Keeping his moves easy—he’d worked with enough skittish horses to know that any sudden shifts spooked them—Garson rose and set his half-empty glass on the mantel. He kept his voice even, too. “You looked lovely today.”

Jane made a self-deprecating gesture. “Thank you, but that’s all because of the dresses Susan brought down from London. I’m afraid in recent years, fashion has passed me by, and all my clothes were dyed for mourning when Papa died.”

“I’ll take you to London for the season.” Had she noticed that he’d edged closer to the bed?

Her expression was a charming mixture of uncertainty and anticipation. “I still don’t have anything to wear.”

“Every modiste in the West End will fight to get their hands on the new Lady Garson.”

A faint smile curved her lips. “I would love some nice clothes and the chance to make new friends.”

“The world is your oyster, Jane.”

Her smile deepened. “I don’t like oysters.”

“You’ll like your new life.” He sat on the bed, close enough for his hip to brush hers through the blankets. “I’ll do my best to make sure you do.”

“Thank you, Hugh,” she said softly, without moving away.

“No, thank you, Jane.” When he took her hand, the silvery eyes widened.

He’d held her hand plenty of times, at least since he’d been hauled in to assist at her dancing lessons. Today, he’d taken her hand in the church. And at the wedding breakfast.

But it felt strange—special—to sit on Jane’s bed, cradling her cool fingers in his. He began to rub her hand, brushing his thumb over her wedding ring. The way his large hands encompassed hers was oddly stirring. She was so delightfully feminine and delicate. Knowing she was his wife suddenly seemed a fine thing indeed, by Jove. “Are you cold?”

She shook her head. “No.”

He found himself hoping that was true in every sense. Because with every minute, his impulses toward his bride became more heated. He raised her smooth, white hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. The scent of lavender teased his nostrils, and underneath, a hint of Jane herself. When his lips glanced across her skin, she bit her lower lip.

“Better?”

 She swallowed as she nodded. He was close enough to see the movement of her throat and the rise of her chest as she inhaled. Too quickly. She was becoming uneasy again.

Garson slipped a gentle hand around the back of her neck. To his surprise, his breath caught as he encountered the silky ripple of her hair. Desire kicked his heart into a gallop. Whatever his reasons for proposing, right now, he was eager to discover the secrets his shy bride concealed beneath her demure air.

Who would have thought he’d be so mad for little Jane Norris?

Except little Jane Norris was a woman grown now. A devilish attractive one at that. What a blasted fool he was, never to have seen that before. Even wrapped up in enough white flannel to sail a clipper to India, she set his blood afire.

The muscles under his fingers were tight, and he began to stroke, warming and softening her into readiness. She didn’t try to escape, but she was far from comfortable with this change from conversation to seduction.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you all day,” he murmured.

Her eyes became even wider, so he felt like he drowned in a cool, silver lake. Her pupils dilated to turn her eyes dark. This close, her skin was extraordinary. Against that pure alabaster, the dark auburn eyelashes and brows were striking.

“You kissed me at the church,” she said unsteadily.

He had. Briefly. “I never do my best work in front of an audience.”

Her lips quirked. “Is that so?”

“Let me prove it.”

She retreated a fraction against the pillows. He felt it. Then she went still, except for a faint tremor running through her. He doubted he’d know she was shaking, if his hand hadn’t rested on her nape.

Garson waited for her to speak, perhaps ask for a reprieve, but apart from the ragged saw of air through her parted lips, she remained silent.

It was a step forward, but he was experienced—and perceptive—enough to know that fear outweighed her curiosity. Slowly he tilted forward and cupped the base of her skull to steady her for his kiss.

He placed his lips on hers. She made a sound of shock, and he felt her lean away, but she didn’t pull free.

As he’d told her, she’d always been brave.

The thought filled him with powerful tenderness, so when he gently sucked her bottom lip and drew away, his care came from the heart and not strategy. She didn’t protest, although her hands clenched in the sheet that covered her to the hips.

His taste of her had been so fleeting, yet a flood of impressions fueled his senses. Her soft mouth. The sweetness of her flavor, enriched with heady notes of claret. The light floral scent, which proved surprisingly alluring.

His hand tightened in her hair and this time, he lingered until her lips fluttered against his. Satisfaction roared through him, and he deepened the kiss, tracing her lips with his tongue. A shudder ran through her, and she pushed back against his hold.

Never had Garson been so conscious of a woman’s responses. He counted the changes in Jane across each breath. He was profoundly aware that what happened now determined the shape of the rest of his life.

And hers.

She raised a shaking hand to her lips. The candlelight glinted on her wedding ring. “That was…odd.”

He hid a smile. Instinct told him Jane might take it badly if she thought he was laughing at her. “Did you like it?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Shall we try again?”

Her gaze was uncertain. “If you like.”

Oh, he liked, by God.

This time, he set his hands on either side of her head. When he kissed her, Jane’s essence flooded his senses. Her scent made his head swim, and that spectacular hair was a warm tumble over his hands.

He put his arms around her, pulling her across his lap. After what felt like an eon, her lips tentatively moved to answer his. The soft sounds she made conveyed burgeoning pleasure—and a surprise to match his own.

When she caught his shoulders, her touch shuddered through him. He slicked the tip of his tongue across the closed seam of her lips.

Garson broke the kiss long enough to whisper, “Jane, let me into your mouth.”

“Into…”

She looked so adorably confused that he felt a rush of aching tenderness. It mixed awkwardly with his rising hunger.

He swooped before she mustered any resistance. His tongue slipped into her mouth, and at last he tasted her fully. When he flicked his tongue against hers, she made another of those astoundingly arousing sounds. When she slid her tongue against his, wild satisfaction flooded him.

As the kiss burst into flame, she gave a husky moan. Another shudder of gratification shook him, as she buried her fingers in his hair and brought him closer.

He angled her until she was flat on her back, and he kneeled over her. The heavy silk of his dressing gown rubbed against his throbbing cock and threatened to make him spill. But damn it, when he found release, he wanted to be inside his wife.

Still kissing her, Garson placed one hand on her breast and squeezed. Even through the nightdress, he felt the exquisite roundness. The nipple jutted impudently into his palm. He caught the brazen peak between his thumb and forefinger and pinched softly, cursing the nameless bastard who had invented flannel. She gave a muffled squeak against his lips and lurched up toward him in welcome.

Then every damn thing in the whole wide world went wrong.