Her Secondhand Groom(62)

Ignoring her question, Patrick lowered his lashes and ran the damp cloth up and down the inside of her leg, wiping away any trace of blood he could see before wetting it again and wiping between her legs. He dropped the linen into the pink-tinged water. “I’m sorry if I caused you any pain,” he said hoarsely, lying down next to her and gathering her in his arms.





Chapter 19





Patrick blinked his eyes open. The lighted street lamps of London shed a low light inside his carriage. In his arms, Juliet still slept. A smile tugged at Patrick’s lips. She was the soundest sleeper he’d ever met. And he should know. They’d been sharing a bed for more than a week now.

He swallowed. This past week had been one of the most emotionally trying weeks he’d ever endured. The more he was learning about his new wife, the clearer it became how opposite she was from his first wife.

Even an idiot knew it was terribly wrong to compare one woman with another, but he couldn’t make himself stop. He’d loved Abigail. Loved her from the moment he saw her picking flowers on the eastern boundary of Briar Creek. She’d worn a pink day dress that had white lace around the hem of the skirt and the cuffs of her sleeves. She’d nearly jumped from her skin when he’d walked up to her. The embarrassed flush that had covered her cheeks when she’d realized she’d been caught picking his flowers had flattered him. Everything she’d done had flattered him.

She had this tendency to look up to him as if he was her knight in shining armor, and though he was a viscount, he rather enjoyed playing the role of rescuing knight in her mind. It suited them both perfectly. She was the sort who always needed rescuing. Frail and petite, Abigail preferred to let others make her decisions. When faced with a problem, she’d come to Patrick for the solution. Whether a trivial concern about the housekeeper’s task or something she considered serious, such as squabbles within her family, she’d always sought his advice and he’d been more than willing to give it to her. More than just an advisor, he’d been her protector. Not physically, mind you. There was no need for that. Both emotionally and socially, he’d often find himself comforting and reassuring her. But he’d liked to do it, and had never complained.

Besides, that was his place, wasn’t it? If she felt out of sorts or uncomfortable, he was supposed to take up for her, and make her feel secure, wasn’t he?

He blinked and a picture of Juliet filed his mind.

His wives were so opposite it was astounding.

Unlike Abigail, Juliet’s small stature and dainty features belied the strong, confident woman who hid underneath. Juliet was bold and unafraid. She didn’t avoid asking his advice because she didn’t wish to bother him, but because most of the time she didn’t need it. At first it unsettled him to be married to such an independent creature. But now he found it rather refreshing.

Just like Juliet herself.

Juliet was everything he’d previously lacked. She had the confidence of a queen, and the air of authority to match. Just because they now shared a bed, did not mean she’d become docile and biddable, either. Quite the opposite, actually. She was still strong-willed and confident, and he wouldn’t have her any other way.

“What has you smiling like a cat who just spotted the cream?” the object of his thoughts asked.

“You.”

She sat up. “Me?”

He nodded. “Yes, you. Just thinking about how our time together in bed hasn’t managed to tame you any.”

She scowled. “Was that your plan?”

“Not at first, but I like a challenge.” He leaned extra close. “And this is one challenge, I’ll get to enjoy every minute of pursuing.”

“Try all you like, but I’m set in my ways.”

“Good. I wouldn’t want you to change.” It was true, too. Although it was infuriating to occasionally be put in his place by his wife, it was also one of the many things he admired about her.

“How far would you say we are from your townhouse?” Juliet asked.

He glanced out the window. “I’d say maybe twenty minutes, thirty if Cruxley takes the alley.”

Juliet rolled her eyes, and groaned. “You know he will. I often wonder if you could have employed a worse coachman.”

“I’m sure if I look hard enough, I could find one.” He put his arm around her and pulled her toward him.

“Please don’t.”

“All right, I won’t, but only if you tell me the meaning behind the cottage you painted a few weeks ago.”

She peered up at him, and snuggled closer. “Hmm, I don’t know if I can trust you with such a secret.”