Page 15 of A Gentleman Never Surrenders
Since the moment he’d taken her away from her home, she’d seemed a different woman, one so alone, scared, yet she was holding her chin up bravely. He’d seen the glimmer of tears in her eyes when they’d driven away from Pepperwirth Vale and his heart had gone out to her. It brought back too many memories of how he’d felt when he and Jack had departed England. When he’d left Wesden Heath and sat beneath an African sun fighting a war that blackened his heart, it had nearly destroyed him. After he’d returned home to find both his parents dead and his home in shambles, he’d been unable to recover a part of himself that seemed to have died too. His father’s debts had crippled the estate and he’d barely been able to keep it afloat these last few years. He’d heard it once said that when a woman married, it was like she was going off to war. With him, it was certainly war, since she didn’t like him at all…except when they were kissing, that is. When they kissed, she seemed to like him quite well. He bit his lip to hide a grin.
“Owen.” Milly’s soft, husky voice pulled him from his thoughts.
She was standing by the fire now, lifting the hot foot warmers and carrying them carefully to the bed. She nodded at him to draw the blankets back and he hastily did so. She tucked the warmers into the foot of the bed and then crawled in under the covers. Her eyes, so rich in color and so wide with appreciation, tore at his heart. She was brave to be here with him, to agree to go with him by herself. Marriage did not equal trust or intimacy. No, those things had to come more slowly, more gently with time spent together. The shrewish nature she’d displayed was not who she truly was. He was figuring her out now, bit by bit, and he was seeing the real Milly underneath her bluster and standoffishness.
Her hair was still bound up in a pile on her head and he knew she’d forgotten it. He couldn’t help but admire the way it showed the graceful slope of her neck and how a few stray curls fell down to touch her throat. As beautiful as the hairstyle was, though, he knew the pins would be uncomfortable to sleep in.
He finished stripping out of his shirt and trousers while she turned her head away discreetly. After he’d donned his sleeping pants, he approached the bed.
“Milly, your hair is still—”
She reached up to touch it, instantly wincing. “Oh yes, I forgot.” She began to feel about blindly for the pins.
“Allow me.” He climbed onto the bed and reached for her hair. She stared at him; then after a long moment, she scooted forward in the bed and gave him her back. He knelt behind her, his knees sliding around her hips as he got close enough to see her hair. The rich chestnut locks were coiled on her head and he started pulling pins out. With each pin removed, a lock of hair tumbled down her back. The silken tresses tickled her skin as he threaded his fingers through them, searching for more pins.
A sigh escaped Milly’s lips as he massaged her scalp with little strokes.
“That feels nice,” she admitted in a whisper.
“Do you want me to stop?” he asked.
A pause, then, “No, at least not yet.” She shifted, sitting in a more comfortable position, and one of her hands brushed over his thigh. He tensed as his body responded, hunger for her coiling inside him. Lord, he wanted Milly on her back beneath him so he could—
Owen gave a little shake and forced all the wicked thoughts of bedding his wife out of his head. It wasn’t easy. Not when her hand still touched him, so close to where he wanted her to really touch him, with her hands, her mouth…With a silent growl at himself, he resumed the light massage of her head, rubbing her temples, then her neck and shoulders before he finally let his hands drop.
“Feel better?”
“Much.” She looked over her shoulder at him, the movement sending her hair in a ripple down her back.
“Good. I’ll turn out the lamps and check the fire once more before I turn in.”
She cuddled down beneath the blankets, her eyes hunting him as he moved about the room. He turned the little knobs on the lamps, dousing them, then added a few more logs to the fire before climbing into bed. The space between him and Milly wasn’t much, but he liked being close to her when she wasn’t acting as prickly as a hedgehog. Owen pulled the blankets up around them and settled in on his pillow. She turned her head enough that the moonlight illuminated the curve of her cheek and the shape of her lips. He’d thought Rowena would have suited him as a wife. But after being around Milly, kissing her, listening to her talk about literature, he’d realized that a woman who was closer to him in age, and not just coming out in society, was a better match. She had lived more, understood more than a young lady like Milly’s little sister would. In a way, she was more suited to him than he ever could have imagined.
There was so much he wanted to say, to tell her, but fear kept him silent. Would she despise him for admitting that he was glad he’d compromised her and not Rowena? She would likely hate him for it. He couldn’t let her know how much she affected him. Unable to resist one little touch, he stroked her arm with his fingertips. She was tense, almost rigid, and he didn’t want her to be. He wanted her to feel at ease.
“Get some rest. We will have to rise early tomorrow to reach Wesden Heath.”
She exhaled softly and turned her head deeper into the pillow, depriving him of the tempting sight of her cheek, the flutter of her long lashes.
“Good night…husband,” she said. He continued to stroke her and she didn’t pull away.
“Good night, wife.” He was still smiling in the dark as he closed his eyes.
* * *
I slept with my husband.
It was the first thought Milly had upon waking to find herself locked in the warm embrace of Owen’s arms. Sometime in the night she had rolled over to face him and he’d wrapped his arms around her. His chest was bare and her cheek was pressed to his hot skin. Her hands were tucked up between her body and his and she was able to lightly touch his chest. Giving it a featherlight stroke, she glanced up, hoping he wouldn’t wake.
In that moment, his large body enveloped hers in a warm bed surrounded by faint morning sunlight. She was safe and content. The dream she’d been afraid to hope for seemed to be within reach. She knew logically that this man was not someone who would treat her equally or love her, not in the way she’d secretly hoped her future husband would. Fortune hunters saw women only for the value of money they brought to a man. She knew enough of those sort of men from her past seasons in London, including the rumors she’d heard about Owen, to be sure that they cared little for the rights of women and certainly never fell in love with them. But for just a short while, she was going to pretend it was possible that Owen might care about her, that he might love her and value her as a person.
“Did you sleep well?” His question startled her out of her thoughts and she jolted away from him. He was awake, had been awake for who knew how long. Shame at being caught stroking his chest, cuddling with him, filled her like a handful of heavy stones.
“Milly, don’t do that.” His little sigh of exasperation made her bristle with frustration.
“Do what? I’m not doing anything.” She scooted back a foot, but the blankets tangled around her legs and his. They were trapped in together, which moments ago had been delightful, but now she saw the potential problem. She couldn’t get free if he didn’t help her.
Owen propped his head in his hand against the pillow and stared down at her, his lips twitching as though he was fighting the urge not to laugh.
