Jason shut his eyes. After a long moment, he opened them, fixed his errant wife with a steely stare and enunciated slowly, “First, as of today, all these books are yours—you don’t need to ‘borrow’ them. Second, you won’t need any bedtime reading—not for the foreseeable future. Third, you have already disturbed me—greatly! And as for my letting you find your way back to your room alone—when pigs fly, my dear.”
Stunned, Lenore stared at him.
Reaching out, Jason wrapped his fingers about her wrist. Without more ado he headed for the door, dragging her along behind him. He had entered her room to find her gone. Vanished. Without trace. In the worst panic of his life, he had thrown on his clothes and rushed downstairs, straight out of the morning-room windows heading for the stables, convinced for some reason that she had bolted. In the heat of the moment, he had wondered if insisting she wear that outrageous nightgown had been one arrogant step too many. But, traversing the terrace that ran along the front of the house, he had passed the library windows. And seen the wavering candlelight flitting from bookshelf to bookshelf.
Pausing to thump the candlestick down on a table and snuff the candles with licked fingers, Jason realised he could hear the ring of his boot-heels on the flags but no sound at all from Lenore. Puzzled, he glanced down at her feet. “Where the devil are your slippers?”
His irritated tone penetrated Lenore’s shocked daze. Her chin rose. “I did not wish to attract the attention of the servants, my lord.”
“Jason. And why the hell not? They’re your servants.”
Lenore abandoned her attitude of superiority to glare at him. “I would not feel the least comfortable being sighted by the staff in my present state of dress.”
Jason glared back. “Your present dress was not designed to be worn in a library.” Her comment, however, focused his attention on what he had been trying not to notice—how very alluring his wife looked in diaphanous silk backlit by moonlight.
“Jason!” Lenore squealed as she felt herself hoisted into his arms. “My lord!” she hissed, as he strode purposefully towards the door. He paid no attention. “For God’s sake, Jason, put me down. What if the servants see us?”
“What if they do? I married you this morning, if you recall.”
He kicked the half-open door wide and strode through. Lenore clung to him, her arms about his neck. It was distinctly unnerving to be carried along so effortlessly.
As Jason passed the front door, he sent a silent prayer of thanks heavenwards. If he had not sighted the candleflame in the library, he would have roused the whole household to look for his wandering bride. The commiserating looks from his footmen would have driven him insane.
She was driving him insane.
Sensing that she had teased his temper to a degree where conciliation might prove wise, Lenore remained silent as she was carried up the stairs. But at the top, Jason turned to the left.
“My lord—er—Jason. My room—it’s the other way.” Assuming he had simply forgotten, she pointed out this fact without undue fuss.
“I know.”
Panic clutched her stomach. “Where are you taking me?” With bated breath, she awaited his answer.
Jason stopped and juggled her to open a door. “I rather thought I’d have you in my bed tonight.”
His conversational tone did not convince Lenore that his phrasing was anything other than intentional. But it was too late for panic. The door of his room clicked shut behind them.
And before her loomed the largest four-poster bed she had ever seen.
Jason strode across the thick carpet and, standing her briefly on her feet by the bed, divested her of her peignoir before depositing her on the silken coverlet.
Lenore made no sound—her throat had seized. She watched as Jason stalked to the other side of the bed, whipping off his neckerchief and flinging it aside. As he sat down on the bed to pull off his boots, curiosity got the better of trepidation. “Aren’t you going out?”
His second boot hit the floor. Jason turned and stared at her for a moment, then stood and pulled his shirt from his breeches. “I’m not dressed like this for visiting the neighbours. These are my wife-hunting clothes.”
The truth dawned on Lenore. She choked, panic and embarrassment laying siege to her tongue. She watched as he peeled off his shirt, dropping it on the floor. Her eyes stretched wide; her heart started to thud. When his hands fell to his waistband, she decided she had seen enough.
Hearing rustling, Jason glanced up to discover his twenty-four-year-old bride had disappeared beneath the bedclothes. “For God’s sake, Lenore! You’ve got three brothers.”
“You are not my brother,” came distinctly from the lump in the bed.
Jason’s sense of humour, sternly suppressed for the past ten minutes, very nearly got the better of him. Quickly, he finished undressing and slid into the bed beside her. She was wrapped in the coverlet, facing the other way. Propped on one elbow behind her, he considered his options.
Frozen, Lenore wondered, with what little mind was left to her, what he would do.
He pinched her bottom.
“Ow!” Incensed, she rounded on him.