Page 62 of The Bastard's Iberian Bride
She frowned at her plate, her fork making circles in the untouched peas. From the line of her jaw, she was brewing a head of steam.
The serving wench reappeared with a bottle and two glasses, and Paulette’s frown turned into a glare.
What the devil was wrong now?
Drat the lass, and damn him for a fool. It would have been easier to keep her safe at Greencastle.
Except, Agruen was there. And Bink hadn’t kept the place safe for wee Jenny.
He swiped a hand through his hair. He should have ignored Paulette’s pleas and ferried her directly from her cottage back to Cransdall where the spymaster’s army of loyal lackeys could keep her safe until the wedding. Except, if they hadn’t seen Little Norwick, there’d have been no wedding.
The thought brought him back to his senses. She was marrying him for the property, not for some great passion. Best to keep that in mind, take his pleasure, and make the best of it.
While the girl cleared the table, he passed a glass to Paulette and they drank in a less than companionable silence.
Devil take it. His sore arse and his aching body begged for sleep, while his nerves wound up tight, the way they had before battle, and his shaft…his shaft was a damned distraction.
He escorted her up the stairs. Outside her door, he handed her the candle, took her free hand and saw the storm brewing in her eyes. “Tomorrow is another hard day. We both need to rest.”
She lifted her chin and he saw that her lips trembled and his heart started up a brisk tattoo to match.
“If I kiss you, I’m not sure I’ll have the strength to stop. And if I don’t, I’m not sure I’ll have the strength tomorrow to keep going.”
“Good night then.” She opened the door, and slipped in.
The snick of the door brought him up. Too quick that had been. He shook his head.Ah, Bink, you dog, you’d hoped to be seduced.
