As he escorted his bride around Salisbury, Garson felt considerably happier with the world. Snow lay on the ground, but something in the air promised better weather for tomorrow when he planned to take Jane to Stonehenge. He looked forward to that. In a closed carriage, a man could get up to no end of mischief.

The day might be milder, but it was still February. With her slender arm in his grasp, his wife’s nearness lured him like a blazing hearth in a cold room.

As he’d hoped, giving Jane some say over what happened eased the constant hum of tension between them. Perhaps even gave him reason to hope that she wouldn’t prolong his ordeal. He’d noted her disappointment when he’d put off kissing her.

But as the afternoon wore on, a new tension began to stretch between them. He, familiar with desire, recognized the way two people in thrall to one another craved physical contact. Jane just went quiet, where earlier she’d been delightfully chatty.

“It’s very bare.” Jane surveyed the cathedral’s cavernous interior. “I’d imagined something a little more…”

He drew her into a dimly lit side chapel. “Ornate? Spectacular? Mysterious?”

With a slight roughness—and he was never rough with a lady—he pushed her up against the cold marble tomb that housed the earthly remains of some long-dead archbishop. A reminder, should he need it, not to waste his chances on this earthly plane.

Jane gasped as her back hit the cold stone. She observed him from under the brim of the dark blue bonnet that matched her fashionable pelisse. “What are you doing, Hugh?”

As he swept off his hat, he glanced around. This late in the winter day, little light penetrated the high, clear windows, but enough to reveal that the cathedral was almost empty. There was nobody in this side aisle, although evensong was due to begin soon.

He placed one hand beside Jane’s head, hemming her in with his body. “I’m going to touch you.”

“For shame.” Her reproof contradicted the flaring excitement in her eyes. “This is a church.”

Despite her disapproval, she didn’t try to escape. He shifted close enough to catch a drift of floral scent. Last night, that fragrance had fueled his arousal. After he left her, it had haunted his restless dreams.

He set his hat on the tomb behind her head. “And nicely private.”

“That’s blasphemous.”

“We got married in a church.”

When Jane’s lips twitched, he cursed himself for limiting himself to only one kiss a day. “That reasoning is self-serving, and you know it.”

“I need to put my hands on you.”

Her alarmed squeak evoked a reaction more profane than sacred. He leaned in, until his lips touched her delicate earlobe. “Is that a yes?”

After a shuddering exhalation, her answer was a whisper. “Don’t do anything too brazen.”

A soft huff of laughter escaped him. “I’ll try my best.”

With manufactured casualness, he tugged off his gloves and shoved them into his pocket. He reached out to flick open the top buttons on her pelisse, one of the garments Susan had brought from London. The stylish dark blue merino parted to reveal a high-necked gray gown. “You don’t make it easy for a fellow, sweetheart.”

“Next time, tell me I need to dress for a ravishing,” Jane responded with that hint of tartness he liked.

Garson trailed one hand down her throat until his fingers rested against the pulse skittering at the base of her neck. “So I can ravish you?” he asked idly, although the question wasn’t idle at all.

No surprise when she shook her head. “Purely a figure of speech.”

“Pity.” Beneath his fingers, her skin was warm and smooth. His excitement mounted, although so far, he hadn’t done anything that might upset any saints loitering in the shadows.

Jane studied him steadily, although he felt her trembling. “Do you tire of the game already, Hugh?”

He retraced his path up her throat. With so little skin revealed, touching what he could see felt like the height of depravity. He really had to get her some new clothes. Gowns to display that spectacular figure. Gowns that fastened up the front, for a husband’s convenience. The urge to touch her breasts was a physical ache.

“No, I’m looking forward to more of it.” His lips quirked. “Although if you want to be quick about your surrender, I’ll like that even better.”

“I’m sure,” she retorted.

The temptation was too much. When he kissed the side of her neck, she gave a voluptuous shudder. He lowered the arm he’d braced against the marble and slipped it around her waist.

“Oh, that’s wicked,” she gasped, as he scraped his teeth across a nerve. “Can I touch you?”

Lord above, what he’d give to have her touch him properly. But she was still shy, and last night proved the danger of racing ahead too fast. “By heaven, yes.”

When tentative hands hooked over his shoulders, his heart battered his ribs. God help him, he’d brought her in here for a bit of light flirtation, another foray in their sensual battle of wills. Now, so swiftly, he was lost in a fog of desire.

“That’s good.” He set his lips to the luscious curve where her neck met her shoulder.

She tilted her head to give him better access. He felt drunk on Jane. This close, the floral scent was richer, earthier.

Garson was likely to embarrass himself. A rag of common sense insisted that he couldn’t tup his wife in a church. As if to confirm that thought, the organ started to play softly from the loft high above them. He hauled Jane around the tomb and into the gloomiest corner of the chapel.

“Hugh?” she asked uncertainly.

With a massive exercise of will, he pulled away. “We should go.”

She looked troubled. “You sound…angry.”

He struggled to find a reassuring smile, but her expression told him it didn’t work. “No.”

For a heart-pounding interval, he crushed her into him. Even through layers of winter clothing, he was sharply conscious of the lithe, graceful body in his arms. Then he released her, took her hand, and headed outside into air hardly less icy than the air inside the cathedral.

He drew a bracing breath and fought to return to reality. The short day faded into night. The first stars winked in a clear sky. Smoke from a thousand fireplaces tinged the air. Bells pealed from the spire, summoning worshippers for evensong. Muffled figures hurried across the cathedral close to attend the service.

The wild rush of Garson’s heart gradually slowed. “I’m sorry, Jane,” he said, as they approached the ornate gates leading back to town. “I shouldn’t have started that. Not there.”

“The archbishop wouldn’t have approved.”

Her mocking tone took him by surprise. He dropped her hand and stopped to stare at her. More surprise when he saw how rosy and winsome she looked. “You didn’t mind?”

“I’ve led a very secluded life.” She made an apologetic gesture. “Letting a handsome devil manhandle me in a cathedral is the most exciting thing I’ve ever done.”

Damn it, it was probably the most exciting thing he’d ever done as well—and he hadn’t led a secluded life. This time, his smile felt completely natural. Although he feared it might be too wolfish to count as reassuring. “I thought you’d want my gizzards for garters.”

Amusement flirted with her lips. “Not today.”

He stared after her as she wandered ahead, trying to wrap his mind around the fact that his nefarious plan already seemed to be working. God bless cold chapels and warm women.