Page 36 of The Matrimonial Advertisement

She was blushing. And he knew it, the rogue. She wasn’t accustomed to sitting so close to a man. Nor was she used to being touched with so much tenderness. The kiss they’d shared at the inn yesterday had been the most intimate experience of her whole life. “I’m feeling a little better.”

“Just a little?”

“A great deal better.”

He tipped up her chin with his fingers. He was no longer smiling. He looked deadly serious. Rather determined, in fact. “Are you sure you’re quite recovered?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Good.” Justin bent his head and captured her mouth in a slow, and devastatingly thorough, kiss.

Helena’s eyes fell closed and her body tilted against his. He was a big man, tall, lean, and broad of shoulder, but though she was so much smaller, there was no awkwardness between them. They fit together perfectly. She wouldn’t have thought it possible.

Indeed, she could scarcely think at all.

His lips were warm and firm on hers. It made her heartbeat quicken and skip. She forgot about what it was that had upset her. Justin’s touch seemed to have that effect on her. Merely being close to him, feeling the heat from his body and inhaling the scent of his shaving soap, reassured her somehow. Made her feel safe and protected and…

Beloved.

No, not beloved. He didn’t love her. How could he? But the way he touched her, the way he leaned over her, enveloping her in his strength. It was something very like love. Or, at least, the way she imagined love might be.

“Justin…”

He drew back to look at her. His eyes were heavy-lidded, his chest rising and falling on a harsh breath. “Too much?”

“No. Not that.”

“Too fast?” he asked. “Have I overwhelmed you?”

Helena nodded. She felt suddenly foolish, and far younger than her five-and-twenty years. “I-I don’t know what to do.”

His gray gaze softened to a caress. He brought both hands to cradle her face. “Slower then,” he murmured. “More gently.”

Her lashes fluttered as he brushed kisses over her jaw, her cheek, and her temple. They were whisper-soft kisses. Courting kisses. But there was an underlying desperation to them, most evident when he took her mouth once more.

Helena made a soft sound low in her throat. Yesterday she’d received his kiss with passivity. She’d been constrained by her sense of propriety—inhibited by her lack of experience. But today, the rules that had governed her youth no longer applied. She was a grown woman. And she was married. Whatever the future held, Justin Thornhill was her husband.

This time, when his lips found hers, she put her arms around his neck and she kissed him back.

Any doubts Justin had about whether or not Helena could stand his touch promptly went up in flames. Her hands curved insistently on his neck, tugging him down to her uplifted face and returning his kisses with an innocent ardor that made his blood surge in his veins.

She wanted him.

It shouldn’t matter, but it did. She was his wife. The first person on earth to ever truly belong to him.

He set his arm about her waist and drew her closer, crushing her heavy skirts against his legs in a waterfall of silk and horsehair crinoline. She was pillow soft and pliant, tasting of champagne and smelling of Indian jasmine, starched petticoats, and warm, willing woman. It was the most enticing blend of fragrances he’d ever encountered. It made her seem some exotic combination of respectable British lady and mysterious, Far Eastern siren.

He slid his hand behind her neck as his mouth moved on hers, gentling her and coaxing her, until her lips half parted beneath his. He might have made a sound at that. A murmur of approval, perhaps, or—heaven help him—a growl of pleasure. It was wholly inappropriate and far too much too soon, but—good Lord!—she was so soft and so sweet.

And she was his.

All his.

He raised his head. “Would you like to spend the night here?”

Helena’s arms were still around him. Deliciously so. He could feel her fingers threaded in his hair. “At the hotel?”

“I’ve reserved the room.”