Page 47 of Romancing the Rifleman
Diana crouched down next to her.“You are too kind.”She picked up Mrs.Beasley’s book.“My gracious—Don Quixote!Did you drop this on your foot?”
“I did,” Mrs.Beasley confessed.
“No wonder you are in pain.Here.”Diana draped the woman’s arm across her shoulders.“Can you bear a little weight on it?”
“I think so.”
As she helped Mrs.Beasley from the room, Diana cast a look back at him.Who would have thought those ice-blue eyes could hold such fire?It was a look that said,this isn’t finished.
Harrington gulped as the door clicked shut.That was what he was afraid of, all right.
Chapter25
Three hours and eleven interminable hands of whist later, Diana made her way up to her room.It was fortunate that the other ladies only wanted to play for pennies, because Diana had been unable to concentrate on the game.She wasn’t sure what had caused Harrington to flee back into his bedchamber that afternoon, but after their interlude in the library, she felt certain that he burned for her with the same white-hot intensity with which she burned for him.
She hurried Veronique through her evening toilette and dismissed her for the evening.It was common for a lady’s maid to set up a cot in her mistress’s dressing room, but Veronique was not an idiot and had made arrangements to sleep with the household’s female servants in the attic.
Diana took a moment to gather herself.She normally slept in a soft, flannel night rail, but tonight she had opted for a lace-trimmed shift made of muslin so fine it was translucent.She had topped this with a dressing gown of pale purple silk.Her blonde hair fell over her shoulder in a single plait.
Nodding at the mirror, satisfied with her appearance, she strode over to the door connecting her room to Harrington’s.She knocked twice before pushing it open.
Her husband glanced at her, eyes wary.His coat and neckcloth had been tossed over the back of a chair, and he wore nothing but trousers and a white linen shirt gaping open to his heart.Diana found herself transfixed by the sight of dark hair curling on his chest.
Ignoring the lines creasing his brow, she strode into the room.She walked straight toward Harrington, intending to loop her arms around his neck and pick up precisely where they’d left off in the library, but he gave her his back, turning to face the dresser.“Would you like a drink?”he asked, reaching for the decanter.
“I would not.”She traced her fingertips across his shoulder.“I want to remember tonight forever.”
He spilled the brandy he’d been pouring and muttered a curse.
Diana grabbed a towel from the washstand and moistened it.Crossing the room in three strides, she dabbed at the spilled liquid.“Put that down.You don’t need it.”She laughed.“Aren’t I supposed to be the nervous one?”
He finally looked at her, and his eyes were sorrowful.“This isn’t a good idea.”
She untied the sash of her dressing gown.His gaze flew to the stripe of whisper-thin muslin that had been bared to his view.She knew he would be able to see the faint curve of her breasts, her belly button, and the blonde curls at the apex of her thighs.
She strolled forward, swinging her hips, and pushed the dressing gown off one shoulder.“I disagree.I think this is the best idea I’ve had in a long time.”
His face was stricken.“I can’t.”
“Hmm.”She cast her eyes toward his groin, confirming that, once again, he was hard for her.“You can’t convince me that you don’t want to.”She reached for him but stopped when her hand was an inch from the placket of his trousers.She looked up, raising a questioning eyebrow.
Closing his eyes, he leaned forward, pressing himself against her hand.Encouraged, Diana traced his shape through the wool.His face contorted as if he were in agony, and his head lolled back.Having perused Harrington’s book of naughty prints with Izzie and Lucy, she had some idea what to expect.But the reality of him, thick and hard and separated from her curious fingers by just a few layers of fabric, excited her unbearably, and a little pulse started to throb between her legs.
He opened his eyes, looking almost drunk.“We should stop.”
She responded by shrugging out of her dressing gown, letting it pool on the floor at her feet.Immediately, his eyes were riveted to her body, scarcely veiled from his view by the lace-trimmed shift.
“Oh, Diana,” he moaned, his hands coming up to cup her breasts.Nowthiswas more like it.His thumbs traced the outline of her nipples, and she shivered, and not from the chill of the room.
As much good work as he was doing with his hands, his expression was the best thing.He looked at her as if she were precious beyond measure.As if he could notbelievehis good fortune, seeing her this way.It was precisely the way a man should look at his bride.
Eager to move things along, she grabbed a fistful of his shirt.Tugging him forward, she stepped back, falling on his bed and pulling him down on top of her.
But instead of kissing her as she had hoped, he scrambled off her, his eyes wild.“We can’t do this.”
She squinted at him, confused.“Why on earth not?We’remarried.”
Eyes fixed on the floor, he gestured to the connecting door.“I need you to go back to your room.”
