Only Marriage Will Do. Jenna Jaxon

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СКАЧАТЬ picked up his coat from the towel, turned it inside out, and wrapped the soiled side around his boot.

      He groaned, his stomach sinking at the sight of his favorite jacket reduced to a rag.

      At the sound, she looked up. “Well, you said it was ruined, Amiable.”

      He fixed her with a hard stare. “You are not too big for me to turn over my knee, Juliet.”

      She laughed and tossed her head then with a slight twist of her hands the boot fell to the floor with a plop.”

      He goggled at her. “How did you learn to do that? Even Edwards cannot remove those boots so quickly.”

      Juliet shrugged. “When we were young, Duncan used to tease me, saying a wife should know how to please her husband in all ways, even how to remove his boots.” Her chuckle turned into a throaty growl, setting his blood on fire. “I have only ever practiced on his boots, until now.” In an instant, the other boot lay in her hands, and she placed it beside its mate.

      “You have amazing talents, my dear. I’ve never been tended this well.” He kept his eyes on the floor as he pulled his shirt out of his breeches. If he moved with caution, perhaps he wouldn’t sling more mud on the floor.

      “I fear poor Edwards will not thank me for spoiling you. Here, let me help you. Hold your shirt up.”

      He did so and stopped, shocked that she stood so close to him. Close enough for him to mark the dark ring around the outer rim of her brown irises. With growing alarm, he dropped his gaze to her hands as she reached for the first button of his breeches.

      Chapter 9

      Juliet struggled to hide her smile, satisfaction welling within. They’d been going on as if they were a true married couple. Pray God it was an omen.

      Amiable gasped.

      Juliet peered up at him.

      He had gone rigid. His eyes bulged.

      Had a clod of cold mud fallen down his back? She followed the path of his gaze and her heart thumped wildly. Her hand hovered a bare touch away from his mud-soaked breeches. Her mouth went dry and her knees wobbled.

      How in the world had she come to stand in front of a half-naked man, alone in his room, ready to strip off his breeches? Her hand actually rested lightly on the flap of the garment, next to a row of buttons. Did she dare continue?

      Amiable stepped backward, taking the decision out of her hands. He breathed as though he’d run a mile.

      “I beg your pardon, my lady.” He looked away and hastily stuffed his shirt back into his breeches. Little drops of mud flew everywhere. “I do not know what came over me. Please forgive my impertinence. I had no right to treat you thus.”

      “What do you mean, Amiable?” She struggled to remain calm, even though her heart grew panicked as he withdrew from her. “You have treated me only with honor.”

      “I acted as if you were my wife.” He turned to face her, straightening his back as he did, and widened the distance between them. “You are not, Juliet. Neither you nor I must forget that again. This masquerade is for the public only. In private you are still Lady Juliet Ferrers and I am Captain Dawson.”

      His words smote her heart though they were nothing but the truth. They were not married and perhaps never would be. It would have been so easy for him to have thoroughly compromised her just then. He must know her willingness. Know also the consequences a gentleman faced if he acted so dishonorably. It seemed he had no desire to have her as his wife.

      Anger and humiliation shot to the surface. “As you say, Captain Dawson.” She tried to keep the hurt out of her voice but didn’t think she’d succeeded. Damn him. Well, he’d seen the last of her for the evening. She whirled toward the door.

      “You shouldn’t leave, Juliet,” he said softly. “We are supposed to be a married couple. People will think it odd if you spend too much time with your maid.”

      She rounded on him, so furious she could barely see. “Should I instead stay and help you bathe? Do you wish to compromise me, Captain?” No answer. Wretch. “And for your information, I am well aware how married people act when in public. To their eyes, I have seen to the comfort of my husband and am now going to see to my maid, who is most likely upset by the events in the yard. She may be frightened she will be blamed for the mishap and dismissed. I need to reassure her that as long as I employ her she will not come to grief under your hand.”

      Her parting shot delivered, she left, shutting the door with as much force as she thought acceptable without actually slamming it. She walked down the dimly lit corridor to the room designated for Glynis, shaking more with every step. After dinner, she would have to slip back down here to spend the night with her servant. She entered the chamber to find her maid washing off all traces of the adventure. Would that she could do so as well.

      She waved Glynis to continue her ablutions and surveyed the small room with a disgruntled eye. It irked her to no end that he would end up in the most comfortable accommodations while she and Glynis would have to make do with a small table and chair, a washstand, and one narrow bed.

      Fuming, she stalked over to the window. Worse and worse. Their room faced the front of the inn. As if to confirm her fears, a mail coach pulled in, horses snorting, harness jingling, coachmen loudly calling for the grooms and exhorting the passengers to hurry into the inn for their dinners. A noisier situation could not be imagined. She probably needn’t worry about the narrowness of the bed—she doubted she would get any sleep even if it had been three times the size. In the yard, grooms led the new team to the traces. One of the big gray horses plodded straight through the spot where the outline of Amiable’s body still lay clearly delineated in the mud.

      Would have served him right if he’d have still been there and had to scramble out of the way. She was glad she had rubbed the mud from his boots with his ruined coat. If only she could remove the ache from her heart with equal thoroughness.

      * * * *

      “Hell and damnation.” Amiable cursed under his breath as the door banged shut behind Juliet. He had made as big a mess with her as with his filthy clothes. Drops of the clingy mud spattered the floor around him. Every movement seemed to dislodge more blobs. He shed his shirt and breeches, hoping the latter could be saved, doffed his drawers, and finally stepped into the steaming tub.

      He groaned in contentment as the delicious heat relaxed his tense muscles. All except for the one that still stood stiff and painful from his groin. “The General” would probably not relax for quite some time. He lay back in the bath, eyes closed, and tried to will his flesh into submission.

      After five minutes, he’d only succeeded in making it worse. Images of Juliet with her hand working to unbutton his breeches would not abate. Fantasies of her loosing his heated flesh and stroking him until he burst filled his head. Her scent of jasmine lingered in the room, taunting him with her presence until he ached hot and hard for her. Unless he acted the cad and went to seek another companion for the night, only one course remained available to him. He grasped his throbbing flesh and moments later shuddered his release. He sagged against the back of the tub. The ache had gone, but the relief remained hollow.

      How had he managed to get himself into such a mess? All his thoughts concentrated on Juliet and the longing she created within him. Amazing that he could feel a СКАЧАТЬ