Page 37 of The Matrimonial Advertisement

She pulled back, her hands sliding from his neck to rest on the front of his waistcoat. He saw her throat spasm in a visible swallow. “I thought we were going home.”

“To the Abbey?” Justin glanced toward the window. “If the rain continues, there’s every chance the road will be impassible by nightfall.”

“Does that mean we’re stuck here?” She didn’t look pleased by the idea.

“No. But it means we’ll need to leave fairly soon if we’re to make it back safely.” He hated to ask. “Do you want to go?”

“I had rather hoped we might.” Her hands fell to her lap. “I haven’t been sleeping very well since I left London.”

Justin felt a flicker of disappointment. He wanted to point out that there was a perfectly serviceable bed in their hotel room, but he knew very well that that wasn’t the crux of her objection. She simply didn’t wish to share a bed with him. Not yet, at any rate.

He was going to have to woo her.

A damnable prospect.

What did he know of wooing? His romantic past—what there was of it—consisted of brief interludes with willing widows or impersonal tumbles with tarts. He’d never properly wooed anyone. He’d never even kept a mistress. It had seemed far too much trouble. Especially when his heart had never been engaged. And after Cawnpore…

He hadn’t felt himself worthy of kindness or gentleness. And he’d been even less inclined to offer it. Not to a willing widow or a tart. And certainly not to a wife.

Good God, but a matrimonial advertisement was supposed to alleviate the need for any of this emotional claptrap. If he’d wanted to embark on a courtship, he’d have found a woman at a village assembly somewhere. A plain, no-nonsense sort of female. The daughter of a tradesman or the widow of a soldier. He’d never have chosen a lady of such beauty and refinement. He knew what he was. And what he deserved.

But as Helena gazed up at him, her lips rosy from his kisses and her eyes soft as velvet, he realized that whether he deserved her or not, she was his. And he’d be damned if he made her unhappy.

He took hold of her hands. They were pale and slender in his. “We won’t have much privacy at the Abbey. Boothroyd will likely importune me as soon as we return. He has no sense of timing. Nor does Neville, come to that.”

“Life at the Abbey sounds very…informal.”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “That’s one way of putting it.” His thumbs slid over the silken skin on the backs of her hands. “It won’t be what you’re used to.”

“You’ve said that before. I hope you’re not still trying to warn me off.”

“Would it work this time?”

“We are married, sir. I am your wife.”

“Ah,” he said. “I thought I recognized you.”

A smile glimmered in her eyes. She tugged at his hands until he obediently bent his head. And then she kissed him, her lips clinging to his, warm and sweet.

His heart thundered in his chest. “Take care,” he said huskily. “Much more of this and I’ll begin to think you’re growing fond of me.”

Her hands moved in his, returning the clasp of his fingers. “Would that be so bad?”

“Who can say? It’s uncharted territory. No woman has yet developed a tendre for me.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Of course you don’t. You find me irresistible.”

A blush rose in her face. “I find you infuriating. Especially when you tease me.”

He nuzzled her cheek. “And I find you beautiful beyond words.”

It was quite the most revolting thing he’d ever said to a woman. The sort of treacle an ardent swain would spout to his sweetheart.

It was also the absolute truth.

“How did such a lovely creature ever come to answer my advertisement?” he asked, rubbing his cheek against hers.