All thumbs, he plucked at the laces down the back of her gown. She remained silent under his attentions, although he could hear her erratic breathing. This was the closest he’d yet come to his wife’s nakedness. Last night’s flannel nightgown had been thick enough to repulse a cavalry charge.
Under the dark green wool, he discovered pale skin and a graceful back. What he’d give to slide the pins from her rich red hair, until it cascaded around his hands.
Eventually, even his fumbling fingers completed their task. “Shall I undo your corset, too?”
He winced to hear the crack in his voice. It must be something about marriage. He’d never been this mad for a mistress, even as a randy boy let loose on society—and society’s women—for the first time.
“N-no.” Her answer echoed his unsteadiness. “I can manage.”
The girl in the glass was flushed, and her eyes shone with a beguiling mixture of reticence and curiosity. She clasped her bodice to her bosom to save her modesty. The urge to send her modesty to the devil rose, but he conquered it.
“Pity,” he bit out, setting his hands on her hips.
In the mirror, she stared at him, as if afraid he meant to jump on her.
And as if afraid he might not.
“I’ll…I’ll see you in the morning.”
He tilted an eyebrow in her direction. “Haven’t you forgotten something?”
Apprehension tightened her features, a sign that any trust remained frail. “You said the decision about…about what happened was mine.”
“It is.” He studied her face, wishing he could banish her doubts with a snap of his fingers. Because he’d never been more certain of anything as he was that when they came together, they would shake the heavens. “But you promised me a kiss.”
“You already kissed me.” Dark red brows contracted in confusion. “In the cathedral, and just now.”
This time, the wolf definitely owned his smile. He looked like he wanted to devour her. “My dear, those don’t count.”
“That doesn’t seem fair,” she protested, although when her attention fell to his lips, a spark of interest lit her eyes.
No wonder she’d been so relaxed over dinner. She thought she’d fulfilled the day’s obligations.
“Are you really so unwilling?”
“N-no,” she said shakily, turning to face him. “I’m not unwilling.”
It was hardly a ringing endorsement. But not a denial either. Garson decided to take what he could get. He caught the hands clutching her sagging bodice. The dress slipped lower. Jane still wore corset and petticoats, so she wasn’t near to naked. Not near enough, in his opinion. But the sight of the slope of her breasts rising above the plain white linen of her undergarments slammed through him like a punch.
He kept a grip on tactics—just. He’d kiss her then leave, to prove she could trust him. Then tomorrow? Well, tomorrow, who knew what might happen? Jane had already set aside so many of her defenses.
She noticed the direction of his gaze, and her hands tugged against his hold as she tried to cover herself. “You’re looking…”
“Yes?”
“Like you want to do something wicked.”
His lips curved in appreciation. “I do.”
When consternation widened her eyes, he relented. “But tonight, I’ll just kiss you.”
“Your kisses are wicked.”
“I’m glad you think so.” Garson raised her hands and brushed his lips across them. She exhaled with an audible sigh, and her eyes fluttered shut. One hand flattened across her back, and the other angled her chin up. The touch of his mouth drew a soft gasp from her. She reached blindly for his shoulder.
When he didn’t pursue his advantage, she opened dazed eyes, smoky with confusion and dawning desire. “Is that it?”
“The arrangement was one kiss.”