Page 24 of The Earl Takes All
When he had her settled in the carriage, he removed his coat and began draping it over her as though it were a blanket.
“You’ll catch your death,” she told him.
“I’ve been colder.” He tucked the edges of his coat between her and the seat.
“Albert, I feel as though I said something wrong.”
Lifting his gaze to hers, he cupped her cheek with one gloved hand, and she desperately wished he hadn’t yet put on the leather. She wanted his warm skin against hers. “You’re not at fault. I’m feeling a bit melancholy. I thought I knew all there was to know about you. I’m discovering I know nothing at all.”
She released a self-conscious laugh. “You know everything. I know I may have changed a bit, but I’m still the woman you married.”
Removing his hat, he pressed his forehead to hers. “If only I were the man you married.”
Cradling his face between her gloved hands, she urged him back until she could meet and hold his gaze. “Our time apart had a greater effect on our relationship than I anticipated. We need only to reacquaint ourselves. Our time together last night, then this afternoon, is a beginning. Before long, it shall be as though we were never apart.”
“Don’t wear black to dinner tonight.”
“I want to give your brother the respect he deserves.”
“Trust me, Edward would be delighted if you wore something other than black. It’s so dreary. He would want you out of mourning, at least when we’re in residence.”
“Are we dining formally this evening?”
“Yes. Perhaps you’re right. The sooner we put the grief behind us, the sooner we’ll find our way back to each other.”
He skimmed his finger lightly over her chin before moving around to the other side of the carriage and climbing in with far more muscled grace than the groom who had been seated there on her journey here. Lifting the reins, he flicked them, causing the horse to take off at a trot.
Wrapping both her hands around his upper arm, she relished the strength she felt there. She knew that things between them would never be as they’d been before he left, but that didn’t mean that different wouldn’t be better.
Chapter 6
She’denjoyed the reading material he’d secreted away in his room. Standing at the window in the library, sipping scotch, Edward smiled with the realization that Julia Alcott, Countess of Greyling, wasn’t quite as prim and proper as she appeared. Her eyes had darkened with longing when he’d taken the strawberry jam from the corner of her mouth to his tongue, and while he knew it was impossible, he could have sworn that it was a much sweeter taste having been against her skin.
From the moment she married his brother, he’d been as off-putting and obnoxious as possible, wanting—needing—distance between them so he wasn’t tempted to do something he shouldn’t. Not that he thought she’d ever dishonor her vows, but seeing desire mirrored in her eyes today had been like having a sharp lance piercing the center of his chest. He wanted that desire to be for him, but if he were honest, he was merely serving as a proxy for his brother—and everything she felt, everything she said, everything she did, only came about because she thought she was in the company of her husband. When she learned the truth, her heart was not only going to break with the news, but her hatred for him would increase tenfold. He should make an excuse to avoid her tonight. The tart hadn’t agreed with him perhaps. He was tired, he was weary. He was jealous of a dead man.
He was a fool to think he could spend considerable time in Julia’s company with no repercussions to his own sanity.
Hearing footsteps, he glanced over his shoulder as she walked into the room. What a mistake it had been to encourage her not to wear black. Better to be constantly reminded that he was merely playing a role, one that would garner him no applause or standing ovations when he took his final bow. But he was just so blasted tired of the sadness.
She’d selected a deep violet velvet that dipped low to reveal her collarbone and plump cleavage. Although her hair was up, curling tendrils framed her lovely face. He’d always thought her beautiful, but the few passing years had removed the sparkle of youth and replaced it with the glow of maturity. Serenity. Confidence.
“I don’t recall you indulging before dinner,” she said.
“Another bad habit developed during my travels. Would you like some?”
“I doubt it’s good for the babe.”
Did that mean that she would have joined him if she weren’t with child? He’d never considered that perhaps she had a taste for spirits as well. “One sip.”
She was near enough now to take the glass from his hand. Near enough that he inhaled her fragrance. Roses. Unfortunate, as the rich sweetness always reminded him of that night in the garden when he had thought to take her mouth with no consequence. He watched as she carried the glass to her parted lips, tipped it slightly so the amber liquid flowed into her mouth. Why did he find the slow movement so riveting, so sensual? The delicate muscles at her throat shifted slightly as she swallowed, smiled, handed the glass back to him.
No cough, no sputtering. She looked out the window. “You never asked me to join you before.”
“For which I heartily apologize. I didn’t think you’d enjoy it, but I daresay I believe you’ve indulged before.”
“On occasion. My little secret.” She slid her gaze toward him, her eyes twinkling. “A countess should be above reproach.”
“On the contrary. A countess should be able to do as she wishes. At least mine should.”
