Aunt Dottie suddenly rushed out, oblivious of the damp, and hugged Lily convulsively. “It’s all going to be splendid, darling girl, trust me.” She glanced at Edward, standing tall and solemn, holding up an umbrella to protect his bride, and added, “And remember what I said.”
Edward handed Lily into the carriage, signaled his driver and they pulled away, to a chorus of shouts and well-wishes. Lily leaned out the window, waving, until the carriage had turned a corner and they were all out of sight.
“Well, that’s done,” he said when she resumed her seat. “Went off rather well, I thought.”
“Yes.” Lily smiled. Ridiculously, she could think of nothing to say. She felt suddenly shy, couldn’t even meet his eyes.
Edward tucked a fur rug around her. He pulled out a book. “Shall I read to you?”
“Not just now, thank you. I’m a little tired.”
“I’m not surprised. Being abducted and married, all in one morning.”
“Abducted?”
He put the book away, and pulled out a different one. “Wasn’t that you I saw in the park this morning, with your sister and niece, being abducted with a bag over your head?”
She laughed. “It was a coat, not a bag—but you’re quite, quite mistaken, sir. According to my sister, it’s very bad luck for a groom to see his bride before a wedding—she’s wrong, of course—but in case she’s not, whoever they were abducting, it couldn’t possibly have been me.”
“Of course not,” he agreed instantly. “I didn’t see a thing. Peculiar habits your relatives have. I think my grandfather might have seen something, but grandfathers don’t count, do they?”
“Not a bit. He’s very nice, your grandfather. We had a lovely talk yesterday, and he took me for an ice at Gunters.”
“Yes, he’s a good old stick. He’s very pleased about this wedding. He’s been trying to marry me off for ages. Even tried to hoax me with a deathbed wish, once, but fortunately it didn’t come off.” He glanced at her and added, “He seems very taken with you; was singing your praises to me, even over and above his natural predisposition to like any respectable lady who could get me to the altar.”
Lily wasn’t sure whether to feel flattered or not. She didn’t much like being referred to as a “respectable lady”—even if she was. As for getting him to the altar, a little reminder was required there. “Yes, Aunt Agatha feels much the same about you—delighted with anyone who’d be willing to marry me. Silly, really, when we’ve both been trapped into this.”
Edward frowned, seemed about to say something, then picked up his book, opened it to a page he’d marked with a bit of paper and started to read.
Lily would have liked to hear more about his grandfather’s earlier attempt to get Edward married, but he’d signaled the end of that conversation by becoming absorbed in his book, and she didn’t like to interrupt.
The carriage threaded its way through the London traffic. Lily watched the passing scenery—she hadn’t lived in London very long, and there was always something to see—but in no time at all they were out in the countryside.
She kicked off her shoes, tucked her feet up under her, pulled the fur rug around her and curled up in the corner and tried to sleep.
Pretended to sleep, really. It should have been easier to make conversation with Edward, now that they were husband and wife, but somehow, it wasn’t. All those lessons at school on the art of conversation—what use were they now?
As he read, she watched him from beneath her lashes. His eyes scanned each line, each page so swiftly, his long fingers turning the pages with calm deliberation. Such elegant masculine fingers.
His mouth was beautiful too; firm, cleanly cut lips. She recalled the taste of those lips. She would taste them again tonight.
She snuggled deeper into the furs.
He glanced up at her, turned a page and crossed his legs. For the journey he’d changed into buckskin breeches and boots. The soft chamois leather of his breeches clung to his thighs—horseman’s thighs, long, lean and hard. She shivered, but not from cold.
She wasn’t sure which she preferred him in—breeches and boots, or the severe black-and-white formal attire he’d worn for their wedding. Any way you dressed him, he was magnificent. And he was her husband.
A little thrill of excitement passed through her.
• • •
Ned stared at the print and turned the pages blindly, taking in almost nothing of what he was reading. Pretending to read. He’d tried very hard to concentrate on his book, but it just wasn’t possible, not with Lily curled up on the seat opposite, swathed in that fur rug, watching him surreptitiously.
He’d become aware of her subtle surveillance shortly after they’d passed out of London and were bowling smoothly along the Brighton road, her gaze like a light breath of warm air, almost a touch. It was damnably distracting.
She was so unselfconsciously sensual in everything she did, whether it was eating—he’d never forget the way she’d relished that pudding at the inn that time, licking every last morsel of sweetness off her spoon—or simply kicking off her shoes, tucking her small white-stockinged feet beneath her and curling up on the seat. Almost an invitation in itself. And all with the most innocent air.
Genuine innocence too. Though not for long. He forced his mind away from the night to come.
She sighed and shifted her position, a rustle of silk sliding over flesh. The way she snuggled into that wretched fur rug, evoking memories of her almost naked beneath that same rug—how could any man concentrate on a dry old book?
He should have given her a nice thick woolen blanket. There was nothing evocative or sensual about
