Page 78 of Bride By Mistake
“Let’s go.” Taking Isabella by the arm, he marched her away. Nothing had happened, but the incident had shaken him all the same. Never before had he forgotten himself so completely that he became unaware of his surroundings. And to do so in Spain, source of so many of his nightmares…
“Slow down,” she said, tugging on his arm.
He glanced down at her.
“Your legs are longer than mine.” She was almost runningto keep up with him.
He moderated his pace.
“Thank you.”
They wound through narrow, dim streets. Luke scanned the shadows and tried to think of something to say. Conversation was required. He couldn’t think of a thing.
Isabella was silent, too. She was warm on his arm, their hips bumping from time to time as they walked. The taste of her was still in his mouth, like wildfire in his blood. Her response had been so open… The eager seeking, the lithe, slender body molding to his. He’d felt quivers pass through her with every thrust of his tongue.
His body was still afire for her.
They passed some high barred gates and a dog barked. In the light of a lantern hung outside a doorway he caught a glimpse of her face. She seemed deep in thought, a slight frown puckering her brow.
Having second thoughts?
He quickened his pace. She didn’t object, but her frown deepened. He didn’t care if she was having second thoughts. Her seduction was a foregone conclusion.
“I want a bath,” she said when they reached their lodgings. Her face, framed by the silky dark fur of her hood, was flushed. Her mouth, full, moist, and purely edible,wasadarker shade of scarlet than the cloak she wore.
They climbed the stairs to their bedchamber. “You don’t need a bath.” Luke tamped down his impatience. She was putting off the inevitable. It would do her no good. The more she tried to avoid being bedded, the more determined he was to bed her. He had no intention of letting his clumsiness turn her off bed sports.
Besides, she was as aroused as he was by those dancers. He could smell it on her, had tasted it in her kiss. His body thrummed with awareness, expectation.
“I do. I’ve been riding all day. And I’ll be seeing my sister tomorrow.”
“If she’s there.”
“She is. I’m certain of it. And I want to look my best.” She wore that stubborn expression; the one he was fast getting used to.
It occurred to Luke that he could use this bath to his advantage. “Very well, if you must,” he said and rang the bell to order a bath to be sent up. He sprawled on the bed, sipping a brandy while servants brought in a tin bath, towels, and cans of steaming water to their bedchamber. He’d start by offering to scrub her back, and then…
“If you please,” Isabella said when the servants had gone. She stood holding the door half open.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he told her, swirling his brandy around in the glass.
She folded her arms. “I’m not having a bath while you’re here.”
Luke sighed. Convent-bred modesty. It would take time to rid her of it, he supposed. He drained his glass and glanced at his pocket watch. “I’ll give you fifteen minutes.”
To fill in the time, he strolled back to the marketplace and prowled around it impatiently. Most of the stalls were packed up and gone. All that was left were a few carts and people camped for the night with their animals.
“A gift for your ladylove, my lord?” a cracked old voice came from the shadows.
Luke ignored it. A gift wasn’t what he wanted to give Isabella. Besides, she was his wife, not his ladylove.
“A pretty shawl for a pretty lady,” the old woman continued, shaking out a folded Spanish shawl. It was beautiful: heavy cream silk, deeply fringed and lavishly embroidered with flowers. Bright, but not garish. Isabella would love it.
“How much?”
She named a sum that was double what it was worth. Luke snorted.
“For your bride on her wedding night,” the old crone said, black button eyes gleaming in her walnut wrinkled face. “Hertruewedding night.” As if, somehow, she knew.
