“You’re not going to…” she stammered, struggling to find her balance.
“I’ll save my treat for later.”
“When later?” She sounded mortifyingly disgruntled.
His soft laugh tantalized her. “You’ll see.”
A putrid stew of frustration roiled in her stomach, and she had a nasty suspicion that he’d made a fool of her. At that instant, she understood how well founded her fears about accepting his proposal had been. Hugh wielded such power already. What command would he hold over her emotions, once they were husband and wife in the fullest sense?
*
Chapter Twelve
*
As he escorted his bride around Salisbury, Garson felt considerably happier with the world. Snow lay on the ground, but something in the air promised better weather for tomorrow when he planned to take Jane to Stonehenge. He looked forward to that. In a closed carriage, a man could get up to no end of mischief.
The day might be milder, but it was still February. With her slender arm in his grasp, his wife’s nearness lured him like a blazing hearth in a cold room.
As he’d hoped, giving Jane some say over what happened eased the constant hum of tension between them. Perhaps even gave him reason to hope that she wouldn’t prolong his ordeal. He’d noted her disappointment when he’d put off kissing her.
But as the afternoon wore on, a new tension began to stretch between them. He, familiar with desire, recognized the way two people in thrall to one another craved physical contact. Jane just went quiet, where earlier she’d been delightfully chatty.
“It’s very bare.” Jane surveyed the cathedral’s cavernous interior. “I’d imagined something a little more…”
He drew her into a dimly lit side chapel. “Ornate? Spectacular? Mysterious?”
With a slight roughness—and he was never rough with a lady—he pushed her up against the cold marble tomb that housed the earthly remains of some long-dead archbishop. A reminder, should he need it, not to waste his chances on this earthly plane.
Jane gasped as her back hit the cold stone. She observed him from under the brim of the dark blue bonnet that matched her fashionable pelisse. “What are you doing, Hugh?”
As he swept off his hat, he glanced around. This late in the winter day, little light penetrated the high, clear windows, but enough to reveal that the cathedral was almost empty. There was nobody in this side aisle, although evensong was due to begin soon.
He placed one hand beside Jane’s head, hemming her in with his body. “I’m going to touch you.”
“For shame.” Her reproof contradicted the flaring excitement in her eyes. “This is a church.”
Despite her disapproval, she didn’t try to escape. He shifted close enough to catch a drift of floral scent. Last night, that fragrance had fueled his arousal. After he left her, it had haunted his restless dreams.
He set his hat on the tomb behind her head. “And nicely private.”
“That’s blasphemous.”
“We got married in a church.”
When Jane’s lips twitched, he cursed himself for limiting himself to only one kiss a day. “That reasoning is self-serving, and you know it.”
“I need to put my hands on you.”
Her alarmed squeak evoked a reaction more profane than sacred. He leaned in, until his lips touched her delicate earlobe. “Is that a yes?”
After a shuddering exhalation, her answer was a whisper. “Don’t do anything too brazen.”
A soft huff of laughter escaped him. “I’ll try my best.”
With manufactured casualness, he tugged off his gloves and shoved them into his pocket. He reached out to flick open the top buttons on her pelisse, one of the garments Susan had brought from London. The stylish dark blue merino parted to reveal a high-necked gray gown. “You don’t make it easy for a fellow, sweetheart.”
“Next time, tell me I need to dress for a ravishing,” Jane responded with that hint of tartness he liked.