“Hugo! That’s far too much, I could never—”
He closed her fingers around the coins and lifted her hand to his mouth. “Take all the time you want, darling.” His low voice did disturbing, exciting things to her body. He kissed her fingers, his lips hot even through the thick cotton of her gloves. “I’ll be out here feasting on Turkish delight if you need me.”
◆◆◆
Martha looked from the boxes piled in the corner of her room to the stack of three books on the nightstand and felt almost giddy.
And then she immediately felt ashamed that she was taking such pleasure in material possessions. But it had been so long since she’d had a book that wasn’t dog-eared, or stained, or something that she’d not already read a dozen times.
As for her new dresses? This was the first time in her life that she had not one but five new gowns, none of which she’dsewn herself. New ankle boots, two pairs of slippers, two hats, a new cloak, four pairs of gloves, and on and on.
She’d been too shocked to do more than gape as Hugo had ordered around the elated saleswoman, the pile of garments growing and growing.
Hugo had purchased only a few articles of clothing for himself. “I have lots of clothing in London.” Irritation had flickered across his features. “Hopefully.”
Cailean had been far less interested in new garments than in the book Martha had bought for him. It was a reading primer with the most beautiful pictures she had ever seen. She was determined to teach him to read now that they both would have time.
They had topped off the magical day with a delicious meal in the small inn’s only private parlor. Afterward Hugo and Cailean had gone down to the taproom.
And now Martha was waiting for her husband to come to her.
Her husband.
Martha hugged herself, her fingers stroking her new feather-soft muslin nightgown. It was one of the few garments that she’d chosen for herself, too shy to allow Hugo to select such an intimate thing for her.
She had brushed her hair until it shone, and it hung in a pale blonde froth down to her hips. Martha knew it was her only beauty. She was neither pretty, nor ugly, but average, except for her corn-silk hair. But the way Hugo had looked at her that night in his lean-to had made her feel beautiful.
There was a light knock and then the door opened. Hugo stepped inside and then saw her and froze, his expressive, dark eyes flickering up and down her person before settling on her face. He locked the door without looking away from her.
She wasn’t accustomed to seeing him with such short hair or wearing clothing that fit and flattered his magnificent body.
He looked handsome and virile in snug buckskins, a black coat that molded to his broad shoulders, and a white cravat that was an attractive contrast to his tanned face.
“You look lovely,” he said, closing the distance between them in two strides.
He stopped so close that Martha had to crane her neck to look up at him. She could smell smoke and spirits. Beneath that was the faint masculine earthiness that seemed to be distinctly Hugo’s own scent.
He lifted a hand and cupped her cheek. “I have been looking forward to tonight.”
“M-me too.”
“I hope you don’t mind that I only took the one bedchamber for us.”
“Er, should I mind?”
“Lots of married couples don’t share the same room—at least not beyond a few hours on selected nights.” His shapely mouth curved into a smile that made her breathing quicken. “But I will want you in my bed all night. Every night.” He leaned close and whispered, “I will want to make love to you often.”
Martha’s lips parted, but nothing came out.
“You will have your own chambers wherever we live, of course, but we shall always sleep together.”
She moistened her lower lip, which felt unaccountably dry.
Hugo’s gaze dropped to her mouth, his eyes darkening. “Undress me, Martha.”
Martha jolted at the quiet command. “Oh.”
He nodded encouragingly at her, waiting patiently as her shaking hands reached for the buttons on his coat. As she unfastened them, he carded his fingers through her hair. “You have the most beautiful hair I have ever seen.”
She’d heard similar things in the past, but never had mere words caused her entire body to heat.
“Breathe, sweetheart.”
She cut him a quick glance, both annoyed and aroused by the lazy confidence in his hooded gaze.
Once the last button was undone, he cupped her face in his hands and lowered his mouth over hers.
His kisses were light and teasing and he smelled and tasted so good that Martha felt intoxicated. She didn’t realize he’d coaxed her mouth open until she felt the smooth flick of his tongue against hers. She shuddered and grabbed his biceps, wanting—no, needing—more.
Instead of pulling her closer, he stepped back, his eyes glinting with gentle amusement and something else. Desire?
“Help me take off my coat.”
The garment was tightly fitted, but not ridiculously so and she was able to peel it from his shoulders when he shrugged. Martha laid it over the clotheshorse at the foot of the bed and turned to find him waiting.
She fumbled her way through the buttons on his waistcoat, intensely aware of his silent gaze. When she reached for his cravat, she risked a look up at him.
He was no longer amused; he smoldered.
“My wife,” he murmured, sounding dazed. He yanked off his cravat and tossed it aside, his movements no longer languid, but abrupt and impatient. “I wanted to take my time and seduce you slowly, properly.” He pulled his shirt over his head and it joined his neckcloth. “But I want you too damn much, Martha.” He gave a soft snort that sounded like disbelief and held out his hand; it was shaking. “You see that?”
Before she could answer—not that she knew what to say—his hand dropped
