Page 22 of Bedding the Marquess
“Dammit!” Gideon snapped, so loudly and so suddenly that Posy danced to the side and threw his head. “Steady, boy,” he said soothingly and gave him a firm pat on his thick neck. “I’m just torturing myself over here. Don’t mind me.” Both males heaved aggrieved sighs and resumed their walk.
His patience was running thin, as was his sanity, but he had a lifetime with Caro. He could wait until she came to him again. Only then would he be certain that she came to him out of desire and not obligation or duty. His every nerve longed for her. He loved her. And the little boy inside of him ached for that feeling to be returned without coercion or ulterior motives. He yearned for it with all the desperation of a man too long neglected.
“What say you, Posy, hm?” Gideon asked the animal’s soulful eye. “Will I survive this, or will Caro finally do me in?” The horse tossed his enormous head. “That is about what I suspected as well.” Posy’s nose met his shoulder in an affectionate nudge. “I know how you feel about her—don’t think I’ve missed all the apples she’s snuck away from the breakfast table—you are a biased party. I don’t know why I bother asking you anything.” The gelding whickered, entirely unaware of the warring emotions inside of Gideon’s chest. Like the frothy waves at the base of the chalk cliffs, his stomach churned with the needto be everything Caro wanted, and to have her give all of herself in return.
He remounted and turned Posy inland.
Toward home.
Toward Caro.
Toward his new life.
With a sharp whistle and a kick, they were off.
Upon his returnto Bray Castle, Gideon did not have a chance to bathe and change his clothing before encountering the woman who so completely consumed his every thought. As he walked past Caro’s private sitting room, he noticed the door was open wide and she, garbed in a mint-green morning dress embroidered in little white flowers, was draped across the burgundy chaise. She, with her ivory flesh, pastel gown, and hair the color of rosy sunshine, was like a breath of fresh air in the room populated with heavy and slightly outdated furniture.
She held her chin propped in her hands, not even attempting to feign interest in the book that lay open in her lap and rested against the soft swell of her abdomen. His fingers twitched with the memory of how that curve had felt beneath his palm, how intimate and domestic the moment had been when she, in her unbridled joy, had taken his hand in hers and pressed it there to feel their child.
Her expression was soft and her eyes, dreamy. Her freckled cheeks displayed a healthy blush so faint that it might have been missed if he did not know her so well. Whatever was on her mind, she certainly found it much more entertaining than the words on the pages before her.
“Thinking of me, are you?” Gideon crossed his arms and leaned his shoulder against the doorframe.
Caro jumped and the book fell to the floor. “Christ, you startled me!” she screeched and pressed a hand to the graceful column of her throat.
“The name’s Gideon, but I thank you for the comparison,” he joked with a wink.
“Infuriating is a better name for you,” she grumbled and rolled her eyes. He breezed into the room and retrieved her book before she could lean over to do so.
“So…were you?”
“Was I what?” Her tone was still slightly snippy from the shock, but he knew she’d not hold it against him long.
“Thinking of me.”
“Of course not.” Her words said one thing, but her deepening blush said another.
“I think you’re lying,” he purred, taking her hand in his and pressing a kiss to the fluttering pulse on the inside of her wrist. He handed Caroline her book and sat back on his heels so they were relatively eye-to-eye.
“Very well, I was.”
“That is nothing to be ashamed about.”
“I am not ashamed.”
“Pleased to hear that.”
“I was merely…thinking of your birthday.” It, too, seemed like a lie, but Gideon decided he’d teased her about that enough for one morning.
“What birthday?”
“Again, you are utterly vexing.”
“I thought I was infuriating.” He chuckled when she gently bopped the crown of his head with her book.
“Yourbirthday. Yourthirtiethbirthday, so it is a rather important one.” She huffed a dramatic sigh when he feigned ignorance and cocked a confused brow at her. “I know you dislike being reminded how old you are. It is an utterlynonsensical complex for a man such as you to have—especially because you are fitter than many men a decade younger.”
“D’you think so?” He was shamelessly fishing for compliments, but he cared not one bit when her gaze raked him from his wind-tousled hair to the sheerness of his damp shirt. He particularly enjoyed how her eyes lingered on the visible muscles of his bare forearms, where he’d rolled up his sleeves when rubbing down Posy after their excursion.
