Page 41 of A Bride By Morning
He pulled his lips back from hers. “You want me to fuck you with my fingers until you come? Is that it?”
“Yes,” she said, reaching for him again. “Yes.”
He released a harsh breath and kissed her again, his hand shoving at her petticoats until he found her drawers. She groaned into his mouth as he located the slit in her garment. Spurred by his touch, she moved for the front of his trousers.
Gabriel’s free hand caught her wrist, his message clear:your pleasure, not mine.
Then his fingers thrust inside her. Lydia arched her neck with a gasp as Gabriel’s fingers slid in and out. He timed his movements with the speed of her breath, increasing with every uneven exhale. His collar chafed against her collarbone as he set his forehead to the mahogany panel beside her head. The rough cadence of his breathing matched hers. She kissed along his stubbled jawline, wishing they were not in that carriage. Wishing she could have him bare. Wishing that she could extend that moment beyond her fleeting pleasure.
But she couldn’t. Lydia came with a harsh cry that seemed to echo in the confined space.
As her climax subsided, she clung to him and held her lips against his neck. That singular point of contact gave her access to his pulse, which pounded in a discordant beat that mirrored her own.
Stay with me,she wanted to say.Stay with me. Let me have you for a moment longer.
But Gabriel yanked away from Lydia and settled on the opposite seat. Then he extracted a kerchief from his pocket, cleaning his fingers with almost punishing swipes of the fabric. He was withdrawing from her, rebuilding his icy walls. His heart was unreachable now.
The interior of the carriage became as cold as a winter landscape.
“I hope that met with your satisfaction,” he said flatly as he gazed out the window.
Lydia’s face burned with humiliation and shame. She shoved down her skirts and looked away from him, toward the dark scenery outside. Their moment was over.
He’d crushed her armor and left her with a thousand tiny cuts.
18
Gabriel traversed the hallways of Meadowfield, searching for his wife.
Lydia was usually in the solarium writing long letters to her aunt at this hour. But he opened the door and found it empty, the desk scattered with uneven stacks of stationery and crumpled paper. That evidence of her unease hooked like a claw to his chest.
He’d wondered what she put in those notes to her aunt, if she had achieved a talent for lying in her letters. But the crushed, half-written missives were proof that it did not come as naturally to her as it did to him.
He picked up a crumpled paper, gently smoothing the edges.
We attended a gathering at the Arundells yesterday evening. My first time hearing an opera singer! Aunt, I think I held Lord Montgomery’s hand the entire time. What a lovely husband he is, to
We had such a marvelous time
I was so overcome that we left early. I
She had scratched ebony streaks of ink across the entire letter, mars that echoed across his heart. He’d hurt her last night. He’d been intentionally cruel to push her away, and rather than relief, the proof of her dismay only constricted his lungs.
Gabriel caught Lydia’s scent as he turned to the door, and the fist around his heart tightened its grip. “Mrs. Marshall,” he said when he spotted the housekeeper heading down the hall. He set down the crumpled letter and approached the older woman. “Have you seen Lady Montgomery?”
“I believe she’s in the greenhouse, my lord,” Mrs. Marshall said.
The greenhouse. The place Gabriel proposed might give her seclusion in nature within the restricted cage of Meadowfield’s house. Limitations for which he was responsible. The location alone suggested she didn’t want his company.
“Thank you,” he told the housekeeper as he passed her toward the stairs.
He needed to find Lydia and apologize for being an utter arsehole. He almost let out a bitter laugh at the thought—he hadn’t apologized for anything in years, and he owed her a hell of a lot more than the words,I’m sorry.
The greenhouse was silent as Gabriel entered. The air was redolent with the sharp aroma of botanicals, the fragrance of exotic blooms, and the air’s moisture. The glass ceiling arched above him, a view of the clouds beyond obscured by vegetation that thrived in the heat. His father imported it all from foreign lands in Gabriel’s absence. He had never taken the opportunity to wander the garden his predecessor had created.
The temperature reminded him too much of Kabul.
Gabriel strayed down the greenhouse’s main path. He didn’t walk far until he located Lydia near a stone bench beside the central fountain. She angled her head to one of the striking crimson flowers, her dark hair curling at the back of her neck from the humidity. God, but he longed to press his lips there. Kiss his way down the arch of her spine. He wanted to see her bare.
