Page 35 of The Mister I Married

She shook her head. “I’ve never been able to sleep in carriages.”

“No, neither have I,” he replied, a touch regretfully. “Much too bumpy. Did you bring anything to read?”

She shook her head again, her smile turning sheepish. “I don’t read much. Except gossip rags, of course.”

Alex smiled. He’d noticed that she always seemed to know everything about everyone. Now he knew why.

“And you?” Emmy asked, shifting to face him. “Are you a great reader?”

“I have very little time for reading, I’m afraid. My father’s properties keep me quite busy.”

He’d been handling his family’s estate business since he was sixteen years old, and these obligations left little time for hobbies. To be honest, though, even if he had the time, he probably wouldn’t spend it reading. He was more interested in doing things than reading about other people doing things.

“Do you prefer coffee or tea with breakfast?”

Alex raised a brow, the innocuous question catching him by surprise, but there was genuine interest in Emmy’s gaze, and he liked that. “Coffee.”

“So do I,” she said approvingly. “Summer or winter?”

“Summer. Winter is too cold for morning walks.”

“Sunrise or sunset?”

He pondered that one for a moment. “Sunrise, I think. I like mornings.”

“And do you like sweets, as well?” she asked, arching her brows in such a way that suggested she would judge him harshly if he gave the wrong answer.

Alex shook his head. “No. I love sweets.”

She grinned. “So do I.”

He filed that fact away, making a mental note to speak with Mrs. Hatton about preparing a special dessert to commemorate Emmy’s first night at Bristlewood. Mrs. Hatton’s desserts were legendary, and he wanted to celebrate his new bride’s arrival like the special occasion it was.

A comfortable silence fell over the carriage, and Emmy turned to face the window again. Alex studied her discreetly, his gaze sweeping over her high forehead and puckish nose. Bold lips. Soft, round cheek. Her dark curls were up and adorned with flowers, wispy tendrils caressing her nape.

She looked utterly gorgeous.

He should have told her so earlier, when he’d first seen her in her pretty green dress, but it hadn’t occurred to him. As usual, words had failed him.

“The ring is a family heirloom,” he said, watching as she twirled the stone ‘round and ‘round her finger. “It’s been passed down from Whitcomb bride to Whitcomb bride since 1723.”

Emmy looked down at the ring and studied it for a long moment before meeting his gaze. “Did your mother wear it?”

He nodded. She’d left it behind when she ran off with his father’s groom, but this was hardly appropriate talk for the day of their wedding.

“Won’t it be unpleasant for your father to see me wearing it?” she asked, concern pinching her brow.

He’d wondered the same thing himself, but when he’d asked his father, he’d insisted Alex take the ring, and bring it with him to London. “Just in case,” he’d said with a wink as he’d pressed the ring into Alex’s palm.

“He wants you to wear it,” Alex said. “Tradition is very important to him.”

Emmy nodded, but her brow was still furrowed as she turned to face the window again.

Something seemed to be troubling her, but perhaps it was nothing more than the effects of the day. She’d said she was tired. That was likely all it was.

Alex leaned back in his seat and crossed one leg over the other, his gaze on the ring. She was fiddling with it again, clearly unused to its weight, and he drank in the sight of her gloveless hands, those long, capable fingers, that silky bare skin.

Unbidden, images flooded his mind, of Emmy lying on bedsheets the same shade as her wedding gown, wearing nothing but her silk stockings and his ring.

God’s wounds. He swallowed hard, heat creeping up his neck.

To say he was eager to consummate his marriage was an understatement, but it would have to wait. He had no intention of bedding his new bride in a country inn after a long day of travel.

He would wait until he had her at home, in the comfort of a familiar bed, where he could relax and hopefully not make a total disaster of the whole thing.

Considering it would be her first time—and his—he was more than a little apprehensive.