He didn’t respond. They were nearly at the inn, and as they neared, she lowered her voice.
“Was it hard?”
“What?”
“To stop.”
“Very.”
“Do you think we could try again? At some other time?”
He blew out a breath. “Lady Gwen, we are playing with fire. I am not always so honorable.”
“I trust you.”
“I know.” It didn’t sound like he thought that was a good thing.
“And I am on the shelf.”
He groaned. “Don’t dismiss yourself like that. You are much too vital to put yourself away.”
“It is a fact,” she countered. She was a spinster now and she had found an unexpected freedom in the appellation. Meanwhile, they reached the inn door which he opened slowly. Fortunately, the hinges were well oiled, and they made no noise. As they stepped inside the building, she whispered to him. “You will tell me if you wish to continue, won’t you?”
He didn’t answer as they climbed the stairs.
“Lord Sayres?”
“Jackson,” he said. “My name is Jackson.”
“I know,” she said, but it wasn’t proper for her to address him as such. Appropriate forms of address had been drilled into her from the moment she could speak.
“And yes,” he said as he pressed a finger to her lips, presumably to silence her questions. “I will tell you.”
Then he silently opened her bedroom door and pushed her inside. She went easily, and when she turned to see him one last time, he had stepped backward into the shadows.
“Good night Gwen,” he whispered, as he gave her the most formal of bows.
Chapter Eighteen
Jackson’s gut wastied into a knot by the time they arrived at his family’s estate. Sitting so many hours in a state of lust while his thoughts bounced between his business idea and erotic fantasies made him irritable when he was trying to be calm, anxious when he was trying to be confident, and truly and completely mad.
It didn’t help that Lady Gwen kept slanting him questioning looks. She would be bent over her sketching, then twist her head and give him a sideways look. It wasn’t meant to be coy, and yet he saw the shape of her eyes and the curve of her cheeks. He also saw her mouth, looking wet and delectable since she often bit her lower lip in thought. It darkened the color of her mouth and swelled the tissues until he was thinking about all the things she could do with that mouth.
And now that they were arriving, she set down her charcoal and stretched. She arched her back in what tiny space there was in the carriage and extended her arms above her head. It was a normal thing. He’d done it himself. And yet, as he watched her, he remembered the way she’d looked breasts bared in the moonlight. Like a goddess of the night, tempting him with luscious breasts and an unabashed interest in how she was affecting him.
It had nearly killed him to step back from her last night. Never had he been closer to throwing away everything that made him a man. She was an innocent just waking to her desires. To take advantage of her would be like crushing a baby bird. He couldn’t do it, and yet it had been so hard to stop.
“Are we here already?” she asked as she looked out the window.
Already? He had spent eons here, steeped in desire while every bump and jolt of the carriage had set her breasts jiggling while her arm or her thigh moved against him.
“We’ve made it through the village. If it were daylight, you’d see the manor right through those trees.” He leaned forward and pointed, directing her gaze into the darkness ahead. There was nothing to see, but he could feel her back against his chest, inhale her sweet scent, and dream of burying his face in her hair while—
“Do they know we are coming?” she asked.
“I sent a message, but I don’t know if it arrived before us.” He took a breath and forced himself to move back from her. “I don’t want you to be overwhelmed by my family. They’re boisterous.” It was a kinder word than raucous, uncivilized, or even vulgar. “They have good hearts.”
She turned to look back at him, her eyes wide and uncertain. “I hope they will like me.”