Page 61 of Bride By Mistake
And then…
He shook his head. How could he have let things spiral away from him like that?
Lord knew—well, it didn’t require omnipotence—any idiot would know where it would have ended up had Luke not happened to glance at her face and caught the gleam of triumph, of female power, in her eye as she saw how in thrall to her he was. Hisbodywas.
Luke would be in thrall to no woman, not even his wife.
The village street petered out into a simple dirt track leading up into the wilderness. He stopped, gazing up at the looming dark of the hills, at the star-sprinkled velvet of the night, and breathed sharp, cold air deep into his lungs.
A guitar played somewhere close by. The scent of peppers and roasting meat floated on the breeze.
It was this place, this blasted country; that was all. Things he’d kept locked away, under control, were being stirred up. Disturbing his equilibrium—yes, that was it.
The last few days, memories and sensations had risen up to assault him at every turn. Isabella herself had unwittingly started the process. The circumstances of their meeting, his weakness for a woman in distress, his damned compulsion to play the hero.
But it wasn’t her fault she’d unleashed his demons.
She wasn’t the demon who haunted him.
She was just his innocent bride who’d been attacked as a child and spent the next eight years in a convent. And he’d treated her like a…
He turned on his heel and marched back the way he came. No harm done. He hadn’t bared an inch of her skin, and it would do her no harm—in fact probably it would do her a lot of good to feel the pleasures of arousal.
Not that the pleasures of arousal were doing him a lot of good. He grimaced and adjusted the fit of his breeches. Not all that pleasant. But it was different for a woman.
As long as he didn’t pounce on her—and he wouldn’t—his self-respect would remain intact.
He wouldn’t touch her again like that until they were in England. He’d promised her time to get used to him, and she would see she’d married a man of his word. She might not be a virgin but she needed time to get used to him, to accustom herself to the idea of having a man in her bed, in her body.
In England, that green and pleasant land, his emotions were not raw and jagged and edging out of control but safely stored away in the dark. Yes, he’d seduce her in England, gently, carefully, as a gentleman should.
Luke would not allow the demons of his past to contaminate his marriage. Or his bride. He returned to the inn, calm, cool, and firmly in control of his body and his marriage.
He’d been gone longer than ten minutes. He knocked quietly before unlocking the door, so as not to alarm her. As he entered, she sat up, lustrous dark tresses spilling over pale shoulders, a siren by candlelight. Damn.
“I thought you’d be asleep by now,” he said.
“No.” Her eyes were huge.
“I won’t be long.” He turned his back on her and quickly stripped to his undershirt and drawers. He normally slept nude. No chance of that tonight. Or any other night until they reached England, he reminded himself.
He blew out the candles and climbed into bed, careful not to touch her in any way. “Good night, Isabella.”
“You’re going to sleep?”
“Of course.” His body ached for release.
“But I thought…”
He clenched his jaw. He knew what she thought. Damn him for a fool. “I promised you time,” he reminded her. “I keep my promises.”
Silence followed, and just as he was starting to hope she’d fallen asleep, she said, “I’m glad you came after me, today.”
What did one say to that? “Good,” he said crisply. Andthen, before she could turn it into a conversation, he said again, “Good night.”
The truth was, it was too damned intimate, lying there side by side in the dark, talking. He never shared beds with women. Not to sleep. And certainly not to talk. It was unexpectedly… companionable.
“In what direction will we ride tomorrow?”
