Page 70 of An Unwilling Earl
The silence was becoming awkward. Was she thinking the same things? Did women even think about making love? He’d heard that men were far more driven by the need than women. Though, Cora had been energetic in the bedroom.
Sweat was beginning to form on his forehead, and he was fairly certain he was not walking normally.
Maybe it was best to get it out in the open. After all, a good marriage was based on trust and honesty, right? “Where do we go from here?” he asked. “What is our next step?”
They walked a few paces, and he let her have the time she needed to form an answer. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked. Was that too crass? Good God, he needed to know if he could make love to Charlotte. Now. As soon as they got home.
“I think we need to pay a visit to the detective,” she said. “We need to do that right away, before others get wind of our marriage and my aunt realizes what we’ve done.”
He wanted to groan in defeat and frustration. She hadn’t understood his question.
They were walking on the street, passing others. He was nodding to the couples they passed as if he didn’t have a raging erection and a near-uncontrollable desire to bed his wife.
“I agree,” he said. “I’d like to get it done and over with as soon as possible.” Heaven help him, but he wanted to do something else as soon as possible. This was painful and so uncomfortable. He willed his body to calm down, but it raged with an unholy need that had been denied for too many years.
It was getting darker, the shadows longer. The crowds on the streets were thinning, and light was spilling from windows of the homes they were passing. A slight breeze had blown up. The day of their wedding was coming to a close. How many more days did they have left?
“What if I’m wrong?” she asked quietly. “What if Edmund isn’t the one killing those girls?”
“If you are wrong, then you’re wrong, and the police can move on to other suspects.”
“If I’m wrong then we didn’t need to get married in the first place.”
His heart hurt a little at the quiet statement. “Is it that bad?” he asked. “Being married to me?”
She grinned, and it was such a change from their serious conversation that it made his breath catch. “We’ve only been married half a day. Time will tell.”
He chuckled as he led her up the stone steps to his house and opened the front door to let her in.
He shrugged out of his coat and took her shawl, such a domestic scene, as if they’d been performing it for years, instead of days, and he hoped to God she didn’t see the bulge in his trousers.
“It smells like Mrs. Smith has been cooking a delightful dinner for us,” she said, completely unaware of the war raging inside of him. He looked longingly at the steps that led to his bedroom. Hell, he didn’t care at this point. He would take her anywhere, but she seemed oblivious.
Charlotte closed her eyes and lifted her head to sniff the air redolent of spices and some sort of beef. Jacob closed his eyes, too, and swallowed his groan.
Suddenly his hands were cupping her face and his lips were descending upon hers and then devouring her with the hunger that he had been fighting since leaving the Crystal Palace.
He kissed her like he was starving, like he would never get enough of her. And hewasstarving. Ravenous. Completely out of control. But he couldn’t help himself.
Only when they heard Mrs. Smith clomping down the hall did he reluctantly pull away, cursing his housekeeper.
“Oh, good, you’re here,” Mrs. Smith said, completely unaware of what she’d interrupted.
Charlotte was looking at him with a dazed expression, her lips glistening. “I’ve prepared a nice wedding dinner just for the two of you. I can serve it whenever you are ready.”
Charlotte looked away and touched the back of her hand to her lips. “I um… I’m ready for dinner.”
She turned away from him, and Jacob had no choice but to follow her into the dining room while his body screamed in fury. How in the hell was he supposed to eat in his condition?
Mrs. Smith served them then let them be, telling them to not worry about the plates, that she would get to them in the morning. A subtle hint that they were on their own for the rest of the night and would not be disturbed.
Thank the Lord.
“I don’t regret it,” Jacob said, halfway between the meal. They were the first words they’d spoken to each other since he’d kissed her, and he was feeling reckless, although he’d been careful to have only one glass of wine. Charlotte had had none.
Charlotte looked up at him, her brows drawn in confusion. “Regret what?”
“Marrying you. Earlier you had said that if we were wrong about Edmund then we needn’t have gotten married. I just want you to know that if we’re wrong, I don’t regret marrying you.”
