Miss Hastings' Excellent London Adventure (Brazen Brides Book 4)(61)

 

"Like Ashburnham?"

 

"Then you've made the same deduction I have."

 

She nodded. "It wasn't long before I realized we were covering the same route we'd come, so I suspected his destination was London, but even before that I had guessed it was Ashburnham's scheme."

 

"He didn't say anything?"

 

"Nothing. I suppose if my mouth had not been bound, there could have been some dialogue. I most certainly would have told him my husband would pay him more than Ashburnham."

 

"I would have given him anything to secure your safe release." His voice was oddly gentle, almost as if he were choking back tender emotions.

 

Every second of discomfort she'd experienced was worth this moment. How cherished she felt, knowing he would give his fortune to save her life. How cozy she felt, being in this intimate setting with the man she adored.

 

The charwoman—or was it a char girl?—returned, a huge gap-toothed smile on her face, as she presented Adam a pair of gray stockings. "These be brand new," she said with pride.

 

"They're lovely, and we're most grateful to you." He handed her a guinea.

 

Adam sat on the far end of the settee, uncovered Emma’s feet, and began to place the stockings on her. "God, you feel like ice!"

 

"I'm sure I'll be warm soon. The fire's going strong now. "

 

Her breath came in staggering gusts. She was nearly unraveled from the intimacy of him slowly putting on the stockings, smoothing them up her ankles, then along her calves. It would have been embarrassing except for the fact he was her husband.

 

After both stockings were on, he cradled one foot within his big hands and began to massage it. "I'm very concerned about you."

 

She sighed. "I'm like a stray pup you've taken into your care."

 

"I used to think that way about you," he said with little laugh. He looked her in the eye, his gaze intense. "Not anymore. Somehow, I have come to think of you as my wife."

 

Her heartbeat pounded. In a good way. Their eyes still locked. "Since that day at St. George's," she said in a thin voice, "the only way I've thought of you is as my husband."

 

He lifted a brow. "And I thought you thought of me as your best friend."

 

Their eyes held. "I am told that in the best marriages, one's spouse is one's best friend."

 

"So my brothers say." He swallowed. It was as if what he was going to say next was difficult. "I . . . have come to think of you as my dearest friend." His hands massaged her feet even more tenderly in small, excruciatingly gentle circles. He tucked that foot back beneath the quilt, drew out the other one and began to massage it.

 

He drew a deep breath. "After you were taken I was sorry I hadn't told you I thought of you as my best friend." Now his voice cracked. "I feared I'd never get to tell you."

 

She couldn't believe this was happening to her. Her husband was being so . . . well, close to romantic. She'd always known he genuinely cared for her, but she was ecstatic to learn the object of his affections had transitioned from puppy dog to wife.

 

Theirs was going to be a true marriage! He would still need time to adjust his thinking, but she was more than willing to wait. Even it took a lifetime. She could think of no one with whom she'd rather spend the rest of her life.

 

What had been the worst night of her life had resulted in the happiest moment of her life. It had been worth every second of misery.

 

How many times since she and Adam had married had she thought This is the happiest moment in my life? Nearly every day with him had been more pleasurable than the one before it. She certainly could not expect the rest of her life to continue in escalating happiness.

 

Why was it her happiest moments had been preceded by vile occurrences? Of course, had it not been for the vile murder of Uncle Simon, she never would have met Adam, never would have wed him, never would have known what it was like to love someone as madly as she loved her husband.

 

She reached out to touch his hand. "You've made me very happy."

 

Neither spoke after that. She understood that it had not been easy for him to speak of his emotions. Apparently he had to be deep in his cups to do that. He had said enough to nearly wipe from her memory the hardships she'd endured that night.

 

After he finished massaging her feet, he turned his attentions to her raw wrists. He started to curse when he saw the oozing red skin there, then stopped himself. "I will not swear in front of a lady, but at this moment I'm happy the man who did this to you is dead."

 

"I wished him dead, but now I wish he'd only been maimed. For William's sake."