Page 19 of A Gentleman Never Surrenders
She leaned into him, not letting go of his arms. Neither of them spoke for a minute. The babbling noise of the water traveling through the green rushes on the river’s edge was calming. A familiar sound, one he’d grown up with all this life.
“It’s so peaceful here,” Milly admitted, her expression softening as she watched the setting sun.
“It is,” he agreed. The Cotswolds had always been a place of magic, the way the hills seemed to cocoon the little houses and the gardens in a tiny, protected sphere. Time did not tick into the future here. Except for the seasons changing, Owen would have sworn that this part of England never aged.
“Do you spend much time at Wesden Heath now? Or do you prefer London?” Milly asked.
He forced his gaze away from a family of ducks parading down the chilly edge of the stream’s bank. “The last few years it’s been London, but”—he paused, meeting her gaze at last—“I would like to call Wesden Heath home again, now that I have the ability to properly run the estate.”
“Because of my dowry,” Milly surmised. She didn’t seem surprised, but he saw that flash of pain again and he cursed himself.
“I will not lie to you, Milly. It was my motivation for finding a wife.” He cupped her cheek and traced her bottom lip with his thumb. She brushed his hand away and looked away. That hurt him. It shouldn’t but it did.
“I suppose it could be worse. At least you don’t seem prone to vices, besides women.” The last part of this was added with a touch of bitterness. For some reason that angered him.
“I made a promise to your father that I would not take other women to my bed. Only you, Milly. Do not throw my past lovers in my face. They no longer concern what lies between us.” She had to understand that he meant it. He was a man bound by his word.
Her head whipped back around to face him, fire sparking in her eyes.
“What lies between us?” She jabbed a gloved fingertip into his chest. “What exactly lies between us?” Her tone was civil but there was a bite to it he didn’t miss.
Owen scowled down at his wife, torn between the desire to kiss her or turn her over his knee. The woman was exasperating. She drove him in two different directions when she verbally sparred with him, and he couldn’t figure out how to engage her without quarreling or kissing her.
“I have no bloody idea what’s happening between us, but I thought things were improving.” His tone was just as cool but he was barely controlling that desire to grab her and kiss her to remind her just what he felt and how she felt about him.
Her nose wrinkled and she kicked out, her dainty boot striking his knee. Then she hissed in pain and reached down to hold her right foot. The action caused her to wobble and almost fall off the little bridge. He reacted quickly, scooping her up into his arms, catching her behind the back and under her knees.
“What are you doing?” She wriggled in the cradle of his arms and he laughed.
“Stop squirming. I’m going to carry you the rest of the way.”
Her lips parted in shock and she blinked several times. “Put me down. I don’t need to be carried. What if someone sees us? It would be highly improper.”
“I’m not concerned about propriety. I’m more concerned about you.” Owen started walking, easily holding her in his arms. She was a solid weight, but not heavy. He gazed down at her. “Do your feet still hurt?”
Her hesitation told him everything he needed to know.
“I’m trying to help you, sweetheart. Don’t be so bloody stubborn.”
“Stubborn?” she almost shrieked. “Oh! Put me down, you cad!”
“You’re hurt and I’m not letting my wife walk on wounded feet to the front door of my home. You may think me a cad, but by God, I’ll show you I’m not because I can’t stand the idea of you in pain. Now stop thrashing about like an angry polecat,” he growled.
Milly slowly stilled and wound her arms around his neck as she fully gave in to him. She bit her bottom lip, muttering under her breath about him being ridiculous.
He carried her in silence for several minutes before she spoke again, her voice less prickly.
“You called me sweetheart. Were you just saying that, like you would with any woman? Or did you mean…” She trailed off, a blush staining her cheeks. Every time she nibbled her lip, he wanted to lay her down on the nearest flat surface and claim her. With kisses, with his hands, with his body. His cock twitched at the mental image and he blew out a breath, trying to regain control.
“A man ought to have a pet name for his wife,” he said. Especially when he was coming to care for her…he silently added.
“Hmm…” She made a sound that was halfway between a hum and a sigh.
“You object to being called sweetheart?”
“Oh, no,” she said, a look of feigned innocence warning him she had something up her sleeve.
They fell into silence again, but it was less charged with tension than before.
