After she was dressed for sleeping and Therese had departed, Emma climbed onto the bed and buried herself beneath the blankets. In spite of the fire that warmed the chamber, her thin linen shift offered little protection against the chills seeping into the room from the multi-paned window.
She would not blow out the candle. Once he made his way to their bed, he could do so. Their bed. The very thought of it was more intoxicating than bubbling French champagne. Her breasts felt heavy, and there was a tingling low in her torso—alien yet surprisingly pleasing feelings.
Should she happily greet him when entered the chamber? Or should she pretend to be sleepy? Because he had given her his word, she knew he would not initiate any intimacies this night.
Would it be possible for her to ignite feelings of passion in him? She gave a bitter laugh. One who looked as youthful as she was hardly likely to induce passionate feelings in any man who was accustomed to lying with a . . . practiced mistress.
Adam was certain to say good-night, roll over, and go to sleep. She smiled when she recalled that first night when he'd dropped to her chaise and promptly fallen into a brandy-aided slumber. She could still hear his snores.
A man's snoring had shocked her that first night. Now she craved to be able to hear Adam's.
Her heart hammered when she heard a man's footsteps coming along the corridor. They stopped at their door. He entered the parlor, then lightening his footfall, came into the bedchamber.
She sat up.
"Oh, you're still awake."
She giggled. "It's only been ten minutes! I'm incapable of falling into an instant sleep—like someone I happen to know."
He came to the other side of the bed, sat on it with his back to her, and began to remove his boots. "Will you always remember me as that debilitatingly stupid drunk?"
"Of course. He was very nice to me."
"I could have badly tarnished your good reputation."
"One only has a reputation when one knows people. I didn't know a single soul in London."
"You would never have allowed your anonymity to relax your morals, nor would I have allowed it." He came to his feet. "I'm going to blow out the candle, remove my breeches, and climb into the bed."
* * *
She'd been partially right about his ability to fall asleep instantly. Normally—even without brandy—he fell asleep within seconds of lying down. But not tonight. He'd turned his back to her in an attempt to diminish her effect upon him. For in spite of his vow, he kept thinking about her in the most provocative way.
A full fifteen minutes after he had lain down, she whispered, "You're not asleep yet?"
"Nor are you." He kept picturing her ivory shoulders and the trace of her nipples beneath the soft linen of her night shift. How lovely she had looked in the dim glow of their room's only candle. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to weigh her breasts within his hands. He wanted to feel himself within her.
" I know it's not exciting for an experienced man like you, but I'm so excited to be sharing a bed with my husband that I cannot go to sleep."
"Pray, what's so exciting?"
She sighed. "The intimacy, I suppose. I've never before been close to another as I am with you. Would you mind terribly if I said you're my best friend?"
The notion warmed him in the same way his mother's caress did when he was a feverish lad. He could not help but to recall Nick telling him that Lady Fiona was his best friend as well as his lover, then William telling him the same thing about Lady Sophia after they had wed.
"Of course I wouldn't mind. I'm flattered." A pity he couldn't tell her he felt the same. The fact was he had only thought of her in a rather paternal sense. But these past two days she had become much less of a child and much more of a woman to him.
And she had become the object of his desire.
His present arousal was evidence of that. He throbbed with his need for her. But it was a need he would not act upon. He feigned a yawn.
"Good-night, my dearest," she said.
God, but he wanted to draw her into his arms. "Good-night, dear one."
It was many hours before he fell asleep. Because her breathing never changed, he knew she, too, was unable to sleep.
They would feel as if they were at death's door tomorrow.
* * *
Nick had informed them the previous night that they would leave the inn just as the sun was rising. Emma wasn't alone in stifling her yawns as the carriage sped through the murky dawn. She was well aware that Adam also had difficulty falling asleep. Unlike her, whose every thought had been about him, he was probably worrying about how his bank was managing without him.