law.”
“The eyes of the law see the Duke of Belhaven as my father. I’m not certain you can trust their vision.”
She laughed, a softer, kinder laugh than he’d heard before.He was cataloging a woman’s laughter?! God help him. The monotony of riding in a carriage for this many days in a row was obviously getting to him. He was restless and desperate.
He knocked abruptly on the roof of the carriage, rolling it to a stop. By way of explanation he simply said, “Please excuse me for being indecorous, but I fear the carriage is making me rather unwell. I will ride out again today.” Then he tipped his hat and climbed up front with his driver. At the next stop, he’d saddle a horse. Anything to be out of this blasted carriage with her blasted sighs. And her blasted lips. And that blasted wedding ring. On her blasted gorgeous hands that just last night had been …
Air. He needed air.
They stopped earlier in the evening than Harriet expected. The weather was still frigid, and she could hardly understand Alexander’s ability to ride out all day when the walk across the inn’s courtyard left her eyes tearing up, her cheeks raw, and her nose sniffling.
Alexander asked for a single room for the two of them, which confounded her, but she was doing everything in her power to stop obsessing over his actions. Before this week her brain had never spent so much time on so unimportant a topic as a man.
For the sake of not losing the ability—which she feared she might, based on how much space in her thoughts Alexander occupied—she went over the Greek alphabet in her head and then, asthey climbed the stairs to their room, she did a few sums. Math had never been her strong suit, but she feared for the state of her mind. She’d spent a good quarter of an hour earlier today just thinking of his chest hair!
As if summoned by her thoughts, Alexander began unbuttoning his wet shirt. He re-dressed as Harriet sat glumly on the bed, doing her level best to ignore his proximity.
“You can order a bath or food or anything else you’d like. I’ll be back later,” he announced. Presuming he was going downstairs to drink, Harriet nodded and said nothing. He seemed to have little to say to her, and she felt silly for having expected otherwise. She wouldn’t worry he regretted last night. She wouldn’t worry about him at all.
For a while, Harriet attempted to read, but after going over the same paragraph for a fourth time, she gave up. Eventually her eyes dropped to his discarded clothing and without her wishing for it, the image of him shirtless returned.
She left the bed and sneaked over to the pile, as if she might not be allowed to touch her husband’s clothing.
Husband. That was odd.
She reached for his jacket and found the lapel pocket, hoping dearly to find what she was looking for. Her fingers brushed on a piece of foolscap and she fished it out.Godemiche.
