Page 97 of The Briar Bargain
"Are you indeed?" His eyes danced with mirth. "I shall make note of it."
"You may wish to record it in that little book you keep of everyone's character defects. Under 'E' for Elizabeth: 'Cannot be trusted in the presence of creatively tied cravats.'"
He lifted a gentle hand to her cheek. "I do not keep such a book."
"Do you not? How disappointing. I had rather imagined myself occupying several pages by now."
His smile deepened as he took the place beside her, the mattress dipping slightly beneath his weight. He turned his face to hers.
She studied the line of his jaw, the heat in his gaze. He was so steady and strong and just the tiniest bit uncertain. Her heart turned over in the most peculiar way.
"I thought I might feel nervous," she admitted. "But I do not."
His brow lifted faintly. "No?"
"Not with you." The admission surprised her with its truth. Here she was, alone in a bedchamber with a man who had once seemed the embodiment of pride and disdain, and she felt safe. Beloved.Almostperfectly at ease.
A silence followed, but it was not empty, for his gaze spoke to her without words. The hearth crackled quietly, casting soft amber light across the coverlet and the folds of her dressing gown.
"I was afraid," he said quietly, "that I might overwhelm you. I know I can be—"
"Serious?" she offered helpfully.
"Yes."
"Unbending?"
"Occasionally."
"A great towering wall of masculine restraint and miscommunication?"
He laughed then, fully, the sound rich and unguarded. It transformed his entire face, making him appear younger somehow. More approachable. "Precisely."
"Well," she said, scooting closer until their knees nearly touched, "I believe I married you for it."
"For my towering restraint?"
"For the challenge of toppling it." She reached out, her fingers brushing the edge of his sleeve, and then lingering just a little longer. The fabric was soft beneath her touch, warmed by his skin. She had touched him before, his arm, his hand, even the curve of his cheek once—but now it was different. Now it was allowed. Encouraged, even.
"I confess," she said, tracing the pattern of embroidery along his cuff, "I have a great many expectations about what this night might entail."
"What are they?" His voice held gentle curiosity.
Elizabeth was uncertain how to answer.
"I only wish to make you feel at ease," he said softly.
“And you have succeeded, Fitzwilliam. I trust you entirely."
He looked very nearly undone at the sound of his name on her lips, perhaps, or at the quiet acceptance in her voice.
"It means everything to me to have your trust."
"You do." Her eyes sparkled with mischief. "Enough that I trust I can even steal your slippers in the morning, and you will pretend not to mind."
"I shall mind deeply," he said gravely, though his eyes betrayed his amusement, "but only because my feet will be cold."
"Then I shall warm them myself," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.
