Page 14 of Madcap with a Marquess
His loud exhale filled the chamber. She barely suppressed the urge to stick her tongue out at him like she’d always do as children. Goodness, it was like sleeping in the same bed with her was the height of tedium.
He slowly turned, peered at her, and once seemingly satisfied that she was fully ensconced under the bedcovers, hurried over to the bed. He pulled back the smallest section of covers and slid into the bed—as far from her as possible.
For the love of all that’s bloody holy. Did he think she had some contagious ailment?
“You wear your breeches and lawn shirt to bed?” She shot him a skeptical glance. Which he didn’t see because he refused to look at her. The lout.
“Not typically, no. But—ah, it will be much quicker to depart in the morning.”
Oh, my arse.He was daft if he thought she’d buy that. She scooted closer to him, grabbed his hand, and placed it on her breast.
He stilled.
She stilled.
They stopped breathing.
The walls stopped breathing.
“Wh-What are you doing?” he said, his voice strangled, and he yanked his arm free.
“I am getting myself a wedding night, that’s what, Rupert!”
Forget bloody formalities and honorifics. He was too much of a numpty to deservemy lordright now. What did he think she was doing? The insufferable man! She could club him over the head with a branch. A very thick, very heavy branch.
She ripped the covers off them, and his gaze flew to her exposed breasts, then immediately down to the apex of her thighs. His lips parted, and a stilted breath exploded from him.
She smiled. Progress. Perhaps she wouldn’t need to club him over the head.
“Franny,” he protested. He sounded just like the pleading twelve-year-old she used to throw rocks at. She bit her lip, glancing down at theveryevident ridge tenting his breeches. All man now.
He still didn’t move, and she frowned. Why was he being so difficult? She’d been under the impression men were rather obsessed with tupping. It was why her governesses preached purity and being wary of silver-tongued rogues. She was quite familiar with the attempts of silver-tongued rogues. And they were all quite familiar with her knee in their ballocks. She’d saved herself for her husband as good girls did. Now her husband wasn’t taking his prize. And she was getting right bloody vexed about it.
“Why will you not touch me?”
She glanced at his face, eyes shut tight, fists balled, chest rising and falling in slow methodical breaths.
Oh.
Her heart sank into her stomach, a dark thought settling heavily over her. “Do I… Do I repulse you?” she asked in a small voice.
She had no experience with suitors. She hadn’t thought she was too horrible to look at. But perhaps she was not to his liking. In looks as well as in every other way she knew already to be true. She hadn’t thought to be nervous. Impulsive behavior didn’t tend to allow time for nerves, but now…heat overwhelmed her cheeks.
His eyes flew open. “No!” He shook his head. “God, no, Franny. It is…” He let out a heavy sigh. It released from him and settled over the room, over them, like a sodden rug.
“It is what, Rupert?”
“I have never done this before.”
She looked around the chamber, searching for whoever was going to jump out and explain his logic to her.
She leaned toward him and said in a hushed voice, “Would you like to know a secret?”
He eyed her warily. “From you? I’m not so sure.”
The prat. “Well, I’m going to tell you, anyway. Ready?” She lowered her voice. “I’ve never done this before, either.”
“Well, that’s not the same thing at all.”
