Page 68 of Bride By Mistake
Not that he was relaxed at the moment; he’d awoken fully aroused. Under normal circumstances he’d wake her slowly and erotically and they’d make love again.
Now… He shook his head and willed his erection away. His marriage… Only a couple of days and yet anything that could go wrong, had. Lord knew what she’d spring on him next.
He slipped out of bed and pulled on his breeches, shirt, and boots. With any luck he’d be out of the room when she woke.
“Where are you going?”
He turned. She was sitting up, looking sleepy and far too enticing, with her hair tumbled around her shoulders and her nightgown half undone. Under his gaze—or maybe it was just the morning chill—her nipples peaked, and he felt his cock stir in response.
She saw where he was looking and pulled the bedclothes up to her chin. “Are you leaving me?”
“No, just going to send for hot water and order breakfast. I want a proper cooked breakfast, not a bit of bread or pastry.”
“And us?”
“I now accept it was an honest mistake born of ignorance,” he told her.
She regarded him steadily for a moment, then gave a brisk little nod. “Very well then, I forgive you.” She climbed out of bed and marched toward the washstand, the hard little points of nipples swaying beneath the cotton.
“You forgiveme?” Her imperious attitude amused him. Surely he should be the one forgiving her. He watched her nipples bobbing their way across the room and realized he already had.
“Yes. Now go and order your big greasy English breakfast. I will have churros and hot chocolate.”
Ashort time later Isabella came downstairs with the long skirt of her riding habit looped neatly over her arm. She looked fresh and neat, and there was a lithe spring in her step that belied the long days of travel behind her. And the long night.
The landlady came hurrying out to inquire after her, and Luke heard Isabella reassuring the woman that her bites no longer itched and that the ointment was most effective, and yes, of course all was forgiven.
The question was, did she meanall? Time would tell.
She joined him at table with a tentative smile. “Did you order my churros?”
“I did indeed, and chocolate, as you desired.” He decided to test the waters. “Our landlady is so mortified by the mishap last night she would give you whatever you asked for, including the head of her husband on a platter.”
Isabella laughed, a delicious gurgle of mirth. “I would say,especiallythe head of her husband on a platter. Poor Carlos. But she’ll forgive him.” She arranged her napkin and added, “He adores her, of course.”
“He does?”
She nodded. “Oh yes, it’s obvious.”
The landlord—head intact—arrived with Luke’s breakfast of ham, eggs, sausages, and coffee. His wife followed with a napkin-lined basket of churros, piping hot and golden, and hot chocolate, thick and dark and very sweet.
The landlord hovered, seemingly inclined to linger and talk, but his wife steered him away, saying gently, “They want their breakfast, Carlos, not a conversation.”
Isabella only had eyes for her breakfast. She regarded the churros with such greedy pleasure, Luke couldn’t repress a smile.
She noticed. “What?”
“Years of gruel in the convent?”
She laughed. “Just bread, usually stale. And never with hot chocolate.” She dipped the end of the churro in and sucked the chocolate from it with such a look of bliss on her face, he almost groaned aloud.
Tonight he would show her all the pleasures of the marriage bed. And this time it would end very differently.
Luke addressed himself to his breakfast. Isabella didn’t hold a grudge; he had to give her that. She was a fighter—he liked that about her, too. He liked that she’d ripped into him when she thought he hadn’t given her her due. She was angry and she’d told him why. No having to guess. No petulant miffs and silent, female sulks. She’d given him an earful and a couple of angry thumps. Open and straightforward.
And now it was over. Thank God.
He watched Isabella licking sugar from her fingers. She wasn’t at all the quiet, conformable bride he’d expected. He was very glad she wasn’t. One thing was certain: he wasn’t going to be bored. She would lead him a merry dance—a huff of laughter escaped him—she already had.
