Bride for a Night(135)
He hauled her tightly against his body. He was not entirely certain what had prompted her sudden embrace. Or that smile that warmed him to the tips of his toes. And at the moment he did not care.
The sensation of her soft curves pressed against him was a delectable distraction, reminding him that it had been far too long since she had shared his bed.
“My beautiful wife,” he murmured, lowering his head to press a hungry kiss to her lips.
An urgent heat exploded through him as her lips softened and parted in welcome, allowing his tongue to dip into the sweet temptation of her mouth.
He felt her shiver, and he pressed a hand to the lower curve of her back, urging her against his aching arousal. He heard her breath catch and started planning the quickest route to his bedchamber without being interrupted by a servant. But Talia pressed her hands against his chest and arched away from his seeking lips.
“Wait,” she breathed.
He groaned in genuine pain, desperate to have her naked beneath him.
“I have missed you, my dear.”
“I still need to know why you did not want me to travel to London.”
He frowned, uncertain why she continued to nag upon his perfectly reasonable request that she remain in Devonshire.
“I have told you. I do not want you hurt.”
“But…”
He shifted his hand to press a finger against her lips. It was obvious that Talia was too preoccupied to be properly seduced. He had no choice but to confess his plot.
“Allow me to finish,” he commanded.
She arched a warning brow, but thankfully he felt the amused twitch of her lips beneath his finger.
“Very well, my lord.”
He absently outlined the full curve of her lower lip. “I cannot alter what happened in the past, but I can make certain that your future among society is considerably more pleasant.”
She stilled, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. “I do not doubt your ability to browbeat others into pretending they accept me, but to be honest, I would prefer their insults.”#p#分页标题#e#
He chuckled. There were moments when he forgot just how naïve she was.
“You underestimate my skills. There will be no need for browbeating.” He paused, realizing he was not being entirely truthful. “At least not from me.”
She tilted her head to the side. “Then who? Lord Rothwell?”
“His undoubted approval of you will certainly be of assistance, but your greatest weapon will be my mother.”
“Your mother?” she whispered. “Good lord.”
Gabriel did not blame her for her disbelief.
The dowager countess’s horror in having Talia as the next Countess of Ashcombe had been the source of avid interest throughout society. The older woman had rarely missed an opportunity to bemoan the cruel fate that had brought Silas Dobson into her life, without once admitting that any blame for that fate might lie at Harry’s feet.
And, of course, her dramatic exit from London on the day of the wedding had ensured that none were left in doubt of her disapproval.
Gabriel, however, understood his mother well enough to know that her flamboyant outrage had more to do with her pleasure at being the center of attention and less to do with her feelings for Talia.
“Whatever her numerous faults, my mother does happen to be the unquestionable ruler of the fashionable world,” he pointed out in tones that defied argument.
“Yes, but she detests me.”
He shrugged. “She does not know you.”
Talia hunched a defensive shoulder, her expression darkening with unpleasant memories.
“That did not prevent her from fleeing London rather than attending our wedding.”
His hand moved, stroking down her throat in a comforting gesture. Dammit. This was precisely why he did not wish to have this discussion with her. He did not want her to suffer the painful reminiscences of her awkward years among society. Or their less than romantic wedding.
“You would not have denied her such a wondrous opportunity to earn the sympathy of her friends as she was driven from her home by the evil interloper who stole her son, her title and her position?” he teased.
Her eyes flashed with emerald fire. “I do not find this amusing.”
“You will become accustomed to my mother’s love for melodrama,” he promised, hoping that he spoke the truth. He had become resigned to his mother’s excessive emotions. He could only hope that Talia would learn to be likewise tolerant. “Especially when she is given the opportunity to play the role of the tragic heroine.”
She wavered, a hint of uncertainty softening her expression.
“You are saying that her anger was a pretense?”
“Who can say how much she believes and how much is a performance?” he admitted wryly. “I do know that she will soon grow weary of her self-imposed exile to Kent, and she will be eager for an excuse to return to London.” He bent down to steal a swift kiss, his body still hard with frustrated desire. “I intend to offer that excuse.”