Page 55 of How to Tempt an Earl

“Even though I dislike such establishments, I haven’t thought of you as a blackguard in days.”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “Days?”

To her dismay, her voice broke slightly. “We haven’t known each other long. Why would you consent to marry?”

He took her hand in his, and his thumb drew lazy circles around her knuckles. “That night, when you asked me to kiss you, I was eager to oblige.”

His look was so galvanizing, it sent a tremor through her. “You asked me to marry you because of a kiss?”

“Is it so hard to believe? We have desire. Many couples have married for less. We have enough to build a future.”

A future. He appeared honest, sincere, and she was at a loss for words. Could he possibly be that affected by a kiss? Her heart danced with excitement and something more…something infinitely more dangerous.

She pulled her hand away and made a pretense of swirling the melting orange ice with her spoon.

“The truth is that I’ve thought of little else,” he said.

Not trusting her voice, she took a spoonful of ice. A knot rose in her throat, and she swallowed the sugared sweetness.

“Tell me you’ve thought of it, too,” he said.

“I have.” The thought of acting coy or lying didn’t occur to her. She couldn’t deny the spark of excitement at the prospect. There was something about him that had drawn her from the beginning. He was so different from any other man she’d known.

“God, I want to kiss you again.”

She choked on her ice. “Here?”

She glanced at the crowded shop. He’d lowered his voice and no one could hear, but if anyone glanced in their direction, would the tension between them be obvious?

“If I could,” he said.

Every cell of her body yearned for what he offered. Perhaps he was right. He may not have courted her with flowers and chocolates and rides in the park, but they had spent time together in his home, and the attraction between them was tangible. He believed they had more in common than most engaged couples. She was beginning to believe him.

He leaned forward to whisper close to her ear. “I look forward to our wedding night.”

Heavens, so did she.

Chapter Sixteen

The wedding took place at St. George’s Church in Hanover Square.

Immediately afterward, the guests arrived at the Countess of Wetherby’s home in Piccadilly. Ian had learned that Lady Wetherby had been a like second mother to Grace and had offered to host the wedding breakfast since Ian’s mother was still in mourning over her son’s death. The massive town house had been decorated with lilies, and their French chef had prepared a simple, but sumptuous buffet. Ian had hired Gunter’s to cater the sweets and a had ordered a three-tiered wedding cake that was even more stunning than the one they’d watched being decorated in the shop.

Their closest friends and relatives had turned out for the intimate event. Ian stood in the drawing room, a glass of champagne in hand, as he scanned the room. Brooks, who had been his best man at the ceremony, stood beside him.

Ian sipped his drink, not caring if it was expensive champagne or cheap tavern gin. His attention was solely on Grace. She looked strikingly beautiful in a white gown adorned with Brussel’s lace and seeded pearls. The costly Bond Street dressmaker had been worth every shilling. The dress was skillfully cut to show the creamy swell of her breasts above a heart-shaped bodice. Grace’s hair was parted in the Grecian style and held back with matching pearl combs to curl long and loose down her back in glossy dark waves.

Family and close friends approached her with well wishes, and she greeted each one with a gracious and welcoming smile. Their wedding day was the first time he’d seen her among Society, and he realized she was truly the epitome of a lady.

But he knew beneath the proper facade was a sensual creature with a simmering passion. He anticipated teaching her the delights of the marriage bed night after night. Just thinking about it caused a swift heat to run through his veins.

“Stop staring at Grace like a starved man.”

Ian frowned at Brooks at his side. His friend was dressed in a tailored coat, waistcoat, and snowy cravat. The fine tailoring could not disguise his massive height and breadth of his chest. Ian couldn’t help but chuckle when he’d first seen his friend in fine clothing. He’d grown accustomed to seeing Brooks shirtless in the boxing ring.

“She’s my wife,” Ian said.

“Your sisters like her.”