Page 38 of The Baron's Return
“Why, Lady Cranston, I do believe you’re jealous.”
She crossed her arms under her breasts and glared at him.
He shouldn’t be enjoying this as much as he was.
When he’d seen her slip out into the gardens, he’d thought the worst. That she was going out to meet with Holbrook since the man was suddenly nowhere to be found.
So he’d excused himself from the woman who was becoming a nuisance and followed her. He trailed behind her for a little while, making sure to keep his distance. But when it became clear that no one was waiting for her, and when the rain began to come down harder and she continued wandering through the garden, he’d made his presence known.
His eyes dipped to her bodice again. The neckline wasn’t scandalous, but the way she’d unconsciously pushed up her breasts had him remembering the delicious evenings they’d spent together. They hadn’t made love often enough for his liking.
He’d hoped that tonight he’d feel a stirring of desire for another woman. He had no intention of taking a lover, but it would have been evidence that he wasn’t falling under Abigail’s spell. Again.
But that hadn’t happened. In fact, he’d been in the process of turning down one such offer of a quick tumble when he’d spied Abigail slipping out through the garden doors. All he’d cared about in that moment was making sure that she never escaped him again. He’d cared not a whit for the buxom brunette who’d been pressing her ample bounty against his arm.
Of course Abigail had noticed, and apparently she hadn’t been pleased.
“So here we are, all alone in this gazebo.” He lowered his voice. “I’ve heard that Lowenbrock, as well as Ashford, have enjoyed the privacy provided by the high hedges that hide us from prying eyes.”
Her mouth dropped open in shock when she realized what he was saying. He found it impossible to ignore the thrum of desire that began to shimmer through his veins. “Perhaps we should join that elite club.”
She was silent for several seconds. “I… You… There are people…” She pressed her lips together and glared at him. “You are a horrible tease. Did I ruin your plans to meet your strumpet here?”
He was on his feet in a flash. He reached for her upper arms and yanked her against his chest. “Make no mistake, Abigail. I have no need of anyone else when you are more than enough to satisfy me.”
He lowered one hand to her backside and pressed her against his rock-hard erection.
Heat flared in her eyes. He was a hairbreadth away from taking her right now, the threat of discovery be damned, when he saw her shiver.
It was only then that he realized gooseflesh rose on her arms. His eyes narrowed on her mouth, and he saw that her lips had a bluish tinge.
With a curse, he stripped off his tailcoat and wrapped it around her. “We’re leaving. I need to get you home and warm you up.”
Chapter 20
I need to get you home and warm you up.
The memory of those words had danced along her nerve endings during the carriage ride home. He’d kept her pressed against his side, and she was grateful for his warmth. She’d been so upset she’d barely registered just how wet her dress had become. And she didn’t want to imagine how unflattering her hair must look.
Cranston could have sent her home and stayed out, but instead he’d come with her. And she’d believed him when he’d said that he had no use for other women.
After settling into the hot bath her husband had ordered for her, she’d donned a demure nightdress and dismissed her maid. As soon as the woman was gone, she’d changed into the most scandalous of the nightdresses Madame Argent had created—red satin fabric that couldn’t really be classified as a piece of clothing. It was a miracle that it stayed on, which was why she wore a dressing gown over it. Cranston would get a special surprise when she removed it.
Then she settled onto her bed to wait for her husband to join her and make good on his promise.
She didn’t realize she was drifting off to sleep until the sound of swearing woke her.
Shouts were coming from the adjoining bedchamber. It took her sleep-dulled senses almost a full minute to understand what she was hearing. Cranston was shouting.
Her heart racing, she sat up in bed. Was someone in there with him?
She listened but could only hear one voice. His.
Which meant that he must be having a nightmare. She’d heard other women talking about how their husbands who’d returned from military service were plagued with them. Cranston hadn’t told her that he suffered from the same affliction, and she hadn’t thought to ask him.
She rose from the bed and walked to the adjoining door, tightening the belt of her dressing gown along the way. She hesitated when she realized he was no longer shouting. She was about to return to bed, not wanting to wake him if the nightmare had ended, when she heard another moan.
She opened the door without another thought. She couldn’t take away the unpleasant memories of everything her husband had seen and done during his years in the army, but she could at least put a stop to whatever was tormenting him now.
