Page 85 of Love Wasn’t Built in a Day

Gideon hid a smile as Damian registered the use of his first name and then stiffened as Hetty ran up and kissed him on the cheek. “I have another brother,” she said cheerfully.

Damian scowled. “You may keep that great hulking brute you call a brother away from me,” he said gruffly, but Gideon thought perhaps there was a tinge of colour at Damian’s cheeks.

“You can’t disown her now, Damian, sorry. She’s family, too. One great big happy family,” he said, wagging his eyebrows dramatically.

“Ugh,” Damian said in disgust, and stalked off.

“He loves me,” Hetty said with a happy sigh before taking Gideon’s arm.

Gideon laughed. “It comes to us all in the end.” And with that, he escorted his bride to their lovely rooms at the finest—for the moment—hotel in Little Valentine.

The Mermaid Hotel, Little Valentine, East Sussex, 11th August 1816

Hetty sat in the lavish bed, surrounded by pristine, white, fluffy pillows, and toyed nervously with the ribbon ties on the rather provocative nightgown she’d bought at Madame Auguste’s. The stylish Frenchwoman had assured Hetty it was the kind of thing to make a new husband thank his lucky stars and fall to his knees in gratitude.

She slid a hand over the cool silk, imagining it was Gideon’s hand that touched her, and shivered.

The nightgown was a rich, ruby red and lavishly trimmed with lace. The plunging neckline revealed more than it hid but pretended modesty with a few little ribbons that drew the eye rather than distracted it. When her Grandmama had seen the contents of her hastily gathered trousseau, the nightgown had shocked her dreadfully, which Hetty decided had to be a good thing. Jenkins too had been utterly scandalised but had also conceded she looked very well in it, which was reassuring.

Hetty was uncertain she wanted quite such a dramatic reaction as Gideon falling to his knees, but she had to admit that she did wish to impress him

She realised she had wished to impress him from the moment they had met and he had provoked her by refusing to dance. He had seemed so very different from all the idle aristocrats moving about the ballroom with practised ease. Gideon had been all sharp edges, on his guard, and as alert as a hunting dog compared to the artfully jaded men around him.

In short, he had been entirely himself and Hetty had been drawn to him despite the fact he clearly wanted nothing to do with her. No—because he wanted nothing to do with her, she amended with a smile.

Sighing, she glanced at the clock. Gideon had given her an hour to bathe and ready herself, thoughtfully sending up a plateful of little delicacies for her to nibble on while she waited. He had noticed she had eaten nothing at the wedding breakfast, although the food had looked mouthwatering. She had been far too nervous.

She was less nervous now and more impatient; she realised. Her mind burned with the memory of their all too brief interlude on the beach, and she was eager to learn more. Hetty did not doubt that Gideon would be a marvellous teacher.

Suddenly jittery again, she slid from the bed, deciding it might make him nervous if she looked too impatient and virginal. Instead, she turned the covers down, arranging herself and her wicked red nightgown artfully. Far better if she looked rather more… well, sophisticated. There was not the least point in pretending to be coy when he knew very well she was nothing of the sort.

Finally, the door opened in the sitting area and Hetty’s heart leapt, her pulse hammering as soft footsteps approached the bedroom door.

Gideon walked into the room, his gaze immediately landing upon her, reclined upon the bed, draped in her decadent bit of silky nothing.

He was in his shirtsleeves, his hands upon his waistcoat buttons, of which only one remained fastened.

Hetty felt the heat of his gaze as it swept her from her head to her toes and back again.

“Do you like it?” Hetty burst out, unable to bear the taut silence a moment longer. “Grandmama was horribly shocked.”

“A good thing I’m not your grandmama then,” he said, his lips quirking as he moved towards the bed.

Hetty scrambled to her knees, completely forgetting her desire to look sophisticated. Any concerns that she might have had fled as their gazes met. The turbulent grey of his eyes was dark, though they did not speak of storms to come, but rather the intentions he had for his bride and her sinful nightgown.

“You look delectable, and I’m starved,” he said, his voice a deliciously low growl that shivered through her.

“Gideon,” she whispered, his name barely falling from her lips before his mouth pressed against hers and she was pulled into his arms. He kissed her like she was the beat of his heart, critical, elemental, and Hetty was swept away by the power of it.

“My love, my love,” he whispered, breaking the kiss and burying his face in her long hair. “I did not dare hope for such a miracle as you.”

“I’m no miracle, Gideon, so don’t be foolish and go putting me on a pedestal, for I shall only break my neck in the fall. Just love me,” she said, gazing at him earnestly.

“I can do that,” he assured her.

Hetty sighed happily, watching as he cast his waistcoat to one side and stripped off his shirt. Her gaze fell to the line of dark hair that arrowed down his taut belly and disappeared beneath the waistband of his trousers and her pulse raced harder.

He sat on the edge of the bed to pull off his boots and Hetty dared to reach out, sliding her hand over his broad shoulders. Gideon glanced back at her, and she thought his eyes grew darker still.